CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
PART TWO (Part One found below)

After our near half marathon, the previous day, we were a little pooped Friday morning. We slept in a bit, had breakfast at the hotel, then again, forced our cranky feet into shoes and headed out. This time we walked to Alamo Square – a park with great city views located across from “The Painted Ladies” – a row of pastel-painted Victorian homes. It’s also where the opening credits for Full House were shot. (You know, the 1980’s sitcom that featured the Olsen twins when they were still cute and innocent).
Now, for the record, everyone says that the Full House house is one of the Painted Ladies. I would like to put the truth out there for those many who are confused. While, yes, the opening credits were filmed at the park and showed the Painted Ladies, the actual Full House house is located on Broderick St. – a full 1.1 miles away from Alamo Square. (I did some research on this fact). Unfortunately, my research didn’t happen until this morning (a full week after our trip), so I will admit that just like all tourists I looked at the Painted Ladies and thought, “hmmm, it looks familiar, but is it REALLY the Full House house?” I wasn’t totally duped though. Mike can tell you I spent most of that morning puzzling over the location of the REAL Full House house. Guess we’ll just have to plan another trip to see the real thing.
OK, so we saw the non-Full House house, walked through town, back to our hotel, checked out and then had lunch at a French bakery/creperie. After lunch, Mike went back to the hotel lobby to chillax and do stuff on his laptop. Meanwhile, I set out for some quality shopping in Chinatown. We were both happy campers. I bought two silk Pashmina scarves and a silk bag for freakishly inexpensive. Once I returned, it was time to pick up our rental car and head out of town to Napa Valley. We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge (which had obviously been returned from its’ cleaning that took place the previous day). I got a cool picture of the top of the bridge disappearing into the fog.
Traffic was a little rough from San Fran to Napa, so we arrived at the hotel about 30 minutes before the start of the wedding rehearsal. We rushed to get cleaned up and changed. We were in a major frenzy but then saw Father Rob in the parking lot…this was about 8 minutes before the rehearsal should have begun. He said, “Um, yeah, no rush. Mo and Nathan aren’t even here yet.” That’s right, this was a Goddard wedding. The Goddard clan has taught me (or forced me) to be a little more laid back about things. And obviously, the wedding rehearsal can’t do much without the bride and groom.
The wedding was held in a cute little mission church http://bkane.com/BCwedding/photos/photo3.html . I fluted at the wedding, so we watched the rehearsal (everyone crying already), and then I played through a verse and refrain of my piece (On Eagle’s Wings). It was then time for the rehearsal dinner which was held at a gorgeous Italian restaurant in the area. I got to meet Mo’s best friends from college – Keith and Kristen. Mike and I enjoyed hanging out with them for much of the weekend. At 10, we were kicked out of the restaurant, so everyone headed back to the hotel (where pretty much all of the guests were staying) with the leftover wine. When we headed to our room at 1am, the post-party was still well under way at the pool. “Huh,” I wondered, “I’m surprised no one has called to complain. The pool closed two hours ago.” Oh, right. The hotel guests were pretty much ALL Mo-Nathan-Wedding Peoples.
Saturday, August 23rd, 2008 started a little cool and cloudy but by 11am the gray had burned off to a sunny, clear 75 degrees. We hung out by the pool, Keith went and picked up lunch for us, and then Kristen and I went back to our rooms to get ready. She and I had been invited to go hang out with Mo and the fam as she got ready. In true Goddard fashion, we beat the bride to the bridal suite! (They were still at the salon when we arrived.) We helped Joy – the photographer – set up some still shots of the wedding dress. I could go on and on about helping Mo get ready and how she was stunning, blahblahblah. Seriously, like a 1940’s movie star, http://picasaweb.google.com/mike.james.martin/August2008/photo#5239420464586054802.
As Joy and I followed Kristen to the church (with the videographers following us), she suddenly turned off the highway. At this point it was already 3:30, the wedding was to start at 4, and I still needed to warm up my flute (which I realized I’d have to do in the car since the chapel would already be full). I thought maybe Kristen was lost, but when we pulled up to her car, she said frantically, “They forgot the veil! I’m turning around to go back for the veil! Keep going on…” Seriously, if I hadn’t been a little stressed out (and worried about sweating in my dress due to the stress AND heat) I would have found the humor in how similar this was to a: I’ve been shot. Go on without me…kind of dialogue.
Joy and I made it to the church about 5 minutes before the wedding was due to begin. Knowing that it wouldn’t start without a veiled-clad bride, I played my flute in the car for a couple of minutes. The wedding began about 25 minutes late. Not too bad. My guess is that Kristen hauled booty on the highway.
The ceremony was short and sweet and beautiful. I must say, I was a tad nervous for fluting as it’s been a while since I played for others – especially at a wedding! I was actually most nervous about my first note. Whenever I had practiced, the first note never came out well unless I’d been warmed up and playing for a while. Obviously this wasn’t an option on Wedding Day. I played in the car for maybe three minutes and then my flute just sat there in the front of the church for another 30. My only goal, my only thought was “Nail that first note. If I nail that first note, then I am SO sticking the landing, SO pulling a Michael Phelps, major gold medal big finish, baby!” (And all sorts of other Olympics-appropriate analogies). I’m totally pumped to say that I kicked that piece’s butt so hard there was nothing left of it when I was done. I ripped it. (i.e. I was quite pleased with my performance). I had a couple of people tell me after – including Nathan’s mom that it was the part that “pushed them over the edge.” (In a good way). Lorna – mom ‘o the groom, said, “Jenny, I held it together until you played and then I just totally fell apart.” Look, normally, I wouldn’t want to make people cry but in this case, it’s a VERY good thing. http://picasaweb.google.com/mike.james.martin/August2008/photo#5239420444263976210
At the end of the wedding, Father Rob had all of Mo’s adorable nieces and nephews stand in the center aisle to help with the final blessing of the couple. When the were just about to kiss all of the kids and Mike – yes, my 6 foot 5 Mike, were to run down the aisle, out the church doors to the big bell and ring it whilst Mo and Nate kissed. To those not knowing what was up, it must’ve looked pretty funny to see all these kids – and Mike – go running out of the church. (Mike’s job, by the way, was to help with the ringing of the large bell). I’m very proud of him. He did an exceptional job.
The reception was AMAZING. It took place at V. Sattui Winery – pretty much an ivy-covered chateau/villa. Beautiful. The whole event was fairy-talesque. Two long tables stretched out under the stars with twinkly lights and candles lighting the whole way. We had a two hour long, multiple course, wine-a-flowin’ meal that was accompanied by numerous toasts and speeches – all moving, all emotional, all eloquent. There were a few of us girls at the table who had to resort to using the linen napkins for face-wiping ‘cuz we ran out of Kleenex.
Before dinner, we were standing in the courtyard visiting and drinking (a lot of that was done), when who should start to descend the stairs but none other than Jen Schefft – the former Bachelorette and fiancée to tire fortune heir, Andrew Firestone. If you’re up on reality TV at all, you’ll know that after being picked by Andrew and getting engaged in “the most romantic rose ceremony ever” [just how many most romantic rose ceremonies ever can you have?!], she eventually called off the engagement. A while later, ABC picked her to be the Bachelorette, where she got to choose from a buffet of 25 eligible and inhumanly attractive men. The final two dudes BOTH proposed to her and she turned BOTH down. To the first dude she said, “Yeah, you’re great but there’s just something missing.” And to the “final” guy, the guy she picked, she said, “Keep the ring. I want to do this the right way. I don’t want to rush into things. Let’s see how things go, and if you feel the same way in a few months, ask me again.” They were broken up by the follow up show, three months later.
Now, Jen got a lot of flack for that. She was called “high maintenance” and “too hard to please” and “too picky.” I, on the other hand, always thought it was impressive. Why should she pick a guy when she knows that he’s not The One? Why settle? Maybe he’s great but you gotta listen to your gut. So, I see Jen-the-Bachelorette and ask Mo’s sister-in-law Jen (this could get confusing) why the heck Jen-the-Bachelorette is at Mo’s wedding. Apparently, Jen tells me, the dude who Jen-the-Bachelorette is with and nearly engaged to, I might add, is a co-worker to Pete (Mo’s bro) and formerly to Nate. (He no longer works there). So Jen and I are being total celebrity stalker-types whispering and watching Jen-the-Bachelorette just as Jen-the-Bachelorette walks by. I was like, OK, this is lame and dumb. And I’m sure Jen-the-Bachelorette is totally on to us.
So, I approach Jen-the-Bachelorette, stick out my hand and say, “Hi, I’m Jenny. Let’s face it: I totally know who you are and think you’re great but not at all in a stalker sort of way.” She laughed and said something. I have no recollection of what. Oh, I think she introduced me to her dude and I introduced her to mine. But whatever. It was all about me and her and this amazing connection that we had. I went on to say that I was impressed that she hadn’t rushed into things, and I know she got some flack, and I think that’s totally lame, and it was great that she waited ‘cuz she’s got this great dude now – even though I don’t actually know if he’s great or if he’s her The One, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. And she did respond with something all coy about “Yeah, I’m glad I waited…” etc. Eventually I took a breath and allowed others (the dudes) to contribute to the conversation. We were having a great conversation actually. Like, hello, forget Mo, here’s my new BFF. So, it’s all going swimmingly and then Father Rob comes up.
“So,” he says to Jen-the-Bachelorette and Dude, “Do you guys know Mike and Jenny from Engaged Encounter? They’re practically celebrities.” Oh. My. Gosh. We’re talking to a “practically” celebrity. AWKWARD. In response Dude mumbles something like, “no, we just met.” Then Father Rob continues, “Well, aren’t you guys all around the same age?” hmmm. AWKWARD. No one really says anything. So, Father Rob addresses a question to Dude since he’s the only one talking apparently. “How old are you?” AWKWARD. Dude says, “Um, 35.” Fr. Rob says something like “Oh, right, so you’re about the same age as Mike & Jenny. Mike how old are you?” “29,” Mike responds. AWKWARD. Jen-the-Bachelorette shifts around nervously. Then to me, “You?” “I’m 28,” I say sheepishly. Poor Jen-the-Bachelorette, knows she needs to respond next. “32.”
I don’t think 32 is old, for the record. I think the whole thing was just a bit painful and awkward. So, here our new friendship was thrown down the crapper. Once Father Rob started asking what belief system they come from, you could tell they wanted desperately to make an escape. Eventually, Jen-the-Bachelorette found a pause in the conversation, and said, “Have you had a chance to explore the winery yet? We haven’t so we’re going to go do that right now.” The end. The end of our potential lifelong friendship with Jen-the-Bachelorette and Dude. I guess I’ll just have to stick with my NONcelebrity-type friends. (Just kidding, guys. Love ya all. You’re ALL celebrities in my heart).
Somehow, despite the fact that we were up partying VERY late – for the second night in a row – we’d been roped into going to EARLY Sunday morning Mass with Father Rob. As Mo’s brother John said, “Woah. You definitely can’t play hookie when you’re the priest’s ride to church. Oh, and better not nod off either! Do you know all the words? He’ll totally be listening to see if you know all the words.” Anyway, as we were pulling up towards the church, I saw a big sign that said, “Episcopalian Chapel.” I said, “Father Rob, you’re going to be in BIG trouble with my parents if you take us to an Episcopalian church!” He thought it was funny.
Mo’s parents were at Mass as well, and the five of us went out to breakfast afterwards. It was a nice way to wrap up the whole wedding weekend. Discussing and reliving the evening with John and Sandy was great. It really was the most beautiful wedding we’ve ever attended. And I’m sure they went above and beyond to impress the celebrities and “practically celebrities” as well.

While we didn't get a picture of me and my new BFF, Jen-the-Bachelorette DID take this excellent picture for us: http://picasaweb.google.com/mike.james.martin/August2008/photo#5239420625058008850

CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
PART ONE

Even though I love writing my Blog – it’s total “me” time – I still had to bribe myself to get here. (Diet Pepsi and some ridiculously bad for you sugar-coated-in-amazingness almonds). The issue is that my brain is still stuck in Vacation Mode. It’s taking me a while to get back to Normal Mode – which isn’t the same as everyone else’s Normal Mode, mind you; it’s the more spacey-mom version of Normal. Anywhoo, I’m here now, so let me make the most of my time (and my combined highs from the sugar almonds and caffeinated Diet Pepsi).
A week ago, Mike and I departed (at the butt crack ‘o dawn, remember) for two days in San Francisco and two days in Napa Valley for Mo’s wedding. As you may well know, I ADORE the airport and was quite disappointed that despite my constant vigilance to discover some airport wackos (aka: blog material), people were just kinda normal-to-boring. They gave me very little to work with, therefore I will move on.
We arrived in San Fran at 8:30 in the morning. We caught the BART to our hotel where we checked our baggage. Equipped with running shoes, city map, camera and purse we headed out like the prepared tourists that we were. Mike had mapped out a route for us, and for the most part we stuck to it. Our hotel was in a great location – right near Union Square, the shopping and theater districts and not far from Chinatown. We went past Chinatown, towards North Beach or “Little Italy.” We made brief stops in a little used bookstore – my favorite kind (and no, they didn’t have my bookclub book!) – and then in the first church we came to. For some reason, every time we saw a church, we would assume, “Ooh! That must be the Cathedral.” And we’d pop in, soon realizing that yes, while it was beautiful, it ain’t no cathedral. We stopped in three churches, each progressively larger than the last. By the end of the day, we saw the ACTUAL cathedral from the outside but were too tired to go inside!
After the first church stop, we started our first ascent of San Fran hilliness. Holy Ma-Joly. I forgot how hilly that city is. And for some reason, I decided that because I would be missing one of my run mornings, I would run EVERY hill. What the?! So, Hill One (which included stairs for an added workout), took us up to Coit Tower. We would’ve had an amazing view of the city, if it weren’t so foggy!
A bike policeman was taking a breather along the railing. A tourist – I believe Italian – approached him and said, “Excuse me, but where is Golden Gate Bridge?” In total seriousness, the officer replied, “Oh, it’s gone. They took it away for cleaning. I believe it should be back late tomorrow.” I started chuckling as the poor tourist man looked bewildered and confused…and then finally got it.
From Coit Tower, it was a brief downhill jog to Fisherman’s Wharf. We watched the sea lions for a while – who fascinate and amuse me to no end. I kind of wonder if they aren’t paid performers who are bused in early every morning. We lunched at a place claiming to be the “home of the sourdough bread bowl” or the “best sourdough bread bowls in the world” or “our sourdough bread bowls rule” or “your bread bowls are crumbs compared to ours.” I don’t remember. One of those. So, we had, you guessed it! Sourdough bread bowls with clam chowder which we insisted on calling “chow-dah” even though we were no where near the East Coast…quite frankly; I think we were like the opposite of the East Coast.
From Fisherman’s Wharf, we walked along the waterfront heading towards Ghiradelli Square. The best attraction we saw was the most off-the-wall. A homeless man, on the opposite side of the street, was sitting on an overturned bucket. In his hands he held this ‘thing’ that to approaching tourists looked like a bush. Really, it was a bunch of branches and leaves woven together to make a little wall for him to hide behind. He’d even built in handles for ease of use. Mike and I were like, “what are all these people looking at?” The sidewalk was lined with people just stopped, watching him. Then, I understood. As three women approached, completely unawares, he suddenly popped out from behind the “bush” yelling “ARRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!” which was met with an “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” scream from the ladies. It was the most bizarre thing. But instead of sitting and asking for money, he was spending his time entertaining and making people laugh.
OK, fast forward a bit…we went to Ghiradelli Square where we HAD to buy something delicious. We opted for a mint chocolate chip with dark chocolate hot fudge sundae. It pretty much rocked my world. After sufficient face-stuffing, we again began a long hilled ascent, this time to Lombard Street – the twistiest, curviest (and quite short) street in the world (or at least that claims to be all of that). By this point, it was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, the clouds had lifted, the sun had burst through and it started to get pretty warm. We’d been up for 12 hours and had already walked several miles. Unfortunately, to get back to our hotel, it was uphill THE WHOLE WAY. After jogging up each hill, I’d stop at the flattened out intersection, wait for Mike and say, “Ooh! Look at Alcatraz!” or “Ooh! Look at Coit Tower!” or “Ooh! Look at the bridge!” and take a picture. However, with every block, we climbed higher, so every single intersection provided a better panoramic view. In the end, I think I had about 6 different versions of the same picture, each one taken from a higher elevation.
We stumbled back to our hotel to check in and were informed that we’d been upgraded – for free – to a suite. Sweet! We explored the room on sore feet and then crashed for a cat nap while Oprah played in the background. AT 5:30, we forced our angry feet back into our sneakers and walked a mile to a movie theater to see Batman. It would have been a great experience – sitting in the AC’ed, cushy seats if it weren’t for one fact. At this theater, when you purchased your tickets, they showed you a diagram and you picked/reserved the seats you wanted. The map showed that all but a handful of seats in the ginormous theater were still available. Mike picked the front row of the second section (behind the aisle). His usual. More leg room, you see.
We located our seats and hunkered down. Two seconds later a group of three women start walking towards us – with nearly an ENTIRE EMPTY theater to choose from, they picked the seats RIGHT NEXT TO OURS. And to make matters worse, the woman sitting next to me was the JUMPIEST movie-goer I’ve ever experienced. Any little excitement in the film caused her to flinch or jump or gasp or stifle a shout OR a combination of all of the above.
After our movie, we headed back towards Chinatown for a late supper. We walked PAST our hotel and a gajillion dining options to the Chinese restaurant that had been very highly recommended somewhere (I think on-line). Sure enough, there was a line wrapping around the sidewalk. But we’d walked that far, of course we would stand in line for 45 minutes for food on our tired feet even though there was a nearly empty Chinese restaurant right next door and right across the street and right around the corner. The food WAS good though. I’d say it was worth the wait.
Arriving back to our hotel around 11:30pm, we calculated that we’d walked a total of 10 miles that day. I don’t know why we didn’t just tack on a few more and make it a full half-marathon!

Part Two of our California Adventure to come…

Sheesh! I hardly have a chance to finish writing about our last vacation before our next one! Oh, woe is me. Too many vacations. Yeah right. Vacations are fairly rare for us Martinoids, and yet, here we are – two in three weeks!
So, let’s wrap up the last one, before I commence on explaining the next one. Chelan was amazing and wonderful and insanely fun. On Wednesday, we went to the Waterslide Park. It was so cute to see Matthew, with buddy Joshua (both clad in puffy life jackets) walk together, holding hands and take turns coming down the twisty (“beginner”) water slides. (I stayed in the pool, to catch them at the bottom, or I’d come down first with Zach on my lap). They did awesome and had so much fun! Mike convinced me that I needed to go on at least one “Advanced” (i.e. grown-up) slide. We took a double tube down some sort of twisty, bumpy slide of torture. No, I’ll stick to the Beginner and Intermediate slides, thank you.
Thursday, the guys (Mike & Jason) went and rented a wave runner. Rebecca and I hoofed over to the beach with all the gear and kidlets and we all took turns have rides on the wave runner. It was so big the entire Martin family could sit on it: Matthew in the front – “steering”, then Mike, Zach (Mike blocked the wind and spray), and then I brought up the rear. The boys loved it! Matthew turned around and yelled, “This is awesome!” Mike and I got to go out later, just the two of us, and I got to drive for the first time. Mike gave me a hard time that I really didn’t take us that much faster than when we’d had the kids with us. So?!
Friday afternoon, when the kids were all napping/doing quiet time, Rebecca and I ditched the crew and went out wine-tasting. We hit up three different wineries and had some serious girl talk! That night we grilled steaks for the last supper and enjoyed a bottle that Rebecca and I had picked up on our tasting tour.
Saturday morning, we packed up, checked out of the townhouse and went out of town to a big blueberry farm-turned restaurant for one last meal together. It’s hard to believe that that was a week ago already! And yet, in some ways, it seems eons ago that we were lounging around on vacation!
In one week from today, Mike and I will be in another fun place – Napa Valley – for the wedding of Mo (one of my best friends from high school). We leave at the butt crack ‘o dawn on Thursday for San Fran. We’ll explore the city Thursday and Friday morning, pick up our rental car and then head to the Valley. Friday afternoon is the rehearsal and dinner (I’m playing my flute at her wedding), and then Saturday the wedding is at 4pm. I’m so excited for the wedding – it’s at a little Mission Church followed by the reception at a winery. This seems to be the summer of wine-themed vacationing, and I’m a fan! We fly home Sunday at the butt crack ‘o night. The boys will be with my parental at Port Ludlow from Wednesday night-Sunday. What with the pool and beach, etc. I bet they won’t even know we’re gone!

WRITTEN last Tuesday (Aug. 4, 2008)....

Vacation. Sweet vacation. We’re on it, baby! And it is a-mazing! I don’t remember the last time I had a vacation (or if I ever?!) that didn’t have a “plan.” The “plan” for this vacation was seriously: relax, have fun. It’s not a novel concept to many, but it is to me. I’m a total rookie at this. Every single vacation that Mike and I have taken in our seven-years-in-one-week marriage has had an agenda, an ulterior motive if you will. We’ve always gone somewhere – often an Engaged Encounter Convention dictating the location – and have had a plan – every single day mapped out with places to go and things to do. Even Disneyland, while marvelous, wonderful and the happiest (and crankiest) place on Earth is a vacation of plans and goals…get to that ride, beat the crowd, find a good spot to watch the parade, etc. Disneyland may be the happiest place on Earth but I think we may have found heaven on Earth.
We are spending the week in Lake Chelan, WA in a beautiful townhouse with our great friends from EE – Jason and Rebecca and their kiddos who include Joshua (3) and Noah (1)….that means we’ve got FOUR boys under the age of five under one roof. So far, the roof has not caved in. Granted, it’s only been a couple of days, but still. That’s an accomplishment. While their have definitely been meltdowns and tears and unfortunately, there is snot a-running (our boys arrived with colds, in true Martin style), we have had a MARVELOUS time. I’m actually quite good at this vacation thing. I thought I would struggle with my whole need-of-a-plan-slash-analness, yet I have thrived at relaxing! I’ve managed to eat, read, sleep, write, run, swim, lounge, drink, and play games with the utmost of ease. I’m a vacationing genius.

Kara, my laptop, has had a coffee bath, a Diet Pepsi baptism, and was, finally, tonight, given a dose of chocolate ice cream. I thought about just pouring some of my red wine on the keyboard to seal the deal, but thought better of it. She really is my perfect-match laptop especially now that she’s experienced most of my very favorite things. I’m concerned that eventually wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwe’ll see some keys start to stick beeeeeeeeeeeeecause due to her diet. It’ll beee fine I’m sssssssssure.
Zachary, our favorite little Thespian, put on another show for me the other day. (Well, OK, he performs everyday; I just share the best ones here). We brought my brother, Chris, with us to church on Saturday night, so I got to sit squished in the back between the boys. The car seats take up so much room, I think I’d be safe unseatbelted since I’m so thoroughly wedged in there, but I, of course, still buckle up for the law…and the underage witnesses.
The boys had been pushing me back and forth and saying I was “Ping Pong Mommy.” Thanks to the wedge-factor (that was wedge, not wedgIE but I’m sure there was one of those too), I only moved about an inch all together. Unfortunately this light and fun pushing game got Zach all riled up. It was dinnertime and he was definitely prone to crankiness already. What started as all fun and games turned ugly when he started whacking at me like his personal piñata and pulling my hair just to hear me scream. After one serious tug, I yelled in pain and scolded him. The car immediately grew still – the people contents, anyway – as we all waited for the cry that would ensue.
I watched as Zach’s lip gradually grew in size, sticking out further and further (or is it farther and farther? I’m always confused on that one but typically avoid “farther” because, let’s face it: it just looks like fart-her and that’s just wrong). Right when he took his deep breath to release the floodgates, he put both hands up to his face and looked at me. In a calm and way-too-mature-voice (one that wouldn’t be out of place in a Shakespearan Play or Greek tragedy death scene) he said, “Now, I cry.” Then he covered his face with both hands, peaking out every once in a while to validate my attention to his woes. He removed his hands after a while and said, “I cry.” Not a tear dropped though.

Drama or athletics. I don’t know which Zach will do – he’s equally talented in both. But, seriously, the child is dramatic! I don’t know from WHERE he could EVER get such acting prowess. It just astounds me.
Zach, in the mornings, gets out of his little bed and stands in his room, knocking on HIS door to be let out. The second the door is opened, he groggily says, “Cereal. I want cereal.” Then he usually has a large bowl of cereal and a banana or some other fruit-form. The other day, he woke up with a hole in his stomach or something ‘cuz we just could not seem to fill him up. He’d eaten cereal, a banana, toast, and a little more cereal until finally I drew the line. “OK, all done! Time to get down and play.” He resisted but did get down. However, the second his five-going-on-fifteen-year-old brother stumbled out of his room (after sleeping in until 10am!!), Zach thought it was definitely time for Second Breakfast.
“You can have yogurt,” I told him.
“No. Cereal,” he retorted.
“Nope. You already had lots of cereal.”
“I want cereal.”
“I know you want cereal,” I said. “But all I’m offering you is yogurt.”
“No. CEREAL!”
At this point, Zach was back up in his chair at the table a-waiting…cereal.
“Zachary, you can have yogurt or nothing.”
In the most deflated, defeated move I’ve ever seen, Zach slowly put his arm on the table and wearily rested his head. He slowly shook his head back and forth and said, “I have nofing. Nofing to eat.”
After I finished calling the Academy to tell them where to find their next Oscar winner, I reminded him one more time, “Zach, you CAN have yogurt.”
His head shot up and with steam coming forth from his various facial orifices, he cried, “NO! Cereal!”
Yeah, OK. I was done.
Realizing that anger was definitely not helping his cause, he slowly put his head back down on the table and repeated in the most melancholy of ways, “I have nofing. Nofing to eat.”
When he makes it big in Hollywood, he can have all the cereal he wants.

Woah, today is major. My Blog is 199 pages, and you know what that means. Chances are good that I’ll babble on long enough to get to 200. 200 pages of fluff, hooey and who-knows-what! Quite the accomplishment. So my Blog combined with my book manuscript and the other small projects I’ve worked on in the last couple of years, puts me at around 400 pages that I’ve cranked out. That’s a lot.
I did try to downplay the whole, “I’ve written a book” topic at my reunion this weekend. I mentioned it to a couple of people if I got the question, “so you’re JUST a mom?” Then I somewhat-defensively-but-as-casually-as-possible stated, “Well, I’m also teaching toddler music classes – I actually started my own business. Oh, and…” as if I’d totally forgotten and the knowledge JUST happened to resurface, so here’s a insignificant little aside – little Jenny-factoid for you… “I wrote a book! I know! Who knew?!” But then to downplay my accomplishment and get put in my place I, of course, get to answer the “So, are you published?” question. I said that I really didn’t want to make people look bad, so I’d be saving the “I’m a published author” statement for maybe our 20 year reunion. That gives them enough warning and time to do some impressive stuff too in the next 10 years.
I was well aware that I’d only need to mention this to a couple of people and, sure enough, by Sunday (Round Three – ding!), girls that I hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk with came up and asked, “Hey, I heard you wrote a book. Is that true?” Looks like the rumor-mill is out of practice, because back in the day, a rumor like that would’ve come back as: “Hey! Congratulations on becoming the #1 New York Time’s Bestseller.” Or “Oh, of course I’ve heard of that book…” [you’d never admit you were totally clueless] “I just happened to buy six copies from Barnes & Noble last week. I’ll send them to you for autographs if you don’t mind.” No, I don’t mind.
I will tell you right now that I will spend the next ten years, leading up to my reunion, pining for my classmates and wishing that every year was reunion year. And deep down, after my magical 10 year reunion weekend, I wish I could just have one more week to experience the bliss that was my high school experience. I’m not kidding. Nerdy? Yes. Crazy? Likely. True? Absa-posa-lutely.
I LOVE the girls in my class and felt that, for the most part, we all got along like champs. Considering that it was an all girls’ school – the expected cattiness and clique-yness (again, in my experience) was never-to-rarely a factor. It was like a big slumber party without the pajamas and sleep (but who actually sleeps at a slumber party anyway?!).
So, yes, the reunion was magical and yes, I came away nostalgic and a little sad. But I was so happy with how the weekend went. And perhaps most exciting of all, miracle of all miracles – I was smokin’ hot. I literally had possibly the best hair day of my life on Friday night (Round One – ding!) – thank the Lord! Most people would act all, yeah, I’m hot, and this is how great my hair has looked for the last ten years. But not me, the Open Book. I said things like, “I know! It’s a miracle. Of all nights! And it apparently has taken me TEN YEARS to learn HOW to handle my hair (and to find good product).” Besides, these girls knew me in high school when I took us all on a very traumatic few years of Hair-Drama; they deserved to be in on the excitement and to revel in the joyous occasion with me.
I’ve got my work cut out for me before my next reunion – becoming a published author, I should probably run a few more marathons – maybe fit in an Ultra somehow, I better get my children in all sorts of excelling-genius-broo-ha ha programs. But actually, the great thing is, I could sit on my butt for the next ten years, and my classmates would still love me (I think). Besides, it would make them look better too.

I have my ten-year high school reunion this weekend. In true Holy Names Academy fashion, this will not be just a lame ‘ol reunion. No, my friends, this is a three day extravaganza of reunion fun. Round One (ding!) commences this evening. (Do I have time to drop ten pounds? I also need to achieve some major accomplishments…hmm, nah. I’m good.) We start with a pre-funk dinner that a few of us girls planned (yes, we’re still in the same cliques; not that much has changed). Then, we head over to a bar for the “unofficial/official” Round One (ding!) Reunion. For some dorky reason, (and the fact that I just said dorky, is indeed, very dorky), it was decided that the all boys’ school – O’Dea – Class of ’98 should join in for our Bar Reunion tonight. I think that’s lame because a.) girls rule and boys drool and b.) most of us didn’t “know” (date) many of them. Whatever. They couldn’t plan their own dealy, so they had to just come and be with the ladies. Nice excuse.
Because I am the most pro-my-high-school nerd I know, I will be at ALL three events of the three-day extravaganza. Round One (ding!) as I mentioned, is tonight’s bar part-ay. Tomorrow afternoon, Round Two (ding!) is the “BBQ at the Beach (Beach not included)” event where spousal units and offspring are welcome. That’s the one where we get to parade our little genius spawn about.
I’ve been drumming all sorts of advanced equations into Matthew’s head (so far, he knows: 1 + 1. 2 + 1. And 2 + 2). He also, however, tells people that his little brother Zach is two, while holding up four fingers. We’re working on it. I may blame that on his being a preemie. I can milk that one for any little intellectual issues that may arise. Yes, good plan.

Now, Zach, is much more physically-inclined, so we’ve been working on some dance-kung fu-yoga-baseball-throwing-type-arm-thrust moves that he can use to impress the ladies. (He prefers to call this “dancing”). He – just like his brother – is ridiculously cute, so he’s got that going for him too.
As for my “Trophy Husband:” Mike has promised that I’m allowed to pick out his clothes, he actually shaved today so the scruffiness will be kept to a minimum, and my guess is that he’ll try to downplay the Computer Nerd thing just a little bit as most people just can’t understand talk about rebooting or Java-Script or even Quantum Physics if you’re feeling frisky.
Finally, Round Three (ding!) is the “official” Reunion for the Holy Names Academy Class of ’98. That’s when we get a little dressed up – just like on “School Liturgy Dress-Up” days and go to the school to act all lady-like while sitting in the parlors (that you never actually go to EVER when you’re IN school, just when you’re an alum). We make small-talk with the nuns who probably don’t actually remember any of us. And we rave about how lovely the school looks, how much they’ve done since we’ve graduated (i.e. why couldn’t WE have had the new lockers?! Etc.). I’m fairly certain that we are to put napkins across our laps, eat dainty pastries and fruit and sip coffee or tea with pinkies poised. (Actually, it won’t be like that at all, I just like to pretend). Then, the piece de resistance is the Class picture on the front steps of the school. It’s a reenactment of the picture that every Senior Class does for the yearbook and Seattle Catholic newspaper. It’s all very touching.
I AM looking forward to redeeming myself a little bit from our 5 year reunion…at which I was a walking Jenny-Disaster. At the time, I was pregnant with Matthew (and would find out five days later that I was supposedly pregnant with Abigail Madeline). While I was a very excited and probably glowy pregnant Alum, I was also a VERY chubby and excessively spacey one. I think, on that particular day, the thrill of the reunion and at seeing so many good friends combined with the hormones that were sucking brainpower out of me made for a sad combination. I really wasn’t one of those cute pregnant gals either – I just looked fat. I “showed” in my stomach…and arms…and legs…and cheeks…and probably fingers and toes too. I bet even my eyelashes were fat. I was a walking chubster who couldn’t remember the topic of conversations. One girl pointed out “Jenny! You’ve already asked her where she’s living…twice!” Yeah. It was sad.
So, I’ve been pouring over my yearbook refreshing on names and faces. I’ve studied up on current events, the political climate and have read countless thought-provoking works of literature on which I can enlighten and entertain my former classmates. I was a French major, after all, so I could even gesticulate on the works and ideologies from Montaigne and Descartes to 20th Century Existentialism and Post-Structuralism.
Actually, I just did a Wikipedia search on French Philosophy and have no stinkin’ clue how to talk about that stuff that I studied oh-so long ago. The most I know about current events is that today, I taught my first music class at the Boys & Girls Club and singing and dancing with scarves went quite well. In other news, Zach went peepee in the potty twice yesterday. And as far as philosophy – well, Matthew does say profound things like “We are God’s Legos.”
Existentialism is so overrated anyway.

Matthew the Philosopher and Spiritual Guru: out of the blue, the other day, our not-yet-5-year-old said, “We’re God’s Legos…’cuz he made us.”

I made a discovery. Looking back over some of my Blog, I realized that it’s not really haha-laugh out loud funny. I’m a little disappointed. It’s not that I expect you to bust a gut whilst reading of my triumphs, trials and tribulations. I just hoped for more than grunt-in-humoristic-appreciation funny. Bummer. Sorry to disappoint. But I guess at this point, if you’re still reading this, then you know what to expect. I’m the only one who is surprised. Sigh. At any rate, I’ve haven’t quit my (imaginary) job to go compete on Last Comic Standing, and I haven’t tried to submit any funnies for the Comics. So I guess we’re OK. Here’s your half-ass chuckle for the week.


DEER POO
First of all, last weekend Mike and I went to Spokane for an Engaged Encounter meeting. We squeezed in a nice (and brief) visit with his aunt and uncle before coming home. But the majority of the weekend was spent in our meeting/workshop. The meetings are always so fun, and we did get to stay in a Convent. There were ACTUAL habited-nuns running about the place! (Actually, I never saw one run, but I did see one driving a golf cart with a dog on a leash running alongside). And nuns made our food and packed us a sack dinner for the drive home on Sunday. I honestly had to bite my tongue for bursting into “How do you solve a problem like Maria?” I thought that that desire would all be in my head. But no. I REALLY did fight the urge to do that. I succeeded. Just barely.
We saw a total of TEN deer while on our travels. Unfortunately the last one was taking a nap next to I-90 on our drive home.
One of the couples – Bob and Vicki – at the meeting is from a distant and rugged land called Montana. They thought it was pretty entertaining that I was so desperate to see wildlife as it’s a daily occurrence for them. So, Saturday evening several of us ventured out to see if we could find some deer on the picturesque Convent grounds. Sure enough, within moments of setting out the door, I spotted four deer over in a grassy field. Bob was so proud that his wildlife-spotting-protégé (moi) showed such promise. I then decided that seeing the deer wasn’t enough of an education in nature for me. I wanted to see what deer poo looked like. We then went on a deer-poo hunt. (Because of course, the deer had leapt away as we walked towards them; we were able to go right to the spot where they’d just been mingling). Bob found some poo to show me. Did you know that it’s quite firm? (Oh, to clarify: I didn’t touch it, I was just surprised that it appeared to be little hard pellets. With all the grass and roughage they eat, you’d think the grass would keep things loose for them.)
Bob picked up a pellet and chucked it at me. I squealed like a City Girl much to everyone’s delight…turns out it was just a little pine cone.
I also learned that people actually BUY deer pee to cover themselves in when hunting. Who knew?
In true EE-style, Saturday night of our “meeting” was a big ‘ol rockin’ party. So, the deer-hunting party was actually about 12 people stumbling around the Convent grounds being WAY too loud and raucous. Sunday morning, as we all groggily staggered out of our rooms for breakfast, we realized that people were showing up for Sunday morning Mass…and having to practically step over and around the piles and boxes of empty and discarded wine and beer bottles. We tried to quickly hide the evidence. But they were on to us. “Oh, Engaged Encounter was here. Right.”
ADVENTURES IN PARENTING
The kids have been extra challenging lately. Basically being boys – wee, little, troublesome boys. Zach has decided that the best form of self-defense and self-expression is screaming a high, blood-shaking and window-curdling [yes, intentional. I’m mixing up the clichés to keep you on your toes]. Matthew has decided that being all around difficult, argumentative and non-compliant is his new behavior-of-choice.
So, Mike and I have found ourselves saying “NO!” and “STOP!” a lot (and pulling out our hair a lot more often). In all the parenting books in the entire world – basically all the places where it says ‘Don’t do what Mike and Jenny do’ it basically states: instead of saying No, put it in a positive way. I.E. “You can’t hit the dog, but you CAN pet the dog…or you can go hit your pillow.” This is all fine and good but kind of a bunch of hooey. Mike brought up a good point, “So, your child is running towards the hot stove and you’re supposed to calmly say ‘You CAN go touch the fridge…” Right.

MATTHEW’S VIEW ON THINGS
FAMILY
In the car, on the way to the zoo, yesterday, Matthew said the following, “We should have a baby girl, Mom.”
When I explained that yes that would be lovely and we certainly have the girls’ clothes in boxes, it would require that I be in bed – and possibly the hospital – for months; I just don’t know if that’s a good idea.
He responded with “We’ll adopt her because she won’t have a family. And you can be her Mommy! And” – getting more excited – “Zach, we’ll be big brothers! Isn’t that great? We’re going to have a sister!”
So, apparently, with this all decided, I asked, “What should we name her?”
Without skipping a beat, he replied, “Abigail. ‘Cuz we’ve been saving that name.” I can’t even articulate what I was thinking at this point…it’s like he opened my brain and dumped all my thoughts onto the empty passenger seat next to me.
After a long pause I said, “I don’t know Matthew, I’ve been getting pretty frustrated with you two boys lately. Do you think we could handle another kiddo? Plus, you’d have to share toys with someone else and you have a hard enough time sharing with just Zach.” [All the while, I’m thinking: should I really be responsible for screwing up another little humanoid?]
Matthew said, “Yep! We’ll share. And she’s going to help us. She’ll tell us when we’re making bad choices.” That’s a lot of pressure on this little girl! I should know since that’s now my role. But I’d be willing to do some form of job-share.

NATURE
Once we arrived at the zoo, Matthew said, “Let’s go see the teeter-totters!”
“Matthew, I don’t think they have teeter-totters here.” I tried to remember seeing a playground.
“No, Mom, the TEETER-TOTTERS. By the bears.”
“Huh?!”
“You know! The ones that swim.”
It finally dawned on me. “OH! The SEA OTTERS!”

FUN
“Let’s dance!” Matthew said, jumping up from his Legos. (“HUH?!” I thought. Matthew is not one for physical activity...especially if it interrupts something like playing-Legos).
“OK.” We stood up, Matthew took both my hands and we started walking back and forth, back and forth – About four feet in one direction, then we’d stop, and go back to where we started.
“What dance is this?” I asked (not actually expecting much of an answer).
“The Mango.”
“The Mango?” huh? He’s never eaten a mango in his life. “Oh! Do you mean the Tango?”
“Yeah, the tango!” How he knows what the Tango is – or how it’s danced – is beyond me. How his brain works, in general, is beyond me. (Then again, I don’t actually know how any brains work. I’m not a brain specialist, just to be clear.)

Mike and I are heading to Spokane for the weekend. We have an Engaged Encounter Unit Board Meeting and will also hopefully squeeze in a brief visit with his fam before returning to our boys. (Our offspring will be living it up with my parents). We will stay at the retreat facility where Spokane Engaged Encounter weekends are held. This retreat facility just so happens to be at a convent! I’m so pumped to stay at a convent. I’ve been brushing up on my The Sound of Music numbers like, “How do you solve a problem like Maria?” and “The Hills are Alive.” I hope they have a Swiss-Alps-type hill for me to perform that one on. I’ll need space to spin and enough open room for the helicopter to fly over. Also, I’ve worked up a couple of routines from Sister Act. I’m not too familiar with the musical Nunsense, but I think I better look into that one as well. I’ll fit right in at the nunnery! You can actually quote Hamlet to me, “Get thee to a nunnery!” And it would be perfectly acceptable and appropriate.
When I haven’t been practicing my nun-themed musical numbers, I’ve been doing extraordinary things like finishing a book! (As in writing one, not reading one). Yesterday, I printed off 157 pages of my completed manuscript. OK, it’s not at all completed and shouldn’t even really be called a manuscript, but that just sounds much more impressive than, “I printed off 157 pages of my first draft that needs a lot of revisions.”
I typed the last sentence, hit . and just sat there. I’m done. Wow. This is not at all how I thought it would feel. I’m not exactly sure what I expected but a little bit more somethin’ somethin’ than this. It’s not like I realistically anticipated that I hit “Save” one last time and then the phone rings – it’s an Agent on the phone saying that he/she would like to represent me and my 157 pages of literary genius and, Oh, they already have a publishing house interested…actually a few are ready to seduce me and my poor Agent has had to fight them off with a stick (in a polite, Agenty sort of way). Agent will have to sort through the mayhem and negotiate the most amazing book deal offer ever. “We’re making history, Dame Martin. Oh, why am I calling you Dame, Martin?” asks Agent. “Haven’t you heard that the Queen lady-ed you?”
I’m not really sure how it works, but, you know, a guy who’s fancy-impressive like Sir Isaac Newton or Sir Elton John gets knighted and amazing women, Dame Judi Dench, for example, get lady-ed. I think I even beat J.K.Rowling to the Ladyhood.
So, the phone didn’t ring and an Agent didn’t call. Not that I expected that. Nor did I expect a marching band to come parading down my street playing John Phillip Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever – not because it’s patriotic so much as, in my head, when I think of hoorah! Yippee! Congratulatory music I usually hear the opening notes of that…and then once I start singing it [the words go “duh, duh, duh-dun-duhn, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh! Crash! – that’s the cymbals], I can’t help but get up and march and clap. It’s a pretty sad sight to be with me on the 4th of July…I just can’t be contained.
No Agent phoned. No marching band strode down 127th PL. Nothing. But I did write a book – from start to finish, and you can call me Dame Martin. Although, this weekend, at the convent, I’ll probably answer to Mother Superior.

I love it when I find an article or factoid that validates what I’m feeling. Like the one that comes out every year, saying that Moms/Housewives don’t get paid [at all] well enough. Although, I think that this year our approximate salary was quite deflated from last. I understand that the economy’s in rough times, blahblahblah, but I’m still doing my job here. I might demand a raise!

Anyway, the article this time basically supports everything that I’ve been feeling the last couple of days. For some reason, our boys chose Father’s Day to use up all of their perfect behavior skills. While, I appreciated the thought and it was a very nice day – we went to the zoo with my fam – I’m a little bummed they used up their perfect-quota all in one fell-swoop. Ever since then, I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but scold, referee, fix wounds, pull my hair, etc. (OK, I’m hearing the little mini-therapist who lives in my head say, “Jenny, remember: you can’t change those around you, you can only change the way you respond to them.” Yeah, yeah. I know.)

The gist of the article (if you don’t want to read the whole thing) is this: boys are harder until the age of 12 at which point, girls totally take the pain-in-the-neck cake. However, to water it down some more: we’ve got 12 years of hard (per boy), whereas parents of female-little-people only have about 6 years of at-home-in-your-face issues. So, we still win. Boys are tricky little machines!

By Paula Spencer – Parenting.com
“I often say that I spend more time and energy on my one boy than on my three girls. Other mothers of boys are quick to say the same. Forget that old poem about snips and snails and puppy dog tails, says Sharon O'Donnell, a mom of three boys and the author of "House of Testosterone." "Somehow it's been changed to boys being made of 'fights, farts, and video games,' and sometimes I'm not sure how much more I can take!" Not so fast, say moms of girls, who point out that they have to contend with fussier fashion sense, more prickly social navigations, and a far greater capacity to hold a grudge. And as a daughter grows, a parent's concerns range from body image to math bias.
Not so fast, say moms of girls, who point out that they have to contend with fussier fashion sense, more prickly social navigations, and a far greater capacity to hold a grudge. And as a daughter grows, a parent's concerns range from body image to math bias.
Stereotyping, or large kernels of truth? "I think parents use 'which is harder?' as an expression of whatever our frustration is at the moment," says family therapist Michael Gurian, author of "Nurture the Nature." "Boys and girls are each harder in different ways."
Every child is an individual, of course. His or her innate personality helps shape how life unfolds. Environment (including us, the nurturers) plays a role, too: "There are differences in how we handle boys and girls right from birth," says David Stein, Ph.D., a professor of psychology at Virginia State University in Petersburg. "We tend to talk more softly to girls and throw boys in the air."
But it's also true that each gender's brain, and growth, unfolds at a different rate, influencing behavior. Leonard Sax, M.D., author of "Boys Adrift," believes parents raise girls and boys differently because girls and boys are so different from birth -- their brains aren't wired the same way. Parenting.com: Pros and cons of learning the sex of your baby
So, can we finally answer the great parenting debate over which sex is more challenging to raise? Much depends on what you're looking at, and when:
DISCIPLINEWho's harder? Boys
Why don't boys seem to listen? Turns out their hearing is not as good as girls' right from birth, and this difference only gets greater as kids get older. Girls' hearing is more sensitive in the frequency range critical to speech discrimination, and the verbal centers in their brains develop more quickly. That means a girl is likely to respond better to discipline strategies such as praise or warnings like "Don't do that" or "Use your words." "Boys tend to be more tactile -- they may need to be picked up and plunked in a time-out chair," Gurian says. They're also less verbal and more impulsive, he adds, which is especially evident in the toddler and preschool years.
These developmental differences contribute to the mislabeling of normal behavior as problematic, a growing number of observers say. Five boys for every one girl are diagnosed with a "disorder" (including conduct disorder, bipolar disorder, hyperactivity, attention deficit disorder, sensory integration disorder, and oppositional defiant disorder), says Stein, also the author of "Unraveling the ADD/ADHD Fiasco." Some kids -- most often boys -- may simply fall on the more robust end of normal. They need more opportunities to expend energy and aggression, as well as firmer limits. Parenting.com: Guns and dolls
PHYSICAL SAFETYWho's harder? Boys
"Much after-dinner wrestling here," reports Michelle Mayr, the Davis, California, mom of four boys, ages 5 to 12. "I'm constantly fighting to keep my house a home rather than an indoor sports center. Their stuffed animals' primary function is to be added to the pile of pillows everyone is launching into from the coffee table."
In general, boys are more rambunctious and aggressive, experts say. Taking risks lights up the pleasure centers of their brains. Many parents find they have to keep a closer eye on what a son is "getting into," or use more bandages.
But letting kids explore -- at the cost of a few scrapes and cuts -- builds character, self-confidence, resilience, and self-reliance, says Wendy Mogel, Ph.D., author of "The Blessing of a Skinned Knee." Boys, being natural risk takers, may need encouragement to slow down a little, but maybe girls need to be encouraged to take more risks. Look for opportunities for your daughter to jump off a wall, swim in the deep end, or try the bigger slide. Parenting.com: Potty training: girls vs. boys
COMMUNICATIONWho's harder? First boys, then girls
From birth, a girl baby tends to be more interested in looking at colors and textures, like those on the human face, while a boy baby is drawn more to movement, like a whirling mobile, says Dr. Sax. (These differences play out in the way kids draw: Girls tend to use a rainbow of hues to draw nouns, while boys lean toward blue, black, and silver for their more verblike pictures of vehicles crashing and wars.) In a nutshell, girls are rigged to be people-oriented, boys to be action-oriented. Because girls study faces so intently, they're better at reading nonverbal signals, such as expression and tone of voice. Boys not only learn to talk later than girls and use more limited vocabularies, they also have more trouble connecting feelings with words.
"While most girls share their feelings and details of events, my three sons honestly don't see that as important. I spend my days asking, 'What happened then?' or 'What did he say after you said that?'" O'Donnell says.
Important note: Because boys hold eye contact for shorter periods than girls, parents may worry about autism, since this can be a red flag. "It's a relief for moms to know that this is normal and comes from the way the brains are set up," Gurian says.
As girls get to be 8 or so, things can get harder: The flip side of being so adept at communicating is that girls exert a lot of energy on it. There can be a great deal of drama around who's mad at whom, who said what and why, and more. Start when your daughter's a toddler to establish an open communication, so she learns she can come to you for advice. Parenting.com: Diapering tips: boys vs girls
SELF-ESTEEMWho's harder? Girls
Developing a healthy self-image is critical to all kids. But as the more compliant and people-oriented gender, girls tend to grow up less confident and more insecure than boys, researchers say. Famed gender researcher and psychologist Carol Gilligan, Ph.D., calls this "the tyranny of nice and kind" -- unwittingly raising girls to be people pleasers.
"This cultural pressure to put others' needs first, ignore one's own gut feelings, and avoid asking for what one wants has traditionally harmed girls," says Jenn Berman, a California family therapist who wrote "The A to Z Guide to Raising Happy, Confident Kids." "Despite the fact that she enjoys the positive attention and accolades that people pleasing brings, the more a girl pushes her own needs and desires underground to please others, the more likely her own self-esteem will suffer."
"I see a natural nurturing instinct in my daughter and her friends," says Tracy Lyn Moland, a parenting consultant in Calgary, Alberta, who has a girl, 11, and a boy, 8. "I find myself saying, 'I can take care of that -- you get yourself ready,' when she's trying to mother her brother."
Make no mistake, helpfulness and nurturing are virtues for everybody. But this tendency in girls makes it smart to help her explore and strengthen her inner nature and encourage her to try new things.
Body image is a big part of self-esteem, and though there's certainly body-image dysfunction in boys and men, it remains mostly a female issue. The natural rounding out of the body that happens in puberty clashes with the unnatural slimness girls see in the culture around them.
Be aware of the messages you convey about your own body, diet, and exercise. "It's painfully obvious that girls' negative body image can come directly from seeing their moms look critically in the mirror and complain," says Berman. "Teach your daughter to listen to her body's signals of hunger and satiety. Girls who listen to their bodies tend to listen to their instincts in other areas." Sports are a great way for girls to build confidence and a healthy appreciation for their bodies.
SCHOOLWho's harder? Mostly boys
Boys and modern education are not an idyllic match. An indoor-based day and an early emphasis on academics and visual-auditory (as opposed to hands-on) learning ask a lot of a group that arrives at school less mature. In their early years, most boys lag behind girls in developing attentiveness, self-control, and language and fine motor skills.
The relatively recent acceleration of the pre-K and kindergarten curricula has occurred without awareness that the brain develops at different sequences in girls and boys, Dr. Sax says. Music, clay work, finger painting, and physical exercise -- early-ed activities that once helped lively kids acclimate to school -- are vanishing. Few teachers are trained in handling the problems that result.
One area where girls do less well in school concerns spatial learning, such as geometry. Girls may use different parts of their brains to process space perceptions. The key is for parents to present both boys and girls with plenty of no-pressure opportunities to try out the areas that are challenging. Parenting.com: Gender vending
The bottom line? On balance, the general consensus seems to be that boys are more of a handful early on, and girls more challenging beginning in the preteen years. Which means that, as the mom of daughters who are 12, 9, and 7, I have the next ten years cut out for me!”

I, well we, have a big announcement to make. We’re expecting!!! I know it comes as a big surprise – a HUGE surprise. Trust me; I was just as surprised as you are. I really didn’t think we’d be ready this soon. It’s a big commitment. We’ve been keeping it all hush, hush for a while…until we were ready to share the news with everyone ‘cuz we knew people would have mixed feelings on it. But, we’ve finally wrapped our brains around it. We’re really excited and we hope that everyone can share in our joy. We’ve been busy getting things ready for the arrival – for the big day – doing all sorts of “nesting” to get the room ready. We have a little while yet, but the due date is coming up pretty soon here – June 23rd. She (that’s how we’re referring to it, anyway) is doing well and is great for her size. She’s 47 inches, has 1080p, and is 120 Hz LCD High-Definition. That’s right; we decided that it was time for a new Martin baby, so we’re getting a flat-screen TV. [Did I have you going there at all? Even just a little bit?]

Our current TV, which was a hand-me-down from family friends, has been dying a long and slow death. It actually still works though it does annoying things like occasionally cutting the picture out entirely so that you’re suddenly watching a pretty (and loud) snowstorm. You have to go behind the TV and jiggle a cable in the back to fix it. This is especially trying when I’m attempting to use the TV to entertain my children so that I can have two seconds to myself. I need to be assured that the TV will do its’ job of being the electronic babysitter that I expect it to be. We’re even thinking that we could write-off the purchase of the TV as a “childcare” expense on our taxes.

When our family room flooded back in December, I put the TV on for the boys (the carpet had been saturated just up to the entertainment center) so I could go out and try to unplug the drain. I’m standing out there in a torrential downpour, digging crud out of a drain when Matthew comes over and starts pounding on the slider door. He looks upset and very distraught. I’m so touched by his worry for me. “Oh, honey…it’s OK. I’m fine. I’ll be done in a minute.” He looks at me confused for a second and then yells through the glass, “No! The TV!” Motioning behind him I see that the TV had done its thing and the Curious George cartoon had been replaced by static. Thanks for your concern, Matthew. No, it’s OK, don’t worry. I won’t float away in this flashflood. It’s all good. I know your stinkin’ cartoon is way more important than my personal well-being and safety.

You see why we need a new TV? And we think that this new baby’s arrival will be the best of all deliveries. This baby can be muted or turned off, and it can even serve as childcare for the older Martin Offspring. It’s great!

We really have been preparing for her arrival. (Yes, I’m still going to give this inanimate object a gender). We had to get a new TV stand as our current entertainment center only holds TVs as large as 27 inches and, well, that just won’t do. And the new TV stand, led to the purchase of a new DVD storage wall cabinet, which also, for some reason, led to the purchase of a new desk, which then led to the purchase of a new ottoman cover for the one upstairs that got ripped and won’t even be in the same room as the new TV but is necessary none-the-less, and this led to the purchase of a new silverware set. See how all things are so interconnected? It’s amazing – this universe of ours.

Mom was a little concerned (or maybe curious would be the better word) that all this “nesting” was potentially affecting a desire for an actual, new baby…um, yeah. Seeing as that would require, most likely, five months of bed rest, I better have a rockin’ TV to watch first before I even CONSIDER the possibility of a potential baby/Offspring #3 which at this point just sounds like a bunch of crazy talk. I do like kids. And for the most part, I really like ours. I actually love them, as it turns out. But a baby that doesn’t wake you up at night and that can be muted and turned off? It’s almost too good to be true!

I am nearly done with my book. (I’ve been working on a children’s, middle-grade chapter book for almost exactly one year now). I’m so close to being finished with this first draft I can taste it (it tastes like chicken, as it turns out). I told Mike that it’s killing me to be so close to ‘all done’ and yet not having the time right now to sit down and just hammer out the last couple of chapters. I announced that, like J.K. Rowling, as she completed the seventh and final book, of the Harry Potter series, I have every intention of packing up and spending the next several days – however long it takes – holed up in hotel room somewhere wrapping up my manuscript. And then, upon completion, just like Ms. Rowling, I would autograph the hotel room desk. Mike didn’t go for that idea and for some reason he retorted with something like, “um, yeah, I don’t think you’re quite on that level…yet!”

Zach has a healthy self-confidence. He’s not only ridiculously proud of himself these days (he’s gone pee-pee in the potty two nights in a row at his very own suggestion!), but he’s also quite pleased with his appearance. The other day, I was at the kitchen sink – where I feel I spend a lot of my time – when Zach came into the kitchen and squatted down in front of the dishwasher. I watched as he smiled, grinned, generally admired his reflection and then gave a little wave and said, “Hey! Cute!” With that, he stood up and swaggered away.

I don’t feel a day older than 28. I feel a day and about 45 minutes older, actually. I’ve matured quite a bit in my 28 + years. I’ve spent my whole life being a Birthday Snob – me, me, me; that’s how it should be on May 24th. However, yesterday, I showed signs of great progress. I went to the grocery store and didn’t throw a fit that no one knew it was my birthday (despite being clad in my birthday suit for all to get the point…no one made eye contact for some odd reason…go figure). I didn’t even get to show my ID – I didn’t get carded! Then again, I hadn’t bought any alcohol, and I don’t think you get carded now for milk, bread, eggs, ham and cheese.

Mike followed through on his promise and for my birthday gave me…nothing. I’ve done a fair amount of spending lately; buying myself new clothes to go with my new hot bod. So, I made him promise that he wouldn’t get me a thing. And, in turn, I had to promise that I wouldn’t secretly be hoping that he’d still get me something even though I told him not to, which I did – I promised I wouldn’t hope for something but I kinda secretly sorta did (‘cuz I’m always hoping to get something). It was a good birthday, all in all. It was a beautiful day – sunny and about 70. We drove over to Port Ludlow in the afternoon to spend the 3-day weekend with my fam. The boys were ecstatic to arrive. They have a great time here at Summer Camp for Old People. And I must say, so far, we’ve all had a great time – reading our books, playing at the beach, I’ve had some good writing time and watching movies. Later today we’ll hit up the pool so the boys can demonstrate their newly acquired swimming skills from the whopping two lessons we’ve had so far. (Matthew has learned how to not cry through much of the class, and Zach has learned how to more successfully splash me in the face with water…these are some of the differences between our two boys).

The one gift I did receive yesterday was from my parental units who know me oh-so well. I got a new pair of running shoes (sweet!), some new running socks, and two plaques which essentially sum up the essence of Jenny; the Jenessence. One is a fridge magnet with a picture of a 1940’s-ish, primping woman. It reads: “Both of us can’t look good at the same time…it’s either ME or the House.”

The other is a little wall or door hanging that says, “CHOCOLATE: It’s not just for breakfast anymore.”

Last night I had a glass of merlot with dinner and a piece of Chocolate Decadence cake for dessert. Today, I’ve been promised a margarita with our bbqed brats dinner. And perhaps best of all, I did still manage to successfully play my Birthday Snob card and got out of changing ALL diapers yesterday. It was a wonderful day for me, though it turned out to be quite the crappy one for Mike.

Poor Matthew – suffering his first rejection, his first broken heart at the ripe old age of four.

So, there’s this couple at church who I refer to as “Imitation Scott and Amy” – they look like our friends Scott and Amy, you see, but they are the much less attractive, not nearly as friendly version. We’ll call them ISA for short. ISA have two children – a girl probably four and a boy under two. The ISA offspring are very cute little people – not nearly as attractive as the REAL Scott and Amy offspring, mind you – but like the real ones, they have the blondest, blondest hair I’ve ever seen. (They actually remind me of Mike’s baby/little boy pictures – he was a total tow-head).

One morning, after Mass, we went downstairs for coffee and donuts. I ended up in line behind Imitation Amy who was holding the little boy. I guess because of her resemblance to my friend Amy, I felt like I already knew her and was quite comfortable. I leaned around and said, “you have the most stinkin’ cute kids I’ve ever seen.” (Yes, that was my ‘be my friend’ pick-up line. Smooth, huh?) Unfortunately, because of my feeling so at ease, I started saying this without really thinking it through and as soon as the word “stinkin’” escaped my lips, I got stuck – I was stranded in a mud pit of awkwardness with the realization, oh, right. Snap. She doesn’t actually know me and I just said stinkin’ and I’m about to wrap it up in a phrase referring to her children. So, what I.A. heard was, You have the most stinkin’…………………………….cute kids I’ve ever seen.” She gave me a tight lipped smile, said a quiet thank you and turned back around. Fine! Well, I’d choose Real Amy over you any day, you fraud!!

This past Sunday, we sat in the vestibule area at church – they have a few rows of chairs set up for “kids who make a little too much joyful noise unto the Lord” (or something like that). We ended up sitting behind ISA and offspring. I made the very judgmental and non-Christian observation that Imitation Scott always chews gum in church – which is the opposite of classy, if you ask me (chewing gum in church, not chewing gum in general…I chew gum ALL the time…not that that makes it classy, it’s just not in the same category as chewing gum in church). Anyway, I.S. ended up taking his gum-smacking self to the back where he wandered around with the Little Boy. Little Girl stayed in the row with her mom and was busy coloring. One of her crayons fell on to the floor and rolled back towards us. I gestured to it, indicating to Matthew that he should pick it up and give it to her. He vehemently shook his head and whispered, “No, how ‘bout you do it?” I ignored him, knowing that eventually he would do it. Sure enough, after a moment, he picked up the crayon and shyly past it to Little Girl. She took it from him without a glimmer of appreciation or acknowledgment.

A little while later, we noticed a card on the floor under her chair, I gestured to it to Matthew and he got down on his hands and knees to retrieve it. It looked like a hotel room key card, but on closer inspection, we saw that it was a “Cirque de Soleil” VIP Room card. So, now I’m jealous of these people too! (Cirque is in town and I would LOVE to go, but it just ain’t happenin’).

Now, let me digress for a moment – my children wear ID bracelets. You know, the old school silver rectangular ones. I have been asked by SO many people “what’s up with those bracelets?” “Are they for food allergies?” I’m sorry, but I thought it was totally normal to brand your children. I wore won for the first several years of my life (OK, OK, I’ll admit it…I took it off for the first time a week ago). Anyway, until the boys really know their stuff – name, address, phone number, our cell phone numbers, etc. I think it’s a good thing for them to have.

So, here we are, in church with Matthew holding on to ISA’s Cirque de Soleil card. I was wondering what he was doing just holding on to it when I noticed he was busy with his ID bracelet. He flipped it over so his stats were showing. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, and I’m not even kidding, this is the direct quote, ‘cuz how could I ever forget this, “Now, she can see my phone number!” My son was totally making moves, trying to slip a girl his digits during church! Before I realized what he was doing, instead of handing the card to her over the chairs, he walked around our row and almost into their row. He stood there for a minute just holding out his wrist, slowly rotating the bracelet so she could see all the info. He grinned from ear to ear and pointed to his bracelet in a “hey baby, check this out” kind of a way. Eventually he handed the card over to her. Completely stone-faced Little Girl took the card from Matthew and then turned her back. This was beyond playing hard-to-get, this was just plain cold.

My poor, wounded, broken-hearted sensitive boy returned to me with a defeated shuffle. Trampled. Little Girl had stomped all over his heart. His eyes welling up in tears, he said, “She didn’t even say thank you.”

I no longer think they’re the stinkin’ cutest kids I’ve ever seen. Now, they’re just plain stinkin’.

Summer has arrived in Seattle! It’s like 85 degrees here – though the John Deere thermometer located in direct sun on the deck tells me that it’s about 103 degrees, but that freaks me out, so I’ll stick with 85. It’s hot and beautiful and a very interesting thing happens when the sun appears in Seattle – people disappear/appear. Allow me to explain (as you know I will).

When the weather gets hot, our neighborhood turns into a ghost town. You’d think we’d see lots of people out and about doing yard work, BBQing etc., however, for the most part, it’s like the ‘hood just isn’t the place to be when it gets hot. You HAVE to go to different parks (the neighborhood parks are abandoned), and you MUST go to the beach. Which is precisely what we did yesterday. The boys and I baked ourselves at the beach park. I made an interesting observation: the only people on the beach – and there were quite a few since no one stays in their neighborhood – were moms and children under the age of 4. (The children were under the age of 4, not the moms). Everyone else was in school or at work and I wept inwardly for them. It was the first big beach day in nine months – sand toys were dusted off, sunblock lids were de-crustified and pasty white skin was lathered in sunblocking goo. Beach toys-sharing protocol was put back into place as boys enviously studied each other’s collection of shovels, diggers and dump trucks.

Matthew had an especially good time as it was his first real outing in nearly a week. For Mother’s Day, he got a fever – but was kind enough NOT to share it with me. It was particularly bad timing as my dear friend Katherine arrived in town that day for a four day visit. When asked what she wanted to do while she was in town, she had said, “I just want to hang out and live the life of Jenny Martin.” Unfortunately this meant really experiencing the epitome of my life – caring for sometimes cranky, totally miserable sick children.

Mike was kind enough to take Matthew’s germs on – giving me a break from this nasty bug. So, feeling under the weather, Mike worked from home on Monday and Tuesday. Having Mike home and Matthew fairly mellow because of not feeling well actually worked a bit to my benefit. (Sorry, but it’s true). On Monday afternoon, as soon as the boys were tucked in for nap (and not a moment past), Katherine and I vacated the Sick House and went to the Pike Place Market. I haven’t been to the Market in four years…since Katherine’s last visit! One of the first things that Katherine and I discovered was a quaint little Italian wine shop. A small sign on the window said, “Wine Tasting 1-5pm, $5/3 wines.” We debated for a moment (or pretended to, so as not to appear over-ego for mid-afternoon drinking), and then both agreed it was in our best interest to participate. So, on a Monday afternoon, during naptime, I found myself drinking four (yes! We scored 4!) different wines and learning about Italian vineyards (and pretending I was there) with one of my dear friends. That, my peeps, is an ideal Monday afternoon!

On Wednesday evening, despite suffering through the newly acquired absence of Katherine, I had a marvelous evening with two of my book club girls. As an early birthday celebration, Molly and Kate, wined me and dined me at a cute little wine bar. And boy, do those girls ever know me – great conversation, a Syrah and a piece of chocolate cake! – my birthday week is off to a great start. And that was actually 10 days pre-bday. I like to stretch out the celebrating (and drinking, apparently) as much as possible. This morning, the birthday festivity was a different kind of drinking – coffee – and then a pedicure with my friend Rebecca. I now have beautiful toes to unveil at the pool! (Unfortunately, swimsuit season is starting early in the Martin household. The boys are starting swim lessons on Monday. And I’ll “get” to be in the pool with Zachary. Good times. At least my beautiful toes will be looking good!)

My eldest has turned into a Liar-Liar-Pants-on-Fire. I won’t go into details because it’s not even worth wasting my precious typing muscles on it, but the other day he repeatedly lied to me (all the while getting severely chastised for it) on the topic of underwear (on whether he was wearing it, if he’d worn them to school, etc.). Come on! Don’t waste perfectly good lies on underwear! Not to mention dropping a lie that can easily be proven wrong with the pulling down of pants! I’ll admit that it’s slightly amusing when the lie has no correlation to reality what-so-ever. Like, “Mom, it’s raining.” “Uh, no, Matthew, it’s not.” “Yeah-huh. It’s raining outside. Actually it’s pouring.” “Matthew, it is NOT…OK, why am I even having this argument right now?”

In addition to the lying, Matthew’s been toying with all sorts of attitude and general behavior-badness. (Yes, I realize that the behavior issues of my children, next to some, are nothing, but still…when you’re living it day-in, day-out it gets a bit draining). Matthew even dropped the W-word on me the other day. I told him to do something and he responded with the slightest of eye rolls and a, “whatever” under his breath. I believe my response was like that of being slapped in the face – a look of shock and disbelief took hold and was accompanied by the slow intake of air and denial. No you di-nt! My son?? My FOUR year-old son? Dropping the W-bomb on me?? Are you kidding? He’s not a teen…he’s not even a pre-teen!

So, you can imagine that this ‘tude from Matthew is met by my parental-version-of-‘tude right back. (As in, there’s been quite a bit of scolding and voice-raising in this household, I’m ashamed to say). The other night – the night of Underwear Lying Incident ’08 – Matthew had requested that I put him to bed. I agreed to this as it’s fairly standard protocol. Well, I was getting Zach ready for bed – diaper changing and slathering in his Eczema-fighting lotionizing regiment – when Matthew walked in and placed his hands on his hips.

“Hello,” I say, looking up at him.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Matthew?”
“You’ve been cancelled.”
Confused pause. (Actually a “pregnant pause,” if you will, but I don’t want to confuse people lest they think I’m with child and pausing for that reason…as I’m not…just to be clear). “I’m sorry, what?”
“You-have-been-cancelled,” Matthew enunciates each word incase I really am slow.
“I’ve been cancelled at…?”
“You have been cancelled; you are not putting me to bed. Daddy is.”
“Um, OK. Did Daddy tell you to tell me that I’ve been ‘cancelled’?”
“Yes.”
“OK, why don’t you go ask Daddy if that means I’m ‘fired’?” (Thinking: is this his new take on the whole Donald Trump-Apprentice-lingo AND hmmm, if I’ve been fired from my motherly duties, does that also mean I get out of doing the dishes tonight too?!)
Matthew grins as he leaves the room – he enjoys delivering messages.
When he returns I say, “So, what did Daddy say?”
“He said, I need to go brush my teeth.”

So game over, Matthew brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, and Mike does the whole bedtime routine as I’ve been “cancelled.”

Later, I asked Mike “cancelled?! Why cancelled?”
“Huh?” Mike gave me a blank stare.
“Matthew said that you told him to tell me that I was cancelled…from doing bedtime.”
“I never told him that!”
“You never used or taught him the word cancelled?”
“Nope.”

OK, then, so it was all my son’s idea to dismiss me from the bedtime scene. I didn’t know if I should be hurt or happy with the extra time I had on my hands! Either way, Trump could use a new line. The whole “You’re fired” thing is so Apprentice circa ’05-’06; “You’re cancelled,” is really where it’s at.

I know. I’ve been a total Slacker Blogger. Sorry. I’ve been spending my blogging time…sleeping. Yeah, I haven’t done that well the last week or-so with getting up early on my writing mornings. Naughty, Jenny. Very naughty. The sleep’s been good though.

I’ve also spent the last week or-so doing things like falling down our stairs [not that I did that for the whole last week or-so; I did it once and learned my lesson – stairs are a dangerous, dangerous thing especially in slippy socks]. I semi-sprained my ankle, bruised my butt-bone something fierce and looked all around like a total buffoon. What is a buffoon anyway? And actually, the Blogger-spell-check-speller just told me to spell is buffoon; I was totally going for bafoon. What the heck? Anyway, I sat there on the bottom of the stairs whimpering and debating on whether or not I should actually cry. Matthew came down the stairs and rubbed my back saying, “It’s OK, Mom. It’s OK.” Zach came running out of his room with Mike and stood at the top of the stairs asking, “OK, Mama? OK, Mama?” I do have very sensitive boys.

I managed to gimp through my wounds (they weren’t that bad) and had a splendid book club get-away on Saturday. We shopped at the Premium Outlet Mall. Yes, swanky, indeed. And despite vowing that I wouldn’t be able to (or didn’t want to) afford a thing at these upscale places, I actually did some serious damage. And on more than one occasion a few of my booky friends had to wait for me outside of a fitting room. I really did need new clothes though. The great news is that I’m slimming and trimming and slowly but surely turning my outer into my inner hot mama. Anyway, I needed smaller pants, so I did have a good reason for shopping. We spent the afternoon basking in the sun at Kendra’s beautiful house. We even decided to play badminton where I proceeded to stomp the competition to smithereens. (Though we weren’t actually keeping score, so that point could be contested. Our main goal was to keep the birdie going back and forth more than six times which was our record.) I somehow got a wee bit too into the game and tried to semi-dive for the birdie a couple of times. My gimpy ankle did not love my new found competitive nature.

Kendra’s husband, Eric, took it upon himself to be our man-slave for the day. Shoot. If only there’d been a pool. We could’ve called him “Pool Boy.” Eric was in the kitchen preparing our dinner plates when I stopped in for a chat. (I took it upon myself to stoop to speaking to the hired help. Kind of me, huh?) He said he was having a blast being the fly on the wall of our get-together. I can only imagine how difficult it is to (attempt to) keep up with a conversation of eight women…when you’re not even in the same room. When we finally sat down for dinner someone had the audacity to suggest that our book club actually discuss the last book we read – the nerve! Eric flew into the room saying, “Ha! Eight and-a-half hours! You’ve been together for over eight hours, and you’re just now talking about the book!” Molly said that her husband actually thinks the ‘book club’ title is a guise – we’re really a drinking club who occasionally discusses books. I’m not sure what Mike thinks. All I know is book club night is the one night a month when he and the boys routinely get to have McDonald’s for dinner.

On Monday, the 28th, my baby turned two. TWO! That’s so not even a baby anymore it’s upsetting. And he’s so two! He throws a mean tantrum, let me tell you. To celebrate his two-ness, we went to the Rainforest Café for dinner on Sunday night with my parental units and brother, Chris. Zach, of course, loved it. Matthew, of course, sat covering his ears through half of the meal. We came home to have cupcakes and open a few presents. Zach so enjoyed ‘Happy Birthday’ being sung to him, that we sang it through about three times. Then, during breakfast on his actual birthday, I break into a rousing round of ‘Happy Birthday.’ Zach holds up his hand, shakes his head and says, “No singing, Mommy. No…singing.” (Was he a little hung over from the previous night’s excitement or something?)

Monday afternoon, my oldest friend Rachel came over to hang out. (Again, oldest not in age but in years of our friendship.) Being the overachieving (and great!) Auntie that she is, she brought gifts for both of the boys. Within five minutes of her arrival my little people were a gift-giver’s nightmare! Matthew threw an awful fit because she hadn’t brought a John Deere Harvester. (There are other things out there in the world, son…beyond the realm of John Deere). And Zach thought Rachel was funny when she put on the pirate eye-patch but then decided, ‘Mmm, actually, no. I’m terrified. That’s like the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.’ I think at some point both boys were wailing. Poor Auntie Rachel. Poor me. Oh, and sorta poor boys, but not really. They did this to themselves.

Blame it on the snow (and therefore Christmas music playing in our house), but Zach started singing “Santa Clause is coming to town” this morning. His version goes like this: “Santa…to town. Santa…to town. Santa…to town.” I said, “Zachary, are you saying ‘Santa Clause is coming to town?’” (I sang it to him). He enthusiastically responded, “Yeah, yeah! Santa come to town. Santa come to town.”

As if totally offended by the inappropriateness of it all, Matthew chastised Zachary, “No! Zachy, it’s not Christmas. Santa Clause is NOT coming to town.” Well, bah hum-bug. Matthew sure didn’t complain when it snowed last week, we listened to Christmas music and drank hot cocoa!

Mike chimed in, “Well, no. Santa’s not coming to town for a while, but Zach’s birthday IS coming to town.” Zach jumped on that right away, “Birthday…to town. Birthday come to town. Presents come to town. Presents to town.”

Matthew has already announced that Zach should get Legos for his birthday and that he will, of course, share them with his older brother. (As if Matthew shares his with ZJ. Yeah right). The one gift I KNOW Matthew would not insist on playing with/using is stickers. Zachary currently LOVES stickers. Meanwhile, Matthew has developed a serious aversion to them. It’s almost a phobia, really. If the checker at the grocery store asks the boys if they want stickers, Matthew practically shouts, “No! I don’t like stickers.” I remind him to be polite so then he says, “No, thank you. I don’t like stickers.”

The other day there was a sticker on the floor of our car – it was an ancient sticker that I’m sure had lost all sticky-power. I asked Matthew to pick something up off of the floor that happened to be in the same vicinity as said-sticker. He recoiled in disgust. “No! I can’t. It’s too close to the sticker. I might touch it!”

I did some Google-research on the topic and discovered that some refer to this as “stickerophobia,” though there was reference to something called “panniophobia” which also means ‘fear of stickers.’ I think there’s a good chance that some one made up this term in response to the question, “is there a name for a phobia of stickers?” And then people saw this panniophobia and since it sounded fancier and more ‘scientific’ than stickerophobia, they ran with it. Anyway, whatever it may be called, I did find that Matthew is not alone in this fear, though it appears there are no established support groups for this that suffer from this debilitating ailment.

Mother Nature has been so confused ‘round these parts lately; I think she’s suffering from some sort of personality disorder. Over the last few weeks, we’ve had a couple of weekends that included every possible weather system – sun, rain, wind, hail and snow. The last weekend when it snowed I heard probably four different people bellyaching about the weather: “I was so depressed when I woke up to snow this morning” or “I almost started to cry when I saw the forecast.” All I can say is carpe diem, peeps! In the Martin household snow is a magical, fantastical event. On Sunday morning, Matthew flew into our room saying, “Mom! Dad! Quick! Come see! It’s snowing! It’s….[intake of happy, ecstatic breath]…it’s a winter wonderland.” He says this last bit in a quiet voice of respect and awe. And, as if it’s Christmas morning, I throw the covers off the bed and go running down the hall to watch the magic unfolding around us.

Yes, I’ll admit that sunshine is nice. When we had that one day of about 75 degrees (remember that one?), I certainly didn’t complain. Quite frankly, it felt lovely. (I’m practicing for my future days of sitting on a porch in a rocker and shooting the sh— discussing nothing but the weather). It is springtime, after all. Matthew and I are waiting patiently to actually start our vegetable garden. So far, we’ve gardened…dirt. And it’s doing quite well, I might add.

Right, so if we had ‘normal’ spring weather, I wouldn’t complain just like I can’t complain about the wonky weather. All I can do is find the sudden hailstorms and snow totally amusing. And, while it doesn’t take much of an excuse here, snow is a perfectly acceptable reason to put on the Christmas music and have hot cocoa.

Can you still be a business owner without a business? Today is the first day of my music class at the Boys and Girls’ Club…or it would have been my first day. I stopped by the club on Monday to drop off copies of my business license (to show I’m all legal and legit and stuff) and to find out how many students were signed up on-line. TWO. 2. TWO were signed up for 30 spots. woohoo. There were a few things that went wrong here: first of all, it’s a hard time of year to be starting up a class/activity. We’re getting towards the end of the school year, so most people are winding down busy activities OR they’re signing up for new stuff – but more likely classes that’ll take the kids outside (swimming, soccer, etc.). Also, the club didn’t allow that much time for the fliers to go out before we were to start the class. AND I don’t have any clientele base up there – no fan club like I do down here. Word-of-mouth is the best way to get students and until I have an actual class things’ll start small. I knew that it would start small; I just didn’t foresee the class not actually happening as a possibility.

I’ve seen the decline in interest in my own class at home. Most of my “regulars” wanted to take this upcoming session off to do other things. So, for the first time ever (since starting the class three years ago!), I’m cancelling class since it would just be too small to make it worth it.

I went from way too much on my plate to nothing on my plate! This is a very strange feeling for me and I’m not sure how to handle it! I was so stressed about having the two days of classes, and I how I would balance that with the boys, etc. And now it’s not an issue at all! I’m OK with that. I’ll just have to use this time to find prospective students up in Bellevue. I’ll stalk the toddler parks and use my own musical prodigy children as bait.


We had our priest friend, Father Steve, over for dinner the other night. When I told him about the whole music class snaffoo, he said, “Jenny, this is God’s way of telling you that you need to relax! Take a break, sit on your butt, eat bon-bons and watch soaps.” Hey, if it’s coming from the mouth of a priest, I have no choice but to obey, right?

You know how you spend much of your life trying to figure out what you want to be when you grow up? What you’re truly meant to do? What your calling in life is? Well, for the last year or so, I feel as though I’ve been heading in the write direction. (Yeah, sorry, that was intentional. Did you catch that?) Well, a couple of weeks ago I was given the opportunity to try out a different occupation – and, no, I don’t mean as Snack and Chip Advocate or Commercial Sound-bite Professional. I was presented with the chance to try out my skills as a Crime Fighter.

So, as you know, I run three mornings a week, at 6am, with my neighbor, and now therapist, Andrea. (Let’s face it: she listens to me talk for three hours every week, she should be making serious money. And yet, she only gets paid with my admiration and undying love). ‘Twas a Monday morning and I set out, as always, at 5:55, to walk up the street towards Andrea’s house. (We meet somewhere in the middle depending on who left their home first). As I rounded the bend in the road, I saw a Dude clad in black hooded sweatshirt trying really, really, REALLY hard to open the driver’s seat of a red sports car parked on the street. The following thoughts rapidly flew through my brain: hmmm, I’m fairly certain that the owner of the car (and resident of that home) is of a different racial persuasion than Hooded Sweatshirt Dude. Hmm, It’s sure taking him a LONG time to get into that car…wait a second, yeah, that’s not his car. Dude is trying to steal that car! Bad Dude! Then I notice that Dude is not alone. Dude has Girlfriend sitting in a running small silver car with the headlights lighting up his work space. Again, lots and lots of quick thoughts run through my head. I tried to remember all of the things those articles in Runner’s World and where-ever-else told me about what to do in this situation. (A situation when you’re by yourself outside and there’s a Bad-seeming Dude).

I quickly crossed to the other side of the road and continued walking up the street staring at him like a lunatic. (I think there was something about looking crazy…maybe). He startled when he saw me and immediately stopped fiddling with the lock. He looked so guilty; it would have been comical (had I not been so busy trying to keep me heart from jumping out of my chest and, of course, maintaining bladder control).

“GOOD MORNING!” I yelled in a very loud and extremely cheery way, all the while staring him down with eyes that said, ‘yeah, I see you Dude. I knows what you doin.’ (It helps to talk like a thug in your head).

“Uh, uh, hi,” Dude stutters. “How…how’s it going?” Trying to act so cool, huh, Dude? I’m on to you. I’m so on to you, and your little Girlfriend who’s too scared to even look at me. Or maybe she’s just too busy glaring at you: See, Dude, I TOLD you we shouldn’t have waited until 6am to try to steal a car!

I strutted by with an air of complete machoness. I totally took in his appearance, her appearance, the car she was in and the house’s address. I was so on top of things. I kept walking feigning nonchalance. Once I got past them a little bit, I saw Andrea a few houses up the street, walking towards me. I continued my nonchalance in a subtle yet Olympic Athlete speed, speed-walk. As I neared Andrea, I reached for my cell phone (that I keep in the pocket of my nerdy-and-yet-oh-so-Safety-First! Reflective vest). It wasn’t there. Of course! The day that I commence my career as a suburban neighborhood Crime Fighting Mommy Machine, I don’t have the most important safety device of all – a phone. [I do, however, carry a very loud whistle that came with some of my instruments for music class. I’m not sure how or when I’ll put the whistle to use. I told Andrea about in the context of, “Never fear – should you be attacked by a vicious canine, I will save the day by blowing my whistle.” Andrea’s response was something like, “Um, yeah. Then ALL the dogs in the neighborhood will come running. GREAT idea.”].

When I got close enough for Andrea to hear me, I said, “Turn around. Turn around. Walk back towards your house. Turn around. We need to call the police.” Andrea shot a nervous look at me. “No, no. It’s OK. Let’s just get to your driveway. I think someone’s trying to steal a car.” At this point, I hear Dude and Girlfriend take off in their car – as in NOT the stolen one because I totally BUSTED them.

So, Andrea dials 9-1-1 and is relaying all of my details to the operator when she realizes things would be a heck of a lot easier if she just handed the phone to me. She’d gotten all of the basics out of the way, so the first thing that the operator asks me is, “And what was the license plate of their car?” Um. Oops. Damn. There goes my crime fighting career down the crapper. I was SO proud of myself for getting all the other details – I could still tell you what they looked like…and the house number. (As if they’re just going to sit there in front of the house waiting for the police to show up).

Better luck next time.

Happy Fool’s Day/Happy Birthday, Dad! (They go hand-in-hand, not that they are at all related).

So, Friday, I did it. I managed to talk for four hours straight about food. And I was quite surprised, that by the end of the afternoon – I had a sore throat and was hoarse! I’m apparently a little rusty and should have worked up gradually to that kind of stamina-driven performance.

I thought the whole experience was fascinating and fun. The interviewer was very impressive. He would ask me a question (everything from “could you please describe the lifestyle of your family” to “what do you look for in a snack”), I’d give a brilliant-I’m-sure answer and then he’d immediately ask another question perfectly pertaining to my previous answer. For FOUR STRAIGHT HOURS. We had a couple of breaks in the monotony. I gave them a tour of the pantry and the fridge. (He had me explain how I compare ingredients and health facts on the boxes/bags of food in addition to why I bought certain brands/products). And then we took a field trip down to the grocery store. (And yes, the camera didn’t accompany us for that part). By that point in the afternoon, I still wasn’t totally sure what the whole thing was about or what they were looking for, so I just went ahead and supplied him with a nonstop commentary while we walked up and down the aisles of Safeway. It was kind of like when I was in therapy – I made his job pretty easy. Although, thinking back, I realize all the ridiculously pointless facts that I supplied for him. (“I prefer this string cheese to this one because of…” “See, I only buy that when it’s on sale…”). When I was done with my store tour, he took me back to the snack aisle and asked several questions about packaging.

A couple of times during the interview, when he asked about different chips, I said, “if this is for Flat Earth – you guys scored ‘cuz I LOVE those chips. They’re the only ones that I buy on a fairly regular basis.” Which is completely true and it turned out, yep, the study was for Flat Earth.

When we got back to the house, they took CHEESY still shots of me putting away my groceries and holding up my 1st grade art collage. He loved the added creativity of the Diet Pepsi can hanging off the bottom. And it turns out, Frito-Lay (makers of Flat Earth) also own Diet Pepsi. I was their dream girl.

We went back to the living room where the best – yet most painful – part of the interview took place. He brought out four different bags (and flavors) of the chips and basically had me perform a taste-test. It was painfully awkward as I heard myself say things like, “mmm…mmmhmmm…this chip is, well, it’s very approachable and not at all standoffish.” Did I seriously just say that? On camera?? And about a chip??? He asked questions like “what kind of emotions do you feel when you first open the bag?” “How do you like the bag design of this one versus that one?” (They all have a different background scene).

The whole time that I interviewed, Mike had done an exceptional job of keeping the boys quiet and out-of-the-picture (literally). But when the boys saw mommy sitting on the couch with four bags of open chips around her they were like “enough already! Let me at her!” Zach came and ate a chip. (I quietly reminded him: “Look at the camera and smile. Work it. Here’s your big break.”).

In the end, I received my fat payment for my time AND four bags of Flat Earth “veggie crisps”…which I highly recommend. (No, they’re not paying me to support their product….well, they did pay me but I’m not on commission). Apparently, they’re very approachable and not at all standoffish.