The merry merry has made it’s way back onto the shelf for another year. We had a grand adventure at the compound, and the week flew by too fast. I hate using that phrase, but it’s true. What was worse is that I could feel it going by and couldn’t do much to stop it.
Colin and I braved the airport for an easy trip south and were greeted by those jolliest of elves, gram gram and grandpa. The boy was so excited to see them, and I have a feeling that the feeling was mutual.
It was good to be home (afterall, it’s where the heart is) and I was so pleasantly shocked to find that there was a plate of chocolate frosting-filled graham cracker sandwiches waiting for me. Geez. Make a girl cry right off the bat, mom.
We started the festivities by joining my parents at an “adult” Christmas party at a cousin’s house. Normally, the “kids” those of us in my generation, aren’t allowed. So it was fun to watch my venerable olders get ripped. My resolve to chill on the whole sugar issue for the duration was immediately tested as Colin, who had recently discovered that little things in shiny wrapping are usually chocolate, quickly zeroed in on a bowl of almond rocca that kept him occupied. I think that having one little guy around was fun for the partiers, especially this little guy, who I heard more than once “doesn’t know a stranger.”
Rob joined us on Friday and we were both glad to have Daddy with us again.
On Saturday we had the Heidrick Christmas Party out at the museum. Everybody was there at one point, a rare feat with a family as large as this one. Counting aunts, uncles, kids, grandkids and even a great-grandkid, there are 82 of us with one more baby in progress, and one wedding soon to take place. Damn. That’s a lot of people all added up like that!
We lost sight of Colin immediately, but we caught glimpses of him as he ran with the pack of cousins, sneaking off into corners to suck down Capri Sun drinks like a crack fiend who hit the motherload. Seriously. The kid would climb onto tables and try to suck the dregs out of abandoned juices.
I got to hold the two new babies, both girls, both so preciously cute and small and quiet and innocent. Then I gave them back and chased down my little tornado. Colin even had his first sleep over, staying with Aunt Traci and Uncle Tone and their three boys. Rob and I spared a moment’s wonder of how he was doing as we slept away the morning.
Christmas Eve found us in church of all places, with mom and dad, to enjoy the children’s service at the Methodist Church, which my mom grew up in. She remembered being in the service, and found that time has certainly changed this congregation and it’s traditions. It was a nice service, mostly songs, and Colin hung in for the most part. After that we headed over to Rusty’s for tacos and other goodies, than back to the compound for a long winter’s nap.
Colin is still a bit unaware of the reason for the season, so he wasn’t up at o-dark thirty like his cousins, but he certainly loved the presents! and cousins! and cookies! and fun! and laughing! and running! and hugging, oh the hugging. So much hugs that even our huggy bear seemed sated.
We exchanged our gifts in the usual paper flying frenzy. Among my new stash of treasures I was happy to find not only a TomTom navigation system, but a Cuisienart wand-blender to boot.
We had a fantas-tasty turkey dinner (thanks Russ!) with all the trimmings and I was able to unveil my surprise addition at dessert – a figgy pudding! I’ve always wondered what the heck this is, and thought it would be fun for the kids to sing for their dessert and discover what they were demanding per the song. What is a figgy pudding? It’s a tasty fig-infused steamed cakey loaf. I guess it’s a pudding because it’s steamed in a water bath for two hours. All the kids and most of the adults had a taste. New tradition? Perhaps, depends on who asks for it next year.
The rest of our trip was a lot of relaxing, we took in a movie with the Karren clan and since mom generously gave us the evening out, we took in some Sac-town sushi. Not bad, but we are admittedly spoiled up here in the land o fresh fish.
I took mom into a doctor’s appointment, so I could put a visual to where she spends her treatment days. This trip did a lot to allay several worries that have been circling my heart these past few months. She truly looks great, has a positive attitude and has a lot of wonderful support around her. It’s good to be reminded that although as a child I feel that the relationship of mother/child is paramount, Linda as a woman is also a significant force in other people’s lives in the role of wife, sister and friend. And even though I’m not there in the flesh to help, others are, and are doing so in wonderful ways.
The airport drop-off may have been a bit more tearful than usual, but they were easy tears. As we arrived home after another uneventful flight, with Soss meowing in happiness that we were back and our messy home just as we had left it, Rob and I took a moment under the mistletoe to thank each other for all the gifts, material and otherwise, that we gave and were given this Christmas.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
For Tony
My brother Tony dared me to talk about him on my blog. Foolish man.
Since I have his name for Christmas, I will create a little economy of scale and add this to his stocking and my blog for the price of one.
Tony and I are a year minus six days apart, which means that for six days, we are the same age. This armed me with some great childhood ammo, something I usually lacked against my older siblings. Like the wild animals children are, they sensed I was no threat and circled for the kill most of the time. But for those six glorious days I could taunt, “you aren’t older than me! You can’t boss me!”
In our younger years, we were the Diapered Duo, a formidable team for mom to handle as we communicated our divide and conquer strategies in bottled Morse code to unleash our havoc upon her world. Nothing was safe, such as the underside of our coffee table, which we absolutely covered in crayon. Mom discovered this during some kind of cleaning that took her close enough to the ground to see under the table. [I want to know two things. What was she doing? I never clean well enough to look under my furniture. And why did they get so mad at us? I believe a spoon was involved in the debriefing of that incident. At least we didn’t color on the table. Why didn’t we get praised for the creativity and consideration we showed to the side of the furniture that actually mattered?]
I digress. What I was going toward was that Tony and I were pretty good pals until we entered school, upon which he took the road to coolness, and I chose the nerdy bookish road less traveled. Even though we only had one grade between us, we rarely saw each other at school due to the self-imposed apartheid of the schoolyard. That all changed in middle school.
Thanks to my fondness of all things literary, I was placed in the advanced classes for English and History, which also found me seated only rows away from big bro.
Keep in mind that Tony has always been a gentleman in his fashion. When I for some reason chose to go commando at one of my early birthday party’s, Tony so kindly pointed it out by running around yelling, “Laura isn’t wearing any underwear!” over and over in a singsongy tone. Good thing you weren’t at my 21 run!
No worries, I had my methods for getting revenge. Namely by being the “good” one. Next to Hurricane Tony’s antics, I coasted. Any wrath the parentals had was safely diffused by the time I got around to getting into trouble.
Anyway, as much as he could be a too-cool-for-you pain in my geeky ass, he always had my back. Such as the time he nearly choked a kid for teasing me in class. Thanks bro.
As we moved on through High School, we only had a few classes in common, and I was graced with the unspoken nod as my only acknowledgement in the halls as we passed (and as I was told, lucky to have even that after my social faux pas as a newly fledged freshman yelling “HI TONY!!!” down the hall to his utter dismay).
Tony was in the upper strata of the high school social scene, and this, by default, pulled me up a few rungs by simple inertia. The cool girls were nice to me, to get closer to him or because they were his friends, and the boys, well, I kept them at a distance by my own adolescent wonderment of being taller and wider than most of them, but the threat of Tony was the final nail in the coffin of any hopes I held of dating.
That’s not to say I didn’t have guys that were friends, who were nice to me for who I was in my own right (and not just because I baked a lot of cookies and knew the answers to tests), but there was certainly the brother factor always looming.
Example? Why sure. The only guarantee I ever had of having a date to a dance was when it was girl ask boy (bless you Sadie Hawkins). In my junior year, I asked my crush to the dance and he actually said yes. This boy was a football player and knew Tony well. Can you imagine the bliss that a nerdy girl can find in swaying with the boy she was head over heals in crush with to the dulcet tones of some piece of bad nineties pop? What? Obligated to? Never mind that. Back to the story. To my horror, my horror I tell you, Tony marches up and says to the young swain in his best Major Dad voice, “six inches! I want to see six inches between you at all times!” Thanks bro.
There was kindness in his madness though. The time I got piss drunk (oh, yes, that is a literal term in this instance) at a keg ball game, Tony made sure I was taken away, but not taken home – through intermediaries of course. The hell if he was going to make contact with me in my condition.
I remember catching glimpses here and there of his not quite hidden tender heart. Laying on the floor in front of the stereo, wailing along with Willie about a southern state that shared the name of a girl he wooed.
Then there was the time when he and I were left home alone by my parents, and the alarm of his beloved Camero went off at o-dark thirty. The windy storm may have had something to do with it, but apparently Tony’s multiple viewings of the godfather convinced him that a nefarious element was afoot. So in he barges into my room with a shotgun, telling me to “aim low” if anyone comes through the door. Well, he does protect his own after all.
Off to college and the great Northwest I went, free from the little sister shroud that I struggled with for so long. And don’t tell me I was feeling sorry for myself. You try being the youngest and tell me how good you have it always being compared to someone else.
During those years, and the ones that followed, Tony and I drifted down our own life paths, which diverged pretty dramatically as his neck grew more red, and mine took on a tint of green. I am far from being a crunchy liberal compared to many of my Oregon compatriots, but compared to Tony? Fahgetaboutit. I might as well slap on a few bumper stickers on my car a la “No Blood for Oil!" "Bush lied, people died!" "Have you hugged your tree today?”
I am not a politically charged person, but my damn brother knows how to push my damn buttons and I get damned defensive about things I usually don’t give a damn about. Mom keeps giving the same advice she has for 32 years. "He knows how to get a rise out of you. That’s why he does it."
Yes, I know. And the fact that Tony now works as an environmental conservationist for urban green spaces? Oh yea, that’s some good karmic shit right there for the years of spotted owl abuse he has thrown my way.
So where are we today? After Tony met Traci, and they had their boys, continued evidence of his inner softiness peeps out now and again from under that curmudgeony exterior. Tony loves his boys, and they adore him. He is a hands-on dad, teaching them by doing about all the things he enjoys. We differ in our parenting approaches but I respect his ways and eh, maybe he does the same for me. We have a common ground in that, as parents, it’s our turn to teach our kids all the things that our parents and grandparents taught us, regardless of our methods.
He is a great Uncle, and will undoubtedly teach Colin all kinds of things that I will not want to know about. His boys adore Colin and our little puppy likes to tag along with them around the compound.
As intensely aggravating as it has sometimes been to grow up in his direct wake, I know with an absolute certainty that he has my back, always and unconditionally. That is a gem indeed in light of today’s shifty world. I have his too, whether he knows it or not. I have done what I could, through the years and across the miles, to defend and support and applaud. Maybe not quite so dramatic as choking a classmate, but it’s there.
We’re kind of like the opposite ends of a magnet. On our own, able to reach out and attract and connect to things that matter to us. Put us together, and we’ll never quite manage to meet eye to eye, but will hover around the strong invisible force that is family.
Since I have his name for Christmas, I will create a little economy of scale and add this to his stocking and my blog for the price of one.
Tony and I are a year minus six days apart, which means that for six days, we are the same age. This armed me with some great childhood ammo, something I usually lacked against my older siblings. Like the wild animals children are, they sensed I was no threat and circled for the kill most of the time. But for those six glorious days I could taunt, “you aren’t older than me! You can’t boss me!”
In our younger years, we were the Diapered Duo, a formidable team for mom to handle as we communicated our divide and conquer strategies in bottled Morse code to unleash our havoc upon her world. Nothing was safe, such as the underside of our coffee table, which we absolutely covered in crayon. Mom discovered this during some kind of cleaning that took her close enough to the ground to see under the table. [I want to know two things. What was she doing? I never clean well enough to look under my furniture. And why did they get so mad at us? I believe a spoon was involved in the debriefing of that incident. At least we didn’t color on the table. Why didn’t we get praised for the creativity and consideration we showed to the side of the furniture that actually mattered?]
I digress. What I was going toward was that Tony and I were pretty good pals until we entered school, upon which he took the road to coolness, and I chose the nerdy bookish road less traveled. Even though we only had one grade between us, we rarely saw each other at school due to the self-imposed apartheid of the schoolyard. That all changed in middle school.
Thanks to my fondness of all things literary, I was placed in the advanced classes for English and History, which also found me seated only rows away from big bro.
Keep in mind that Tony has always been a gentleman in his fashion. When I for some reason chose to go commando at one of my early birthday party’s, Tony so kindly pointed it out by running around yelling, “Laura isn’t wearing any underwear!” over and over in a singsongy tone. Good thing you weren’t at my 21 run!
No worries, I had my methods for getting revenge. Namely by being the “good” one. Next to Hurricane Tony’s antics, I coasted. Any wrath the parentals had was safely diffused by the time I got around to getting into trouble.
Anyway, as much as he could be a too-cool-for-you pain in my geeky ass, he always had my back. Such as the time he nearly choked a kid for teasing me in class. Thanks bro.
As we moved on through High School, we only had a few classes in common, and I was graced with the unspoken nod as my only acknowledgement in the halls as we passed (and as I was told, lucky to have even that after my social faux pas as a newly fledged freshman yelling “HI TONY!!!” down the hall to his utter dismay).
Tony was in the upper strata of the high school social scene, and this, by default, pulled me up a few rungs by simple inertia. The cool girls were nice to me, to get closer to him or because they were his friends, and the boys, well, I kept them at a distance by my own adolescent wonderment of being taller and wider than most of them, but the threat of Tony was the final nail in the coffin of any hopes I held of dating.
That’s not to say I didn’t have guys that were friends, who were nice to me for who I was in my own right (and not just because I baked a lot of cookies and knew the answers to tests), but there was certainly the brother factor always looming.
Example? Why sure. The only guarantee I ever had of having a date to a dance was when it was girl ask boy (bless you Sadie Hawkins). In my junior year, I asked my crush to the dance and he actually said yes. This boy was a football player and knew Tony well. Can you imagine the bliss that a nerdy girl can find in swaying with the boy she was head over heals in crush with to the dulcet tones of some piece of bad nineties pop? What? Obligated to? Never mind that. Back to the story. To my horror, my horror I tell you, Tony marches up and says to the young swain in his best Major Dad voice, “six inches! I want to see six inches between you at all times!” Thanks bro.
There was kindness in his madness though. The time I got piss drunk (oh, yes, that is a literal term in this instance) at a keg ball game, Tony made sure I was taken away, but not taken home – through intermediaries of course. The hell if he was going to make contact with me in my condition.
I remember catching glimpses here and there of his not quite hidden tender heart. Laying on the floor in front of the stereo, wailing along with Willie about a southern state that shared the name of a girl he wooed.
Then there was the time when he and I were left home alone by my parents, and the alarm of his beloved Camero went off at o-dark thirty. The windy storm may have had something to do with it, but apparently Tony’s multiple viewings of the godfather convinced him that a nefarious element was afoot. So in he barges into my room with a shotgun, telling me to “aim low” if anyone comes through the door. Well, he does protect his own after all.
Off to college and the great Northwest I went, free from the little sister shroud that I struggled with for so long. And don’t tell me I was feeling sorry for myself. You try being the youngest and tell me how good you have it always being compared to someone else.
During those years, and the ones that followed, Tony and I drifted down our own life paths, which diverged pretty dramatically as his neck grew more red, and mine took on a tint of green. I am far from being a crunchy liberal compared to many of my Oregon compatriots, but compared to Tony? Fahgetaboutit. I might as well slap on a few bumper stickers on my car a la “No Blood for Oil!" "Bush lied, people died!" "Have you hugged your tree today?”
I am not a politically charged person, but my damn brother knows how to push my damn buttons and I get damned defensive about things I usually don’t give a damn about. Mom keeps giving the same advice she has for 32 years. "He knows how to get a rise out of you. That’s why he does it."
Yes, I know. And the fact that Tony now works as an environmental conservationist for urban green spaces? Oh yea, that’s some good karmic shit right there for the years of spotted owl abuse he has thrown my way.
So where are we today? After Tony met Traci, and they had their boys, continued evidence of his inner softiness peeps out now and again from under that curmudgeony exterior. Tony loves his boys, and they adore him. He is a hands-on dad, teaching them by doing about all the things he enjoys. We differ in our parenting approaches but I respect his ways and eh, maybe he does the same for me. We have a common ground in that, as parents, it’s our turn to teach our kids all the things that our parents and grandparents taught us, regardless of our methods.
He is a great Uncle, and will undoubtedly teach Colin all kinds of things that I will not want to know about. His boys adore Colin and our little puppy likes to tag along with them around the compound.
As intensely aggravating as it has sometimes been to grow up in his direct wake, I know with an absolute certainty that he has my back, always and unconditionally. That is a gem indeed in light of today’s shifty world. I have his too, whether he knows it or not. I have done what I could, through the years and across the miles, to defend and support and applaud. Maybe not quite so dramatic as choking a classmate, but it’s there.
We’re kind of like the opposite ends of a magnet. On our own, able to reach out and attract and connect to things that matter to us. Put us together, and we’ll never quite manage to meet eye to eye, but will hover around the strong invisible force that is family.
So, Merry Christmas my big brother. I certainly wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for you.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Mama, I'm comin home.
Tomorrow Colin and I fly south to the compound, ready to be ensconced in family joy. Rob will delay the joy by a day, and come in Friday. By Saturday, we will be ready to be unensconced. I kid, I kid. Sort of. No really, I’m joking! mostly
This will be our first trip using Southwest Airlines new unfamily friendly boarding policy under which families can no longer preboard. Apparently people didn’t like families whisking up at the last minute to board first. I say these people deserve to have a toddler stand in line with them for an hour and see how they feel about it then. I will put my theory to the test bright and early tomorrow. Here Colin, have another cookie.
As I’ve been packing I realize that I’m nervous in a way I rarely am to travel home. And not because I’ll be traveling *twitch* alone *twitch* with a *twitch* two-year *twitch* old.
This will be the first time I will see my mom since she has started chemo. The family grapevine is, as always, proliferating, so I know that she’s "looking great." And we’ve gone done the C-road with her before (albeit not with chemo) so that's not it either.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling somewhat like I do when I’m faced with an unknown social environment. What do I say? Do I act nonchalant? “So, cancer is treating you well I see!” Do I compliment and risk it backhanding? “Boy, that wig looks better than you’re real hair!” Do I overcompensate on the confidence? "Cancer, scmancer." Do I let the emotions pour forth? “Wah! This sucks. You can’t have cancer. Not fair.”
The most likely scenario is that I’ll be so hopped up on caffeine goofballs that she will tune me out anyway. Because, you see, I babble when I’m riding the Starbucks High and when I fly, I tend to overindulge on the Lattes. And Mom thinks I'm a sloppy drunk (and has told me so. honesty, thy name is mooty), so she probably thinks I'm a raving lunatic whilst on caffeine.
The good thing about mom is that she’s mom. And if I say something stupid, she still has to love me. Plus, I’ll have the diplomat that is Colin with me. Colin can diffuse an awkward situation pretty easily. He just goes up to someone, stranger or not, and huuuuuugggssss. I've tried the hugging. I just get weird looks. And the strangers don't like it much either.
See you on the Southern Side!
This will be our first trip using Southwest Airlines new unfamily friendly boarding policy under which families can no longer preboard. Apparently people didn’t like families whisking up at the last minute to board first. I say these people deserve to have a toddler stand in line with them for an hour and see how they feel about it then. I will put my theory to the test bright and early tomorrow. Here Colin, have another cookie.
As I’ve been packing I realize that I’m nervous in a way I rarely am to travel home. And not because I’ll be traveling *twitch* alone *twitch* with a *twitch* two-year *twitch* old.
This will be the first time I will see my mom since she has started chemo. The family grapevine is, as always, proliferating, so I know that she’s "looking great." And we’ve gone done the C-road with her before (albeit not with chemo) so that's not it either.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling somewhat like I do when I’m faced with an unknown social environment. What do I say? Do I act nonchalant? “So, cancer is treating you well I see!” Do I compliment and risk it backhanding? “Boy, that wig looks better than you’re real hair!” Do I overcompensate on the confidence? "Cancer, scmancer." Do I let the emotions pour forth? “Wah! This sucks. You can’t have cancer. Not fair.”
The most likely scenario is that I’ll be so hopped up on caffeine goofballs that she will tune me out anyway. Because, you see, I babble when I’m riding the Starbucks High and when I fly, I tend to overindulge on the Lattes. And Mom thinks I'm a sloppy drunk (and has told me so. honesty, thy name is mooty), so she probably thinks I'm a raving lunatic whilst on caffeine.
The good thing about mom is that she’s mom. And if I say something stupid, she still has to love me. Plus, I’ll have the diplomat that is Colin with me. Colin can diffuse an awkward situation pretty easily. He just goes up to someone, stranger or not, and huuuuuugggssss. I've tried the hugging. I just get weird looks. And the strangers don't like it much either.
See you on the Southern Side!
Friday, December 14, 2007
Go Go Gadget, Tragic
We think that the ghost of Inspector Gadget (do da do do do dooo do) is haunting our house. Either that or tall boy has developed an impossibly long reach. We’re finding evidence of Go Go Gadgetness all over the freaking house.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Christmas ornaments from the middle of the tree, which is on a table, all over the living room.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Socks from the dresser that is a foot or more away from the crib, all over the room after nap time.
Go Go Gadget Arms! $10 baggie of hand harvested Portuguese sea salt spilled all over the floor. Why do I have a $10 baggie of hand harvested Portuguese sea salt? That is entirely beside the point. Back to the story.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Cups from the middle of the counter snatched, filled with water at the fridge and spilled all over the floor.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Every light in the house turned on.
Go Go Gadget is running rampant in the house. Santa, please bring me a Go Go Gadget ratchet set so I can disconnect those telescoping limbs.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Zoo la la
I've always wanted to be able to buy some kind of exclusive access to a cool place that is normally crowded beyond comfort. You know, like you see in auctions “VIP access for you and your friends to whiz bang alley!!” in the sections you can't afford to be looking at.
Little did I know that such luxury was already in hand in the form of our Zoo membership card, generously gifted to us by Oma and Opa. Today is the last day of Daycare Donna’s vacation, and I’m home with the little man. The sun is shining, the air is chilly and the Colin is cabin-fevered. So I decided to head us on up to zoo hill for a little fresh air.
Normally the zoo is blood pressure spikingly crowded with families! having! fun!
Today, wow. So much more my speed. Go figure, the Zoo is not a top destination in 40 degree weather. We felt like we owned the place as we walked all alone down the main paths, got right up to the fence or glass to wave to sea lions, tigers, warty pigs, oh my! I exchanged rueful grins with the few other POTs (parents of toddlers) we encountered, pushing their own bundled up bums around the park.
The highlight? We wandered up to the elephant viewing platform and discovered that we were directly above one of the zookeepers and Pachy (one of Portland’s asian elephants). The keeper heard Colin saying Hi to Pachy, and he got Pachy to put his trunk up and wave to Colin with his front foot!
Zoo Membership, $100.00
Hot Chocolate, $3.00
Snacks, $5.00
Having an elephant wave to my boy…priceless
Little did I know that such luxury was already in hand in the form of our Zoo membership card, generously gifted to us by Oma and Opa. Today is the last day of Daycare Donna’s vacation, and I’m home with the little man. The sun is shining, the air is chilly and the Colin is cabin-fevered. So I decided to head us on up to zoo hill for a little fresh air.
Normally the zoo is blood pressure spikingly crowded with families! having! fun!
Today, wow. So much more my speed. Go figure, the Zoo is not a top destination in 40 degree weather. We felt like we owned the place as we walked all alone down the main paths, got right up to the fence or glass to wave to sea lions, tigers, warty pigs, oh my! I exchanged rueful grins with the few other POTs (parents of toddlers) we encountered, pushing their own bundled up bums around the park.
The highlight? We wandered up to the elephant viewing platform and discovered that we were directly above one of the zookeepers and Pachy (one of Portland’s asian elephants). The keeper heard Colin saying Hi to Pachy, and he got Pachy to put his trunk up and wave to Colin with his front foot!
Zoo Membership, $100.00
Hot Chocolate, $3.00
Snacks, $5.00
Having an elephant wave to my boy…priceless
Sunday, December 09, 2007
A tree huntin we will go
Up into the wild Oregon hills we go,Searchin for a tree not too high nor too low.
The mighty bumble is dressed for the chill
As we tromp up that great muddy hill.
He pauses and points, and lets out a shout,
That's the one, our tree no doubt.
We haul our find on down to the car,
and head back into the wild burbs afar.
The adventure was grand, no matter the silly tree prices
Good thing we remembered the camera, the op is priceless.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Deck the halls with boughs of…urrk
Oh what a night. As expected, I tucked the boy into bed and had a good time decking our halls with boughs of various Christmas paraphernalia. Tucked myself in and drifted off.
About midnight I was wakened by Colin’s frantic crying, not the usual “I’ve lost my covers” cry, so I went in to find the poor guy lying in a puddle of yack. Colin has only had one stomach bug, so barfing isn’t very familiar to him – especially in the middle of sleep. He had the what the hell look on his face as I surveyed the damage. I did a quick change out of pillowcase, sheet and wiped down Frog as best I could (the gingerbread stuffy will need a little more help) and tucked him back in. Yes, Colin, I agree. It was “uck.”
An hour later – the cry came again. The damage was worse this time (did I mention we had beets for dinner? yep. beets.) so again came a sheet change, new jammies, and a wipe down. I have to say, Colin must be the kindest tyrannical toddler. As I was moving things around, leaning over the crib bars, he grabbed my head and said thank you mama, patting my arm. I tell ya, it sure took the sting out of the stinky mess we were in.
After that, the calls came about every half hour or so – less mess as the night grinded on, but still dispensing some TLC and tucking back in. And to add insult to injury, every time I made my way back to bed, Soss had moved in for the kill. Taking over my only warm spot in the bed. After the last call, about 4am, I was a little ruder about displacing the furball from my pillow and apparently he wasn’t too pleased.
Just as I was drifting off, I hear the distinctive erk. erk. erk. of a cat revving up for business next to my head as Soss decided to join the barfy fun. I got my hand under his mouth just in time to save my sheets, but not my dignity as I disposed of my handful of cat yack into the toilet and scrubbed the hell out of my hands. Feline revenge is sweet, eh?
After a few hours of sleep, Colin was up and ready to go for the day, apparently no worse the wear after the long night. Then the calls started. Rob’s parents are coming in to watch the boy while Donna is on vacation. The snow that didn’t happen here did happen in Washington. Bob may be delayed starting out from Ellensburg. So plan B is activated – we will pick Nancy up at the airport where she is flying in from LA. Okay. No problem. Next call. Rob is snowed in at our friend’s home in Snoqualmie (starts with sno, appropriate, eh?) and isn’t sure when he will be able to head home. Greeeaaat.
Anyone else? Are you sure? It’s not even noon yet so if someone has some yarf to sell, apparently I’m buying! Because really, at this point all I can do is say what the eff and laugh.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Tis the season
Rob is off to Seattle for the annual Bike Show pilgrimage and I’m at home with the bumble, stuck inside on a snow-ishly cold day, trying to ignore the background drama of a cabin fevered two-year old who wants! daddy! more than he wants anything to do with me. I have the Christmas boxes down ready to unpack, tonight after the house elf is safely tucked away in bed.
I’m listening to Josh Groban’s Noel and feeling the sentiments of the season rise in my heart and into my head, turning into new revelations of thankfulness and switching on comforting memories of season’s past.
Christmas is here.
It’s time to pop in the Alabama Christmas album and bawl my head off. There is nothing like an old-school country Christmas song (two, specifically) to turn one into a sobbing, snot dripping mess, especially fun in traffic where everyone can see.
Homecoming Christmas
A glowin' fire and fallin' snow, they spark a memory
I’m listening to Josh Groban’s Noel and feeling the sentiments of the season rise in my heart and into my head, turning into new revelations of thankfulness and switching on comforting memories of season’s past.
Christmas is here.
It’s time to pop in the Alabama Christmas album and bawl my head off. There is nothing like an old-school country Christmas song (two, specifically) to turn one into a sobbing, snot dripping mess, especially fun in traffic where everyone can see.
Homecoming Christmas
A glowin' fire and fallin' snow, they spark a memory
Stockings hangin', mistletoe, presents beneath a tree
A happy boy wakin' up to toys, lookin' so surprised
And wondering how Santa knew just when I closed my eyes
It's a Homecoming Christmas, goin' back to where it all began
Homecoming Christmas, I wanna be there once again
Memories do sweet and strong and I've been done too long
It's Christmas time and I'm comin' home
I can see the Christmas tree and feel the warm fireplace
Handmade decorations, homemade pies and cakes
Family all together with so much love to share
A special time and I can't wait, can't wait to be there
It's a Homecoming Christmas, goin' back to where it all began
Homecoming Christmas, I wanna be there once again
Memories do sweet and strong and I've been done too long
It's Christmas time and I'm comin' home
Christmas Memories
Christmas Memories
There's a blanket of snow coverin' up the old road to the house where I was raised
Through the window I see the lights on the tree and a glow from the old fireplace
Though it all looks the same so much as changed from the way it used to be
Christmas memories of happy years gone by
They come back to me and keep me warm inside
Still those Christmas memories make me cry
Now the stockings are filled; the house is still and the kids are dreamin' away
There's that old easy chair, me and Daddy sat there waitin' for Santa's sleigh
Now Daddy's gone but we carry on 'cause the little ones will need...
Christmas memories of happy years gone by
They come back to me and keep me warm inside
Oh they mean so much to me
Those Christmas memories make me cry
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Bring on the cheer!
Winter has arrived. Landing with the grace of a lead weight the day after the fall fanfare that was Thanksgiving. Overnight it seemed to turn from chilly to cold. Poor Colin has nary a coat to his name that fits, so icy hands have to warmed frequently with lots of kisses. Yes, I ordered one. No worries.
We had a lovely and low-key Thanksgiving filled with Turkey goodness and Wiekings. Although it did end on a surreal note as we unexpectedly had to say a sad farewell to old Jo, who was Rob’s parent’s four-legged friend, right after dinner was over. Pie anyone?
Now that we are officially in the holiday season (ha, you stinking marketers, I made it past Thanksgiving without giving into your foul designs on my wallet) I am ready to make merry with the tinsel, tree and lights. Especially since we have a fancy new fireplace to decorate and admire.
Even with the anticipated trauma of the special circle of hell that is an airport (it’s decorated in tinsel, ya’ll!) during holiday travel season, I am looking forward to heading south for Christmas. I’m feeling far away right now, and even though my mom is feeling relatively fine for going through the chemical travails of chemo, I have a craving for a real hold-on-tight, rock back and forth a bit, try not to cry hug.
The boy and I will travel down first, and Rob will join us on the weekend. I have traveled with Colin alone before, and although it’s the longest few hours ever spent, at least I know he will have fun with the people.
Oh, how he loves the people.
If one of his favorites is not around, he is perfectly happy going up to strangers for hugs. *cringe*
I think Colin will enjoy Christmas a lot this year, maybe not quite understanding the whole mystique of the big man in the red suit, but certainly enjoying time with his pack of cousins and aunts and uncles.
Better get back tocyber shopping work. I shall do my best to maintain a second-year-in-a-row feat of avoiding mall insanity outside of a quick dash in for a photo op with Santa.
RIP Jo Jo dog.
We had a lovely and low-key Thanksgiving filled with Turkey goodness and Wiekings. Although it did end on a surreal note as we unexpectedly had to say a sad farewell to old Jo, who was Rob’s parent’s four-legged friend, right after dinner was over. Pie anyone?
Now that we are officially in the holiday season (ha, you stinking marketers, I made it past Thanksgiving without giving into your foul designs on my wallet) I am ready to make merry with the tinsel, tree and lights. Especially since we have a fancy new fireplace to decorate and admire.
Even with the anticipated trauma of the special circle of hell that is an airport (it’s decorated in tinsel, ya’ll!) during holiday travel season, I am looking forward to heading south for Christmas. I’m feeling far away right now, and even though my mom is feeling relatively fine for going through the chemical travails of chemo, I have a craving for a real hold-on-tight, rock back and forth a bit, try not to cry hug.
The boy and I will travel down first, and Rob will join us on the weekend. I have traveled with Colin alone before, and although it’s the longest few hours ever spent, at least I know he will have fun with the people.
Oh, how he loves the people.
If one of his favorites is not around, he is perfectly happy going up to strangers for hugs. *cringe*
I think Colin will enjoy Christmas a lot this year, maybe not quite understanding the whole mystique of the big man in the red suit, but certainly enjoying time with his pack of cousins and aunts and uncles.
Better get back to
RIP Jo Jo dog.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Graham Cracker Days
I was recently trying to find an old file for the Heidrick museum and came across several essays I had written for my then website. They were written about ten years ago, and I'm honestly a bit surprised that my writing style hasn't changed a whole lot! Enjoy.
Graham Cracker Days
The first time I really had my mom all to myself was after Tony began Kindergarten. I was in a preschool co-op a few days a week, but for the most part, I was at home with mom or going on errands with her. I wish my memory were better, because that year was an important one in my life.
That was one of the years my mom served as the PTA president, and she was always busy with projects. Since I was always jabbering to her about this or that, she developed a tendency to tune me out and listen with only half an ear, figuring I wasn’t really talking about any specific thing. This tendency didn’t escape me though. She spent a lot of time on the phone and on one occasion when she hung up from one call and was about to make the next, I ran up to her and implored, “Before you get on the phone again, can I talk to you real quick?” This caught my mom short. I wasn’t being neglected, yet I obviously had a need for some real time with her.
She decided then and there that she had better make time to listen – really listen – to what I was telling her or she would miss out on a lot of who I was becoming. Mom has told me that she was surprised to realize what a card I was. I soaked in everything from my surroundings, spun it to my level in my head, and spit it all back out with my own perspective and twist on it. For a four-year-old, I had a pretty dry sense of humor and I kept my mom in smiles.
One of the only memories I can recall from that time was making rainy day snacks for the older kids. Mom asked me if I wanted to make some treats for the kids with her. I readily agreed. We sat at the table talking and making graham cracker and chocolate frosting sandwiches until the plate was full. Then we got to eat a couple as our own treat. It seems a simple, fleeting moment – but it’s one that has never left my mind for a moment. Whenever I recall my childhood or try to figure out when my mom and I became so close, I always touch on that memory as a defining moment in my life.
"She's loud."
I was a loud child. I played loud, talked loud and cried loud. During one of my checkups, she asked the family doctor why I was always loud; was it my hearing? Dr. Jann, being very familiar with the Lucchesi kids, told her not to worry. He said it’s no wonder she’s loud considering your family! Nothings wrong with her. If she wasn’t loud, no one would hear her.
Once my mom got in the habit of taking the time to listen to me, she started to stick up for me with the other kids. Rusty, acting as the family spokesperson, came to her once and complained about how I was always bugging him and the others to listen to me. Because she had recently gone through this dilemma herself, she had some advice for him. She told Russ to start listening to me – he might be surprised with what I had to say. He wasn’t too keen on the idea but said he would give it a try. A few weeks later, he came back to mom and confessed she was right. “She’s really funny!” he told her and shared with her some of the things I had told him. Out of the clan, Russ has always had the most patience with me.
I think it’s funny that my family viewed me first as the loud one, then as the missing link and then back to the loud one. I always thought that compared to the others, I was the stealthy kid, doing my own thing with no one noticing. Granted, once I hit adolescence, there were plenty of occasions when I wasn’t heard from for days – and I’ll share some of those stories – but given the overall design of a Lucchesi kid, we are all loud on some level. The din at family dinners – even today – rivals that of the Walton’s…or more appropriately – the Clamptons!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
We’re getting through
Colin finds a certain amount of glee in disobeying. No to him is apparently toddler code for go for broke. IE: No, don’t bite. CHOMP CHOMP. No, don’t bang the metal toy on the wood floors. BAM BAM. No, don’t drop your food off the tray. HURL HUCK SQUISH. No, you’re driving mommy crazy. DADA! WAN DADA!!
Little wonder that Rob and I are all about the shrugs when we’re trying to determine if he’s learning anything from us.
One of our favorite activities is nibble the toddler. We love to take a munch or two out of the irresistibly chubby arms and thighs as they flail within reach. Hey, fairs fair. He certainly doesn’t hesitate to take a bite out of us now and then.
Since we are in the midst of yet another (ohgodmakeitstop) home improvement project, we’ve been banished down to the bedrooms to stay out of the way. Colin and I had fun hanging out on our bed watching BabyCrack Einstein videos to stay occupied on this particular rainy day. I saw a nibble opportunity and I took it, and was then surprised to have Colin round on me, point his finger, furrow his brow and say in all seriousness, “no bite, mama.”
I had Rob test it out later and he got the same stern admonishment. Who would have thunked it, he’s actually absorbing our ad nauseum repeated cries of no this and no that.
That doesn’t mean we’ll stop the nibbles, it’s kind of funny to have him tell us no. Hmm, that sounds familiar…
Little wonder that Rob and I are all about the shrugs when we’re trying to determine if he’s learning anything from us.
One of our favorite activities is nibble the toddler. We love to take a munch or two out of the irresistibly chubby arms and thighs as they flail within reach. Hey, fairs fair. He certainly doesn’t hesitate to take a bite out of us now and then.
Since we are in the midst of yet another (ohgodmakeitstop) home improvement project, we’ve been banished down to the bedrooms to stay out of the way. Colin and I had fun hanging out on our bed watching Baby
I had Rob test it out later and he got the same stern admonishment. Who would have thunked it, he’s actually absorbing our ad nauseum repeated cries of no this and no that.
That doesn’t mean we’ll stop the nibbles, it’s kind of funny to have him tell us no. Hmm, that sounds familiar…
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Thanksgiving, the uncool holiday
A recent discussion in my brain. “It’s mid-November.” “No it’s not. Is it? Are you sure?” “Yep, that’s what the calendar says.” “Then why am I surrounded by Christmess rather than the oh so pilgrimy and turkey goodness that November calls for?”
The retail community needs to rein it in justalittlebit, as in, a lot. Each year they pull out the tinsel and trash a few days earlier, and then they complain at the end of the season that sales were poor. Really? You feel you have the right to complain? Do you think it has something to do with the fact that extending the Christmas sales season by a month only stretches dollars more?
Just because you decide that earlier displays will inspire purchasing doesn’t mean that I’m going to give in to your marketing shenanigans. I’m on to you. Silly marketers. Thinking that I will trade in my cornucopia for cinnamon scented pinecones before it’s time…
Quit messing with my fall. I love fall. And Thanksgiving is Fall in so many ways. I want to have time to be thankful for my life, and family and all that warm fuzzy stuff that I've been lucky to have granted to me. I like to ease into the holiday madness, not slam into it because of a wrong turn around the turkey.
If you can feel bad about a holiday, I feel for Thanksgiving. It's getting the shaft. It's like the holiday that got picked last for dodgeball. And those cool kids up in marketing are not making it easier. We'll have to send in reinforcements.
The retail community needs to rein it in justalittlebit, as in, a lot. Each year they pull out the tinsel and trash a few days earlier, and then they complain at the end of the season that sales were poor. Really? You feel you have the right to complain? Do you think it has something to do with the fact that extending the Christmas sales season by a month only stretches dollars more?
Just because you decide that earlier displays will inspire purchasing doesn’t mean that I’m going to give in to your marketing shenanigans. I’m on to you. Silly marketers. Thinking that I will trade in my cornucopia for cinnamon scented pinecones before it’s time…
Quit messing with my fall. I love fall. And Thanksgiving is Fall in so many ways. I want to have time to be thankful for my life, and family and all that warm fuzzy stuff that I've been lucky to have granted to me. I like to ease into the holiday madness, not slam into it because of a wrong turn around the turkey.
If you can feel bad about a holiday, I feel for Thanksgiving. It's getting the shaft. It's like the holiday that got picked last for dodgeball. And those cool kids up in marketing are not making it easier. We'll have to send in reinforcements.
Back off the turkey you wascally merchandisers.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Oh yes, yes I did.
Vintage Sears, Polyester goodness.
AKA Betty before the clinic.
@ CUAO Annual Awards Banquet
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The evil within
I’m going to confess something that may change your view of me. So if you like to think of me the way you currently do, stop reading here.
Okay. Still with me? Good. Here’s my big dark secret. I like to kill plants. Now, hold on a minute, let me explain. I’m not talking about trees, flowers or my own home-grown tasty vegetables. I’m talking about the effing weeds that are overtaking my yard and make me want to chop off my green thumb in frustration, especially since it’s probably my fault in the first place.
Let’s take a trip back in time to the days when we were new home owners, when I was overjoyed to survey my new domain and the endless stream of home improvement projects were just a twinkle in our newlywed eyes. The best part was that I had a large, albeit overgrown, yard to do with as I wished (since the hubs is more motor, less yard inclined). The first step was clean up. I kept coming across large patches of mature, dried out tangles of plants. Any time I’d try to pull a clump out – whoosh – out would spray a volley of missals. Even if I just brushed by a plant. Whoosh. In my stupidity naivete, I thought it was funny. And would call to Rob, “Hey hon, look at these crazy weeds! Watch what they do! hee hee” Whoosh, whoosh here, whoosh whoosh there, whoosh whoosh all over the damn place. Then it quit being funny, but since I had no choice but to pull them, I helped these weeds spread unknown generations of their devilish offspring.
Flash forward to every spring and fall since and I have to deal with the consequences of my actions. These dang weeds are the most resistant essohbees that I have ever encountered. They even camouflage themselves depending on what they are growing in. And they will grow in anything and everything, and everywhere and all the time.
They must be caught before they seed and start to dry, and let me tell you, the whooshing season comes fast.
Back to the kill lust. As I said, these suckers are resistant. They don’t die in the freeze or for lack of water. They only way I’ve found to put an end to them is pulling by hand and spraying the holy hell out of them with RoundUp. In my battles, I have discovered that whenever I can win a round against these persistent devil weeds, I feel a sense of joy. Joy that I’ve yanked their little green lives out of the ground and stomped and strangled them until they scream little weedy death throes. I imagine my roses and lilacs are thanking me for the clear space around their limbs, and I’m the Queen of May despite my murderous tendencies.
I was looking at the yard the other day and realized that there was a literal carpet of these weeds on nearly every inch of my domain – worse than I have ever seen even right after my whooshing days. We’ve had a stretch of beautiful fall weather the last week and I knew that my window was closing if I wanted to try to kill this crop before the rain came back.
Normally I’m all for trying out eco-friendly products. I’ve cleaned with vinegar and baking soda, use dye and scent free laundry soap, blah blah blah. But when it comes to herbacides – the nastier, more chemically compounded and unnatural the better. (when I’m at the farmer’s market, I keep hoping some black market operative is going to offer me some of the professional stuff. “Psst, lady. I got whatcha lookin for right here. Killoweedo Formula X-18.”) Because I want these weeds dead, and the seeds too scared to pop out of the ground.
There’s actually another reason I don’t use organic herbicide and here’s my reasoning. Let’s say there is a “natural” product that is made using a plant found in the jungles down south. To get said product, the company uses underpaid local child labor, interferes with the area’s ecosystem by overharvesting, transports it back to the production facility using some god-awful diesel barge ships and compounds it using some crazy chemical to distill the good stuff. Doesn’t really seem like a good trade-off to me. Give me a gallon of the good stuff that’s guaranteed to provide a killing spree that Dahmer would give a nod to, and I’ll send a little check the Sierra Club in contrition.
So this weekend I spent the better part of one of the last non-rainy days dousing the carpet of evil, feeling like Tony Montoya of Bonanza Court, with my high-powered trigger sprayer locked and loaded. “Say hello to my leetly fwiend.” After a careful sweep of my domain, I sit back and hope that I have done my worst, feeling no pity for these greenie meanies who will. Not. Desist.
Hopefully I haven’t shocked you with my admission of my murderous side, but we all have a vice, now don’t we?
(Mother Nature, if you’re reading my confession. Please try to understand. I know I walk with evil in my heart for what is after all one of your creations, but really. Isn’t this a little much? I can handle the dandelions, I can manage those weird purple weeds that are kind of stinky in a good way when I pull them, but give me a little break with these things.)
Okay. Still with me? Good. Here’s my big dark secret. I like to kill plants. Now, hold on a minute, let me explain. I’m not talking about trees, flowers or my own home-grown tasty vegetables. I’m talking about the effing weeds that are overtaking my yard and make me want to chop off my green thumb in frustration, especially since it’s probably my fault in the first place.
Let’s take a trip back in time to the days when we were new home owners, when I was overjoyed to survey my new domain and the endless stream of home improvement projects were just a twinkle in our newlywed eyes. The best part was that I had a large, albeit overgrown, yard to do with as I wished (since the hubs is more motor, less yard inclined). The first step was clean up. I kept coming across large patches of mature, dried out tangles of plants. Any time I’d try to pull a clump out – whoosh – out would spray a volley of missals. Even if I just brushed by a plant. Whoosh. In my stupidity naivete, I thought it was funny. And would call to Rob, “Hey hon, look at these crazy weeds! Watch what they do! hee hee” Whoosh, whoosh here, whoosh whoosh there, whoosh whoosh all over the damn place. Then it quit being funny, but since I had no choice but to pull them, I helped these weeds spread unknown generations of their devilish offspring.
Flash forward to every spring and fall since and I have to deal with the consequences of my actions. These dang weeds are the most resistant essohbees that I have ever encountered. They even camouflage themselves depending on what they are growing in. And they will grow in anything and everything, and everywhere and all the time.
They must be caught before they seed and start to dry, and let me tell you, the whooshing season comes fast.
Back to the kill lust. As I said, these suckers are resistant. They don’t die in the freeze or for lack of water. They only way I’ve found to put an end to them is pulling by hand and spraying the holy hell out of them with RoundUp. In my battles, I have discovered that whenever I can win a round against these persistent devil weeds, I feel a sense of joy. Joy that I’ve yanked their little green lives out of the ground and stomped and strangled them until they scream little weedy death throes. I imagine my roses and lilacs are thanking me for the clear space around their limbs, and I’m the Queen of May despite my murderous tendencies.
I was looking at the yard the other day and realized that there was a literal carpet of these weeds on nearly every inch of my domain – worse than I have ever seen even right after my whooshing days. We’ve had a stretch of beautiful fall weather the last week and I knew that my window was closing if I wanted to try to kill this crop before the rain came back.
Normally I’m all for trying out eco-friendly products. I’ve cleaned with vinegar and baking soda, use dye and scent free laundry soap, blah blah blah. But when it comes to herbacides – the nastier, more chemically compounded and unnatural the better. (when I’m at the farmer’s market, I keep hoping some black market operative is going to offer me some of the professional stuff. “Psst, lady. I got whatcha lookin for right here. Killoweedo Formula X-18.”) Because I want these weeds dead, and the seeds too scared to pop out of the ground.
There’s actually another reason I don’t use organic herbicide and here’s my reasoning. Let’s say there is a “natural” product that is made using a plant found in the jungles down south. To get said product, the company uses underpaid local child labor, interferes with the area’s ecosystem by overharvesting, transports it back to the production facility using some god-awful diesel barge ships and compounds it using some crazy chemical to distill the good stuff. Doesn’t really seem like a good trade-off to me. Give me a gallon of the good stuff that’s guaranteed to provide a killing spree that Dahmer would give a nod to, and I’ll send a little check the Sierra Club in contrition.
So this weekend I spent the better part of one of the last non-rainy days dousing the carpet of evil, feeling like Tony Montoya of Bonanza Court, with my high-powered trigger sprayer locked and loaded. “Say hello to my leetly fwiend.” After a careful sweep of my domain, I sit back and hope that I have done my worst, feeling no pity for these greenie meanies who will. Not. Desist.
Hopefully I haven’t shocked you with my admission of my murderous side, but we all have a vice, now don’t we?
(Mother Nature, if you’re reading my confession. Please try to understand. I know I walk with evil in my heart for what is after all one of your creations, but really. Isn’t this a little much? I can handle the dandelions, I can manage those weird purple weeds that are kind of stinky in a good way when I pull them, but give me a little break with these things.)
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Halloween!
There are many things in life that were, I am not afraid to admit, more fun BC (before Colin). Halloween isn’t one of them. We had a lot of fun this year watching Colin get into the spirit of things.
We gutted our pumpkin (that we grew ourselves) and enjoyed some toasted pumpkin seeds. I have to say, the enjoyment was much higher knowing these came from our garden
We carved a face (with help from Mommy).
We looked cuuuuuuttttteeee....
We set out with empty bucket in hand, ready to fight our way through ghosts, goblins and any other unfortunate souls who dare block the path of Pachy the Pachederme.
We took our little pachy to a local
retirement community for trick or treating. It was a fun time, the residents loved seeing the little man dressed up and Colin was as charming as could be. It was a bit scary to see how quickly Colin got the hang of the treat aspect of this game. After a few visits, he was lunging into the treat bags gripping a handful. I was worried he was going to knock one of the grans off her feet!
For those of you (you know who you are) who think we deny Colin all things sugar, no worries. He enjoyed his treats and bounced off the walls like amonkey on crack pro.
We gutted our pumpkin (that we grew ourselves) and enjoyed some toasted pumpkin seeds. I have to say, the enjoyment was much higher knowing these came from our garden
We carved a face (with help from Mommy).
We looked cuuuuuuttttteeee....
We set out with empty bucket in hand, ready to fight our way through ghosts, goblins and any other unfortunate souls who dare block the path of Pachy the Pachederme.
We took our little pachy to a local
retirement community for trick or treating. It was a fun time, the residents loved seeing the little man dressed up and Colin was as charming as could be. It was a bit scary to see how quickly Colin got the hang of the treat aspect of this game. After a few visits, he was lunging into the treat bags gripping a handful. I was worried he was going to knock one of the grans off her feet!
For those of you (you know who you are) who think we deny Colin all things sugar, no worries. He enjoyed his treats and bounced off the walls like a
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Fall, fabulous fall.
I’ve expressed my love for this tween season before. The summer heat is gone, but the winter blahs have yet to sink their teeth in. And can you get any more beautiful colors out there? I was taking a little ramble today to clear out the afternoon cobwebs and it dawned on that it’s the language of fall that I love in particular. Here is some of my favorite fallesque verbage:
Hazy
Toasted
Rich
Autumnal
Comfy
Warm
Snuggle
Tucked-in
Warmies (as in Get your warmies on!)
Pumpkin
Burnt
Nip in the air
On the sense side:
Sight – multi colored trees framed against a blue fall sky; Colin in flannel footy jamjams.
Sound – crunchy leaves underfoot, the way words carry in the slightly hollow air.
Smell – Roasting pumpkin seeds, faint whiff of woodsmoke in the air, a cold fall morning.
Taste – casseroles, hot lattes, comfort food.
Touch – Colin’s warm feet on my cold hands, kissing Rob’s chilly cheek after a walk outside.
Hazy
Toasted
Rich
Autumnal
Comfy
Warm
Snuggle
Tucked-in
Warmies (as in Get your warmies on!)
Pumpkin
Burnt
Nip in the air
On the sense side:
Sight – multi colored trees framed against a blue fall sky; Colin in flannel footy jamjams.
Sound – crunchy leaves underfoot, the way words carry in the slightly hollow air.
Smell – Roasting pumpkin seeds, faint whiff of woodsmoke in the air, a cold fall morning.
Taste – casseroles, hot lattes, comfort food.
Touch – Colin’s warm feet on my cold hands, kissing Rob’s chilly cheek after a walk outside.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Happy Birthday Colin!
Dear Colin,
Our sweet little bumble of joy, you are now two years old. Every day, month and year that comes and goes makes me realize that time does indeed fly.
You are now more boy than baby, but there are still enough squeezable chubs and drooley giggles to keep the growing up wolves at bay.
If I had to use one word to describe your nature, I would say joyful. You are a happy, wide-eyed, smiling and charming little man. Even in your solemn exploration of new things, a smile is lurking just below the surface, ready to break free at the ah-ha moment of discovery.
You are a cuddly wonder, giving out hugs to one and all, whether they asked for one or not. I am so happy to see this (and always thrilled to be a recipient), because one of my fears is that my own early-days fear of holding you “too much” as a newborn would make you withdraw from contact. You seem to have a special eye for little old ladies who are in need of a touch o’ bumble to brighten their day.
You make Daddy and I laugh at your sometimes-serious approach to play. You look like Opa the professor, and Grandpa the engineer as you study and figure and process with a furrowed brow and pursed mouth.
Our sweet little bumble of joy, you are now two years old. Every day, month and year that comes and goes makes me realize that time does indeed fly.
You are now more boy than baby, but there are still enough squeezable chubs and drooley giggles to keep the growing up wolves at bay.
If I had to use one word to describe your nature, I would say joyful. You are a happy, wide-eyed, smiling and charming little man. Even in your solemn exploration of new things, a smile is lurking just below the surface, ready to break free at the ah-ha moment of discovery.
You are a cuddly wonder, giving out hugs to one and all, whether they asked for one or not. I am so happy to see this (and always thrilled to be a recipient), because one of my fears is that my own early-days fear of holding you “too much” as a newborn would make you withdraw from contact. You seem to have a special eye for little old ladies who are in need of a touch o’ bumble to brighten their day.
You make Daddy and I laugh at your sometimes-serious approach to play. You look like Opa the professor, and Grandpa the engineer as you study and figure and process with a furrowed brow and pursed mouth.
I am never more present in my life than when I’m with you.
When you come running towards us shouting maaaamaaaa! or daaaaddddyyyy! As if you haven’t seen us for days, rather than minutes, it’s so delightful that it’s a little heartbreaking.
Your temper is quick to ignite, but easy to defuse. I think you like to push the boundaries, just to see what’s on the other side. We try to stand back to let you fall to learn, but are quick to offer hugs and assurances.
I will always cherish the site of you in footy pajamas.
The unadulterated love you have for Soss is precious, and your non-prompted attempts to be gentle with him are a sure sign that you don’t really mean to try to squeeze the life out of him.
We can’t wait to see what kind of person you will be, but are enjoying this time in your life more than any other.
When you come running towards us shouting maaaamaaaa! or daaaaddddyyyy! As if you haven’t seen us for days, rather than minutes, it’s so delightful that it’s a little heartbreaking.
Your temper is quick to ignite, but easy to defuse. I think you like to push the boundaries, just to see what’s on the other side. We try to stand back to let you fall to learn, but are quick to offer hugs and assurances.
I will always cherish the site of you in footy pajamas.
The unadulterated love you have for Soss is precious, and your non-prompted attempts to be gentle with him are a sure sign that you don’t really mean to try to squeeze the life out of him.
We can’t wait to see what kind of person you will be, but are enjoying this time in your life more than any other.
Happy birthday sweet boy.
Love Mommy and Daddy
Saturday, October 20, 2007
It’s all fun and zen until someone says no
I need to find something that will get my motor running, in the exercise sense. In my brain I get all amped up to get moving, eat better, lose weight, blah blah blah. Then the low-fuel light comes on and I find myself parked on the couch yet again, with no motivation to actually move. If good intentions caused weight loss, I'd be a freaking size 2!
I have been wanting to try Yoga for a while. Always been interested in it, and the pilates I’ve done have intrigued me enough to at least make me turn my head when I drive past the yoga place next to where I get my nails done.
So I decided to stop in and see if they offered beginner classes. They were happy as can be to sign me up for a private introductory class where they assess your breathing, flexability and cetra for a zen-strodinary low price of twenty-five bucks.
I came in with an open mind, and was led through an hour-long session with my own personal yogi – a nice zenkid named Chad who didn’t smell like I had feared and was touchy in a non-creepy kind of way.
So at the end of my enlightening session (yoga does make you sweat by the way, or at least it does to my sorry out of shape ass), Chad just happened to have a book of options forsigning my life away opening the door to personal zen.
The pricing seemed a bit steep, and the packages were in the plural month ranges, and seemed to require some $50 “uniform” and a registration fee. Not really something I wanted to get sucked into, considering my last attempt at a gym membership cost me $75 a month for a year, for a grand total of two visits (that is $450 a visit my friend).
My frugal chakra flashed bright red at the options (which didn’t include a la cart) and I started my not so subtle attempt to say no.
Little did I realize that Chad had a healthy dose of salesman in his non-threatening hemp yoga outfitted frame. I said I had to check with my husband on the expense and that I would get back to them. I hid a smile at his blandly delivered reply - "Do you check with your husband on every expense?"
So I did actually bring it up to Rob, who thought the price was steep but also thought it would be good if I felt I could commit to it. Then a little research brought up a few articles that accused this chain of being a front for a cult. Okaaaay.
I called the place to say I was going to pass, and had to endure a very not-zen session of excuse and counter-excuse and being put through their sales paces. In the end, they were obviously annoyed that neither I or my wallet was not going to be enlightened by their locale, and I hung up the phone to flee the bad energy coming through the lines.
Still inspired, I found another local Yoga center that seems more explorer friendly and I will go to a beginner class tomorrow to check it out. No uniform required. Per-class pricing if needed. How zen.
I have been wanting to try Yoga for a while. Always been interested in it, and the pilates I’ve done have intrigued me enough to at least make me turn my head when I drive past the yoga place next to where I get my nails done.
So I decided to stop in and see if they offered beginner classes. They were happy as can be to sign me up for a private introductory class where they assess your breathing, flexability and cetra for a zen-strodinary low price of twenty-five bucks.
I came in with an open mind, and was led through an hour-long session with my own personal yogi – a nice zenkid named Chad who didn’t smell like I had feared and was touchy in a non-creepy kind of way.
So at the end of my enlightening session (yoga does make you sweat by the way, or at least it does to my sorry out of shape ass), Chad just happened to have a book of options for
The pricing seemed a bit steep, and the packages were in the plural month ranges, and seemed to require some $50 “uniform” and a registration fee. Not really something I wanted to get sucked into, considering my last attempt at a gym membership cost me $75 a month for a year, for a grand total of two visits (that is $450 a visit my friend).
My frugal chakra flashed bright red at the options (which didn’t include a la cart) and I started my not so subtle attempt to say no.
Little did I realize that Chad had a healthy dose of salesman in his non-threatening hemp yoga outfitted frame. I said I had to check with my husband on the expense and that I would get back to them. I hid a smile at his blandly delivered reply - "Do you check with your husband on every expense?"
So I did actually bring it up to Rob, who thought the price was steep but also thought it would be good if I felt I could commit to it. Then a little research brought up a few articles that accused this chain of being a front for a cult. Okaaaay.
I called the place to say I was going to pass, and had to endure a very not-zen session of excuse and counter-excuse and being put through their sales paces. In the end, they were obviously annoyed that neither I or my wallet was not going to be enlightened by their locale, and I hung up the phone to flee the bad energy coming through the lines.
Still inspired, I found another local Yoga center that seems more explorer friendly and I will go to a beginner class tomorrow to check it out. No uniform required. Per-class pricing if needed. How zen.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Patient
We’ve survived our first surgery. The little man has had a weird cyst on his eyebrow for a while, and they said it would be better to remove it now rather than risk it getting bigger, and thus having a bigger scar. It seemed huge to us, but most people said they hardly noticed it. But then again I notice when Colin’s snuck his finger back into his nose for the thousandth time and I’m sure no one is aware of that, since he’s sly as a fox. A fox I tell ya.Anyway, surgery day began at the butt crack of early on Wednesday morning. Had to be at the outpatient clinic by 6:30 for an 8am start time. We woke up the bop (breaking every parenting ethic against waking a sleeping child) and hustled him into the car, jammies and all. We hurried to check in and wait. They called us back to the little curtained room with the horribly institutional iron bar crib cart. Colin was by this time very interested in his surroundings as in, “hell no am I going to sit here when there are all kinds of things to explore!”
He let the nurses do their thing, charming as always. About a half hour before go time the nurses brought in a little cherry smelling gas mask and I felt the knots begin to tighten in my stomach. The anesthesiologist came in to give us the run down (uh, a little ignorance is bliss in this circumstance, thank you very much) and told us that Colin would be getting a little pre-surgery cocktail to loosen him up and help him forget the whole thing.
Cocktail is right! A few minutes after gulping down the koolaid (so to speak) our little boy was drunk! We got a glimpse of what no parent should see – their child bombed out of their head, complete with stoner eyelids and a heh heh heh laugh. It would not surprise me if the kid was seeing tracers. It was funny and a little heartbreaking all the same to see him in this state. However, it did make it easier to send him off with the nurse since he was giggling and chattering away.
After a quick forty minutes the doctor came out with thumbs up. He woke up a little rough, not surprising, but still hard to not be able to console him. But a cherry otter pop took his sleepy mind off the IV in his arm and gas/ox thing attached to his toes. A second otter pot helped us get him through the removal of said attachments and he was cleared to go home.
As we checked out, we had to pause and acknowledge that with all the drama swirling about the healthcare industry, we are lucky we are to have great insurance when we paid our $10 co-pay and walked out the door.
The ride home was tearful, with Colin wanting Daddy, and Daddy having to go to work. We hunkered down at home and made it through the day. Colin was happy to take a long nap and then a good night’s sleep.
Glad it’s over with, and our now not so lumpy boy doesn’t seem to remember a thing.
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Astronomy of Mom
My mother is my touchstone. The comforting and constant center of gravity upon which my life has always revolved.
At times my orbit is distant and somewhat cold, a Plutonian rotation set off by some ill-founded slight against my too thin for this family skin. Other times it’s as close and intense as mercury is to the sun. Over involved and full of fire, free with opinions on issues that don’t affect my daily life, but that I’m bound to weigh in on. Normally it’s akin to earth’s familiar progress – close enough to bask in the warm glow of rays, yet far enough to maintain an independent keel.
I’m the one that moved away. Given the freedom to go by the one who would never hold us back, yet always wants to keep us safe. I have never regretted the choice I’ve made to live life just a bit apart. But I do often wish the miles were fewer, the journey shorter, the homecoming more routine.
My mom has lung cancer. And my orbit has gone awry.
Not yet knowing the full picture, I founder in my habitual but familiar process of mixing optimism and (il)logic. I find myself trying to hold on dearly to my childhood certainty that my parents will always be there, no matter how far I venture or how many years I add to my own life. I avoid statistics. I cry at the hallmark store. I try to offer encouraging words, holding back my own fears and selfish needs. I listen to stories of recovery, offered as a comfort by friends. I pray in my own fashion, calling on angels and energy to heal and protect.
I hope.
At times my orbit is distant and somewhat cold, a Plutonian rotation set off by some ill-founded slight against my too thin for this family skin. Other times it’s as close and intense as mercury is to the sun. Over involved and full of fire, free with opinions on issues that don’t affect my daily life, but that I’m bound to weigh in on. Normally it’s akin to earth’s familiar progress – close enough to bask in the warm glow of rays, yet far enough to maintain an independent keel.
I’m the one that moved away. Given the freedom to go by the one who would never hold us back, yet always wants to keep us safe. I have never regretted the choice I’ve made to live life just a bit apart. But I do often wish the miles were fewer, the journey shorter, the homecoming more routine.
My mom has lung cancer. And my orbit has gone awry.
Not yet knowing the full picture, I founder in my habitual but familiar process of mixing optimism and (il)logic. I find myself trying to hold on dearly to my childhood certainty that my parents will always be there, no matter how far I venture or how many years I add to my own life. I avoid statistics. I cry at the hallmark store. I try to offer encouraging words, holding back my own fears and selfish needs. I listen to stories of recovery, offered as a comfort by friends. I pray in my own fashion, calling on angels and energy to heal and protect.
I hope.
Desert dreamin
We traveled to Palm Desert for a long weekend of rest and relaxation. The trip started off great, we got to thea;lsdkhf;aonewoayiuy,,… Hand over the keyboard mommy, I’m going to give the real story about this trip!
Colin boy here, ready to give a report on our first family vacation! It’s about time, guys. I’m almost two after all! You keep trotting off without me, well, this time, I wanted to go and see what all the fuss was about. Good thing Mommy got a good deal on this resort preview. She and daddy did a good job avoiding the sales pitch since we got a special rate to “preview” the timeshare. And Mommy said we better take one more flight where I get to fly free. Cause I'll be a two-year old soon and that's when the freebies stop.
We had a super early flight, cause Mommy thinks it’s better to get the travel over with early and still have a day to play. Daddy did all the packing and planning this time, cause he thinks Mommy gets too uptight when we travel. She said, okay mister, you do it all then. He did, but I don't think he realized what he was in for but he did a great job in the planning seat. So well that mommy might let him take over the travel hat.
Our plane was really really small, and I had to sit on daddy’s lap the whole flight. I didn’t really like that. Why would I want to sit still for three hours? But mommy and daddy had a good bag of tricks and I was a pretty good boy for the flight.
Our hotel was out in the middle of a bunch of sand and golf courses. Our room was really big! It had a bedroom, a kitchen and a family room (that’s where I slept), and lots of windows and glass that I put my paws all over. The best part was a balcony where I could throw bread to a family of ducks who lived in the pond right below us. They said quack quack a lot and I thought it was funny.
The desert sure has a lot of old people in it! But they all think I’m cute so they are okay with me. I gave out lots of hugs and pats for free and made lots of people smile. Mommy and daddy said that this place wasn’t really kid-friendly, but I sure made myself at home wherever we went so I don’t know what they are talking about.
We played in the pool a lot. I love to go swimming! I can float and blow bubbles, but mostly I forget and suck in the water instead. Yuck!
We went to see great-grandma MaryAnn this weekend. She is 97 years old! That’s like, a lot more old than I am! She said I was very tall and we played peek a boo. She laughed with me and smiled a lot. I gave her lots of hugs. I’m so happy we got to visit her.
We also went on a tram. It went up, up, up into a mountain. Mommy didn’t like looking down out the window, so she just looked up. I liked trying to get everyone’s attention! I was a little stinker in the restaurant and made Daddy all red in the face when I screamed a lot.
Getting home took a whole long long day. The stupid Horizon airline sent us through Boise to Portland, which daddy said makes no sense, especially when they have little guys like me on the plane and when I get crabby, everyone gets crabby! But I was a good boy and napped on the first flight. Then the dumb flight attendants put their noisy drink cart right in front of me and woke me up too soon.
Then the flight from Boise to home was delayed until 9pm. Mommy and Daddy were annoyed, but I sure had fun going up and down the escalator, the elevator and all around the terminal over and over again. Even though I was really tired, I didn’t want to sleep on the plane, so I just whined and cried so that everyone would know how tired I was. Mommy said that when I’m really mad and say/scream no! to everything, I sound like an agitated muppet. It makes her laugh, which makes me even more mad mad mad.
Boy, I was soo happy to be home and get into my own snuggy bed. I even slept in a bit. I have to keep mommy and daddy guessing!
That’s all for now peeps! This is Colin and I’m signing out. Peas.
Colin boy here, ready to give a report on our first family vacation! It’s about time, guys. I’m almost two after all! You keep trotting off without me, well, this time, I wanted to go and see what all the fuss was about. Good thing Mommy got a good deal on this resort preview. She and daddy did a good job avoiding the sales pitch since we got a special rate to “preview” the timeshare. And Mommy said we better take one more flight where I get to fly free. Cause I'll be a two-year old soon and that's when the freebies stop.
We had a super early flight, cause Mommy thinks it’s better to get the travel over with early and still have a day to play. Daddy did all the packing and planning this time, cause he thinks Mommy gets too uptight when we travel. She said, okay mister, you do it all then. He did, but I don't think he realized what he was in for but he did a great job in the planning seat. So well that mommy might let him take over the travel hat.
Our plane was really really small, and I had to sit on daddy’s lap the whole flight. I didn’t really like that. Why would I want to sit still for three hours? But mommy and daddy had a good bag of tricks and I was a pretty good boy for the flight.
Our hotel was out in the middle of a bunch of sand and golf courses. Our room was really big! It had a bedroom, a kitchen and a family room (that’s where I slept), and lots of windows and glass that I put my paws all over. The best part was a balcony where I could throw bread to a family of ducks who lived in the pond right below us. They said quack quack a lot and I thought it was funny.
The desert sure has a lot of old people in it! But they all think I’m cute so they are okay with me. I gave out lots of hugs and pats for free and made lots of people smile. Mommy and daddy said that this place wasn’t really kid-friendly, but I sure made myself at home wherever we went so I don’t know what they are talking about.
We played in the pool a lot. I love to go swimming! I can float and blow bubbles, but mostly I forget and suck in the water instead. Yuck!
We went to see great-grandma MaryAnn this weekend. She is 97 years old! That’s like, a lot more old than I am! She said I was very tall and we played peek a boo. She laughed with me and smiled a lot. I gave her lots of hugs. I’m so happy we got to visit her.
We also went on a tram. It went up, up, up into a mountain. Mommy didn’t like looking down out the window, so she just looked up. I liked trying to get everyone’s attention! I was a little stinker in the restaurant and made Daddy all red in the face when I screamed a lot.
Getting home took a whole long long day. The stupid Horizon airline sent us through Boise to Portland, which daddy said makes no sense, especially when they have little guys like me on the plane and when I get crabby, everyone gets crabby! But I was a good boy and napped on the first flight. Then the dumb flight attendants put their noisy drink cart right in front of me and woke me up too soon.
Then the flight from Boise to home was delayed until 9pm. Mommy and Daddy were annoyed, but I sure had fun going up and down the escalator, the elevator and all around the terminal over and over again. Even though I was really tired, I didn’t want to sleep on the plane, so I just whined and cried so that everyone would know how tired I was. Mommy said that when I’m really mad and say/scream no! to everything, I sound like an agitated muppet. It makes her laugh, which makes me even more mad mad mad.
Boy, I was soo happy to be home and get into my own snuggy bed. I even slept in a bit. I have to keep mommy and daddy guessing!
That’s all for now peeps! This is Colin and I’m signing out. Peas.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
I got hacked!
How cool is this. I submitted a toddler feeding idea to Parent Hacks (a cool tipster kind of blog) and they posted it. It's the one about asian spoons.
http://www.parenthacks.com/
So am I now considered published?
http://www.parenthacks.com/
So am I now considered published?
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Trippin into Fall.
Fall is here, with a bang. Overnight our weather turned from Indian Summer splendor to Red, gold and get a coat. I seem to be in the minority in that I love the fall and the return of colder weather and dramatic skies. Especially since it brings out the fashionistas of the town, you know, those women who wear tights with their Keen sandals without a hint of irony.
I like to celebrate the return ofcold feet on hot hubby cuddle weather with cooking favorite cold-weather recipes. This includes one of our all-time favorite recipes – hot chicken casserole. This casserole (sourced from the culinary masterpiece “What’s cookin’? the Thomas Jefferson Elementary PTA cookbook circa 1979) contains all the essentials of comfort food with none of those pesky nutritional considerations. How can you not love a casserole that celebrates the use of cream of chicken soup and mayo? Add a crunchy cheesy topping and you have manna.
I do concede that I use lite versions of the soup and mayo, and I use Special K instead of potato chips. But it’s still damn tasty! Colin enjoyed his portion and I hope he’s going to be a good eater this fall as I pull out my cold weather bag of kitchen tricks. This week I’ve been going gangbusters in the kitchen and I cranked out some healthy pumpkin muffins and also tried making applesauce for the first time. In no way does it compare to the saucy goodness that is my mutter-in-law’s recipe, but Rob declared it waffle-topping worthy (high marks my friend).
We harvested our pumpkins today. A bumper crop of two orange beauties! I am kind of tickled that Colin gets his own home-grown jack-o-lantern this year. I was happy to have my garden back this year, and this harvest was a nice culmination of our growing season.
I like to celebrate the return of
I do concede that I use lite versions of the soup and mayo, and I use Special K instead of potato chips. But it’s still damn tasty! Colin enjoyed his portion and I hope he’s going to be a good eater this fall as I pull out my cold weather bag of kitchen tricks. This week I’ve been going gangbusters in the kitchen and I cranked out some healthy pumpkin muffins and also tried making applesauce for the first time. In no way does it compare to the saucy goodness that is my mutter-in-law’s recipe, but Rob declared it waffle-topping worthy (high marks my friend).
We harvested our pumpkins today. A bumper crop of two orange beauties! I am kind of tickled that Colin gets his own home-grown jack-o-lantern this year. I was happy to have my garden back this year, and this harvest was a nice culmination of our growing season.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
In this corner...
I’m feeling defeated today. Beat down into the corner by a spunky little man who has big attitude and energy to spare. At daycare our little attention hound pushes, hits and/or pinches kids if he’s not the spotlight. At home, he pushes, hits and/or pinches if he has too much attention. He knows we’re not going to play that game, and yet that game is played. Constantly and always bracketed by rounds of hugs and luv luvs.
He fights us when we try to get him dressed. He fights us if we try to get him undressed.
He whines because he wants food. He whines because he doesn’t want to food we give him.
He fights us when we try to get him dressed. He fights us if we try to get him undressed.
He whines because he wants food. He whines because he doesn’t want to food we give him.
He whines because he can, and therefore he will. About anything.
He wants to pet the cat. He wants to squeeeeeze the cat. He wants to kiss the cat. The cat does not want him.
He cries when daddy leaves. He laughs when mommy takes him to daycare.
He…is two. And he's winning this round.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Bumble Wonder
Colin's universe is rapidly expanding.
Our nearly-two year old bumble is figuring out "stuff" at an amazing rate! I'm all kinds of proud that the boy is pretty bright and is curious about his world, but I admit, there are times when I wish he wasn't so capable of figuring out "stuff."
Examples? Why sure.
We have a water/ice dispenser in the door of our fridge. For a while, Colin was content with being able to switch the light on and off, and I was thinking, score, that's all he thinks it does! Then he watched me (very intently I might add, he has scary eagle eyes) fill up his cup and a little light bulb went on. Next thing I knew, he was pushing his sippy cup onto the water activator. Very cool. Not so cool was that the lid was on and water gushed all over the floor. Then he grabbed one of our cups and managed to get some water into it. Cool again. Not so cool when he dumped the water onto his head because he doesn't really get the concept that cups spill if you turn them upside down.
Also in the not-safe zone is the microwave. I estimate about three months and he'll be tall and strong enough to open the micro door. He can already hit the stop and cook buttons, which has resulted in some interupted cooking and empty microwaving which I'm sure will impload the thing.
Colin also knows that lotion goes on your body. He likes this idea so much that he takes any chance he can to grab any lotion and squeeze it onto his legs (arms, clothing, carpet, whatever's handy) rub it and say "niiiice."
A little variable on this is that he likes to finger paint with his diaper cream. Preferably on my legs and arms. Luckily it's the creamy desitin with the lovely scent (god, I'm such a mom - I like the scent of diaper cream!).
The boy also knows how to open nearly every door lock we have and likes to wander outside. It's very cute that he learned pretty quick to close the door behind him. But that makes finding the MIA Bop a little harder, since we don't always witness the escape! So far the front door lock is beyond him, but it's coming soon I'm sure.
It's amazing how self-sufficient he is becoming, in ways that make our lives (and damage to our backs) a little easier. He can climb into his high chair on his own, likes to wipe his own hands and face, manages a fork and spoon pretty neatly, and can pretty much get into the car with only a little boost. He snaps his car seat and stroller harness himself and of course, rubs the lotion into his belly. Not much interest in the potty, but he thinks it's fun to sit on it.
Next thing we know, he's going to be taking apart our clocks and phone and saying, "niiiice..."
Our nearly-two year old bumble is figuring out "stuff" at an amazing rate! I'm all kinds of proud that the boy is pretty bright and is curious about his world, but I admit, there are times when I wish he wasn't so capable of figuring out "stuff."
Examples? Why sure.
We have a water/ice dispenser in the door of our fridge. For a while, Colin was content with being able to switch the light on and off, and I was thinking, score, that's all he thinks it does! Then he watched me (very intently I might add, he has scary eagle eyes) fill up his cup and a little light bulb went on. Next thing I knew, he was pushing his sippy cup onto the water activator. Very cool. Not so cool was that the lid was on and water gushed all over the floor. Then he grabbed one of our cups and managed to get some water into it. Cool again. Not so cool when he dumped the water onto his head because he doesn't really get the concept that cups spill if you turn them upside down.
Also in the not-safe zone is the microwave. I estimate about three months and he'll be tall and strong enough to open the micro door. He can already hit the stop and cook buttons, which has resulted in some interupted cooking and empty microwaving which I'm sure will impload the thing.
Colin also knows that lotion goes on your body. He likes this idea so much that he takes any chance he can to grab any lotion and squeeze it onto his legs (arms, clothing, carpet, whatever's handy) rub it and say "niiiice."
A little variable on this is that he likes to finger paint with his diaper cream. Preferably on my legs and arms. Luckily it's the creamy desitin with the lovely scent (god, I'm such a mom - I like the scent of diaper cream!).
The boy also knows how to open nearly every door lock we have and likes to wander outside. It's very cute that he learned pretty quick to close the door behind him. But that makes finding the MIA Bop a little harder, since we don't always witness the escape! So far the front door lock is beyond him, but it's coming soon I'm sure.
It's amazing how self-sufficient he is becoming, in ways that make our lives (and damage to our backs) a little easier. He can climb into his high chair on his own, likes to wipe his own hands and face, manages a fork and spoon pretty neatly, and can pretty much get into the car with only a little boost. He snaps his car seat and stroller harness himself and of course, rubs the lotion into his belly. Not much interest in the potty, but he thinks it's fun to sit on it.
Next thing we know, he's going to be taking apart our clocks and phone and saying, "niiiice..."
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Eastward, Ho the Wagons!
I traveled to Eastern Oregon on Monday and Tuesday to visit with some of our Credit Unions. I was looking forward to some drive time (I love to drive as long as no one is screaming in the car) and seeing Eastern Oregon.
I certainly had a lot of time to muse, and musey thoughts filled my head during the 700 or so miles I traversed in two days.
I was delighted to find myself in the midst of Oregon Trail country. I have always loved reading about pioneers and their journey West. Maybe it’s because my family, within the last three generations, arrived in California from places beyond. It reassures me to know that in my blood runs the spirit of adventurers.
Today the world is available at the literal click of a button, and it's hard to remove that programming from your brain and consider how truly monumental it was for people to leave settled territory and risk all to venture into the vast unknown with a wagon full of goods and their families, many of which did not make it across unscathed. It certainly puts today's travel plans and annoyances into perspective!
The country at this time of year is still ripe and golden, a month or so away from being tired and worn. Huge fields of green and gold stretch out over rolling hills and abrupt bluffs. I saw a modern-day cowboy rounding up his cattle astride his trusty A.T.V., and in town, a small tractor tootled along patiently in traffic, not looking a bit out of place.
I always wish I could see how the landscape looked before the land was cultivated and highways were poured out like concrete ribbons, endlessly looping into the next curve, or over the next hill. There are tree plantations here and there, and I don’t know if the terrain was bare in the 1800’s. There is certainly an abundance of sage and rough weeds that choke the hills that surround the farmland.
For some reason I feel like it must have felt lonely to finally ease out of the Blue Mountains and into the high desert, knowing how far you’ve come, and knowing that there were still hundreds of miles to go. Hope, I’m sure, takes on a new significance through the eyes of a weary traveler.
I stopped at a nicely done Oregon Trail Interpretative Center, just outside of Baker City. The vantage point allows visitors to glimpse actual portions of the trail, still etched into the landscape after all this time. How many thousands of wagons must have gone over the same ribbon, to create a memorial that has weathered the rough winters and blazing summers.
Having emigrated, in a modern way, to Oregon myself, I can certainly see how easy it is to fall in love with this place, and it’s overall spirit of independence and vitality. Even in the oft-assumed barrenness of Eastern Oregon, there is something in the air that makes your heart say, "I’m here," and here is a good place to be. Especially when a certain little someone greeted me with a hug that knocked me over.
I certainly had a lot of time to muse, and musey thoughts filled my head during the 700 or so miles I traversed in two days.
I was delighted to find myself in the midst of Oregon Trail country. I have always loved reading about pioneers and their journey West. Maybe it’s because my family, within the last three generations, arrived in California from places beyond. It reassures me to know that in my blood runs the spirit of adventurers.
Today the world is available at the literal click of a button, and it's hard to remove that programming from your brain and consider how truly monumental it was for people to leave settled territory and risk all to venture into the vast unknown with a wagon full of goods and their families, many of which did not make it across unscathed. It certainly puts today's travel plans and annoyances into perspective!
The country at this time of year is still ripe and golden, a month or so away from being tired and worn. Huge fields of green and gold stretch out over rolling hills and abrupt bluffs. I saw a modern-day cowboy rounding up his cattle astride his trusty A.T.V., and in town, a small tractor tootled along patiently in traffic, not looking a bit out of place.
I always wish I could see how the landscape looked before the land was cultivated and highways were poured out like concrete ribbons, endlessly looping into the next curve, or over the next hill. There are tree plantations here and there, and I don’t know if the terrain was bare in the 1800’s. There is certainly an abundance of sage and rough weeds that choke the hills that surround the farmland.
For some reason I feel like it must have felt lonely to finally ease out of the Blue Mountains and into the high desert, knowing how far you’ve come, and knowing that there were still hundreds of miles to go. Hope, I’m sure, takes on a new significance through the eyes of a weary traveler.
I stopped at a nicely done Oregon Trail Interpretative Center, just outside of Baker City. The vantage point allows visitors to glimpse actual portions of the trail, still etched into the landscape after all this time. How many thousands of wagons must have gone over the same ribbon, to create a memorial that has weathered the rough winters and blazing summers.
Having emigrated, in a modern way, to Oregon myself, I can certainly see how easy it is to fall in love with this place, and it’s overall spirit of independence and vitality. Even in the oft-assumed barrenness of Eastern Oregon, there is something in the air that makes your heart say, "I’m here," and here is a good place to be. Especially when a certain little someone greeted me with a hug that knocked me over.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
He's a Mato Muncher
We grew up in a family of farmers. Even though we lived in the burbs, we were frequently out at my grandparents' house, located in the middle of fields that alternated between tomatoes and alfalfa. Early memories include knowing it was harvest time by the pungent tomato smell in the air released by harvesters throughout the county, riding on the tomato harvester and learning how to jump off (at the time, I thought it was going a lot faster than reality proved), and having grandpa show me how the best way to clean off grimy hands in the field was to squish a tomato and use it as a handy hand-scrubber.
There was no tastier snack than a freshly picked tomato, warm from the sun, juices dripping down your chin and hands as you devour the tangy mato right in the field.
I like to grow tomatoes, and not only for the deliciousness of home-grown produce. The smell released by brushing past the vine is enough to transport me back to the farm. When I'm out tending the back 40, Colin is usually by my side, asking what's that to all the plants. I showed him how to smell the tomato plant and say mmmmmm.
Imagine my delight when I realized that Colin had discovered all by himself the joy of a freshly picked tomato. He walked up the path with a half-eaten bright red jewel in his hand and said mmmmm. We've spent many late summer afternoons sitting on the grass, munchin matos.
Monday, September 10, 2007
The new Hot Tramp in his life
It was inevitable.
He looked at pictures of her every night.
I think I saw him drool…
I always caught him online looking at her.
He didn’t even seem ashamed.
When he thought I couldn’t hear, he talked to his friends about her.
And then when I came home the other day, she was here.
Well, he’s always said he liked his Italians loud, fast and sexy.But I draw the line at letting her come inside when it's cold out.
What would Freud say?
I had a very vivid dream last night, or rather, very early this morning. I have to write it down because it's so odd and I want to figure it out!
So I dreamt that I returned home from somewhere and my brother Rusty was telling me that we had to have a immunization switch installed in Colin. Rusty knew that I would want to be in on the decision, but he did it anyway. Apparently he felt bad about the way it ended up. The doctor on duty was a gal from high school. She insisted that the switch had to be installed...in Colin's face. So I went in to see Colin he had this big red on/off switch implanted in his right cheek. And there were flaps where you could lift up the skin (it was like a doll skin, no blood) and see the inside of the switch, which was kind of hollow like an electrical box in a wall. He was unfazed by this development.
I lost it. I said, why couldn't you put it in his chest instead of on his face? The doctor just shrugged and I screamed at her that I would sue her. Then in my dream mind I realized that the immunization switch looked a lot like the automatic chemo pump you often see hooked up to cancer patients. I then proceeded (in my dream) to crumple against a wall in my childhood room and sob and sob.
Then I woke up.
What the hell?
I can guess on a few elements. Colin is fascinated by switches and Opa gave him a red switch to play with. Rusty is our designated guardian justincase. But the switch in the face? An "immunization pump"? My room that no longer exists? I'm off to find a good e-dream interpreter!
So I dreamt that I returned home from somewhere and my brother Rusty was telling me that we had to have a immunization switch installed in Colin. Rusty knew that I would want to be in on the decision, but he did it anyway. Apparently he felt bad about the way it ended up. The doctor on duty was a gal from high school. She insisted that the switch had to be installed...in Colin's face. So I went in to see Colin he had this big red on/off switch implanted in his right cheek. And there were flaps where you could lift up the skin (it was like a doll skin, no blood) and see the inside of the switch, which was kind of hollow like an electrical box in a wall. He was unfazed by this development.
I lost it. I said, why couldn't you put it in his chest instead of on his face? The doctor just shrugged and I screamed at her that I would sue her. Then in my dream mind I realized that the immunization switch looked a lot like the automatic chemo pump you often see hooked up to cancer patients. I then proceeded (in my dream) to crumple against a wall in my childhood room and sob and sob.
Then I woke up.
What the hell?
I can guess on a few elements. Colin is fascinated by switches and Opa gave him a red switch to play with. Rusty is our designated guardian justincase. But the switch in the face? An "immunization pump"? My room that no longer exists? I'm off to find a good e-dream interpreter!
Friday, September 07, 2007
How was your day, honey?
Don’t you love it when, at the end of a particularly trying day, a song comes on to create a cosmic alignment of epic proportions that sums up your crappy day to a T?
Bitch
Meredith Brooks
I hate the world today yep
You're so good to me
I know but I can't change too late for that
Tried to tell you actually I waited until I had the ring
But you look at me like maybe
I'm an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet except when confronted with a-hole after a-hole today, and feeling trapped in the company of a particularly fretful toddler who had to watch me transform into mean mommy at the shoe store. Then that anger turned inward into a gut-wrenching spasm of ohmygodI’mnotfittobeColin’s mom guilt and inadequacy in the car as Colin sniffled and snuffled and struggled with his hurt feelings as we headed home
Yesterday I cried and whined, and pouted and gave you the silent treatment
Must have been relieved to see
The softer side or else befuddled you even more
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I don't envy you no, no I don’t
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one kinda like a complex smoothie
[Chorus:]I'm a bitch no comment
I'm a lover hubba hubba
I'm a child still a card-holding member of the bratty club
I'm a mother your fault
I'm a sinner, not that I’ll admit
I'm a saint in public that is
I do not feel ashamed well, I can get kind of sheepish
I'm your hell, I'm your dream check and check
I'm nothing in between nope, not an iota
You know you wouldn't want it any other way how dull life would be
So take me as I am I know that's asking a lot sometime, I dont' even want to take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man poor guy
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous “there she goes again”
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change gotta keep you on your toes
And today won't mean a thing now, we both know I tend to hold a grudge and then there's the whole, how do days like today affect Colin in the long run
[Chorus]
Just when you think, you got me figured out ha, in your dreams
The season's already changing kind of like Portland – hot cold hot cold
I think it's cool, you do what you do cause you’re a keeper like that
And don't try to save me yes, save me
Bitch
Meredith Brooks
I hate the world today yep
You're so good to me
I know but I can't change too late for that
Tried to tell you actually I waited until I had the ring
But you look at me like maybe
I'm an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet except when confronted with a-hole after a-hole today, and feeling trapped in the company of a particularly fretful toddler who had to watch me transform into mean mommy at the shoe store. Then that anger turned inward into a gut-wrenching spasm of ohmygodI’mnotfittobeColin’s mom guilt and inadequacy in the car as Colin sniffled and snuffled and struggled with his hurt feelings as we headed home
Yesterday I cried and whined, and pouted and gave you the silent treatment
Must have been relieved to see
The softer side or else befuddled you even more
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I don't envy you no, no I don’t
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one kinda like a complex smoothie
[Chorus:]I'm a bitch no comment
I'm a lover hubba hubba
I'm a child still a card-holding member of the bratty club
I'm a mother your fault
I'm a sinner, not that I’ll admit
I'm a saint in public that is
I do not feel ashamed well, I can get kind of sheepish
I'm your hell, I'm your dream check and check
I'm nothing in between nope, not an iota
You know you wouldn't want it any other way how dull life would be
So take me as I am I know that's asking a lot sometime, I dont' even want to take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man poor guy
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous “there she goes again”
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change gotta keep you on your toes
And today won't mean a thing now, we both know I tend to hold a grudge and then there's the whole, how do days like today affect Colin in the long run
[Chorus]
Just when you think, you got me figured out ha, in your dreams
The season's already changing kind of like Portland – hot cold hot cold
I think it's cool, you do what you do cause you’re a keeper like that
And don't try to save me yes, save me
Thursday, September 06, 2007
I'm his Mama
I took Colin to work with me last week to gather up a few items I needed to collate at home for a work project.* I think this little ball of positive energy is generally welcomed at the office, which is at times in dire need of some oomph. Being the social creature that he is, Colin took off exploring people's cubes and generally flirting with and captivating 9anyone he came across.
I took the advantage and gathered my things from around the office, trying to keep one eye on Colin in case he decided to dismantle someone's desk. It was pretty darn heartmelting to round a corner into his line of sight, see his face light up and let loose a two-decible MAAAMAAA!!!!!! and run towards me with open arms for a thigh-crushing hug.
He likes me. He really does.
*By the way, I'm through daydreaming about wanting a mindless job that doesn't require me to think. After putting together two hundred marketing kits in a production line frenzy, my brain was literally numb when I left the office. When I had to think again to drive home, it felt like little pins and needles were waking up all the synapses who napped during the dull, repititious hours of work.
I took the advantage and gathered my things from around the office, trying to keep one eye on Colin in case he decided to dismantle someone's desk. It was pretty darn heartmelting to round a corner into his line of sight, see his face light up and let loose a two-decible MAAAMAAA!!!!!! and run towards me with open arms for a thigh-crushing hug.
He likes me. He really does.
*By the way, I'm through daydreaming about wanting a mindless job that doesn't require me to think. After putting together two hundred marketing kits in a production line frenzy, my brain was literally numb when I left the office. When I had to think again to drive home, it felt like little pins and needles were waking up all the synapses who napped during the dull, repititious hours of work.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Intro to the Playgroup
I speak often, and fondly, of our playgroup, and words that commonly come up in describing it are sanity, support and social time.
After Colin was born, I saw the world and my new role in it through a pair of Baby Blues-colored glasses. I remember crying a lot…over nothing and everything. I wasn’t able to drive for about two weeks, so I also was into a pretty deep case of cabin fever, when the thought of going out was more scary than being stuck inside.
A coworker of Rob’s suggested that I go to a new mom’s support group that the hospital sponsors. It sounded just grand, but the effort of pulling myself and Colin together enough to go was another story.
Rob helped matters by pretty much pushing us out the door, asking me to “just try it.”
I did, and it was a disaster. There were about ten women and babies there, most of whom were around the 4 to 6 month range. They were dealing with very different issues than I and I didn’t really think this was going to be my thing. They looked at me with what looked like pity and incomprehension as I shared my woes during “check in time,” as if the first month of motherhood was a dim and distant memory compared to their reaching, sitting and *gasp* smiling babies.
I gave it one more shot, going to the group that met on Thursdays. The facilitator was different, and there seemed to be a lot more babies and Mom’s my age. Although Mary was a bit too much into cosleeping and breastfeeding at all costs for my taste, I found myself perfectly happy to be one of the women in the circle sharing nods, sympathetic smiles, and advice with one another.
One of the benefits of this group is that Mary puts moms into smaller playgroups, and leaves it up to them to make what they will of the group.
Luck stepped in and I ended up with a great group of women and babies. Over the months we went through the typical stages of group dynamics (forming, storming, norming and performing for those interested) and the moms that didn’t quite jive drifted off. A few new additions joined in and our group pretty much stabilized into what it is today.
There are six of us with boys that were born within a two month range. Caroline and Ronan, Lori and Carter, Jessica and Alex, Jennifer and Kaden, Shelley and Tyler, and Me and Colin.
I think a few keys to our successful group is that we all have fairly similar life and parenting styles. And rather than playing the one-up game that seems to be endemic among the playground set, we celebrate the boys milestones and achievements, and lend support if there is a concern. A commonly heard phrase is “me too…” That phrase, and the realization that “I’m not the only one” is a soothing balm to a first time mom.
We take a girls night out once a month, and leave the dads to tend to the boys while we gab and drink wine without the powerful jet stream that toddler boys can generate.
I am grateful and fortunate to have built this extended family.
After Colin was born, I saw the world and my new role in it through a pair of Baby Blues-colored glasses. I remember crying a lot…over nothing and everything. I wasn’t able to drive for about two weeks, so I also was into a pretty deep case of cabin fever, when the thought of going out was more scary than being stuck inside.
A coworker of Rob’s suggested that I go to a new mom’s support group that the hospital sponsors. It sounded just grand, but the effort of pulling myself and Colin together enough to go was another story.
Rob helped matters by pretty much pushing us out the door, asking me to “just try it.”
I did, and it was a disaster. There were about ten women and babies there, most of whom were around the 4 to 6 month range. They were dealing with very different issues than I and I didn’t really think this was going to be my thing. They looked at me with what looked like pity and incomprehension as I shared my woes during “check in time,” as if the first month of motherhood was a dim and distant memory compared to their reaching, sitting and *gasp* smiling babies.
I gave it one more shot, going to the group that met on Thursdays. The facilitator was different, and there seemed to be a lot more babies and Mom’s my age. Although Mary was a bit too much into cosleeping and breastfeeding at all costs for my taste, I found myself perfectly happy to be one of the women in the circle sharing nods, sympathetic smiles, and advice with one another.
One of the benefits of this group is that Mary puts moms into smaller playgroups, and leaves it up to them to make what they will of the group.
Luck stepped in and I ended up with a great group of women and babies. Over the months we went through the typical stages of group dynamics (forming, storming, norming and performing for those interested) and the moms that didn’t quite jive drifted off. A few new additions joined in and our group pretty much stabilized into what it is today.
There are six of us with boys that were born within a two month range. Caroline and Ronan, Lori and Carter, Jessica and Alex, Jennifer and Kaden, Shelley and Tyler, and Me and Colin.
I think a few keys to our successful group is that we all have fairly similar life and parenting styles. And rather than playing the one-up game that seems to be endemic among the playground set, we celebrate the boys milestones and achievements, and lend support if there is a concern. A commonly heard phrase is “me too…” That phrase, and the realization that “I’m not the only one” is a soothing balm to a first time mom.
We take a girls night out once a month, and leave the dads to tend to the boys while we gab and drink wine without the powerful jet stream that toddler boys can generate.
I am grateful and fortunate to have built this extended family.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Call me mama-san
Most people know that I’m a sushi nut. I love me some sushi! I’ve started venturing into the art of making sushi, and have had some tasty, if not yet artistic, success. I made sushi rolls last night, this time with raw fish. We are lucky to live near a fantastic Japanese grocery store that sells fish so fresh they are still swimming (literally – there’s like a huge aquarium in the store). I picked up a little tuna and salmon sashimi and prepared to experiment.
Rob and I ended up enjoying variations on Tuna and Salmon rolls, while Colin ate up his whole Hillshire Roll - a little creation I came up with since I didn’t think he would or should eat raw fish yet. I just chopped up some extra Hillshire sausage I had, and rolled it up in rice and nori. Sliced thin and voila. I honestly didn’t expect him to eat it, but he gobbled it right up.
He also is getting the hang of edamame and can peel it open pretty well now. I love that Colin is an adventurous eater so far. We like to eat a lot of different ethnic foods and want Colin to be able to join us for culinary adventures.
The other week he stuck his inquisitive paw into some salsa and boy did he feel the heat! I thought he would stay away from it after that, but he reached out for some more…hopefully he's inherited my cast iron stomach!
Rob and I ended up enjoying variations on Tuna and Salmon rolls, while Colin ate up his whole Hillshire Roll - a little creation I came up with since I didn’t think he would or should eat raw fish yet. I just chopped up some extra Hillshire sausage I had, and rolled it up in rice and nori. Sliced thin and voila. I honestly didn’t expect him to eat it, but he gobbled it right up.
He also is getting the hang of edamame and can peel it open pretty well now. I love that Colin is an adventurous eater so far. We like to eat a lot of different ethnic foods and want Colin to be able to join us for culinary adventures.
The other week he stuck his inquisitive paw into some salsa and boy did he feel the heat! I thought he would stay away from it after that, but he reached out for some more…hopefully he's inherited my cast iron stomach!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Interesting
My trip to Rhode Island was interesting. Not in the mind-expanding sense of the word. More in the hmmm... form. Here are a few of the more interesting moments.
Interesting…
Who knew that Tommy Chong lived in Portland? My shuttle driver must have been harvested off the same green, stinky plant as good ol cheech and chong. Right down to the stoner tone and pitch of voice. A sample of our conversation:
T Chong: So what kind of work do you do?
Me: I work for a trade association, helping promote credit unions in the state.
T Chong: Huh. Trade…like bartering and stuff?
Me: Ah…no.
T Chong: Yeah…(trailing off into awkward silence)
Interesting…
Crying kids on planes don’t bother me anymore. Sure it’s annoying, but I can much more identify with the mom trying to do anything and everything to get the child to calm down than the curmudgeon couple who clearly have no recollection of traveling with children, especially on red-eye flights.
Interesting…
If you stick your knee up against the seat in front of you, you can thwart the attempts of the person to gain the 2.4 degrees of incline that our comfy coach seats offer. That is, until he grabs hold of the top of the seat and whams the seat back. That’s not so good on the knees. I made him regret it though.
Interesting…
A Jimmy Buffet cover band a good dinner cruise does not make.
Interesting…
Sitting behind a group of my female peers, who were loudly and proudly proclaiming the fears and reasons they weren’t going to have kids, and realizing that every reason given was one that I had expressed not more than three years ago, and that have all been disproved in less than two.
Interesting…
Rhode Island airport has the. Slowest. Airport. Security. Line. Ever. I was wondering if they were doing full cavity searches up there.
Interesting…
The knowledge of the five extra inches of leg room that was waiting for me in my exit row seat gave me the patience to endure a three hour flight delay, plus one more hour that ticked by as we were seated on the plane, trapped by a thunder/lightening storm that was going to “pass any minute.”
Interesting…(truly)
I was lucky to witness a lightning storm raging away at 36,000 feet into the cloudy night sky just outside my plane window. The clouds were white and fluffy enough to rival any cotton candy. The lightening was relentless and I kept expecting shock waves of thunder to hit the plane. What made it even cooler was the clear starry sky sitting just above the storm. Momma Nature is wonderful
Interesting…
Jet lag must be named because you feel like you’ve left the functioning portion of your brain behind in another time zone, hoping it shows up before you actually have to do something productive.
Interesting…
Soss was more excited to see me than my son. It will break my heart when I have to hear him say, “mommy, don’t go” or “Mommy, I miss you!” but a little extra hug wouldn’t be taken as chopped liver.
Interesting…
Who knew that Tommy Chong lived in Portland? My shuttle driver must have been harvested off the same green, stinky plant as good ol cheech and chong. Right down to the stoner tone and pitch of voice. A sample of our conversation:
T Chong: So what kind of work do you do?
Me: I work for a trade association, helping promote credit unions in the state.
T Chong: Huh. Trade…like bartering and stuff?
Me: Ah…no.
T Chong: Yeah…(trailing off into awkward silence)
Interesting…
Crying kids on planes don’t bother me anymore. Sure it’s annoying, but I can much more identify with the mom trying to do anything and everything to get the child to calm down than the curmudgeon couple who clearly have no recollection of traveling with children, especially on red-eye flights.
Interesting…
If you stick your knee up against the seat in front of you, you can thwart the attempts of the person to gain the 2.4 degrees of incline that our comfy coach seats offer. That is, until he grabs hold of the top of the seat and whams the seat back. That’s not so good on the knees. I made him regret it though.
Interesting…
A Jimmy Buffet cover band a good dinner cruise does not make.
Interesting…
Sitting behind a group of my female peers, who were loudly and proudly proclaiming the fears and reasons they weren’t going to have kids, and realizing that every reason given was one that I had expressed not more than three years ago, and that have all been disproved in less than two.
Interesting…
Rhode Island airport has the. Slowest. Airport. Security. Line. Ever. I was wondering if they were doing full cavity searches up there.
Interesting…
The knowledge of the five extra inches of leg room that was waiting for me in my exit row seat gave me the patience to endure a three hour flight delay, plus one more hour that ticked by as we were seated on the plane, trapped by a thunder/lightening storm that was going to “pass any minute.”
Interesting…(truly)
I was lucky to witness a lightning storm raging away at 36,000 feet into the cloudy night sky just outside my plane window. The clouds were white and fluffy enough to rival any cotton candy. The lightening was relentless and I kept expecting shock waves of thunder to hit the plane. What made it even cooler was the clear starry sky sitting just above the storm. Momma Nature is wonderful
Interesting…
Jet lag must be named because you feel like you’ve left the functioning portion of your brain behind in another time zone, hoping it shows up before you actually have to do something productive.
Interesting…
Soss was more excited to see me than my son. It will break my heart when I have to hear him say, “mommy, don’t go” or “Mommy, I miss you!” but a little extra hug wouldn’t be taken as chopped liver.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
comments
Not that I'm expecting or asking for comments, but I just realized they were disabled. I think I fixed it.
Chicken Thief!
The conference was just fine. Met up with several nice women including a gal who reminded me a lot of one of my college roommates. So I wasn't total loser conference girl.
During the first (very long) day, we had a luncheon. There is apparently a tradition that at each conference, they present the participants with an animal that represents the host state. Since we were in Rhode Island, they found appropriately enough a Rhode Island Red hen. Nearly every seat had one. The coordinator underestimated the vast purchasing power of Rhode Island Red hen aficionados and they were back ordered for the remainder of the attendees.
Score! (said my brain) Don't need to shop for a souvenir for the bop. I made sure to sit at a place with hen already nesting. I chatted my way through a lackluster lunch with a lady who subsequently learned that I had a little guy at home, and blah blah this, and blah blah that. As lunch was over and we were gathering up our things, she reached out and snatched my chicken! No asking, no queries if I wanted it for my son - she didn't have kids! The bitch up and stole my chicken and took off like there was no tomorrow.
I was a bit flabbergasted, to say the freakin least. I wasn't going to raise a ruckus over a stuffed toy that I knew I could request later. But jea-zeus. I stuffed down a perfectly rational desire to tattle and simply told the coordinator to add me to the list of unlucky souls who had to wait for the damn hens to hatch from china and she handed me one more that she had on hand.
Seriously though. Stealing a chicken? From my poor little man waiting at home with hope and love that mommy's going to bring home something other than a hastily purchased airport t-shirt and the extra bag of peanuts from the flight?
Grow up chicken thief!
During the first (very long) day, we had a luncheon. There is apparently a tradition that at each conference, they present the participants with an animal that represents the host state. Since we were in Rhode Island, they found appropriately enough a Rhode Island Red hen. Nearly every seat had one. The coordinator underestimated the vast purchasing power of Rhode Island Red hen aficionados and they were back ordered for the remainder of the attendees.
Score! (said my brain) Don't need to shop for a souvenir for the bop. I made sure to sit at a place with hen already nesting. I chatted my way through a lackluster lunch with a lady who subsequently learned that I had a little guy at home, and blah blah this, and blah blah that. As lunch was over and we were gathering up our things, she reached out and snatched my chicken! No asking, no queries if I wanted it for my son - she didn't have kids! The bitch up and stole my chicken and took off like there was no tomorrow.
I was a bit flabbergasted, to say the freakin least. I wasn't going to raise a ruckus over a stuffed toy that I knew I could request later. But jea-zeus. I stuffed down a perfectly rational desire to tattle and simply told the coordinator to add me to the list of unlucky souls who had to wait for the damn hens to hatch from china and she handed me one more that she had on hand.
Seriously though. Stealing a chicken? From my poor little man waiting at home with hope and love that mommy's going to bring home something other than a hastily purchased airport t-shirt and the extra bag of peanuts from the flight?
Grow up chicken thief!
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