Crib Ceiling

oh yeaaaaaa

2008-07-17T01:42:00.000-06:00

2008-07-12T19:26:00.004-06:00

So! Here I am in LA.

I had this post all written out (in my head) about the Lamy, New Mexico, train station, where we departed, and the Los Angeles train station, where we arrived, and how different they are . . . instead I'll just show you a picture.

Lamy:

Los Angeles:

I have all kinds of thoughts on these. On how Lamy seems frozen in time, somewhere between the 1880s and, maybe, the 1940s. And LA is, well, LA. Nothing more modern, for better or worse. Lamy - no process. Everything individual, personal, inefficient (but friendly!). LA - all process. Total efficiency. Totally impersonal. But speedy! (And with palm trees!)

So, you know. Expand and fill in. Add a little humor. There! We're done with that post.

In the meantime, here's some things we've done:

Took the girls to this place , where they designed their own shirts, decorated them, and we paid a million dollars and went on our way.

We went to the beach:

and my girls actually swam in the water. One seems to be impervious to cold, so splashing in a cold ocean actually seems fun to her. Even when I lived here and went to the beach, I never actually went in the water. Looked like fun, if freezing.

That also meant we had to go here:

We went here and saw both a new movie, plus a live Disney-character show:

And that was just Day One!

(Just kidding of course.)

We've also, most importantly, seen friends, and family.

I feel liked I was asked, before we came here, "what will you do there?" I can't place now who asked me that, or whether it was just something I thought people might ask.

I do know this list doesn't scratch the surface of what we've done, and neither come close to the limitless possibilities that could be done.

Like life, I suppose. I guess this city is like life. Like any city. Gosh, am I up too late, or what?

Leaving on a jet train

2008-06-30T01:36:00.005-06:00

Way back when, in the middle of winter (a word I don't even want to say right now, it's so pleasant), and when it seemed like winter had lasted about three years, I thought, I should check the calendar and see when the next time is that we could leave. For awhile.

And I looked. And looked. And it turns out - it was - SUMMER.

This whole "go to school" thing really puts a crimp in the works.

Not to mention, you know. Jobs.

But I made my plans. And we are leaving. Tomorrow. For AWHILE.

Via the train.

We are going to LA.

Should all go well, I will check in from Lala Land. With a smile on my face, a packed bag (or ten), and the sunny sun on face.

Which is pretty much what I have here, now.

- sigh -

Some of us, in fact, ARE getting younger

2008-06-12T06:33:00.005-06:00

We've spent the few weeks of the summer traveling. Which has been, you know, glorious.

On one of our travelabouts (word?), we met up with a bunch of extended family. Okay, we did that a few times. I have extended family galore.

So this particular group, I hadn't seen in eight years. They were in town, we were in town, that kind of thing. (That actually happened a couple times, so if you're Bob and you're reading this, as you pretend you do, it wasn't that dinner.) (That's to provoke you to comment.)**

Anyway, it was great to see everyone, etc. And everyone seemed about the same . . . except for my one cousin, who seemed distinctly younger.

And I don't mean in some kind of botoxed-enhanced kind of way, that I know of. It's just amazing what attitude can do for you.

This particular cousin, a woman I really like, has always been very Grownup. The kind of Grownup I just don't think I'm going to get to, apparently. For all our adult days so far, she's been a professional violinist, actually playing professionally at places like Carnegie Hall, on a regular basis.

She was also married to an Eastern European Professional Violinist, who was trying (and succeeded) to get on with a world-class orchestra. They were quite Mature.

(Kind of like when I would listen to my mother's cousin tell hilarious stories about his youth and the brave, fun, incredible things he and his boyhood pals would do. For years, as an 8-, 9-, and 10- year old, I would think, I can't wait . . . I can't waituntil I am old enough to have that much fun!

Eventually, I heard those stories when I was 14, or maybe 16, and I realized, huh. How old were those guys when they were sneaking into Elitch Gardens and riding for free all night and running out the back gate with the security guards hot on their tail? . . . And I realized, probably the age I am NOW. (Probably even younger.) Why am I not having that kind of fun? I'd wonder.

Okay, so I realize, these are two opposite examples - looking at people much younger than me and knowing I will never be that mature, and listening to people a fair amount older than I am, and knowing I was never so young.)

Anyway, the end of this story is, the cousin I first mentioned has gotten younger! Ditched the struggling artist life, living in a new city, on her way to a shiny new business degree - she was light and happy and literally a decade younger. I thought that was pretty cool.

Suffice it to say, it was great to see her. Plus she brought me chocolate. She so rocks.

(I have no great wrap-up to this story, other than, you know, ruminations on how some people are older than me but seem younger and others are younger but seem much more grownup (and now we're probably about even? Nope. She's younger again.) Feel free to add a wrap-up if you can think of one. The end.)

**At one of our other cousin-dinners - also very fun and full of amazing people, OF COURSE - my one cousin Bob claimed he reads Crib Ceiling. Um, okay. I'm doubting it, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. But the hilarious thing is, it went down the table. "Oh yeah, I read it too!" "Me too!" "Oh yeah, I read that." I am sure by the end of the table no one even knew what they were ascribing to. The Wall Street Journal? The Onion? You can be my cousin and not read Crib Ceiling. I'd just love you more, but it's not technically required.

Now that's an idea

2008-06-11T12:43:00.002-06:00

Little side note: The blog. It needs evolution, does it not? I mean, not "THE BLOG" as in the media form. THAT is in a perpetual state of evolution. I mean THIS BLOG.

That's the problem. That's been my whole problem lately. And it hadn't occured to me - until of late - that I could attempt the evolution while online . Huh. There's a thought for you! So, you know. More on that later! But that's what's been going on here. Not 'not thinking about' it. Not too focused on kids or unpacking* or school life or, er, summer. Just cogitating on the blog . . . but not OUTLOUD. So maybe I should try that way from now on. Consider this here the first little bit. Comments welcome.

*I have friends here in town who tell me: If you mention how you have to unpack ONE MORE TIME, we are going to stage an intervention. Meaning, bring wine and come and help me. UNPACK! UNPACK! I'm waiting.**

** We're not totally, you know, not unpacked. It's just, our stuff arrived here last fall, most things are unpacked....they're just not as organized as I'd like. And at this point, it's not really the unpacking so much as the life organizing. Like, taking 3 yr old - size fall clothes out and replacing with 3 yr old (or should it be 4 yr old?) summer clothes. Things that don't really count for Unpacking. I guess it's not fair to have your friends do your Life Shit. Crap.

Alright. So maybe the rest of my life has A LITTLE to do with my inability to evolve my blog. A little.

Kathi Lee Gifford - still bugging the crap out of me

2008-05-07T13:53:00.010-06:00

So Heather was on the Today Show today! Which rocks and she totally deserves it. And they had footage from a BlogHer conference. Guess they've been holding onto that for awhile. And Mir and Kristen and the SV Mom's Blog lady was there. All deserved.

HERE IS WHAT BUGS ME!!! Who, I ask you, WHO, used to blab about her kids ON THE AIR, ALL THE TIME?

KATHI LEE GIFFORD, that is who!

To the point that - it was awkward. It was uncomfortable. I STILL do not want to hear one iota more about Cody Cody Cody. Gah.

And WHO is the one saying she is uncomfortable with Heather blogging about her child? KATHI LEE GIFFORD, that is who. Hm, there was something that bothered her about it, she wasn't sure what. MAYBE THAT IT WAS SO FAMILIAR??!!! Gah!

Yes, I am talking in all caps. Yes,I know that means I am yelling. Yes, I THINK IT'S WARRANTED. Hypocrisy. In all its forms. Starting with - it's okay for me to blab all about my kids ON NATIONAL TELEVISION, but, ugh, I don't like YOU writing about YOUR KID online. Ick.

(And, yes, I have been silent on my blog for three months. And, yes, coming to Heather's defense will bring me back anytime. ANYTIME.)

(Also PS - I can't even remember how to imbed links anymore. Or, maybe I could, but I have one kid hungry and another thirsty, so let's just do this:

Heather = dooce.com
Mir = wouldashoulda.com
Kirsten = motherhooduncensored
SV Mom Blog = SV Mom Blog : )

And, I suspect, none of you need that help anyway.)

Oh, and also: today.com and click through the arrows in the top section until you see Heather's pretty face and click on that.

AND IF YOU DON"T KNOW WHAT THAT LOOKS LIKE, I CAN'T HELP YOU.

(PPS (as we said in junior high, I don't think "PPS" means anything actually) - if it's not already apparent, on this interview with Heather, Kathi Lee Gifford asked a few questions about Heather, and then started saying how uncomfortable she was with Heather blogging about Leta, her daughter, online. There was, you know, something that bothered her about it, she wasn't sure what. I could have jumped through the computer screen and shook her, that comment made me so annoyed. At her blithe HYPOCRISY. Now you don't even need to go to the Today show website to see it in person. But do, because she's so annoying, and Heather did so great. If we have to have a blog representative, it ought to be Heather, don't you think?)

Fourth Addendum (law school has to kick in somewhere, right?): You would never know, by the way first I complained, and only THEN did I explain what the heck I was talking about, that I've done all kinds of journalism, would you? I think that violates a few rules. (But then, there probably aren't any left anyway, thank you Fox "news".)

I'm calling it a winter

2008-01-22T00:25:00.000-07:00

So! Two kids with the flu.

First it's the ice problem, then it's the flu problem.

What is this, winter?

At the doctor's office: Did you get her the flu shot? (looks at chart) Noooooo.
Did you get HER the flu shot? (looks at chart) Nooooooo. That might be something you should consider next year.

She (nods toward not-yet-sick child) will be getting sick in the next few days.

(Which she did. Right on cue.)

Spousal: Did you let her drink from the same glass?

Me: Hey man. The doctor said it was inevitable, even if I DIDN"T make them share the same juice glass.

Just kidding on that last part.

See you next spring.

Disappearing acts in beautiful places

2007-12-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

So we went here

which actually looks a lot more like

for two weeks which would explain why I haven't really been around here

get it? crib hanging from the ceiling?

or even here

much lately.

Going on one of those vacations makes you at the same time want to write it all down, and not commemorate any of it as it might smudge the memory too much. Even when I was there I was (sadly) aware that soon - very soon - I'll be back in the cold and the snow and a house that still needs unpacking and . . . So then I'd focus back on the buildling of sand castles with my three year old and the surreptitious eyeballing of my five year old, who thought - she really thought - that she was pretty much free to hang out with her cousins sans Mom all week, but little did she know I was watching her the whole time...

When we left, it was Fall. It was pretty much like this:

And now it's all pretty much like this:

Well, not quite. It did snow but then it melted but it's still pretty cloudy and foggy looking lately.

And that's all.

out.

Meanie Moms Beware

2007-11-10T19:29:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned Tiny Person has this hilarious sense of humor?

The other day I was buckling the girls in the car. And, just because I say these kinds of things sometimes, I said: Aren't I a great mom?

Yeah, says Tiny Person, kind of non-committally. Sometimes. (Pause.) Sometimes you're a meanie.

This is not the funny part, actually. That was just her honest response.

(As background, the other day, Tiny Person and I had a bit of an altercation. Something about, Time to get in the car now, we need to get your sister, and her response: NOOOOOOOOOO. Which led to a bit of a disagreement which, inevitably, I won. And in the course of winning, which might have involved, in the end, actually picking her up and carrying her to the car, she says, through her indignity: You're a meanie mom!

Now, sometimes I am a meanie mom. We all have our bad days. But that's not what she was talking about. That was strictly about Tiny Person not getting her way on something.)

Trying to josh her a little, I thought I'd chat about it some more. I am? I said, getting into my own seat.

Yeah, she says from the back seat. And then she made a loud sigh, as if she was a person with a long to-do list. I gotta get a new one, she muttered.

And now for the ecological part of the program...

2007-11-08T11:33:00.000-07:00

Oh. So worth it.

Wait for the "Anthem" part. Makes me want to find my canvas bags!

Am I unpacked? Eeeeeerrrr....

2007-11-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

Did I mention we had both my parents-in-law - AND my mother - coming to visit AT THE SAME TIME - to a house that we haven't, technically, in any possibly way, unpacked?

(We all survived despite tripping on unpacked boxes, and luckily the in-laws get along great so they kind of entertained each other for that overlapping section. Plus the girls were in Grandparent Glory with so much attention.)

When people ask me if we're "all moved in now" - which they do - but not people who have actually been here who would obviously know better - I just say: Errrrrrr.... That's pretty much the actual response I give. Because I can't really come up with another answer.

Because for months (two! at least!) we lived here out of suitcases and boxes and had pillow mattresses for beds.

So now the furniture is actually here. But the boxes aren't really unpacked. So does that count? Are we moved in? Our things ARE HERE. IN. So technically that's a Yes, right?

But then, we haven't actually UNPACKED it all. We did have both kids and Spousal sick - so nothing extra gets done then - and we went out of town.

In the meantime regular life goes on, does it not? Going to work, feeding the kids at least daily, getting some or all of them (okay, there's just two) to school now and then. When is there time for unpacking?

So slowly boxes get unpacked here and there, and the others get shoved behind the couch. And the next time someone (inevitably) asks if we're all moved in, I'll know the answer. Errrrrr.....

Twirly Whirly Stairs with lights, spinning

2007-11-03T09:29:00.001-06:00

(Oh gawd. Did I miss yesterday? I missed yesterday. So much for NaBloPawMoGoJo. Shoot.)

It's Saturday, and everybody deserves a story on Saturday. How about about New Mexico? Life in this strange little back-water highly historical-in-a-500-year-old-Spanish and also Native-American-for-longer-than-that kind of way place?

And combined with random stories about scientists and the things they tell their kids at night, even if they aren't Catholic?

So, yes, Spousal is Presbyterian. (Or so. He doesn't actually GO so it's not clear to me which one he ascribes to. In fact, I drag his a$$ to Mass, so go figure.)

One morning the girls get up and they're all excited about the twirly-whirly staircase. The one that Jesus built! In Santa Fe!

Here it is:

Turns out, in putting them to bed, and wanting to tell them a story, Spousal told them the story of the Loretto Chapel, and how the sisters built this beautiful church, but there was no way to get to the choir loft, and so they prayed, and within a few days a carpenter appears, out of the blue.

The church:

(Coming from the Presbyterian father - I thought that part was the miracle. Where'd you hear that story? Daddy? That Catholic-miracle-stair story? He did? Are you SURE?)

And the carpenter - channeling Joseph perhaps more than Jesus, but whatever - stays for six months, and charges them nothing, and builds this miraculous - and truly beautiful - freestanding circular staircase, with no middle pole, built without nails, completing two full 360' turns, up to the choir loft some story and a half up.

The stairs:

They wanted to see it! They wanted to see it! The twirly-whirly staircase! Can we go? Huh? Can we go?

And so on one of these half-days, when we had to make a (120-mile round trip) run to Santa Fe anyway, I took them to see the staircase.

(I actually was hoping they might forget, because I wanted to get back, but, well, they remembered. Hey! We're in Santa Fe! The twirly-whirly staircase! Can we see it? Huh? Huh? Can we huh?)

And so we went.

Taking young children, ages 3 and 5, to see historical wonders in the way of architectural items is actually - um - a little underwhelming for them. As one might expect. I think they were expecting flashing lights, and music, and possibly the staircase to be actually TWIRLING.

This is where, if I knew anything about graphics programs, I would have a picture of the twirly-whirly staircase with flashing lights and spinning.

You see it now anyway, don't you?

But they stood, and they looked at it, and Tiny Person did a little dance in the church aisle, as is her wont, and Little Big Girl looked with big eyes and said, Is that it? Huh. That's cool.

And I pointed out a few of the facets. Like the lack of a center pole. And how originally there was no railing, and how would she like to walk up that thing with no railing, and we were all duly impressed.

And - since it is a private enterprise and not actually run by a church organizaioin - they make you leave through the gift shop. And two little girls really really wanted to buy lots of little angels. Sure! I said.

Get one for your dad.

I think there was month in here somewhere

2007-11-01T22:09:00.000-06:00

October.

It was long.

Maybe because we made plans, at the beginning of the month, for me and the girls to go to California for a weekend at the VERY END of the month. And all month, you know, I was waiting. Mostly because we were going to an eye doctor appointment for Tiny Person - she's fine, it's just - well, our selection of ped. opthamologists in the state is liimited - limited to TWO - in the STATE - and so we thought we'd head back to actual America** to get her checked out, and this was a followup appointment blah blah and I think I've lost my train of thought. Anyway, the weekend was fun, the girls played with cousins, the appointment went well and I'm glad we went - and she is fine, making progress with a little lazy eye issue - the kind of thing that probably does not require an out of state trip from - er - a LOT of other states but whatever - I've digressed again!

Also, wonderfully, I got to see some great friends I rarely get to spend time with, and so that was, er, wonderful.

And so! It was a whirlwind when we got back, of getting back into the school thing, having our first parent-teacher conference (so fun! let's talk about MY KID!), Halloween, half-days of school, recovering from the trip at home and at work....

And somehow I signed up for NaBloPoMo (too lazy to href - just google, baby) so I thought from now on I'll just list my activitiies. : )

Tomorrow the in-laws come to check out the new house. The still unpacked, I-just-went-on-a-trip new house. Perfect! : )

2007-10-23T10:39:00.000-06:00

So I was just hanging around my house, unpacking, picking up, and look! Look who showed up!

Mary Tsao of Mom Writes

Just kidding - she didn't randomly just show up. We had it all planned. But look! She came to see me, here in the wilds of Northern New Mexico! Yea!

And look how cute her kids are! And mine! They had a good time playing together. You know, tell them "here are your new friends" - they believe you. Kids - what do they know. But seriously her kids are sweet and friendly so I think they all did have a nice time.

And here's Mary and I - hanging out. You can see in the background of all these photos that we don't have any wall hangings up yet, of course - it is all just stacked up around the place.

(But having photos up here does mean two things. 1) I have finally unpacked my camera cord and 2) here are some pics of the interior of our new house!)

It was great to see Mary. It is so fun to see people you know and love through their blogs, originally, who are now just your friends. Wow. The internet. I think it's a keeper.

And also, and I hate to sound melodramtic - but we (and by that I mean this whole town) are fairly isolated and alone up here on this mountain. It's sixty long miles to just about anywhere - and to see someone from the Real World show up here - wow! That is really nice. Thanks so much Mary for coming to visit! It was great!!

Ten Things (Not really. You know the drill.)

2007-10-14T23:27:00.000-06:00

1. We are moved! All of our things (mostly) are in one place now.

2. Sadly, that means it is all HERE. Piled up. In boxes. All around me. I constantly feel the need to unpack things and then - where will I put them? Oh the agony.

3. Yes, that means we are getting rid of things. I gave loads to the local charities and our cleaning lady (who distributes things amongst her family and, she tells me, scores of other families she knows) before we moved, have unloaded a huge box of things since, and have another couple in the works. (Carved leather belt of Spousal's that he got rid of years ago yet I retrieved because it SEEMED like something we should keep - him being from Texas and all. And have I worn it? Actually, can I? No. And no.)(At various times of pre, during, and post pregnancy it would fit and not fit...)(Let's see, what else was in those giveaway boxes. I don't know. The brain warps. Things we DON'T NEED. Since I can't even recall them.)

4. Ready to get back to normal and not be dealing with ALL OUR THINGS. Ugh. Moving does make you want to say - okay, it's all packed up. TAKE IT AWAY I NEVER WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN.

5. See! I told you it wouldn't really be 10 things. Nice to be back though.

TIVO, oh TIVO, where fore art thou?

2007-09-13T21:19:00.000-06:00

I love Tivo. LOVE. TIVO.

We are not late to the Tivo thing. I know, I know, everyone loves Tivo, everyone has Tivo, it's all normal and everything now.

(I remember the first time I'd heard of it: we went to visit some very Early Adopter type friends of Spousal's, in his little West Texas hometown (if you have pretty big buckets of money, as these particular friends do, you can pretty much be an Early Adopter any where, it turns out). We walked in, and the husband said (after using a clicker to turn on all the lights and adjust the shades in the house), "You have got to see this. It's changed my life. It's the best thing I've bought - EVER. You have to get it." This was about seven or eight years ago, and Tivo was brand new.

We got one the next year.)

Anyway - HERE'S A DOWNSIDE.

DO NOT LOSE THE TIVO CLICKER.

ARRRRRRRRGH.

The thought of watching tv Tivo-less makes it unrenderable. I can't do it! I guess that's good for me. Maybe I'll get something else done around here....

(Like post a blog. Haha! Self-referential self-reference posts! I am posting because x happened and that lets me post! Haha!)

MIA

dang it

Obligatory Children's Stories (that I really don't want to forget)

2007-09-12T22:16:00.001-06:00

Tiny Person has turned 3 now. Making Little Big Girl about 5 1/2.

Tiny Person and I are at Sonic.
Tiny Person: We're ordering a Sad Meal.
Me: A Sad Meal? We are? Why?
Tiny Person (with grin on face): It's not a Happy Meal...

Little Big Girl has brought me a flower from the playground every day since she started school. The thought of her thinking about me, and making the effort, and being sure to pick one, and holding it in her hand until I see her again, and proudly giving it to me - makes my little heart burst. The fact that it is a clover .... It's just so sweet I can't say. And I never noticed - they smell so sweet. I have cups of them, in varying states of demise, all around the kitchen.

Tiny Person and I are driving in the car.
Me: Some random question
Tiny Person: Uhhuh. (pause) That's cor-RECT!

/ obligatory Mommyblog moments.

2007-09-05T23:06:00.000-06:00

Way, way, way back when, I went to this fairly amazing event known as BlogHer.

The only thing I want to say about it now is, I roomed with Mary Tsao and she was great. It was so fun to hang with her and spend time with her IRL and prove that - yes - you may only get a glimpse of someone from their blog, but you can, in fact, get to know them from their blog as well. And if you dig them there, you probably really are going to like them In Real Life.

We had a great time hanging out, and running around Chicago, and shopping, and watching fireworks from afar as we booked through town, and generally laughing at the very loud, very party atmosphere at The W (it's a party! all the time! we can even dance in the elevator!) It was great.

I did, indeed, write more about BlogHer as an event, which I don't, in anyway, expect ANY of you to read. But I'm posting it here for posterity - my own. I did indeed go, and if I ever wonder what I thought - which is possible if not likely - I can read it here! I wrote it on the plane on the way home.

I can see, now, why Real Time blogging is such a good idea. Because, as Mary said, in fact - writing about things later is just kind of - ugh. I've moved on. I'm looking forward, not back. I had a great time. I learned a lot, met amazing people, felt, again, like I was in the middle of exactly What Is Happening. (Even Elizabeth Edwards spoke to us!) I'd live that way permanently if I could. But alas . . .

So, for me, here are my little thoughts at the time . . . .

Haha! I so totally should have posted this already. Now I can't find it. Between purging my desktop and little ones going wild with the keyboard - it's amazing the keyboard shortcuts the Mac has built in, we've found out the hard way - I don't know where it's gone. More searching will have to be done later. Suffice it to say, It was great. (BlogHer. My writeup? Who knows.)

A really, really blurry and kind of odd picture of Mary Tsao taking a picture. Which proves nothing! I might be making this whole "she was my roomy" thing up! Haha! I probably am! Also, I should probably keep better track of where I download my pictures....

Geysers

2007-09-04T23:23:00.000-06:00

Me: Wow! Did you notice that incredible shower?
Spousal (looking incred-ulous): Uh, . . . no.
Me: I mean, yeah, the shower stall is miniscule and everything.("Everything" meaning: Gross). But the water pressure! It was unbelievable! Like a geyser right on your head! I haven't had a shower like that since....the '70s!

Spousal: No. I didn't notice.
Me: You didn't notice? You didn't turn it all the way on?
Spousal: No. I didn't.
(One of the inscrutable facets of the man I'd forgotten. Will not turn water pressure on all the way. One I will never understand.
Me: Well, you gotta try it. It's incredible. (leaves room)
Spousal: (pause, calling after me) You said you were an environmentalist, right?

So we're staying in this dumpy - and I do mean dumppppy - little cabin in a mountain town. (Yes, we did already do that earlier this summer, with my side of the family. Now we're in another small mnt town, just us. Thanks for remembering!)

Despite the glory that was the water pressure in the shower - the first time I took a look into the bathroom, my first thought was: I don't know when I've gone 4 days without a shower. It's going to be ugly. But I am not - N O T - getting naked IN THERE.

It was that ew. (Peeled linoleum, teeny handy-man-special shower stall, three walls continuing the ACTUAL LOGS of the log cabin - which, unless really high-end, glossy, well-maintained and actually DUSTED in the last century - are actually - pretty - GROSS; shower stall of plywood....)

But then the first morning rolled around and Spousal decided to brave it. So he was going to be shiny clean and the kids still looked fairly orderly - I would be the only one looking pretty dang icky, and that was day one. So I braved the shower. To discover - veritable waterfalls upon you! And heated! It was lovely.

And then that next day, my luck was so good the first time, I opted to shower first. Bragged about the glorious water pressure, and then Spousal got in for his shower in the miniscule, don't-extend-both-elbows-at-the-same-time-stall.

After about a minute, he yelled, OW! And then another OW! And OW! OW! OW!.

The girls and I looked at each other. You okay in there? I called.

Yea, he said, in a not-so-happy voice.

You know that water pressure you bragged so much about?

Uh, yea, I said, worried a bit about where this might be obvioiusly going.

Yea. You know it's attached to an actual water tank, right? A SMALL water tank? he says.

But, but, I say, trying to head this off at the pass. We both took showers yesterday!
The hot water can't be all gone!

Spousal: OW! It is! OW! OW! OW! OW!

Oops.

Reason #25 to possibly find a spouse

2007-08-12T00:22:00.000-06:00

What I wrote on the way home from BlogHer to entertain myself. It worked.

In the little town where we live – have I mentioned I’m kind of a city person? – if I were, ever, to talk about someone online in a negative way – and I won’t for any number of reasons* – it would be so obvious who it was. Or so I like to think – because we have one grocery store and one post office and eight restaurants and effectively one bank. So if I described someone, I’m pretty sure if you just hung around downtown somewhere, pretty soon they’d wander by the one Starbucks.

But! I went off to the big city of Albuquerque, and the big airport of the Skyport, and now I can talk about total random strangers online all I want! (Can’t I? Can I? I’m sure there will be some reason why I shouldn’t.**)

First, I will describe my fellow traveler. He was middle-aged, with a gray but full head of hair and a slouchy posture. He seemed sort of befuddled, but kind. I say that not from anything I heard him say or saw him do, but from the dopey way he sort of stood around and looked at the world with his big, doleful eyes behind his glasses.

And now I feel bad gearing up to say anything negative about someone else. So! I will turn this into a lesson instead.

And here’s the lesson: ATTENTION ALL MEN: GET MARRIED. PREFERABLY NOW. And then - do whatever it is she has to say in regard to your personal hygiene. And if, for whatever reason, she runs off with the pool boy, GET MARRIED AGAIN.

Because here’s the deal. Here’s that guy: otherwise pretty much normal-looking in most meanings of the term. Maybe a little quiet and goofy-ish.

But the guy had nose hair – thick, long, gray nose hair – growing straight out of his nose, both nostrils, and almost all the way down to his upper lip. Like two grey broccoli sticks sticking out of his nose.

Ew.

I had to look away. Really and truly look away.

Instead, should he take my advice – both Part One AND Part Two (because maybe he IS married but he thinks he knows better. This happens.) here’s the imaginary conversation that guy could, and should, have had before leaving home that day:

Honey, I love you and all, but really – I think you might need to cut that nose hair before you go out into the real world.
Really? But it just grows this way.
Really, Please.
But, but . . . it’s natural!
(pause)
Yes, I know. And I l really love you! and everything. But if you try to go out that way, I may have to barricade the door. Seriously. (pause) Now here are the clippers.

See? Marriage. It’s a beautiful thing. Plus it keeps your fellow travelers from being completely grossed out.

(*Why I usually don’t complain about people in general, and never, ever people from here, here: First, I really don’t care enough. I just don’t have the energy. Second, it’s really not all that nice. (I guess that should be the first reason.) And lastly, Gawd, I do not want to be skulking down the grocery store aisle so that I don’t run into the one person in town that I’ve managed to complain about online. (Please note: I haven’t done that yet!) But you know if I did, that would totally happen. (Not that so many people from my small hometown actually read this stunning blog, though they should. Technically, as far as I know at least in terms of people admitting it to me, only one person from here reads this site. (Hi L! Love you! For reading this! And also because you’re my friend and also really nice!)))

(**Oh, I just thought of why I shouldn’t complain about anybody AT ALL online. Because even though it was two hours away from my hometown, and even though I was in a large public airport – I WAS at the airport CLOSEST to my hometown. And let’s see: quiet, goofy, a little spacey looking, with not-particularly average personal hygiene habits. Oh my gawd! He’s probably a scientist at the lab! He IS from my hometown. I just ridiculed some genius scientist who is keeping the world safe from nuclear terror. Way to go, Idaho! Now I do feel bad.)

Magnum P.I. in looks, yes

2007-07-17T00:26:00.000-06:00

One time, in junior high, we had this assignment in English to make a film strip. (Remember those? Anyone, anyone? (Buehler?) They were these individual film squares - in stripes - hence the name - and you could show them one square at a time - with a light! behind them! on the wall! - and tell a story. Okay, YES. I did grow up in the ice age.)

This teacher was The Handsome One. A nom I never understood because really? Anyone over about 14 and a half, when I was 13, was really, really old. And hence: Gross. So the thought of the other girls swooning for him - ew. Never got that. But he was kind of Magnum P.I. looking, thinking back, complete with '70s mustache. And he always wore, like, jeans and a buttoned shirt.

Anyway, I guess Handsome Teacher tired of actually teaching, or something, and somehow this qualified for "creative writing" - I guess - technically he was our first multi-media teacher! - but at any rate, we were all given these strips you could write or draw on, we did that, we brought them back, and for the final for that assignment, he showed them all in class.

And at about the third strip - or was it almost the last? - the projector caught fire. Or, actually, I should say, the film strip being shown caught fire. And it was beautiful. Instead of having to turn the projector to see each new view, the image on the wall started evolving. A purple color, with red moving up to it, suddenly both of them taken over by yellow, and orange....the images rising and falling, evolving...like a movie!

Wow! said Handsome Teacher, turning to the student-creator. How'd you do that?

And we all turned to look at the kid who made this strip. A kind of nerdy kid, one whose image has morphed into people I realize I knew later in life - but you know the type. They work hard on their assignments. They do a good job. They're not that fun to hang out with in junior high - so serious - but later in life they become, you know. Doctors.

And the look on his face. The sheer horror, as he watched what was becoming of his homework - the film strip - he had no doubt worked so hard on. Literally burning up before his eyes. It was this look more than anything - more than the moving image, the burning smell wafting across the room, the smoke floating over student's heads - more than the fact that FILM STRIPS DON'T MOVE - that finally made Handsome Teacher put two and two together.

OH! he startled, and made for the projector, as most the class made a break for the door.

That was, really, one of the funniest moments I had in junior high.

Anyway. Something reminded me of that tonight.

Oh yeah. The beginning of this:

`~ stolen directly from Mamalogues. Thanks, Dana! ~

The look Handsome Teacher did not actually have after the smoke cleared:

Surely you can put this button in the sidebar...somehow...

2007-07-16T23:52:00.000-06:00

Going" title="BlogHer '07, July 27-29" />

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Feel free to touch everything you currently own, and put it in a box

2007-07-15T23:49:00.000-06:00

So! I haven't been very honest lately. Have you noticed?

Where are those funny Krisco stories? Where's the complaining about living in a tiny town? (Here's a reminder of what I used to say: TARGET IS AN HOUR AWAY.)(Oh, and also: And there is a large group of people opposed to letting Target come here.)(And also: I'm not sure, but I think the reason is, It's too new-fangled! And also, Who goes to that store anyway? (The whole entire rest of the town, who I see there everytime I go.) And the doozy: We got along without disposable diapers! You should too!)

(And don't even get me started on the political-infighting that goes on in this town. The one I'm mostly aware of is along the lines of: Keep Target Out!)

Phew. That felt kind of good for a minute.

But seriously. I feel too hypocritical to really complain about my little, isolated, chock-full-o-geniuses town anymore. I'm helping people move here, for gosh sake.

And, really, my little issues aren't really everyone else's little issues. Like, living in a city might be more to my liking, at times. And, restaurants, anyone? Open past 7? But never mind all that. For a lot of people - and, as it turns out, most my friends - small town life, easy parking, good schools, abundant wildlife and hiking and pleasant weather - makes up for any minor other little lack.

So I'm done kvetching. For now.

But really. Spousal and I, we've been talking. About whether to stay. About whether to go. About what exactly To Do.

And he's really happy with his job. He loves his job. Have I mentioned? We live in Nirvana for scientists. Yes, it's a small town to me. But it's a Huge Freaking Scientific Community to them. I mean, imagine! 3,000! Or is it 6,000? Scientists all in one place! All feeding ideas off each other, working together, synergy, comparing notes. While the world may hear a lot of Issues with Los Alamos National Lab, they're doing amazing things there too.

And so - we're staying. Not like this is any big revelation. But, well, to us it kind of is.

And so, as part of staying - we're moving. Ha! Funny, huh. But seriously. We're moving to a different house. One we think might work better for us.

And all that craziness mentioned in an earlier post? It was all about - Spousal and Little Big Girl going off on a family vacation (with Spousal's side), and Tiny Person and I putting our current house on the market. Yikes! That was a lot of work. (Don't even ask me what I did, I don't even know. Cleared out the size of clothing neither child wears, the toys they don't use, cleaned the baseboards, trimmed the overgrown b*shes at the back of the yard. Etc. It took a lot of time.)

And so. I guess this was a two-part post. We've moving! Houses! And I can't compain anymore! But I suppose there's no reason I can't pick back up with my funny little Krisco stories some day.

Out.

When kisses are icky

2007-07-09T08:59:00.000-06:00

There are all kinds of Milestones you are supposed to track with your children - when they walk, when they talk, when they speak in sentences with more than two words at a time.

You are supposed to note them to have relative ideas on their development. But that's not what Mommies know. Mommies know it means they are growing, growing up, growing away, with each Milestone reached.

I was never very good at tracking the official ones. I could figure out rounded ages by the house we lived in, the room we were in, who was there - friends, family, friends who have moved away or passed away so that means it was, and she was... - calculations like that. They don't trip off my tongue.

But there are a couple non-official milestones that when they were reached, struck my heart.

I'm not even sure when they happened - exactly how old, how many months - but I know the exact feeling I had each time.

The first is when they stop eating like a bird. When, for the first time, when you offer them food, they reach out with their sweet pudgy fingers, rather than leaning forward with their mouth open. Both times this happened, with both Little Big Girl and Tiny Person when they were little - eighteen months? 22 months? a year? - my little heart seized up and I knew a moment had passed - a phase gone now for a lifetime.

The other is the first time they notice that Kissing Their Booboo . . . does not actually work. I remember really well with Little Big Girl - we were in the kitchen, and something happened, something that really hurt her finger - someone stepped on it? set something down on it? shut it in a drawer? - and it really hurt. And she came running to me, begging for me to kiss it better. I offered a kiss, and she wailed: That didn't heeeeeeeeeelp!

(I hope at that point I offered more - some cold water running on it, something - but I don't remember. I remember only the seizing, and the passing.)

Tiny Person hasn't hit that mark yet. At 2 1/2, she still thinks it helps. I will keep kissing any Ouchies so long as it helps. But I know now that moment will come. It will still seize my heart, but I know it is coming.

In the meantime, Tiny Person has passed out of another phase, one Little Big Girl never entered. TP loves kisses from Mommy, and giving Mommy hugs. (LBG? Never so much. If Mom got a hug or a kiss, she had to work for it.) To put Tiny Person to bed, I gave her a kiss, and she gave me a hug. If I forgot, she would ask to give me a hug - wrapping her tiny arms around my neck and holding tight. Recently, in the last week, she stopped asking to give me a hug. And I had to ask her. And she said no.

And then, my kisses were no good. Eeeeeww Mommy! Ucky kiss! Yick! No kiss! And she wipes and wipes at her cheek, or her forehead.

But then - she added something new. As we walk, holding hands, she sometimes now will kiss my hand. She's just that height, at 2 1/2. The first time it happened, well, you know. My heart seized up. But this time in a good way.

And I guess that's a really good trade.

Notes from when they went away

2007-07-05T00:15:00.000-06:00

Me: Now honey, while you're gone, I'm really going to want to talk to you. Will you call me every day?
My daughter, age five: Mommy, I'm really going to want to talk to you too. (pause) But I don't think I can call you every day.

At least she's honest.

~~~~

Spousal: Wow, no way, I was just calling you.
Me: You were?
Spousal: Yeah, I had the numbers about half punched in, and there you were.
Me: Wow. That is really weird. (pause) Well, it only took seven years, but I guess we're finally psychic.
Spousal: Yeah. Or, after seven years, the odds were just with us.
Me: Oh, that's really romantic! What, are you a scientist or something?
Spousal: Hahaha.

Will this fake out work my whole life?

2007-06-27T08:10:00.000-06:00

Tiny Person (age 2.5 and a smidge) went through a brief phase - maybe two or three weeks worth - where if she didn't like what you were saying, she'd say, "Whaaaaaad?"

And it wasn't an Are You Nuts? kind of What. It was more an I'm Pretending I Can't Hear You kind of What.

So in the midst of that phase, one day, I suddenly noticed a huge lake of water on the kitchen floor.

And I said, Hey, who made this mess? Who was playing with water over here? (And I might have thrown in - You know you're not allowed to play with water in the kitchen! And this is why! - I don't remember. But since I can hardly write the first few phrases without the next part leaping to mind, I suspect I did.)

Of course I got the inevitable responses:

Little Big Girl: Not me! I didn't make that mess!
Tiny Person: Nod me! I didn made dat mess!

And I started to clean it up. And as I sopped it up . . . and followed it . . . and it led right to their little play kitchen in the corner, which had water dripping off every surface . . . I remembered seeing Tiny Person playing over there, very carefully moving one little tiny baking dish after another from the fake fridge to the fake oven...

And I said: Hey, Tiny Person! Weren't you playing with your kitchen a minute ago?

Tiny Person: Yes!

Me: So, you're the one who made this big water mess?

Tiny Person (standing just a few feet away): (pause) WHAAAAAAAD?

(Yeah. She's 2.5. I do think I'm in for it.)

Dos Equis - Careers

2007-06-26T23:32:00.001-06:00

This is why I love commercials.

If you weren't quite sure of my sense of humor - yeah. This would be it.

This place is just nuts

2007-06-25T21:11:00.000-06:00

I have this amazing post coming. Really, I do. It's all about life, and this song I heard, and how it's followed me through time, and what's happening now. But I have to find snippets and quotes and commercials and clean up the writing and oh gosh. And you know what will happen then? It'll be a bust. You know how that happens? You sweat and dream and work on something and - eh. Then you barf something up and people are all like, Oh, Yeah!

So. That will be Some Day.

In the meantime, you can't believe all the craziness around here. CRAZIN.E.S.S. I'll tell you all about sometime soon too. Like next week. When I can breath. Maybe.

Because my kids are just so CUTE

2007-06-12T23:50:00.000-06:00

Little Big Girl (age 5) as she switched with her Dad as they took turns playing an under-five set video game:

I kicked the butt, Dad!

Tiny Person (age 2.5) every time she wants to high-five:

Have a high five!

They crack me up.

My Week. Repeat.

2007-06-12T01:00:00.000-06:00

Monday. I can do everything on Monday! It will all get done.

Tuesday. I think I can get it done. If only I can finish up what I started yesterday.

Wednesday. Oh God. I may not be able to get it done.

Thursday. There is this. And that. And the other. And oh yeah. And what about. And has anyone eaten lately?

Friday. Uncle. Completely and totally. Uncle.

Weekend: refreshing. Errands. Hang with the kids and Spousal. House gets messier.

Monday. I can do everything! It will all get done.

Repeat.

(Note: in the repeated version of this - YES, the house does get messier with each passing week! We are half way through the year, no company is planned for ... this year....there is no earthly reason why it won't just continue to deteriorate. So don't visit. It's bad.)

Again with the vay-cays

2007-06-04T23:47:00.000-06:00

Ha! I went away AGAIN. Ha! I guess you can't even tell from that whole "internet" perspective thing, can you?

So we drove up to Colorado for a little family reunion in a tiny town called Buena Vista. (It's near South Park, which that whole show dealio is named for. Yes! My relatives are from there! And now there's a show! Totally unrelated to this post!)

We rent little cabins and all stay near each other and the cousins have a BLAST playing with each other, running through the grass and making up games and exploring the area.

When I was growing up and we went there, renting THE SAME cabins, we used to climb the trees. We have one shot - or is it a picture in my mind - where we are each up a different tree in the row that lined the lane. (Not a bad metaphor for later in life, eh?)

It's funny, I can't even picture now whether those trees were even there this time. I know about ten years back I remembered noticing that the trees had gotten too big to climb - the lowest branches were too dang high to even start.

The good news is it's not as far of a drive from here as everything usually is (does that even make sense?) so it was semi-reasonable half-day of driving. (Instead of the usual 11-hour heinousness.)

The funny part - to me - on the drive back home, there was an old truck and damn if that couldn't keep up - and sometimes pass - my foreign wagon turbo gig. He literally had to have that thing floored.

the image in my rear view mirror . . . . that I couldn't shake . . . and that passed me not once but twice

Those are silver - and gold

2007-05-29T00:11:00.000-06:00

We went down to Santa Fe tonight to have dinner with some friends from our days there.

Both the other women were friends from our Mom's Club. It's amazing how fast that time went - at the time it seemed so slow - caring for young, really young, babies. We went to the Genoveva Chavez Center community recreation center (and you must say it: HEN o viva - one of my first Gringa lessons) therapy pool for Water Babies - that's where I met the first friend. (And then dragged her kicking and screaming into joining the Mom's Club, which she was shortly the president of.) We went every Tuesday and Thursday for - years! (I remember her saying: Every day you fall more and more in love with your baby. At the time, I was still pregnant and her boy was eleven months - an eon of difference. Now the kiddlings play together and miss each other and are regular pals.)(And she was just so right about that.)

The other friend I knew directly from the Mom's Club - it was a great organization in Santa Fe, and provided at least one event to do, almost every day. We went to a park, we went out to lunch, we met for a playdate in a community room of the downtown Santa Fe library, or for some kind of informational speech at the Wild Oats community room. It was great.

Seeing all my old friends in California made me realize - I have "old" friends here, too. Not the twenty year kind, but the five year kind. And that's enough. Enough to make me love them, and miss them, and be glad we made the effort to get together.

(PS thanks for asking about Tiny Person's eyes...the short of it is, she has fairly poor vision, and it makes her go cross eyed. She needs glasses and a couple hours a day patching of one eye and doing close-in work - books, painting. The latter should get better with the patching and the vision may get better and needs watching....So nothing too bad, so long as we take care of it now. Otherwise she could lose some vision. Which, obviously. Bad.)

Not the pool we went to at the Chavez Center.

We closed our eyes . . .

2007-05-23T23:07:00.001-06:00

We went off to California (yea! again!) last week, for three stupendous reasons:
- to see my new niece (welcome to Planet Earth, Baby L! We love you already!)
- to have a second-opinion eye appointment for Tiny Person
- to attend my college reunion

I would tell you how many years it's been since I graduated but (gasp) I can't admit to it. I will say when I was in college, one of my close guy friends loved the song: We Close Our Eyes (and the world has turned around again) by Oingo Boingo. I remember thinking I would probably think that was true. I do. 20 years (dang! I said!) went dang fast. Like, we closed our eyes, and the world turned around again.

(And that guy moved to Atlanta, had three kids, and was unable to attend the reunion due to work and kid commitments. He closed his eyes...)

You can't believe all . . . the things I wanted to do before the reunion. I planned them all. In November. When there was plenty of time! When I could be a completely different person by May! A person who exercised! Regularly! And ate well! And had her teeth whitened! I was going to be all sparkly (teeth) and fit (elsewhere) by then.

But I knew deep down my friends would love me as is, plus, mostly, I've been thinking about doing those things for twenty years - why start now? Plus my friends might be startled by a shiny, fit version of me. But I did bring Spousal and two small adorable children - all clearly new additions since they saw me last - and who were all quite a hit - and so they were distracted by the sparkly goodness of the three of them.

And as for the second-opinion appointment for Tiny Person's eyes - well, let's just say, is it a good thing when the second-opinion doctor has a very different second opinion? I mean, you're happy you got it - I guess - no, no, you are, especially when you thought the first guy was bordering on being a joker - but also, you're pretty incensed at the first guy.

So you're glad, and incensed, at the same time. I mean, wouldn't it be better if they AGREED? Yes, yes it would. But then, in this case, they would both be wrong, so that would be bad.

I'm sure you followed all that. The philosophical analysis of whether it's better or worse to get a differing second opinion. I mean, clearly, BETTER, of course. I guess the bottom line is - I wish the guy who actually lived in this state was considerably less of a joker. There! I said it.

(Oh, and by the way, there are TWO, count them, TWO, pediatric opthamologists in this state, one of whom is, obviously, possibly a joker. (Or, as I summed it up for the doctor in California - a beautiful, well-spoken and insanely stylish woman (Gucci heels! elegant off-white jacket and pants in contrasting natural fabrics!) - after I told her what the New Mexico doctor had told me, and she told me, in so many words, that what he said makes no sense - I said, So, in other words, what you're telling me is, the doctor we saw either summarized the situation down to an insanely condescending level, or he has no idea what he is talking about. Right! she said, with a beautiful smile. (She has seen her teeth-whitener.)(And possibly she may work out.)

(And when I say "insanely condescending level", it may help to know a few things. We met this doctor in Santa Fe - he knew we were driving in from Los Alamos. "Driving in from Los Alamos" automatically means a few things to people in Santa Fe. 1 - her husband is probably a physicist. (right) 2 - She may be too. (so not riight). (It also means things like: they must work on bombs, they must by right-right wing-nuts, and a few other, non-applicable assumptions.)(Both wrong, fyi.) The point is, WE ARE NOT DUMB PEOPLE. You do not need to basically tell us Wrong Medical Information so that our tiny brains can comprehend. I actually want to believe that's what he was doing - I'd rather he was being condescending to me than to think he is just Dead Wrong in his actual field. But it's hard to tell.)

Anyway. that is the fresh update from here. We were elsewhere. Now we're back! With a quandary about what to do for a follow-up appointment for Tiny Person, whose eyes we will now be patching and who, at 2, will own two pairs of glasses - one the right prescription, one the wrong. Fly to California again? A little prohibitive-ish. Have follow-up with first doctor who got everything wrong and may or may not be irritated to have to work with doctor who said so?

Remains to be seen.

And per the last (actually, first) reason for our visit - new niece is adorable. And sleeps a lot. (Lucky ducks!)

Happy Mother's Day All!

2007-05-12T23:20:00.000-06:00

And to those who aren't - and forgot - quick! Make a phone call. :)

Actual conversation in my actual house:

2007-05-12T10:17:00.000-06:00

Little Big Girl: Whoa! She's beautiful!
(image of Brook Shields flickers on our tv screen)
Me: Yeah, she is. She used to be a model. (pause) She's mommy's age.
LBG: NO WAY!!!
Me: Um, yeah. You don't think she looks my age?
LBG: (Face stricken in fear - she may have just offended the person who finds her tights and...and...there might be something else she does for me....) It's her skin! It's just her skin! It's just that her SKIN is so young!

LBG: Oh, and her hair. She has a LOT of hair!

Ah. Now I feel better.

(Let's be honest. It's not that I'm thinking I look like Brook Shields around here. it's just the level of APPALL in her voice that was impressive.)

To all the random people who have suddenly found this site - er - Welcome! How'd you get here?

2007-05-08T23:14:00.000-06:00

So, one time, I put a link to this picture on my blog:

the mountains behind Albuquerque, New Mexico

And then this other time I put this picture on my blog:

the trash the lovely nature-lovers leave at Everest

I put these up, probably, a year ago.

And each of the last two months I've had hundreds** - and I do mean HUNDREDS - of people come to look at my blog from these two pictures.

HOW? How can that be?! It's not even clear to me how you can find a site that referenced a picture, from the picture on Google Image. Does anyone know how that even works?

And more importantly, if you are here based on a picture of the Sandias or trash on Everest, well -- WELCOME! Feel free to stay awhile, look around a bit, come back even! I usually ramble about things that - er- have basically nothing to do with trash on Everest (although it's close to the floor of our toy room - ha!) or the mountains behind Albuquerque (I believe I made the mistake last time of referring to Sandia as the result of: God's own dump truck. I know! It's mean! But I thought it was funny! And accurate! And it's like the only time I've been purposefully callous on my blog - and it was to a mountain - and I paid! I hurt someone! I felt horrible.) but some of us find it somewhat entertaining here anyway. I know I do.

So, after the Welcome, if you don't mind - here's a question - and Welcome again! - but, er, what brings you? Please, PLEASE tell me. I am so befuddled! Hundreds of people interested in either Everest trash or that one RANDOM SHOT of the Sandias want to come here! I'm begging you to let me know how this happened.

And then, you know, feel free to stick around. We'll be serving tea and cookies later in the day and may even host a playgroup.

Maybe - and this is not idle speculation - okay, it IS idle speculation - maybe there is some kind of new crawler that searchs Google Images to find blogs to try to spam them....that would explain the jump in numbers in the last couple months, since these pics have been up a YEAR.

Anyone, any ideas, anyone?!!! I am so curious to know.

***hundreds = a significant jump for me, baby!

Holy Crap I have been Locked Out! But I have much more important news about my amazing friend adopting in Kazakstan!

2007-05-03T06:10:00.000-06:00

Holy Crap and I am not kidding. Blogger locked me out! I know, can you really complain about a free service? I guess this is what entitlement feels like. WHAT?! You're taking away MY FREE THING?!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!

Anyway, carrying on. I have found my way back in. Bastards. (New Blogger = Bad. New Blogger + New "gmail" account to try to appease them = Very Very Bad. (Conclusion: New Blogger akin to New Coke, New Math.))

Anyway. I'm back. Better than ever, I'm sure.

First up: my very good girlfriend is adopting a child! In Kazikstan!

Of course the first thing I said when she told me was: Oh my God - Borat! (And I haven't even seen the movie)

Her response: I know, and I am so pissed off! I just want to strangle that guy. Before, eveyone just said, Kasak-where? Now, everyone says, Borat! The kid's going to have a hard enough time adjusting to being here, now he's going to have that movie hanging over his head, too.

Fortunately, she did not let the movie dissuade her. (Nothing will dissuade her when her mind is set, fear not.)

You can read all about it on the link above, or here: http://heartofkaz.blogspot.com/, and it is amazing. The adoption just went through, actually.

I have all kinds of amazing stories to share about my friend Lynn - but I foolishly asked her permission and she's been too busy doing things like adopting young children, shopping in bazaars for his small clothes, and bringing him back to her flat in a foreign country to note whether or not I can retell exploits of our days in junior high. Sigh.

I have no Second Up. You know. I just like to say those things.

We've Got A Mission!

2007-04-26T20:22:00.001-06:00

These are the notes I made after we feted Little Big Girl for her birthday last weekend.

Notes from a birthday party:

Holy Crap. This is the cake.

In case you are not familiar with The Little Einstein’s, this is what the cake was modeled on:

(Along with the Little Einsteins themselves.)

I’m just saying. The woman we have in this town who bakes cakes is a GENIUS.

And, for the record, the inside was amazing too. We demolished it.

The 30-minute planned craft took under 7 minutes.

On the other hand, the results were still pretty good:

(Insert pic here. Wait! There is no pic! What the heck?! I took pics! Maybe I took video? Stationary video of fifteen Conducing Wands made by five year olds? Genius!**)

Okay, forget the Actual Photo. We did this.

(Time for a little rant. There is NO MERCHANDISE for The Little Einstein's. I never thought I'd rant about such a thing. Surely this is due to two parties - let me guess - Disney and the ~~crazy lady~~ genius that createdBaby Einstein - fighting over merchandising rights. That is literally just a guess. But other than that there is no reason. The cake topper? The cups? The table cloth? Nada. In the meantime they both miss out on all the loot parents everywhere would spend on this. Because guess what? Next year it will be something else and we won't be buying Little Einstein's. So whose winning there?)

Anyway -

There were a lot of presents. All of them opened in record time.

There was a bouncy, and lots of jumping.

After the party is over, I start putting the food away. I bag the left-over chips before the left-over fruit. I only realize this as I’m bagging the chips and see the fruit still sitting there. Ha! Priorities!

For the record, I spent an evening and a half before the party getting up the spots in my carpet.

The pattern was such that you’d think my kids are allowed – nay, encouraged - to walk through the family room spraying their juice boxes out in front of them as they go. There were spots EVERYWHERE. Yet I swear to you I hardly let them carry drinks around the house at all. Possibly this is mud? I mean, if it were drinks or food wouldn’t there be some discernable pattern going towards and around the table? It’s a mystery.

(Did I mention our carpet is beige? Yes, beige. And WE put it in. Hint: next time your decorator-pal / childless friend says Eh, they won’t spill that much, just stay on top of it.....Think - Um, hardwood?)

In the end, forgetting the spots (and any mysterious new ones), I think our little girl feels officially feted, celebrated, and loved. Mission Completion!

2007-04-20T00:15:00.000-06:00

So I saw this today:

Take a good look. That's Miss Mexico there (THANKFULLY, not Miss NEW Mexico), in her proposed gown for the Miss Universe contest. And, right there - along with the bullet-holder belt - are pictures of people being hung! And someone facing a firing squad!

Now, granted, a team of some thiry designers chose the dress for her. Something about, represents Mexico's past, yaddayadda. And now there's this whole uproar and sane people in the country don't want her to wear it, etc.

But come on. At SOME POINT in the Miss Mexico to Miss Universe contest road, don't you say to yourself - couldn't she have said to herself - Hm. Dress with hangings and firing squads! Kind of macabre. Doesn't seem appropriate even. Kind of - actually - creepy and wrong. Thank you, thirty designer geniuses and whatnot, but because this would actually be going on my body - I DON'T THINK SO.

Just a thought.

(And what's up with those thirty designers? Are they so removed from the practical world that the sight of this made them think - Miss Universe Contest? I am baffled.)

And for more of the story: Miss Mexico modifies warlike dress

First the anger. Then the sorrow.

2007-04-17T10:50:00.000-06:00

First, there is anger.

I find so many places to put blame.

The school for not reacting strong enough - shutting down the campus, hunting down the killer, not letting things go on as usual until he was in custody after killing the first victim.

Were they afraid for their reputation? Hoping they can minimize the publicity damage with a little "personal relationship gone bad" spin?

Or were they just naive and couldn't believe this could happen? Again?

How about the gun lobby, the gun hobbiests, and the people who insist against all reason that "guns don't kill people." Oh, if only he had entered that room with a knife. Would so many be dead? Those Insisters being yet another instance of the flag of Corporate Greed being waved so heartily by the people - the average person thinking they have some skin in the fight - when really the Gun Lobby does nothing for them, other than take their money.

Society? Is it us? All of us? Why did no one notice this pissed-off guy? Did someone? Did people reach out and he was already too far gone?

How do we ever make sense of such a senseless act. Was it really just pure evil - someone let it into their lives?

I believe that about Col_umb*ne. When you look at the picture of the main guy - I first typed mean guy, how appropriate - I think you can see the evil in his eyes. (I refuse to put his name here.) Same with the leader of 911 - when you look at that picture. These people have passed over to another world already.

Is that what happened here - the only explanation?

My heart goes out to the loved ones of those killed and injured. I can only say, for all the ways in which we have failed you, we have all failed you - I am so sorry.

Open your mouth, and your mother comes out

2007-04-11T07:46:00.000-06:00

Apparently, I say the following things -

Get a move on
Hustle your bustle
Let's get crackin'

a lot.

If you ask me, I've never said these phrases at all. Ever.

But now I hear my kids saying them.

Little Big Girl is telling all her friends to hustle their bustle - you can imagine this goes over well with the five-year-old set. ("What does that mean?" "I don't know. But get a move on already!")

And Tiny Person woke up the other day, sat straight up, and said, Let's get crackin'!

Later that day, I said to Spousal, Where does she get that? (pause) Do I ever say that?

He laughed, and said: All. The. Time.

Huh. Maybe someone else is using all my mother's phrases on them. Because I don't remember saying them - at all.

This kind of opportunity-taking will get me far in life

2007-04-09T23:56:00.002-06:00

So! We went off on a little mini-vaca last week. It was my little girl's preschool spring break. I know, ridiculous, right? Like we'd plan a trip around spring break. From PRE-SCHOOL. But, we did.

So we met Spousal's parents in a little town half way between us, for a few days. A little town in New Mexico that caters to Texas tourists.

So you know what they have in that little town, because they cater to tourists from Texas? In addition to great BB-Q? Shopping. Loads and loads of great shopping.

And, as you may know, because I complain about it a LOT here, there is not much shopping in my little tiny science town. You know. That whole "Target is an hour away" thing. (Here. Here's our community website's retail page. Okay? Now, go get some clothes!)

(I'm kidding, of course. There IS more than that....)

Frankly, I'm not even much of a shopper. Perhaps those college summer stints in a large mall department store did me in. I'm not that into it. But, you know. Every now and again you need new clothes.

And now I have these small children who think that they should have something to wear too. Go figure.

ANYWAY. Perhaps it is because I am a little retail-deprived. Perhaps it is because I am a little - I don't know - visual stimuli-deprived. Perhaps it's because the thought of all that potential shopping did me in. I don't know what it was, but instead of acquiring any much-needed new vestiments, I got this:

That's right! For $7!

A ring SO EXPENSIVE that when I took it home that night, and a little rhinestone fell out, and I took it back the next day, and they laughed at the thought of fixing it, they just gave me a whole other one! Letting me keep the first as well! So I really got TWO for that $7! One without all it's fake stones!

It even comes complete with this:

(Displayed ever-so-nicely on the mini-Barbie stand!)

The adjustable back-band! That I haven't had since I was seven years old!

And - AND - here's the best part. I wore it to work today! And I liked it!

Please Gawd, somebody tell me that out there, in the rest of the world, gaudy, over-sized, sparkly rings are in style! Please!

(Oh, and by the way? I'm not going to be able to complain about retail deprivation forever. First, it passed! It passed! In the battle-du-jour around here, the voters voted in development. Of retail! Woo hoo! Oh, and....with all my grousing....it turns out there IS a store here that is amazing, and I bought two complete outfits there to ~~defend myself~~ try not to look like a complete doof with in Los Angeles, and they worked. (I think.) So silly me. You can come here and shop!)

In case there's any chance you think it is not as gaudy as I'm making it out to be, ha!:

Because Carla's become my new model for the Ideal Woman

2007-03-29T09:57:00.000-06:00

Me: I'm so excited! I've been invited to be speak at a conference for women!
(In my head: In CALIFORNIA!!!!)

Him (friend, single, no kids): Is it all about family, children and work, and having a Work - Life balance?

Me: YES! (pause) How did you know that?

Him: It's all women ever talk about.

It's true! I went there! To CALIFORNIA! And it was so fun! And comraderie-ic, and old-friend-ful and helpful! and interesting!

And I didn't really "speak", I more like "moderated a panel" - but still! People laughed at my jokes! And the examples from "Scrubs" that I used to exemplify the life-paths women choose!

And now I'm monstrously behind at home AND work! WHEEEE! (But not my immediate clients! NosirreeBob. THAT I'm up to date on. Laundry? Not so much. Theoretical future customers - marketing? Brahahahahaha (wipes tears from eyes). Not so much.) Ah well. It was well worth it.

But where are you , , , uh , , , er , , , FROM?

2007-03-20T23:19:00.000-06:00

So, the beautiful and lovely (look at her jaw line!) Grace has referred to me.

Gawd, she's a sweetie.

She's got a great post up on racial inquiries. Namely, can you ever ask someone their ethnicity? Or does it just piss people off? Especially if the ask-er is white?

The truth is, I asked Grace this racial-etiquette question in an email! It's true, I did. (Like she hadn't thought about this topic on her own . . .)

The truth is, she had this interesting post up about race a few weeks back. I really, really wanted to ask her my etiquette question in the comments - and then thought - gawd, I do not want to incite an internet smackdown on my poor self. So I will just ask her in an email! (Because I'm pretty sure the answer is: No! No, you May Not!)(As I often say to my children.)(For, usually, other reasons.)

This was the real experience(s) behind my question for Grace . . .

Although I now live in a mostly-white town in an otherwise predominantly-hispanic state, I went to college in California. Which, as we all know, has some of everybody. (The first city to have a community from every participating country in the Olympics living within it! Los Angeles 1984! Or . . . so I've heard.) ANYWAY, it just so happens, as it were, my closest friend in college was Korean-American. Raised in Iowa. And, as it happens, we happened to go to Europe together after college. With two of our other buddies. One Chinese-American, the other a handsome, genius Jew. Both dudes. NOTHING WAS GOING ON with any of us. For the record.

And two things happened on that trip.

One was - wherever we went, but for some reason especially in Germany, everyone asked my girlfriend K. "where she was from." EVERYONE. And, although my girlfriend knew exactly what they meant, she would not give it to them. "Iowa" she would say. Then followed more fumbling and embarrasement by the ask-er. No, no, I mean - where are you FROM? Oh, now, you mean? California. And the ask-er would look pleadingly at me, and I would just . . . b a c k away, and eventually we would extricate ourselves from this heinous conversation. Until we ran into someone else who asked.

It got so bad, in one little German town, which I don't even remember the name of now, but it was quaint and on a river and touristy and full of old, drunken German tourists, and was really cute and kind of fun - she wanted to go back to the hotel room and would not come out. One of the most personable, adventurous people I know. WOULD NOT COME OUT.

I kept asking, Why? Come on! Let's go! It's so cute! And German-y! And full of old people! And with her adament refusal, I had to think back on our day. And everywhere we went - I guess it was all that German drunkeness - they not only asked where she was from, she of her cute Korean-American self, they also wanted to, like, pet her. Touch her hair, look in her eyes, pat her head.

Okay. I could see that would be annoying. A whole town of older, drunken, petting people . . . I hung in with her, and we left early the next morning while the revelers were still nursing their heads.

The other thing that happened - and this I did not even realize until much later - is that, because we were basically two white people and two Asian people traveling together - the two each consisting of one male and one female - everyone assumed we were two couples. Which really pissed off our handsome Jewish friend, who was trying to flirt everywhere, and having me address him almost sent him through the roof. You could see the crestfallen look on the girl's face in the train window that he'd been making eyes with from the platform whenever I (cluelessly) approached . . . but someone else had to actually explain to me why that kept happening. (In my mind? Clearly we were not a couple. One of my best friends from college, yes. But romance? No. Ditto K. and well, actually, K. Clearly, in our minds, THEY were not a couple. WHY DID EVERYONE KEEP THINKING THAT? Gawd!)(That's your twenties for you. In a nutshell.)

I've also made my fair share of dopey racial faux pas. (I'm probably making one right now! It's like that Seinfeld episode: are we allowed to talk about this? I don't think we can talk this. We better stop talking about this.) Okay, here's one. I went to BlogHer last year. And I was introduced to a famous Asian-American blogger, in the sort of: have you guys met? sort of way. Okay, I'll admit right here, I'd only read her site at the time maybe once or twice. Also, I knew there was another famous Asian-American blogger there. Okay, okay, you can see where this is going. Basically I blurt out the name of the OTHER famous blogger.

And I can just see a mask fall down over her face, and I am frozen out. I don't know exactly what she was thinking, but something along the lines of: so you white person think all us Asian American bloggers look alike....Or anyway, that's what it felt like. I just b a c k e d slowly away. There was no way to save my Dumb White Ass at that point. ("No! Really! I'm not a racist! I've just never read your blog!" Something like that would have helped?)

You can see why I'd ask Grace this question via email rather than in the comments. I did not want to bring any of that You Dumb White Girl internet business down on me. Better to do it in email! Plus, she was so warm and real when I met her, I did not think the question would piss HER off. Or, if it did, she would tell me, and that would be fair.

And now, probably mostly inspired by a million other events in her life, there is a lovely answer up on her blog!! Lucky me. Thank you, Grace.

Maybe I forgot to do something . . . ?

2007-03-20T03:39:00.000-06:00

Gawd. It's 3! And I'm up!

Because, you know. I was tired of this whole "I'm so tired all the time" thing, so I went to bed early. Okay, earlier.

Instead, one kid crawls in our bed (but that's normal) right about the time the other kid yells out in her dream. (Should I go see how she is? Did it wake her up? Would it be some kind of insight into her psyche if only I could have understood what she said?)

And for some reason I laid there and laid there and laid there until that got boring, and here I am.

Gawd.

The Dog Ate My Homework

2007-03-06T19:01:00.000-07:00

This is my new theory, which I could, in fact, be completely wrong about.

Now that I've gone back to work...blahblahblah working mom...I don't know where to put the blog. You know, in my head.

Like, I take bills to work from home. But I don't pay them. Because I'm not even at work full-time, and I don't have time during the day to get all the work things done I want to do (all that "extra" stuff I should be doing), so the home bills? Ha ha. That's a good one.

I don't take work home, much. Because I know. I mean, come on. I know. Plus, since I'm not there full-time either**, I feel like when I am with my girls, I should *be* with my girls. I still need to make some phone calls, or forward some emails, and take calls, and keep track of a lot of things in my head. But let's get real. When I'm hanging out with a two year old and a four year old, there's not a lot of work going on RIGHT THEN.

The blog - that's just something I do for me. WORK is something I do for me. So I can't do blogging at home because I'm already not at home so much. And I can't do blogging at work because - work. I have work to do.

There. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

(Here's the real excuse . Because the kids go to bed eventually. And couldn't I, indeed, blog then?)

**Aha! I just realized something. Because I have not been detailing my very existence moment by moment, as I am otherwise wont to do here . . . there is some vital information you don't have! My nanny / babysitter went part time. Good for me and the kids, theoretically, not so good for the work thing. She needed to do it, I understand; I'm glad we still have her some. But still. I think the date of my getting-less-help directly corresponds to my getting-less-done. And the blog? First to go. Damn.

(Not "go" go. Just my excuse for the drastic slowdown. Which, when I start pouring all my thoughts out and rubbing them all over the screen here, seems like I should get back to doing this again. I mean, it's cathartic to ME. And it's not like the quality can go down much more! (Or can it?! Shall we see??!) I'll just open my head, pour out some contents, and Post.)

I'm a puddle

2007-03-02T21:46:00.000-07:00

Little Big Girl recently learned a new song, apparently at her preschool, or possibly from a child at her preschool. And although I have yet to hear the actual song, it appears to end with the phase: Whoops, I'm a puddle.

I guess it's about a snowman.

Anyway, Tiny Person thinks this ending is hysterical. And, conveniently, applicable in almost any situation. She now tags it on as the end to all her songs. Some of which end, I might add, quite abrubtly.

Witness:

Jingle bells, batman smells, WHOOPS! I'm a puddle.

(Yes, we are STILL singing the jingle bells song around here, because when you sing the Batman Smells version, it's ALWAYS in season.)

Also, we have:

And when yuur only haf way up you're WHOOPS! I'm a puddle.

And last but not least, and not even last:

The itsy bitsy spiiiida went up the wata spout . . . down came the rain and WHOOPS! I'm a puddle.

. . . It's beginning to grow on me.

(WHAT? Can I really do this? Can I be gone from blogworld for, like, ten months and then just put up some random post about kids songs? Er, yes. For now. Spousal needs the puter. More later. Out.)

The Weekly Ski Report

2007-02-09T01:02:00.000-07:00

We went off skiing last weekend. And we went off skiing the weekend before, too. This is a HUGE AMOUNT OF GETTING OUT for us. Incredible, even. (On the other hand, it seemed like a good thing to do with all this snow we've been having.)

We even went to Taos and rented a house with some other families for a couple days. The kids - six of them, all told - appeared to have a great time running around and screaming. And no one - that I know of - slipped on the shiny wood floors or bonked into the many river rocks and flagstones that were placed strategically - beautifully, but strategically - around the rental house. (You know, instead of boring old marble countertops. Why not river rock! And flagstone! Right there at the end of the counter top, and by the sink, and thank goodness not at the bottom of the stairs.) I thought that was a wonderful success for the weekend, right there.

I even got to have a part of an afternoon to ski by myself. I was thinking at the time that it had been five years since I'd been. Actually, it had been six, if you start counting - as you would - from the winter I was actually pregnant with Little Big Girl. And that is, in fact, the longest I have ever gone without skiing, ever. From birth. See, because I started skiing at five and then skiied every year since and . . . you know, that whole thing felt a lot more amazing in my head and there's no possible way to spit it out succinctly or in a way that could possibly be as amazing to anyone else as it seemed to me. So never mind.

Anyway, the most amazing thing was just how OUT OF IT my skis were. Rather, the most amazing thing on the slopes that day appeared to be MY SKIS. They're so long! my chair-lift mates would say. And pointy! So long and pointy! How do you ski on those things? (As if the wide-angled contraptions they had strapped to their own feet weren't new in the last five (er, six) years and these long skinny things on my feet - which used to be a point of pride, not derision - weren't what the skiers had for the last sixty years....) And the best question of all: How old ARE those things? (Note: they actually had those wide-fangled skis on. With a sense of gratitude I could not possibly explain here (SCHHHHHHHHH of the snowboard sneaking up behind you and taking all the good snow off the bumps...and my thrill with this revealing my insane agedness...) Taos does not allow snowboards.)

And I'd look at my seat mate, and I'd do a little mental calculation. Hm. He's 18. I've been on these since....uh, fifteen years since law school, give or take a couple years in college...Pretty much they're your age, kid. They're the exact same age as YOU.

I felt like Rip Van Winkle.

I'm so clever I lock myself out

2007-01-30T21:41:00.000-07:00

Passwords, dear Gawd, passwords.

I remember distinctly - like it was yesterday - an old fellow employee of mine - and this was 1995, mind you - he was the head of the IT department, not that that matters, other than, clearly, he'd been doing this for years - telling me to start writing down all my online passwords.

Sure, sure, that's obvious now. But in 1995? I complained about - something - and I remember him calmly saying, Look. Get yourself a little notebook. Just for this purpose. And start writing down all your passwords.

Because at the time - what, 1995? How many passwords did you have? One? Your ATM password? That was it.

And I did, actually. I did. I still have the little notebook - because it wasn't a little notebook, it was in my Address Book under C for my old last name - ha! how clever of me! - and I wrote down all of my old passwords. And I am still surprised, sometimes, to... wander by some old site and ha! They still know who I am. And how many old Yahoo email accounts did I get? A few. (Know me by my maiden name? Try it. I'll get the email.)

But then I decided that was all silly. I would get one, and I would use it everywhere! I would outsmart the system! I am a GENIUS.

And so I used the same one everywhere. Everywhere. And then - well, they started to make you change them. And so what did I do? Increment them. You know: Password. Password1. Password2. Genius!

Okay, not so genius. My old security pals would laugh and laugh about people doing such things, saying it took one old, slow Mac to crack that kind of code. Whatever. Who was cracking my stupid Amazon account? Barely me.

And then this went on for awhile, but you can see what happened. And eventually on some accounts I - for various reasons I don't even know now; boredom? intent to mess myself up? them not allowing the usage of the same old word AGAIN - I'd change up the word. And then started incrementing THAT.

So that's right. Now when I go to some online account somewhere, I enter my first PW. Then my second, then my third. Then I switch out the word and start incrementing that. Because, you know, some still are on the first or second iteration. Not all have made me update. (And sure, I think about sychronizing it all but - do you know how far down on my to-do list that is?)

And then I'm locked out. Because, you know, you're allowed something like three or four mis-fires.

Doh. Back to the old book system for me it is. I think I need a new address book. To find me, online.

Pass a glass

2007-01-27T12:35:00.001-07:00

Oh come on, here's the only thing going on in Bloggy Mom Land:

Drinking playdates on The Today Show.

(Gawd, would Katie have allowed this? Random attacks on mothers for, let's be honest, silly things? Who's advocating getting drunk here? There ARE BIGGER WORRIES people. How about all the people who actually get drunk around their kids? Or even without liquor are abusive? Here's some stay-at-home, above-average-income generally-attentive mothers with a glass of wine? Get a backbone Veira and find some real segments for the day.)

(But I am glad both Melissa and Stefanie got some national air coverage. Good for them, good for their blogs, good for book sales.)

Because I just can't not give my Dad a little grief

2007-01-26T08:52:00.000-07:00

Where are those cookies I bought?

What cookies?

Those ones I bought last time I went to the store.

I don't know. I put away all the groceries. I didn't see any cookies.

There was a bag. With little cookies. Little chocolate-covered cookies.

- pause -

Are you talking about the bag of Trix bars I found in the groceries?

Yeah, yeah! That's it! Trix bars.

Uh, Dad. Yeah, they're here. But I don't exactly think they qualify as cookies.

Oh gawd. And now they've left, and the "cookies" are still here.....Aaaaarrrrghhhhh.....

Oh Stephen, how you make me laugh . . .

2007-01-17T23:12:00.000-07:00

I had little tears coming out of my eyes at the end of this one.

Annnnnnnnd - she sleeps!

2007-01-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

Ah. Sleep training. The obligation - nay, the joy - of parenting young children.

Actually, I am very proud of Tiny Person. She has made remarkable improvements. She says things now like: I sleep good for you, Mommy. And - I big girl. I gonna sleep good for you, Mommy.

And it's said without tears! Or wailing! Or between bursts of NOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO! I not gonna go to sleep NOOOOOOOO!

And we're only on Night Three! So that's pretty good.

A little clarification here: what, exactly, are we trying to achieve?

Spousal's goal was all-out: fix all problems. One short week (month) of hell, all better.

We gave it a shot (one night worth), it was hell, we broke it down into little pieces.

So now, the objective of this round: Get Tiny Person to go to sleep by herself. That's huge, I tell you! Huge!

And it might lead to improvements in other areas.

Such as:
Get Tiny Person to . . . sleep through the night
Get Tiny Person to sleep in her own bed
Get Tiny Person to not wake up with every tiny wee (which turns out to be 3 at night, I've recently learned!), str!p n@ked, take her diaper off, and settle back down, only to have Mommy traipse through the house (blind!), find the diaper stash (blind!) and wrestle fresh diaper on sleeping - n@ked - non-potty trained child in her own bed.

But we'll get there.

Method we used (on night one) (and night two) (but not tonight! not needed!): Walk her calmly back to bed. With every get-up (which we were clocking by the nano-second that first night). No getting upset, no lectures, no talking, just walk her back to bed.

(This would be when we heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth, from her. NOOOOOOOOO. (sob sob sob) I NO GO TO SLEEP. I STAY UP! PLAY! MOMMA! MOMMA! MAMMAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Put her gently back in bed, she follows us out. Repeat 70 times.)

Ah, the peace of a child in bed by 9:30. Okay, okay, we're working towards 8:00. But still. This is huge! Good job Tiny Person.

De-lurking is de-lightful!

2007-01-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

So, I hear it's de-lurking week.

Since it's the last day of the week, I might as well join the bandwagon. I hear bloggers are required to beg so, you know - I can do that: You know how I love the comments. "I'm not alone! I write to the world and the world responds! Or, at least a couple people do! YEA!!!!!"

Well, that YEA could be for you! I'll be jumping up and down! Wiping a tear from my eye! Skipping happily around my desk here at work and then again around the kitchen table at home! All for you!

My kids will be confused but, since right now they think everything I do is A-Okay, theyll like it. They might dance a jig with me.

So, if you're so disposed, leave a note. And a website if you like and I'll come visit you. Thanks!

Happy De-lurking Week. Hope it was grand!

That would explain it

2007-01-11T07:49:00.000-07:00

We love the Pacific Natural Foods Red Pepper and Tomato soup around here.

The other day I realized we have, like, five cartons of it - you know, after I organized the pantry in honor of the family room couch arriving.

So tonight, in lieu of an actual dinner - and because I'm working now, who can think about dinner - I cracked open a carton. Well, for me, anyway. The girls had miso, their favorite, and Spousal had their leftovers. Which were aplenty.

Then this conversation ensues:

Me: (slurp) Eeeew. I think there's something really wrong with this soup.

Spousal: Really?

Me: Yeah. Will you try it? (Because I often can't tell when things are stale. Or bad. But that's a whole other story. (Thanks Mom and Dad!))

Spousal: Okay. (Takes taste of soup. Looks at me.) Is it possible it's Carrot Soup?

Uh, yeah. Guess I forgot there WAS that little carton of Carrot Soup back there in my newly organized pantry, at the back of that little soup bin box.

I still had to throw it out.

I the King!

2007-01-09T07:30:00.000-07:00

Ah, things are really back to normal.

The other day my "big" girl - the four year old (Little Big Girl) called me Your Majesty.

It wasn't - at all - and I SWEAR - the way she might say it to me when she is, say, fourteen.

It was more like - trying it on. She loves all things Princess and Castle and Ballroom and that's just one of those sayings that seem to go with those things. And since she was sitting at the table, it was more along the lines of, More water please, Your Majesty!

And I started laughing. And I asked, Am I the Queen?

Yes! she said, so sweetly. And I'm the Princess!

Ok, great! I said. And what is sissy? (the two year old).

Junior Princess? suggested Little Big Girl.

Well, that could be, I said. Tiny Person, I said to the two year old, What are you?

And without a beat, Tiny Person, age two, and a girl, looked up and set us all straight.

I the King! she said.

We're Baaaa-ack - Oh, and a little note at the very end about the holidays which you really should read, too : )

2007-01-05T04:07:00.000-07:00

So we used to have this Baby who wouldn't sleep.

Now we have this Two Year Old (otherwise known as Tiny Person) who thinks, Sleeping, Yeah. Bad Idea. Catch Ya Next Time.

So it's 4ish (AM) because at 3ish (AM) Tiny Person, who has already made her way to mommy and daddy's bed earlier in the evening (11ish PM), decides it is time to go back to her bed. But she must be carried.

Not one to dissuade her from sleeping in her own (#$%*!) bed, I get up, find . . . my glasses, pick her up without falling over, and wander to her room.

Only to find that what she really wants there is her purple water glass (which she must be dreaming about, because we HAVE NO SUCH THING), which she, therefore, promptly can't find, and near crisis is narrowly averted as I masterfully persuade her to drink water from something else. Like the cup she already had waiting for her on the side of my bed.

She is now crashed back out, but me? No, you should not wake up old parents in the middle of the night because SOMETIMES THEY CAN'T GO BACK TO SLEEP. GARRRRRRRRRGH. Not that that means I'll be perky in the morning like I am right now. Oh no, I'll be unable to keep my eyes open. And she'll be a perky little bee. Grrrrr.

And on another note - I had all kinds of clever things to say about the holidays, but crashlanding back into Normalcy skittled it out of me, so suffice it to say: holidays were lovely, we were lucky enough to have family come visit us here, Spousal and I treated ourselves to a new couch (tired of the collegiate-era one, anyone?), which of course meant I had to clean out the office and organize the pantry - trust me, it made no sense BUT IT HAS TO HAPPEN BEFORE THE COUCH ARRIVES and luckily the holidays gave me time to do it - and I hope yours were lovely or at least not heinous, too.

Happy Holidays and one little Science Town joke

2006-12-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

Happy Holidays!!!

I've gotten swept up in the preparations and haven't actually posted the posts I've written in my head. (But I've been thinking about you!)

I will leave you with this tidbit from a holiday party in Los Alamos, home of the Atomic Bomb and geniuses from around the world.

Conversation:

My wife told me she wanted to move to Santa Fe. And I said, why? And she said: the diversity.

(pauses)

Diversity! I said. This is Los Alamos. We ARE diverse! Sure, we have physicists. But we also have chemists and biologists and nuclear engineers!

(Smirks all around.)

What did she say?

Q.E.D., and she started packing. We've been there five years.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE AND SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE!!!!

Hollidailies messing with The Crib?

2006-12-12T22:54:00.000-07:00

I think Hollidailies is bad for me.

I mean, I'm writing every day. But getting even LESS comments! And I love the comments! Maybe writing every day is - I don't know - a little TOO MUCH Krisco for the world. Could well be.

In the meantime, we are busy getting ready for the holidays. Luckily things are slow at work. Which is weird because I just got even better daycare arranged. Ha! So now I have twice the guilt! I'm not even busy at work but still my kids spend considerable time with someone else.

At our Thanksgiving holiday, every "young" mother - and by young I mean whose kids are not grown - was working. Save me as the only who ever didn't work for awhile. On the one hand they don't know what they're missing. On the other, I know what they're enjoying.

Still trying to strike the balance...

The slow boat pulls in

2006-12-11T23:12:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the post officed to pick up a package.

I was left, last week, with a card at my door. The other day I happened to be home when the post lady came, so I grabbed the card and ran out the door.

Here! I said. I signed it!
She looked at it, grimaced, took out a pen and made a mark and said, Oops, that should have been marked. You have to go in to pick this up and show ID. Registered Mail - it's this whole - big thing. You know.

What? Go in and show ID? My first thought was - and this must be my legal background - Oh my god, I'm being sued!

And then I thought of all the times I've pissed people off or seemed to just generally annoy people and I thought - Can they sue me for that?

Then I tried to calm myself down, wait through the weekend to see who I've wronged, and go in and get my package.

And wahlah! No lawsuit! Just the package I ordered off ebay a long ways back.

Note to the world-weary and wise: yes, bother to check where something is coming from on ebay. I ordered something I wanted RIGHT THEN, paid, and noticed - shipping FROM CHINA. Will take THREE TO FOUR MONTHS. Oh my gawd, I was so annoyed. I stopped checking where things were coming from on ebay long ago - Conneticut, Florida, what's the difference. CHINA? Big difference. Apparently it was the very slow boat. (Three to four months!) But it's arrived - some two and a half months later - so okay. I'm not annoyed anymore! And not being sued either. (crosses fingers)

A very stuffed tummy and the existential question - when is a mountain really a hill?

2006-12-10T00:23:00.000-07:00

Incredible food - incredibly tender beef tenderloin, almost raw, potatoes with truffles, haricort vert (so you know those green beans are good), not to mention the chocolate bread pudding OMG - and a fun group drinking way too much wine and other spirits.

It was a fun night out hosted by my broker as a Christmas party - "off the hill" of course - meaning in one of the nicer private club-type establishments near Santa Fe - and was just so very pleasant. Or maybe I should say raucaus. At any rate it was very fun.

(And I say it was ""off the hill" of course" because - sadly - there are few - possibly no - fine dining establishments in town. There's decent dining. There's even dining I like. But there's not a lot and none of it would be "fine" - or would offer, say, haricort vert (let alone the chocolate bread pudding, OMG) Also, if anyone has wandered by new today, we live in a town at the top of a mountain. So I don't know if it's the westerner's sense of understatement, or because the top of this mountain is a mesa, hence flat, and so we call it a hill, or if technically it doesn't count as high - although it's higher than Denver. Okay, face it, I have no idea why they refer to our locale here as "a hill" because I'm thinking it's more of an "ancient lava flow" or "very flat mountain top" but at any rate. I think I've digressed. We ate elsewhere. It was fun.)

All Arial, all the time - that's the Santa letter

2006-12-08T23:53:00.000-07:00

We went through all the catalogues tonight to look for things for our oldest girl. We wanted to shop for both, but justing starting with the one took us awhile. (There's no shopping here, so we have to do it all online or by catalogue.)

We have a good idea of what we want, and I say, Great! Let's look at her Dear Santa letter to make sure there's some overlap.

K: (reading)
Spousal: well?
K: No overlap.

Doh.

He's come out of the smartaleck room, is what he has

2006-12-07T22:50:00.000-07:00

In logging on tonight I saw an ad for Christmas presents, and the third suggested item was a diamond ring.

And I imagined someone thinking, Aha! That's what I'll get her!

And THAT thought reminded me of the time, at my own wedding, when I thought a friend of mine was walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket. I suppose because a lot seemed surreal that day, but when our mutual friend told me that D. had a ring for his girlfriend, I thought that meant he had it RIGHT THEN. IN HIS POCKET.

Only when I thought about it later did I realize, that was a dumb thought. He probably wasn't carrying it around with himself ALL THE TIME.

And THAT reminded me of another little story about those two young men at my wedding, R. and D. They had come together, because neither of their girlfriends were in town that weekend, and because they were my little pre-dating-Spousal posse, and because they were good friends.

What the one didn't know - D. - is that, as he wandered through the crowd introducing himself - because he's that way - because he's from Iowa - and folks are friendly there, he claimed - is that R. was following along behind him, introducing himself as D.'s partner.

I don't know why he did this. Because he's a smartaleck. Because he figured people wouldn't REALLY believe him, and if they did, he wouldn't care. But MOSTLY because it would irritate D. to no end - which it did - and so that made it... fun.

I saw them, briefly, at the wedding, as we crossed paths. D. wandering one way, nodding, saying hello; R. following behind, with his introduction: hi, I'm his partner, R.; D. turning around, his hands fluttering around in agitation - almost like a gay man stereotypically might - saying, Stop that! Stop that! Stop saying that!; R. smirking, Okay, okay. Both of them moving forward. R. continuing on.

Anyway, I didn't think much about it, until months later.

I saw a friend who'd been at the wedding and who had known R. since junior high. (We'll call him J.)

It was nice to see R. again, said J. I didn't know you were friends with him.
Yeah, I said. We got to be friends after law school and med school when we'd both moved back to Colorado again; he's a great guy.
I met his partner too, says J. He's a nice guy.

Yeah, he's a great guy. They were in residency together. But he's not really his partner.

(pause)

It's okay, K. He told me. I know.

And I kinda laughed. I'd forgotten about that moment I'd witnessed at my wedding. Oh yeah, I said. He was being a smartaleck. He's a huge smartaleck these days. But seriously. They're not gay.

And my friend had a scowl on his face. Like clearly I am not ENLIGHTENED enough. SERIOUSLY K, he says. HE TOLD ME. I KNOW.

Ummm, I said. Yeah. I know. But really. He has a girlfriend. The other guy might even be engaged by now. Seriously. Not gay.

And J. kind of stormed off, irritated I wouldn't acknowledge that he, too, was IN THE KNOW.

Later - a month or two - I saw R again.

Hey, R. I said.
Hey K.
You know, I said. J., from high school, really does think you're gay.
He DOES? asks R.
Yeah, he really does. I tried to tell him but he didn't believe me.

Ohhhhhhhhh, said R. (But I knew he didn't really care.)
He likes your partner though, I said. And we both kind of laughed.

Postscript: D. is married now and has two children. R. is married now and has three children. They live in totally different parts of the country. And they're not gay. Seriously.

Some teacher, somewhere, would be really proud. Sort of.

2006-12-07T00:46:00.000-07:00

Our friend F: Kiehl... we met in Kiehl. Hanover . .. I grew up in Hanover.

Me: Hanover home of the Hapsburg Empire.

Our friend T: Mm Hmm. (affirmative noise, German version)

Spousal: looks at me out of corner of his eye

Me: I have no idea where that came from.

It just came flying out of my mouth. Thank you high school history teacher. College professor? I have no idea and no adjoining information to go with such a random comment. You know, Like an idea what or even when that was. Just - that.

(This story would be much better if I could google it and give you proof. You know. Of Hanover, home of the Hapsburg Empire. Apparently it depends on the century of the Hapsburg Empire you are talking about. I told you; I had no additional data along with this... just some random thought that came flying out of my mouth, from years and years ago. I just hope I got that answer right on the test....)

Why I really, really like development sometimes

2006-12-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

So, in a quest to get my house more organized because - how can I say this - oh yes, it is driving me crazy - I made the two-hour schlep to Santa Fe (round trip, that is) to go to TARGET. That's right. To go to TARGET I have to carve out two hours of my day. And so does everyone else in this town. And we all do it! Of course.

I understand Target is considering coming here (oh please God YES) and I so hope they do. If you couldn't already tell by my sidenote.

Of course, this would be over the dead bodies of a contingency of certain people in this town. Who like it just the way it is, thankyouverymuch. They don't need Target (or organic fish or bulk diapers or bulk toilet paper for that matter and certainly not new children's clothes every three months) and so by gawd neither do you. Or, as best as I can tell, that is their argument.

(No, I don't get organic fish at the Santa Fe Target. That would be nirvana. No, I get that at Whole Foods or Trader Joe's, the other places I would do a heck of a lot for to not have to drive two hours to see in person. And which, apparently, the opponents just don't see the need for.)

So that's how I spent my day. How about you?

Please, please, come forward with us some twenty years . . .

2006-12-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

"More Ovaltine Hot Please" - OMG, is there anything more annoying than that commercial? Because I'm pretty sure there isn't.

I consider myself an expert in commercials. Really, I do. I remember - clearly - watching a commercial that played before a movie when I was in, say, junior high - it was for the Camaro.

Now, maybe in other parts of the country - definitely in other parts of the country - the Camaro was actually considered a cool car. In my neck of the woods - hippie, trippie, mountain-climbing (though I didn't), hiking (did but didn't like it), backwoods-treking (thought about it) Boulder - a cool car was a Jeep. A decent car was your parent's Subaru (otherwise known as the Urabus (spell it backwards) by my high school crowd), in a pinch. But a Camaro? No.

So it's not like I was swayed by the commercial. But what I can tell you is - that commercial ushered in a new era in advertising. I don't know if you remember it - it had a girl in a bathing suit literally diving into the . . . back of the car. I don't know if you get the subliminal message there or not. But that's all that happened. (Or all that I remember). With this repetitive chanting going ("Camaro - Hot New Camaro. Camaro - Hot New Camaro.") this girl would dive and swoop and and dive and swoop - all very surreal - into the back of the Camaro.

At that time, I think the biggest commercial on TV was "You have ring around the collar!" - this oddly surreal in that it was so unreal and yet trying to be real thing - where people pretend to act, and say things actual human beings would never actually say in real life. It was the height of the Literal aka Our Audience Is Stupid commercial. What was cool about the Camaro commercial? Totally surreal. And you get the point. Hot new Camaro! Not in this town, but still.

Hello, Ovaltine makers? The mothers you are marketing to WERE RAISED AFTER THE CAMARO COMMERCIAL. We hate the Ring Around the Collar commercial of our youth - or rather, we scoff at it as the Can You Believe They Ever Spoke To Women That Way type kitsch.

And now with your More Ovaltine Hot commercial? Please, please. No child in the universe will ever say that; no mothers will ever have the conversations that ensue in those heinous thirty seconds. I'm just waiting for someone to pop out of the closet and complain about their collars. In a word - Update. Please.

(Although here you can actually get a coupon for it! I guess it's only fair since I rip on the commercial that I acknowledge the coupon. I was trying to find the commercial online. They are too smart not to let us link to it. Maybe they know it's heinous? I've since found out it's English. Maybe they think Americans are dumb?)

If only they spread it out over every weekend . . .

2006-12-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

There's a weird thing about small towns. Or about this small town at any rate. There's nothing to do, and nothing to do, and nothing to do (unless you count going to the local coffeeshop or bagel shop, which is what we do) on the weekends.

And then they have a weekend where they break everything out. Every single event you could have in a small town, they have. All in one weekend! So you can't possibly do them all!

It's called WinterFest and they pack . . .
everything into it. We went to the magic show, the kids-present-buying event (where they have personal shoppers at the local church, and select gifts for their family and friends - so cute), forwent the hay ride since we were having an arctic freeze, and participated in the Light Parade.

(Here's a tip - if you put a flashlight on the floor of a red plastic wagon, even if by accident, it will look like you lit it up that way on purpose! In the evening, the flashlight will glow through the red plastic sides, and light up the wagon. It looks pretty cool. Even if I did stumble into that one myself.)

It was actual small-town fun.

Holidaisies, loses

2006-12-01T23:19:00.000-07:00

So I signed up for this monthly Holidaisy thing. I envied the NoBloPoMo (or so) people, who posted every day in November - so I thought I'd get on board with this December thing...okay, okay, Holidailies!!!! I know . . .

So even though everywhere I turn there is something I need to do - now I have one more! Wheee! But maybe, just maybe, it will get me to write a little more. Even if I only say "we did blah" today. (Lucky you! : )

So for starters - I saw my good friend off today. They are moving away, far away, to England. She was here tonight so I don't feel like she's going yet. But by next week - next week - she'll be gone. And all I can say is, this is one more person who I really, really, really like - who you feel like you've been friends with forever and she knew you when - even though it's only been three years - and who you're supposed to be friends with forever - and I don't want her to just pass out of my life.

So - email T. It's one more thing to add to the list. At least this one I actually want to do.

So I'm kind of a spacey smartass

2006-11-29T00:51:00.000-07:00

I thought this was so funny tonight, I laughed and laughed. I had tears, and I would have fallen out of my chair had I not already been sitting on the floor, so I just fell forward on the floor laughing, and then sat up again, and then fell over backward, wiping the tears from my eyes the whole time.

And yet, I am sure - SURE - that there is no way I can tell this story and it will be funny.

As a preface, it is helpful to know - and yet not helpful enough - that my husband is not Catholic. And that he is a physicist. Those things are technically unrelated, but still. He is pretty much a Protestant, probably the version his parents are, although I don't think I've seen him actually darken a church door of his own accord. It is fair to say he's Not Catholic. I, on the other hand, am Catholic. But that's not really related to the story at all.

The other thing that's helpful to know is that I go through the mail. I own the mail. I don't know why. I've even written about that here. Those are the three factoids that are actually pertinent to the story.

Oh wait, one more thing that's helpful to know - every once in awhile, something comes in the mail that is specific for Spousal, and I give it to him. Not a bill that I'll be paying, or generic junkmail. But, basically, junkmail targeted right at him, and I think it's kind of funny to pass it on. Really there's no point to it.

Usually, it's from some school he went to. What his college is doing, or how they need money, or how he can buy a sweatshirt to support them.

But tonight it was something different. There was a postcard with a statue of a weird-looking little guy, a little pewter statue, and the card said the weird little guy is named Alec, and that Alec is the Patron Saint of the school of engineering, and that for some small amount of money Spousal could acquire said tiny pewter version of the Patron Saint and support his university.

I could have just chucked it, but I don't know. As I said, I think it's funny to give him these things.

So I hand it to him, from the floor there, as he walks over to talk to me, or possibly to watch a minute or two of the rerun of Becker I had on and I say, Here.

What's this? he says.
It's a card, I say. You can buy a little statue of Alec, the patron saint of engineering.
Pause.
But I don't know why you'd buy a patron saint, I said. You're not even Catholic.

Throw it away, he said, dropping it back towards the floor. I'm not even an engineer.

------
And I laughed and I laughed. I know; I doubt you're laughing at all. I guess I think it's funny that I noticed the mis-match on the religion thing, but not on the most obvious part - the whole Job Description - School He Went To - What He Does kind of thing. How did I miss that? Oh, I had to wipe the tears.

(And then later I realize - Alec is not really even a Patron Saint. I don't think any school of engineering has some license from the Vatican to be sainting anyone. I think there's even a trademark issue here with the whole "patron saint" dealio - but again. I've digressed.)

So maybe Verizon's color should be blue?

2006-11-28T08:43:00.000-07:00

We went off to West Texas for Thanksgiving. Literally the cell phone service did not work there. When we got back, I found six mesages - all from our office manager at work. (With escalating annoyance - I have a message for you. Calling again. Hello? Call back? Okay, I'm calling again. HELLO WHERE ARE YOU?)

When I got back, I called her that night even though she was at home - it was only like 6pm. I knew she'd want a call. Where have you been?! She says. West Texas, I say. Ah! she says. As if, mystery solved!

(Like being in West Texas is an excuse for being totally out of touch. It's not - technically - like being in Tangiers or Macedonia or I don't know, I can't think of somewhere else that sounds really far away and may or may not have Verizon cell phone service...although they probably do.....)(And my thought is - Hello? Verizon? West Texas! Part of the Union now! Think about it!)

(And, technically speaking, it just didn't work out in the sticks and in Midland - although I hear they claim certain politicians from there - maybe Verizon is not patriotic enough?)

What I meant to say in this post was - we had a lovely Thanksgiving, the cousins had a great time running around together, and I hope everyone else here in the States - whether Verizon considers where you are part of the US or not - had a nice Thanksgiving. And if you're not from here, I hope you had a nice week.

The Chinese believe they bring good luck - they never mentioned the karma . . .

2006-11-22T00:56:00.000-07:00

(Picture of the mesas looking out from our town. Los Alamos is built on mesas just like these. Only behind you.)

When I was a kid, I had this thing for crickets. I liked them. I read whole books about them. I could tell you anything about them – which were girls (three spikes out their butt), which were boys (two spikes); how to know if the girl was pregnant (middle spike has a bulge at the end); where their ears are (in their knees); why the boys chirp (a mating call); how useless it is (the girls have no ears). (Ummmm - a harbinger of later dating? Wait, I’ve digressed again.)

Anyway, it was all pretty fascinating to me.

And before you get all grossed out, I only liked the black crickets. The ones I considered, you know – classic. Not those grey, disgusting, who – can – look – at –them, pokey, ugly, other kind. Ewwww.

And then I would go out, and capture a bunch (of the cool kind), and put them in this lovely glass cage I made for them – replete with plants I thought they would like (wasn’t sure, on that one), a little pond, some rocks to crawl on, the mesh net across the top to keep them in their happy home. It was perfect!

I had no idea I was torturing them.

The other day I went to a lovely brunch with some girlfriends – granted, we had to drive almost an hour to find a lovely place to go to brunch. And on the way home, one of them . . . called our fair town “the city in the sky.”

This was such a perfect description. (Well, except for the whole “city” part.) The town we live in is set on the top of a flat mountain, high up in the clouds. All around it is pretty desolate land – national forest on the back side, as the mountain continues, and tribal lands all around the rest, below. The land all around the mountain is rolling, sandy, pinon tree - spotted, mostly unpopulated – there is a reason they chose this remote part of the country to invent the atom bomb.

It hasn’t changed that much in the last sixty years, in terms of remoteness. Well, I suppose it has if you were here back then – there’s a paved two-lane road up here now, as opposed to before. But still – it’s pretty isolated.

I’m conflicted about being conflicted about it. Surely I should like it. It’s fairly safe (the plants), good schools (the little pond), an interesting and international populace (the little rocks). But still it’s just a little – artificial (the whole glass jar, mesh-ceiling thing). (And what is it doing in that girl’s bedroom? Oh wait, I’ve carried the analogy too far.)

I was a philosophy major. I bought into the whole Aristotle – the Politics – the city as a naturally occurring phenomenon for humankind to organize itself and get things done. That’s why suburbs bug me. They’re so – contrived. And now here I am. In one of the most non - spontaneous, created – for – only – one – purpose, non-naturally occurring communities almost ever.

One thing I can say about those crickets. They certainly have strong karma. I’m thinking they got me back. Good.

The good kind of cricket:

It's a girl!

The gross kind:

Eww!

Fake post just to move things along here

2006-11-20T14:31:00.000-07:00

Oh Good Lord! I can't take it anymore! Someone get that woman and her fake horse off my blog!

Oh yeah, that would be me.

Hang on, I'm sending this NOW.

People who have way too damn much money

2006-11-16T09:36:00.000-07:00

Okay. So you see that lady? And you see that horse?

Yeah. She had him MADE.

For a mere $150,000!!

Seems she's a huge barrel racing champion from her youth. (Earned more money than any woman ever in barrel racing, $2 million.)

And she just LOVED that horse she rode on.

So, she had him cloned.

I'll admit I know nothing of horses. I know it's an expensive hobby. Maybe it costs that much to buy one. (Does anybody know?)

And this is America. It's her damn money, I guess.

But, wow. There's probably a whole lot of other perfectly good horses in the world.

This just seems wrong to me. (In the big, moral sense of the word. Like, there's not better ways for humankind to spend time, effort, energy and $150,000?)

And, also, ridiculous.

If you don't believe me - by chance, I could make this up? - here's her website: Charmayne James

And an article in the Albuquerque Journal (Note: she's not from New Mexico. (She's from Texas.)): ABQ Journal article (you may have to watch an ad to read this; sorry)

(Wouldn't it be great if this were just a joke? A spoof, and someone planted the article and made a fake website...? But it's not.)

Cloned horse thinks, "Hey, deja vu!"

technorati tags:
Charmayne James, Scamper, cloned horse,
people with way too much money

Now this is cool

2006-11-13T21:42:00.000-07:00

Well, I followed link after link - actually, I think I only went two stops - but then I found this.

Are you one? Do you have one? Would you pose?

(I think I would. But I'm sure I don't. Just like those who do.)

They really notice the dishes

2006-11-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

So. When Spousal and I got married, some six years ago, I decided to go wacky with my dinnerware.

Prior to that, I had white. All white. I loved white! It was neat, it was clean, it always looked good. I had this very delicate little set - meaning thin and curved and pretty - from Pier One. At the time I got it - middle of law school - it was a HUGE splurge for me. And in all the years I had it - which were many - not a single piece ever cracked or split or broke.

Then I get married. I thought I could do with a change. I may have been somewhat influenced by a few family members who turned up their noises at my white dinnerware and pronounced it "Boring" (only to buy a very similar set when the white dinnerware rage rang through a few years later.)

So I thought if I was going to get color, I'd go fun.

So I got this:

And this:

And also this:

See! Fun! It's mix and match! That was even the point of them - the general collection is called Choices. Get it? Choices! Every day! Mix and match!

(I still remember the moment my mom and sister were helping to unwrap some of the wedding presents, and as they unwrapped some dinnerware, their voices dropped to a whisper as one held up a bowl to the other. I could only imagine the conversation: Um - does she know they don't match? Yes - she wanted it this way. (raised eyebrows))

Yes. I did. I thought it was fun.

I really didn't give my dinnerware much thought after that. It moves from place to place with us. When I set the table, I reach in and take out whatever. That's the beauty of the mix and match! It's crazy and fun!

And then a couple months ago, as I was setting plates on the table, Little BIg Girl burst out with "We match!"

Apparently she and I actually had the same style dish that night.

Then it became kind of a Thing. Anytime any two people happened to get the same pattern, LBG would yell out "We match!" or "You match!"

Even Tiny Person started to get in on the game. Any time any two plates at all were set on the table, she'd call out: We match!

It took her a little while to get the gist. (LBG was helpful: No, sis. You don't match. Look, see, you match with Dada! Etc.)

Now it's even gone to the food. I scoop some peas on Tiny Person's plate, and some on LBG's, and they both yell out - regardless of plate style: We match!

You never think what kids will notice, especially when you're picking out dinnerware some six years beforehand.

And on other dinnerware fronts - that stuff is heavy. And thick. And yet? Though I never broke a single one of my delicate little Pier One all-white set? We're running out of bowls. Several of the plates are chipped. A couple salad plates? Gone.

Next time I may go back to my pretty little white ones.

But I'll still miss: We match!

(And, for the mildly curious, here's the essential look of my past - and future - set:)

Thank you, America

2006-11-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Things are finally right with the world. After all the stolen elections, voter fraud, voter disenfranchisement, and other totally un-democratic things forced upon us, not to mention monster (and illegal) gerrymandering - and the fact that all those things were probably in play again yesterday as well - DESPITE all that, common sense has finally returned to the American public and we have thrown those bums out once and for all.

Now if we can only get rid of the fraudster at the top of the heap - guess we'll have to still wait a couple years.

I don't care if they get nothing done so long as they stop doing all the horrible things they were doing and had planned.

It will take a long time to unravel all the bad works - the destruction of our national forests (in the name of "Healthy Forests"), polluting of our rivers (in the name of "Clean Water") - not to mention the deficit, pissed-off world, and oh yeah, an untenable, unnecessary, illegal and, by it's common definition, apparently unwinnable war - we'll be back where we were some twenty years ago and can start over from there.

But at least it's a start.

One part unpremeditated, mostly unsubstantiated neuroses, one part cute baby stories

2006-11-01T23:40:00.000-07:00

There's something weird about living in a small town.

There's also somethings great about it - like our little Halloween, where we went to a friend's neighborhood - mostly because it has flat streets, lots of houses and was rumored to have lots of kids - and trick-or-treat not only with our friends, but to see other friends in the other groups, and know half the people in the houses. Okay, that part was kind of cool.

But back to my complaining.

It's also kind of weird to think you should live in a big city and live in a small town.

Wait, I diverted again. Hold on.

(breath) (I'm going to try again.) There's something weird about living in a small town, blogging, and hearing that a few people - in particular - read your blog, run into them, and have them act like THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I don't know. There's just something weird about that. That makes me not really know what to say here. Because I really don't know what to say there. That's just weird.

Alright, enough about that.

(But, you know - isn't that kind of weird? Don't you think? I totally think it is.)

Now that I sound like a Valley Girl, I will go on.

I missed more days of blogging than I ever have. I missed my own What's For Dinner Wednesday, again. And I'm going to blame all of it, this time, on that. Above.

Wait, I said I would go on. I just find that - so weird. (Don't you?)

Anyway, this is what I was going to write: Tiny Person's repertoire of words is expanding! Now when she learns new phrases, she likes to tell me about them. And where they came from. Sometimes it's from someone with a name, like Doe. "Doe say Never Mind, Mommy. Haha! Never mind!" (And I'll say, Where do you know Doe from? And she'll say: (pause) Doe on TV.

Alright. We won't dwell on that part.)

Anyway, her new phrases are: Oh Well, Never Mind, and Anyway.

She will start complete sentences, a propos of nothing and totally out of the blue, with the phrase, Anyway. She'll turn her little head sideways and look at me and say, Anyway. I want a banana. (Or whatever.)

I find it hilarious.

And Never Mind is used in the context of, essentially - No. As in, Honey, come to dinner now. (Continues to play.) Sweetie, really. Come sit down for dinner now. (Continues to play.) Tiny Person, I mean it. Please come over here now. Finally responds: Never Mind. (Continues to play.)

And Oh Well? Like this: Mama, wanna candy. Not right now sweetie. Oh Well. (More common response: MAMA WANNA CANDY!!! I prefer the former when I can get it.)

Return to the good old days

2006-10-28T09:47:00.000-06:00

Okay, it's not enough that I don't have enough time to read all the blogs I want. Now there are VIDEOS to watch too?

This - I actually thought was hilarious.

I guess you have to be of a certain age.

Cute little mailboxes v. the metal slam of a tiny flap

2006-10-23T22:01:00.000-06:00

I lived in a series of places, for a number of years, where you had to go someplace to get your mail.

And this irritated me. Because as responsible a person as I was, I would still forget. For a week or more at a time. And then you go and get things and whoa, there’s a lot of mail there to go through.

(Even, once, there was a key in my mailbox. I had no idea what it was for. No one ever told me! I’d never lived in a place like that! So I took it home for awhile. And after awhile, I took it back. And it went away. And I never thought about it again.

Turns out, SOMEONE had sent me a package. (The key was to the shared over-sized mailbox next to the bank of smaller boxes. Who knew.) I still have no idea who sent me something, or what it was. But the imagination can run wild . . . the missed package. What WAS it?)

Anyway, then I moved to a place with mail where it is supposed to be – out in my own, single, mailbox. Even better, it was in a little classic-styled mailbox, attached to my white picket fence, at the top of a short series of stairs that bordered my flower garden. Just steps from my front porch. What could be better than that? I checked my mail regularly, because it was all just so cute.

(Come to think of it, when I lived in LA (the box described above was in Denver), I had the same set-up. Loved it.)

Now, even weirder, in some strange, throw-back, Mayberry in Sci-Fi land (have you seen XXX yet? Because that’s where we live), they put the mail IN MY HOUSE. It goes straight through a hole in the door, into a semi-large wooden box hanging there.

And it’s even more annoying than ever. Because I feel, constantly, like I’ve already gotten the mail. Because it’s in the house! But I haven’t. Because it’s just piling up and piling up in the box. I hate to say, sometimes I know how many weeks it’s been by how many The Week magazines are in there. If you get what I’m saying.

Well, you can see where this is going.

Time to go wade through my mail.

The crimping. It's painful.

2006-10-21T22:49:00.000-06:00

So I'm feelling it now. This whole going - back - to - work - thing, wasn't - it -easier - when - I - stayed - at - home thing.

(If you're new here (and welcome!) I was a stay at home mom for four years. We have a four year old, and a two year old. Both girls. Both handfuls, in totally different ways. Whoops, I've digressed! (Per usual.)

This summer I went back to work. For a number of reasons. First, eventually I was going to have to. If we wanted to do things like put our kids through school and do anything else, ever. Like retire.

It was a little early, but the right opportunity came up. And frankly, I was kind of ready. More like really ready.)

But I've seen it now. That stricken look on the face of my two year old when she hears mom is leaving - again. The pang in my heart when the playschool teacher says, they really shouldn't stay this long, they're too young - as I sign up my four year old for the afternoon session too.

And that feeling I have - that sinking, this isn't right, feeling I have - when I realize I haven't seen either of my children that much on a particular day, or when the sitter tells me things I never knew about my child, or when I realize I just don't have those days anymore - the ones where you hang around together all day, and have a little routine, and march through your day, and you're there all day - with the little one. And I never really had that with her. Her first year and a half were spent traipsing after Little Big Girl's day - HER gymnastics class, HER swim lesson, HER ballet class.

We never did Baby's stuff all day. And now that Little Big Girl is in play school more - even if I weren't working surely she'd be there three or four mornings a week - we could do that. But now we can't. Her day, all day (most the day), is with the sitter. And they have their routine and their day and the things they do.

It crimps my heart a little.

It crimps my heart a lot.

It's raining! Right near my high chair!

2006-10-20T00:16:00.000-06:00

It's been raining a lot in New Mexico lately.

Which, when you have a flat roof, and one that ponds, is not a good thing.

In the winter we're pretty good about it; it snows, we get up there and sweep the snow off the roof. Before it melts. And ponds.

So when it RAINED I don't know why it didn't occur to us to get up there and sweep the rain off.

But you can see where I'm going with this.

The other night, at like 11:00, when it had rained ALL DAY and then the water sat there ALL DAY and still we didn't think about it, Spousal and I were standing by the dining room table chatting. And Tiny Person was up because, well. She had just decided she was done for the night. But that's another story.

And then - drip. And - drip. What was that? I ask Spousal. What? he says. That drip noise, I say. And I see one flash by me, onto the dining room table.

Oh, man! I said. Oh, man! says Tiny Person.

Oh. Man. says Spousal.

And we all looked up at . . . the ceiling. We can see this little line of water running down the side of the beam that is there, gathering at the bottom to make another drip.

Although the roof ponds, it had never actually leaked before.

Of course, we were so good about shoveling the snow, weren't we. It never had the chance. But this rain! This sneaky, it - already - lands - as - water, rain! It faked us out!

And while we debated what to do next (eventual conclusion: someone (me) gets to go on roof and shovel the water off. At midnight! Whee!) Tiny Person arrived at her own solution.

As we looked down from the beam to the drip on the table, she burst into song.

With all her two-year old voice, she sang:

rayn, rayn, go a A
Come again a ud der ay
uh uh, uh uh, uh uh, uh
Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmm mm mm mm

It was such a cool perspective. It IS rain! In the house! It's raining in the house!

Okay, it's not a GREAT thing. It just was a cool perspective.

(And I wish the song was a little more effective. The sweeping was completely effective. And actually kind of peaceful and zen-like in the mountain air, once I got used to being on the roof at that hour.)

(For the record, and for the worry-warts amongst us, we had lights, and the edge was clearly delineated, and I don't think it was any more unsafe than being up there in the day. Just a little weirder. I even had a neighbor stop by in their car to watch the goings-on. This being a small town, eventually I will find out who that was.)

(And the sweeping sweepstakes was not won on gender. Spousal was just getting over a strained back. My choice: let him sweep, or go another two weeks without anyone else besides me picking up the floor. Sweeping at midnight it is!)

Those crazy gals

2006-10-19T12:05:00.000-06:00

Wow. So the Mommybloggers keep threatening to interview me.

And they did! So, wow! Maybe it will be up today. Maybe if I didn't send them the answers too late tonight (this morning.)

If you were inspired to visit, Welcome! I am thrilled you stopped by.

Crib Ceiling isn't really about Cribs or Ceilings. Hope you like it anyway.

Foible-full like any other

2006-10-19T02:51:00.000-06:00

So I'm having this problem with the blog. Really. (And right in time for my Mommyblogger interview!)

One of the best things about blogs - reading them, writing this one - is admitting human foibles. Man, isn't it great to know it takes Amalah four hours on the bus to get to Gymboree, or more to the point, that they haven't gotten their car fixed yet? Or that Heather . . . sat on her porch when Leta was little and thought about walking to that end of the block, or down the other way to that end of the block, either way to a whole other life? Gawd, yes. That's the best part. Because at what point haven't we been there? At either of those places.

And my problem is . . . I don't feel like I can admit my foibles here any more. And not because of my Shiney Interneters, or some fake image I'm trying to put up now.

But because of people I actually know. A couple people in my life, who live for those foibles. Who hoist them up, and see, say! Our view of the world is right! You are foible-full! More than any other! And certainly more than us!

It may not be what they think. But it feels like what they think.

And it makes it hard to write this blog.

That sucks.

And one from Little Big Girl

2006-10-18T16:28:00.000-06:00

And here's the other kiddo tidbit:

Little Big Girl (age 4) LOVES to read catalogues. And by reading we mean, stays in her bed at night before lights out, perusing all the pictures of toys. Perusing until the shiny crisp catalogue pages revert to their soft raggedy clothness.

(Background note: she may be a little confused on the actual ordering process.)

The other day LBG saw an ad for something, and said - Oh yeah! I ordered that.

Me: Really? When did you order it?

LBG: When I was three. Also, when I was two.

(Pause. Looks at me with a straight face.)

LBG: It's a little slow getting here.

Thanks. At least she's honest.

2006-10-15T22:26:00.000-06:00

I do have a couple little tidbits from the munchkins that just cracked me up. Er, something like that.

First, from Tiny Person. (That is her new name here. "Toddler" isn't exactly the right phrase or phase any more. We missed that for purposes of the blog.)

Anyway, the other day I was holding her and I said (and excuse me ahead of time): I have to go potty. Do you want to stay here or come with me?
Tiny Person: Go wif you.
Me: Okay. (Walks towards restroom. Conversation continues.)
Tiny Person: I want to see Mommy's naken bommum.
Me: Oh, you do, do you?
Tiny Person: Yeaaaaaaah. Is so HUGE!

Great.

Enough of that. Already.

2006-10-15T22:22:00.000-06:00

Well, my little charity event / garage sale / sociological phenomenom is over, and although there was the good and the bad, I am a little too steeped in it - or should I say, weary of thinking about, which I had been doing on and off for months and was living and breathing it for the last few weeks not to mention non-stop for the two days prior and two days of the event - I just can't say any more about it now. Clearly, this was already too much.

I volunteer because I care. Also, I get to be the Boss.

2006-10-11T23:20:00.000-06:00

One of my volunteer activities is upon us.

It's going to be a busy couple of days but it's going to be fun!

By popular request - okay, there were at least two of you : ) - I will post a picture of my new tattoo next week.

Because let's get real. You may have forgotten all about it by then - but it will still be on my face. (Although I would remember such a thing on your blog. Oh yeah! That ink thing on her (his) face! Pierced through by a two year old!)

See you on the other side.

I've got a new look

2006-10-10T00:31:00.000-06:00

I got a tattoo this evening.

I wasn’t even planning to,

We were sitting in the lobby of a restaurant waiting our turn to be seated. Toddler was in my lap, Little Big Girl next to me. The girls were sweetly passing the page box the hostess had given us back and forth, thrilled with the idea it would light up when it was our turn. (Yes, we live in a small town. No restaurant here needs such a thing.) In between holding the box, they were coloring, using the Glo and Gel and Psychedelic pens I keep in my purse for such occasions. Everything was pleasant. (You can see where this is going, right?)(Or can you?)

I noticed Toddler had set the cap to her pen on the seat next to us. I picked it up and suggested she could put it on the back of the pen. As I made a motion to show her that, she let out a blood-curdeling “NOOOOOOOO!” and swung the pen straight up, away from my hand, with all her might.

Right into my face.

Deep into my face.

I knew two things right away. This was a sharp, stabbing pain – literally – and she hadn’t hit my eyeball. She was immediately below it, but still.

“Ow!” I shouted, grabbing my face. Spousal - who’d been off randomly looking at things – I thought it was wall things – Gawd I love chains – but in retrospect I suppose it was the football game he could see through the glassed wall into the bar (a little symbolism there?) – was quickly at my side, surmised what had happened, and asked if she’d hit my eye.

All I could get out was: I – have – to – put – her – down –so I – don’t - - - slap – her.

Slap her, hell. I was ready to throw her across the room. I had to put her down NOW. And so I did, in an actually gentle manner. But still. Being evicted from The Seat Of Choice, with a clearly pissed off mom barely spitting out words – Toddler lost it. She started wailing full scale at the top of her lungs. Spousal scooped her up and took her outside.

I stand up to go assess the damage – and realized – Spousal’s outside – but Little Big Girl is sitting here, contentedly drawing, apparently oblivious to my crisis – the hostess shows up to seat us – the light thing is blinking – I didn’t know which way to turn. I popped my head out the door – face still in hand – said something like “uhhhhhh” – and the next thing I knew we were all marching down the hall after the chain employee. Little Big Girl leading the way, dancing down the hall, waving the madly blinking box over her head, me holding my face, Spousal carrying a still screaming Toddler.

The employee stops at the back of the store and starts working on a computer screen. We gather around her – me with the face, Spousal with the screamer, Little Big Girl still dancing. The employee looks up at us, a blank and somewhat frightened look on her face. “Uh . . . hostess?” I manage to get out. She just shook her head.

Apparently Little Big Girl saw the lights go off on our pager, hopped up, and followed the next uniformed employee who wandered by.

We trooped back to the front, where the actual hostess was entering our page number again.

We somehow got to our table and I left to finally assess the damage.

It was impossible to get the ink out. It’s way down in there, like a quarter of an inch. Even with the harsh chain restaurant sink soap, it wasn’t budging.

It could be, like, one of those Marilyn Monroe moles. Except it’s in that area around the eye the cosmetics people call “the fragile area”, rather than near my mouth. So it doesn’t really look like a sexy mole. It looks like my toddler stabbed me with a pen.

By the time I sat back down, after scrubbing it and what not, I was calmed down and resigned. Apparently Josh, our waiter, had already been by and introduced himself. We were just having a serious family discussion with Toddler – both parents back and forth, Toddler sitting across the table with huge, huge eyes looking at us - now honey, sometimes parents have to take things from you – or help you with things – you can’t just scream and move things away – you really hurt Ma – Hi! And what would YOU like to drink tonight? Uh…. I - I - I’m just not ready to decide that right now – a crestfallen and slightly confused Josh wandered off – uh, yeah. So that really hurt Mommy, honey. What do you say? (delayed pause – eyes even bigger) I sowwy Mommy. Me: That’s okay, honey.

(Will Josh come back and take our order? asked Little Big Girl . She loves to use people’s actual names and always remembers them. She called Josh Josh throughout our entire meal – Thanks Josh! – These are good apples Josh! - and even on the way home when she was talking about him. “That Josh sure was a nice waiter, wasn’t he, Mommy?”)

I don’t know if the lesson sunk in with Toddler or not. I do know she made a big effort to make amends.

Half-way through dinner she wanted to come across the table and sit with Mommy. Between bites she kept hanging from the back of the booth, her face in front of me, looking up lovingly at me. And towards the end of the meal, she sidled up next to me, standing on the bench seat, and said, “I love you, Cuckoohead.”

I love you too, Sweetie. Tattoo and all, I love you too.

Speaking Toddler

2006-10-09T08:58:00.000-06:00

I wan a pink dah sanech.

What?

A pink dah sanech.

A, what?

A PINK DAH SANECH!!

Oh, a peanut butter sandwich. Why didn't you say so?

And all because I can't concentrate at work (I wrote this long post this evening...)

2006-10-06T21:54:00.000-06:00

A little Friday - weekend - Monday - because - Shiney - Interneters - seem - to - disappear - over - the - weekend (except for you renee! Hi!!) - wrap up (because that's when you'll read it):

First - Scrubs. Oh my god, Scrubs. How did I miss it all these years? Through some weird temporal - television coincidence deal, I've turned the tv on the last few nights right when it was on. To the right channel and everything. Weird. Really weird because all we watch is through Tivo and I'm too lazy to find out right now what we record (and never watch) that sets me up to watch Scrubs when I finally get the baby to bed. (Baby! Ha! Did you see I said that? TWO YEAR OLD, I mean.) Anyway, a very long setup to say, Damn - that's a funny show!

(The way this post was written in my head was: Scrubs. Hilarious! Somehow I edited it LONGER.)

2 - We went to Santa Fe yesterday to see the kid's Giigii. No one knows how to spell it. She spells it "Gigi", which I tell her is prounounced, you know - geegee - like the French Poodle - but she carries on with that anyway. (You really say it more like: hard G - ee, hard G - ee.) (I told the kids on the way down - Hey, kids! Call her Grandma today! - just because I thought it would be funny. But the kids were non-participants in my little joke. No! They retorted. She's our Gigi! Yeah, I said. But wouldn't that be funny? No! they said. Gigi! Gigi! Gigi! Etc. on down the mountain for an hour.)

3 - Mom was in town - well, in state - to promote her latest book. It's a big seller! Hot off the presses! NY Times Bestseller list even! So go buy it quick. She was in Albuquerque for the day to promote it, and up in Santa Fe to sign books in bookstores (all sold out! oops!) and luckily have lunch with her Grandbabies. It was fun. Plus the kids got these amazing shoes out of the deal:

(Thanks Gigi! They love them!)

(Four - yes, two and three refer to the same person / event.)

Five - I can't seem to find a happy place to sit at work. It's not like it's my choice; they pretty much put you where there's a seat available - but still. First I was over in the corner - nice, could see the light, but near "the gang". (Yes, it is a cube farm. More like cube garden, but still. Not like those offices I left behind in The Law.) Then I was moved up front to accomodate a new "team" that needed seats together, one being my old corner seat. (I sound bitter, but not really. I understand the need for team closeness.)

(WARNING RRR RRRR RRRRR WARNING: Total side note story!! When I worked in software as a product manager, I remember when a new boss came in and insisted I sit near him. Upstairs. With management. The entire team I worked with, including the Development Manager, System Architect - who I negotiated with DAILY to decide which features would be included in each deliverable - and the entire team of developers - who, trust me, will build whatever they damn well please despite what the Product Manager, Development Manager, or Architect decide if no one's around to clarify when they have a question - were all downstairs.

I'm sure in theory it sounds like a good move - that's it! sit by senior management! blend with the upper muckymucks! - it was totally unworkable. Plus I saw them as - and they were - totally ephemeral. The senior management in that place switched out every six months. So why bond when they'd be gone in a few? Plus it was us middle managment / workhorse - programmer types that kept that place together. (Or so we thought. Of course, we did design, build and deliver the only work that brought in the money that kept the doors open . . . blah blah blah ancient history.)

What I do know is that I literallly never sat down in the chair in my space upstairs. My little potted flowers the boss before had bequethed me died. I never unpacked a single box. I had my crap there, and took only my computer downstairs and camped out at various workstations. Yeah, that was effective. Even when the boss later - after several succesful deliverables! - insisted I actually move into the office he arranged for me - down the way from his - I still would only leave a sweater there, turn on the lights, and go downstairs to work. Retrieve my sweater at the end of the day. (I think we had one deliverable where I spent most my time there. The features in that one...who knows what those programmer boys and girls were thinking but clearly they couldn't find me for a question or two...)

Anyway. Eventuallly that boss was gone too and I moved back downstairs via squatter's rights (we had a classic start-up oversized, under-utilized, find furniture where you can, type building) before the next manager showed up. And every deliverable was beautiful if I do say so myself.)

Well. After that long diversion . . . the point is, I can't concentrate where I am. I think I need to take my computer and my phone and my notebook some days and move to the conference room. (I can hear the rest the office now - Who does she think she is? Some ex-lawyer or something?) Yeah. They don't know about my software seat shenanigans. I am *serious * about sitting where I can get some work done.

At least now we know

2006-10-05T00:21:00.000-06:00

Baby-Toddler was demanding something in the back seat today.

Little Big Girl: You're not the boss, Baby-Toddler.

Baby-Toddler (without skipping a beat): I AM TA BOSS!!!

(Poor Baby-Toddler. Big sister and I started laughing so hard - neither one of us expected that response, I guess. Then sister kept asking her, Who is the boss, Baby-Toddler? Are you the boss? Because she really wanted to hear her say it again. Baby-Toddler just got kind of pouty and red-faced and wouldn't answer the question again. I guess she showed us - she really is the boss.

But if you've been around here, even a little bit, you knew that already.)

Prada purses make me existential

2006-10-02T22:02:00.000-06:00

I love a new purse.

Love love love.

But part of what I love – okay, almost all of it – is the chance to Start Over.

I love putting in, to a totally empty purse, just what I need – my wallet, my lipstick, my keys. My phone. I even clean out my old receipts from my wallet before I put it in the new purse.

It’s not about a purse. I know that. It’s completely existential. The perpetual chance to start anew. To start fresh.

(And it’s not that I leave the old purse messy. Oh no. I never do that. I take the opportunity to clean it out too. Because someday, soon, it will be called back into service. And it has to start clean.)

It’s also why I like – I think – moving. Starting over in a new house, empty shelves and closets and whole rooms just waiting for me to put- just put - only the things we need, and nothing more. The chance to jettison everything else.

(That’s the dream of moving, anyway. It doesn't always work that way. Okay - it never actually works that way.)

It explains why I fall in love with every other vacant home I see.

None of the lived-in ones, no matter how nice. They don't have that same appeal.

It's good I go back for a second look, to these vacant homes. Either by happenstance with work, or, for some, by bringing my family with me. Because I've fallen in love and they have to see the beauty that could be in the new home. And then I see the house - a flaw here, something that won't work, for us, there. The fact it is vacant becomes less appealing.

And, we’re not in the market to move, anyway. Not really.

So I console myself with getting rid of things here. Taking the time, in the evenings, and all of last weekend, to pull out the contents of closets, and pile up what we no longer need, and prepare to get rid of them. This to sell at the Resale, this to be given away to charity, this to go to our cleaning lady, who needs clothes and blankets for relatives far away.

It’s not as good as a Huge Clean Purse aka New Home. But it helps.

And in the meantime I get a new actual Clean Purse.

(And to prove this is not just an existential ramble, here’s the purse I bought recently:

Oh, and - can't see the label? Let me clear it up for you.

I'm sure the Prada label will help me feel even better about having a new purse.

And let’s be really clear - I bought it at the New Mexico State Fair. For $25.

I guess the label police haven't really made their way out west yet. The booths were everywhere. Lucky me! I mean - I'm sure they're legit.)

(The acquisition was just like this. Except, you know. Not hats. Purses. And me. And Spousal. And two kids. And I don't own a blue checked shirt. Oh and also? Spousal corraled the girls while I perused the ~~knockoffs~~ selection. Otherwise - just.)

For all the good pray-ers out there

2006-09-28T23:25:00.000-06:00

I heard the most heart-breaking news today.

Good family friends of ours have been struck by this e coli outbreak, and one of their small, baby twins may pass away.

My parents had some very close friends when we were growing up. Their children were some ten years younger than we were, so we didn't really "hang" with them, but rather, all watched each other vicariously growing up.

One of the daughters is now married and a mother of three; a four-year old, and two-year old twins, all girls. They live in Oklahoma.

To try to help her children eat healthy food, she was "juicing" vegetables for them.

The older girl - the four year old - wouldn't drink it; the taste was too yucky.

But the rest of the family did. Mom, dad and the twin babies. And they got so sick from the tainted spinach that all four had to be hospitalized.

And one of the twins is so sick still that she may not make it.

What a tragedy.

So if you have a little extra room in your prayers, if you could include her, I'd appreciate it.

Cow Tape Part Two

2006-09-26T23:44:00.000-06:00

This is the post I wrote that explained all about why Little Big Girl needed Tape. Right before Bath. I didn't publish this when I wrote it yesterday, like approximately every other thing I write, but due to popular demand - okay, one person asked about it - I'll put it up now.

Hope this explains a little more...

LBG has started a new hobby, which entails putting random small items in large boxes, stuffing in one piece of decorative tissue paper for "packing," and taping them shut.

Technically, the selected items are random only at first glance. If you are four, and your criteria is:

1 - things your friends might like, tempered by

2 - things you don't mind parting with

then yes, by all means, these things are in no way random. They are quite specifically selected.

For instance, in one box, there was placed:

1 - the fuzzy circle-thing that goes around and softens the ear part of earphones. (Yes, surely, they have a name, but whatever that is escapes me now.) On a given set of earphones, there are two. This package included - one.

2 - one red and green plastic fork from the toy kitchen. The type baby sister likes a lot.

3 - one ripped strip of paper. From the cards mom pulls out of magazines. One from the dozen or so strips currently to be found lying around the house. Because it is so fun to take those cards - possibly even pulling them out of the trash if need be - and rip them into strips. So fun, in fact, that it was necessary to teach Baby how to do it too, so that the two of you can sit at your little table ripping, ripping the cards into strips. It's a very intense project. And the ensuing strips are really good for . . . for . . .they will eventually be good for something. So good, in fact, that we could part with exactly - one - in this particular gift box.

The taping usually requires some help from mom. And once taped, it is fairly quickly forgotten. It shuttles from behind the couch to under the counter. And eventually it is time to make a new one. And sometimes there are two or three at a time being moved from one end of the family room to the other. Until mommy can't take it anymore, and puts them away in the toy closet, because she feels too guilty to take the gift box apart.

And then toys need to be put in the closet and guilt be damned, the box gets taken apart, and the various parts reunited with their peers or put in their rightful place. (To use our earlier example: headphones, toy kitchen, trash.)

And thus, although a variety of tape is used - masking, packing, and duct - I had a hint of what Little Big Girl might be talking about when she asked me for the Cow Tape.

WFDW!!!!

2006-09-26T23:38:00.000-06:00

Okay, spit it out. So to speak.

What's for dinner Wednesday?

Cow tape

2006-09-25T23:05:00.000-06:00

Me: It's time for your bath.
Little Big Girl: First, I need some tape.
Me: What kind of tape?
LBG (looking at me, clearly trying to think): The cow tape.
Me: (pause)
Me: The DUCT tape?
LBG: Yeah, yeah! The Duck tape!

So in this Purely Hypothetical situation . . .

2006-09-25T10:08:00.000-06:00

When a child is able to yell, quite clearly, in a restaurant:

I want to NURSE, RIGHT NOW!!

. . . . it is possible the time has come.

(Yes, I have the role of The Mother in this purely, just say, not like this ACTUALLY HAPPENED hypothetical scenario. The other players:

speaking part: "Baby" - age 2
observing parts: Spousal - smirking
Little Big Girl - focused on sopapillas
bit players: rest of restaurant patrons on the patio at El Pinto - attempting to ignore clearly-enunciating child attempting to rip mother's shirt off at the table in the corner)

The tide is . . . turning?

2006-09-22T22:08:00.000-06:00

Here's a great article over at MSNBC on Moms who want to On-Ramp - er, professional women who would like to get back in the workforce after taking time off to be with kids, and how businesses are finally, finally thinking that's a good idea. (Thanks to my loyal reader Colleen for pointing this out.)

I'd like to think it had something to do with all us Mommy Bloggers out there going - Hello?!!! American Business?! Hello! Yeah. It's me. We rocked your world, about five years ago. And now you won't take our calls? Right. Right. That whole - had a kid, lost her mind - we know. We know that's what you think (under breath: you (expletive deleted)). We have news for you. Now we're more organized, more on top of things, more patient, just as smart and WAY less willing to take any short shrift, if you know what I mean. So open the goddamned door already.

The article doesn't site the Mommy Bloggers though. Something about a Harvard Business School report, I don't know. But I ask you - where did HBS GET it's idea to study this topic, huh? To notice there's this whole "fourth recruiting pool" of women out there trained, experienced and ready, unnoticed. Yeah. Mommy Bloggers aren't getting the credit we deserve for raising this topic, is all.

In general, I'm happy to see such an article, in a mainstream place; glad to read that large investment and consulting firms are reaching out to once-stay at home moms. That's great.

I did think one thing was funny, though. I guess it's my whole blogging experience talking but - I find it ironic, and useless, that as part of a reaching-out program to once-professional SAHMs, the large companies include "what not to say about being a stay at home mom in an interview."

I mean, you just notice we're out there, and you're going to tell US what not to say?

The session they OUGHT to have at such a conference is: tell us about YOUR experience. What should WE not say or ask when interviewing YOU. What should we know about your off-work experience that would help us recruit you better when you're ready to come back?

I don't know. I can just see some 27 year old male MBA getting "stuck" writing the list of questions a 42 year old, fifteen-year careerist turned SAHM ought not to say in her interview. And all I can say is, thanks for the nod, American Business. You tried, you really did, and we acknowledge that. We appreciate it, even.

But call us when you want to really GET IT.

Mice, cheaters, random ideas flying out of my head...

2006-09-21T00:33:00.000-06:00

My blog posts are building up in my brain and I feel like the whole thing might just reach critical mass, and I'll be walking down Central Avenue and paragraphs on random topics will fly out of my ears and pop people on their noggins. Highly educated, rarified intellect level, obscurely proficient people will be pelted with paragraphs about Mice! and Screw drivers! and Friends from high school who got married and still decided to hit on me! I'm not sure they will know what hit them. (Equally likely, they may not notice.)

If I just capture them perhaps they won't annoy the random nuclear scientist walking the streets of our town, doing calculus in his head.

These are posts I'm going to write, soon:

The one I keep writing in my head about the (annoying) time in my dating life when I was hit on by not one but two married men, at the same time. Ew.

The one about the mouse that keeps visiting our knife drawer. Our knife drawer? WHY our knife drawer? I just want to ask it that.

(Spousal notices because it leaves mouse droppings at the back of the drawer. I notice because it leaves blades of grass in the front of the drawer, under the knives. Ew. Either way. Ew.)

The great stories about Little Big Girl I've been stockpiling. (Preschool Teacher: LBG is doing great! She's always takes things to another level. Me: Really? Like what? (does that even mean?) Teacher: Well, LBG is in her xxxmumbojumbo Mom-ought-to remember name of era Organizational Phase. So when the other kids play with this (peg set), they're doing good to put the pegs in. Me: uh huh. Teacher: Because of her XYZ Phase, she puts all the same colors in a row. Me: oh, I see. Teacher: of course, with LBG, she puts the rows in in the order of the rainbow. Me: (to self) Oh. NOW I see. (to teacher) Oh? Well, er...wow. Gee. No kidding? Huh. Teacher (to self): ...not that she's getting those skills from *you*....)

There are others. Like realizing I'm missing the kind of time I had with LBG at this point, with Baby(Toddler). Baby was always too little to do things herself, so we'd go together to watch LBG do things. And now, she's old enough...but at the daycare. Hm. I'm thinking I need to take her out once in awhile and take her to her own little classes. It's not the same as hanging out with a little kid all day long, like I did with LBG...but at least it's something....