I am SO glad that I went with the bigger bag. After all of the laptop bag drama, I finally caved and bought a freakishly large bag for Kara. Looks, it’s not her fault that she’s the laptop equivalent of being bigger-boned. So, my new laptop bag, while beautiful in its’ own way, looks a wee bit like a black diaper bag on steroids and also a little like Mary Poppin’s carpet bag.
The bag was perfect for a carry-on for our trip to Wichita, KS last weekend. Yes, I can say, “we went to Kansas for the weekend.” It’s not often you get to say that. AND I can also say, we went to Wichita, Kansas via Atlanta, Georgia. Look, I’m pretty up on the geography, but when you really look at it on the map, it’s crazy talk. We had to fly to the Midwest via the East Coast. SO stupid. But this was what Delta dictated we do.
We arrived in Atlanta on Thursday night with only about 45 minutes to make our connecting flight back to Kansas. (Why they didn’t just open the door and let us parachute out above the Midwest is beyond me). Turns out that Atlanta has the title of being the Busiest Airport IN THE World. It’s true. Who knew?! So, we arrive with a smallish window to make our connection, but we arrived right on time. BUT THEN, they make our big jet drive around to THREE different gates because of a traffic jam before they finally allow us to disembark. Then, Mike and I have to take the train-dealy to the opposite end of the airport. We RUN through the airport (my big laptop bag and Pretty Purse whacking me on the leg with every step), and arrive at our gate, shove our tickets at the Gate Guy. He calmly puts them into the computer and calmly says, “Oh that flight left two minutes ago.” Then Gate Guy calmly tells us to go to Gate Blah-Blah-Blah to find out about another flight to Wichita, KS. We go to Gate Blah-Blah-Blah where Gate Girl calmly tells us that that was actually the last flight of the night to Wichita, KS and we get to go stay in a hotel, get $14 in the morning for breakfast and will be up at the Seattle equivalent of 3am to catch our new flight to Wichita, KS. Ever so calmly. [To be continued...]
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
I look forward to the day when green, ooey-gooey slime is not constantly cascading out of Bret’s nose. Bret is one of my music class students. He is three-years-old. Today was the fourth class – that’s FOUR weeks where every time I see the child I wish I was wearing a haz-mat suit…or at least a gas mask. How a child can even have that much body fluid-mucous to leak is beyond me. When will he ever run dry?
Bret adds a lot to class (not just snot and not necessarily all good). He’s the kid who, once he knows every word, (or even if he doesn’t), sings every single song as loudly and as monotonely as possible. He’s also the one that at least twice a class I have to tell, “OK, Bret, move away from ___ because obviously you can’t sit next to ___ without constantly caressing/slash/fondling/slahs/harassing ___.” Ahh, Bret. He’s one of those. [And, no worries, I don't have a visual aid for this one either].
Then, in my second class, there’s Raven (a girl…named after a bird). She’s got the attitude of a “tween” and knows how to use it. Last week, the little lady just could not keep her shoes and socks on. If I asked her to pick them up (as they were in the middle of the path for our marching in a circle), she gave me an unbelievable amount of ‘tude. I’m surprised it wasn’t accompanied with a snap, zig-zag head and “No, you di’nt.”
Also in my second class are: Daria, Anastasia, Ayla, Amana, Ella, Ela, and Sophia. I’m not kidding. Try keeping those straight. Ayla and Amana are sisters. Ayla just had her birthday last week and turned five. Amana is 4 but much taller than her older sister. When I pointed that out to them (as I was trying to get them straight – “OK, so Ayla, you’re older, but Amana, you’re taller”), they looked at me ever so seriously.
Ayla (the heightedly-challenged, elder sister) said, “Yes, Amana is taller because she eats chicken.”
To which Amana added, “Yes, Ayla doesn’t like chicken. That’s why she’s shorter than me.”
Right. I can see clearly that the parents want both daughters to eat their poultry. And these girls really have the equation down: Eat Chicken = Be Tall. (No wonder I find myself having more of it lately).
Finally, there’s Sam. Sam has a special place in my heart. Sam happens to be the son of Kari who happens to be a music teacher and is the daughter of Susan who is a teacher at the school where I am now teaching. (Did you follow that?) All sorts of broo-ha-ha and drama went down because I ‘swooped in’ and got the job that Susan felt was meant for Kari. I won’t get into it…but needless-to-say, I went into my first class knowing that there was a teacher there who was furious with my presence and would be watching and analyzing my every move. I was the woman that stole her daughter’s job. But then, the plot thickened, when I saw that Kari had not only signed her son, Sam, up for my class, but for both sessions – a full twelve weeks of Little Ditties Music Academy tutelage. This woman can’t be that mad about my presence if she’s paying me $120 to teach music to her son.
Anyway, back to Sam. Poor, sweet Sam. Sam has the most horrifyingly cruel bowl – should have been outlawed in the ‘80’s – hair cut that I have ever seen. It’s as if they cut it with a rusty machete…while drunk. Sam makes up for his rough ‘do’ in his sweetness. Unlike the other 4-5 year old boys, he doesn’t suddenly start whacking himself on the head in the middle of class and thinking it’s the funniest thing in the whole wide world. (Matthew would fit in perfectly with these boys. Ahhh, slapstick, body humor – nothing else makes a 5 year old boy laugh quite like it).
After class, last week, I was alarmed to see that Sam was the only child still on the rug (all others had left with parental units) AND that he was crying. I was about to approach him when Ms. Susan (his grandma) and Kari (his music teaching Mama) come flying out of no where. (Great, I thought, it looks like I’m just sitting over here picking my nose while her son/grandson sobs his little heart out).
Ms. Susan came over to me after comforting Sam and leaving the rest of the comforting to Kari. She smiled and said, “Sam’s very upset that class is over.”
Sweet Perfection. I rule. Rave reviews. There is no compliment greater than a kid breaking down after class because he’s devastated it’s over. I love it when I make kids cry…in a good way.
Bret adds a lot to class (not just snot and not necessarily all good). He’s the kid who, once he knows every word, (or even if he doesn’t), sings every single song as loudly and as monotonely as possible. He’s also the one that at least twice a class I have to tell, “OK, Bret, move away from ___ because obviously you can’t sit next to ___ without constantly caressing/slash/fondling/slahs/harassing ___.” Ahh, Bret. He’s one of those. [And, no worries, I don't have a visual aid for this one either].
Then, in my second class, there’s Raven (a girl…named after a bird). She’s got the attitude of a “tween” and knows how to use it. Last week, the little lady just could not keep her shoes and socks on. If I asked her to pick them up (as they were in the middle of the path for our marching in a circle), she gave me an unbelievable amount of ‘tude. I’m surprised it wasn’t accompanied with a snap, zig-zag head and “No, you di’nt.”
Also in my second class are: Daria, Anastasia, Ayla, Amana, Ella, Ela, and Sophia. I’m not kidding. Try keeping those straight. Ayla and Amana are sisters. Ayla just had her birthday last week and turned five. Amana is 4 but much taller than her older sister. When I pointed that out to them (as I was trying to get them straight – “OK, so Ayla, you’re older, but Amana, you’re taller”), they looked at me ever so seriously.
Ayla (the heightedly-challenged, elder sister) said, “Yes, Amana is taller because she eats chicken.”
To which Amana added, “Yes, Ayla doesn’t like chicken. That’s why she’s shorter than me.”
Right. I can see clearly that the parents want both daughters to eat their poultry. And these girls really have the equation down: Eat Chicken = Be Tall. (No wonder I find myself having more of it lately).
Finally, there’s Sam. Sam has a special place in my heart. Sam happens to be the son of Kari who happens to be a music teacher and is the daughter of Susan who is a teacher at the school where I am now teaching. (Did you follow that?) All sorts of broo-ha-ha and drama went down because I ‘swooped in’ and got the job that Susan felt was meant for Kari. I won’t get into it…but needless-to-say, I went into my first class knowing that there was a teacher there who was furious with my presence and would be watching and analyzing my every move. I was the woman that stole her daughter’s job. But then, the plot thickened, when I saw that Kari had not only signed her son, Sam, up for my class, but for both sessions – a full twelve weeks of Little Ditties Music Academy tutelage. This woman can’t be that mad about my presence if she’s paying me $120 to teach music to her son.
Anyway, back to Sam. Poor, sweet Sam. Sam has the most horrifyingly cruel bowl – should have been outlawed in the ‘80’s – hair cut that I have ever seen. It’s as if they cut it with a rusty machete…while drunk. Sam makes up for his rough ‘do’ in his sweetness. Unlike the other 4-5 year old boys, he doesn’t suddenly start whacking himself on the head in the middle of class and thinking it’s the funniest thing in the whole wide world. (Matthew would fit in perfectly with these boys. Ahhh, slapstick, body humor – nothing else makes a 5 year old boy laugh quite like it).
After class, last week, I was alarmed to see that Sam was the only child still on the rug (all others had left with parental units) AND that he was crying. I was about to approach him when Ms. Susan (his grandma) and Kari (his music teaching Mama) come flying out of no where. (Great, I thought, it looks like I’m just sitting over here picking my nose while her son/grandson sobs his little heart out).
Ms. Susan came over to me after comforting Sam and leaving the rest of the comforting to Kari. She smiled and said, “Sam’s very upset that class is over.”
Sweet Perfection. I rule. Rave reviews. There is no compliment greater than a kid breaking down after class because he’s devastated it’s over. I love it when I make kids cry…in a good way.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Last Saturday, we had a long (and great) Engaged Encounter meeting. The event took all day, so we were all pretty wiped at bed time. Mike and I, with all sorts of positive thought, looked forward to getting to sleep in on Sunday morning.
At 6:45, I awoke to the most unpleasant wake-up call there is: “MOMMMM!” Matthew called, “You can come wipe my bum now I’m done going poo.” I rolled over and groaned. Just what everyone wants to hear first thing in the morning. “MOMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Come wipe my bum now!!!! I’m done pooping!”
OK, who poops at 6:45 in the morning?!....when they haven’t even had coffee yet?!!
(be glad I DON'T have a visual aid/picture to accompany this entry).
At 6:45, I awoke to the most unpleasant wake-up call there is: “MOMMMM!” Matthew called, “You can come wipe my bum now I’m done going poo.” I rolled over and groaned. Just what everyone wants to hear first thing in the morning. “MOMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Come wipe my bum now!!!! I’m done pooping!”
OK, who poops at 6:45 in the morning?!....when they haven’t even had coffee yet?!!
(be glad I DON'T have a visual aid/picture to accompany this entry).
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
I’m so very sorry to make you wait. I know you’ve all been anticipating with bated breath the conclusion of Cute Bag Saga ’08. Well, at long last, you can release your breath because here ‘tis:
After checking on the progress of my bag for days on end and multiple times a day, I finally rejoiced when, on Monday, the UPS package tracker announced unto the world that Cute Bag was “In Transit.” Oh rejoice! To make my agony all the more painful, there were not one but two solicitors that chose to harass the Martin household (despite the “No Solicitors” sign that is basically built into the door – not our doing, it came with the house and I thought it quite rude and standoffish but it doesn’t seem to be an issue as they completely disregard it’s unfriendly message and try to sell magazines or Mormonism to me anyway). Alas, every time the doorbell rang, I flew down the stairs, flung open the door, hoping to find the UPS person that survived the ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS, and with arms spread in greeting for Cute Bag, quickly realized (in utter disappointment) that it was just some Solicitor. Finally, at long last, I heard a quiet knock on the door and the low rumble of none other than the UPS truck high-tailing it out of here. Poor UPS man was probably like, “Good riddance! I’m so glad to finally have that damn, EMERGENCY CONDITIONS-causing bag out of my hands!”
After a brief tug-of-war with Matthew, who insisted it was his package, a present for him, and therefore, I was not to touch it, I managed to pry the box from his sweaty little hands. (Don’t actually know if his hands were sweaty but the box did come fairly easily as if sliding through a slippery slope. I’m all about the clichés tonight, can you tell? Can ya dig it?).
I opened the box and with bated breath (there’s that darn breath being bated again!), I pulled Cute Bag from her protective wrappings. She seemed unscathed despite her turbulent arrival into my life. I examined her thoroughly on the outside, reveling in the silver claspy-things that made her all the more attractive. And then I unzipped the main compartment only to discover that – well, well! Cute Bag, you’ve outdone yourself this time. Hiding behind her sophisticated, yet fun exterior of dark pin-stripe there lurked a naughty little secret. The inside lining was this wild, funky, I’m all business on the outside, party on the inside bright pink paisley pattern. Forget Cute Bag. No, she’s Dream Bag.
I carried Dream Bag over to the dining room table where, unfortunately, my laptop is pretty much in permanent residence. (I’m still waiting for Mike to build that addition off the back of the house that includes a sun room and my writer’s studio. I’m also waiting for an additional roof downspout-gutter situation to happen too. I wonder which will happen first).
I put Dream Bag down, lift Kara (laptop) up and begin to place her into the loving folds of her new (fun, stylish and funky) home. She doesn’t fit. It doesn’t fit. My laptop freakin’ doesn’t fit. What kind of cruel, inhumane, unjust world is this that my laptop – a standard size, not super large laptop – does not fit into Dream laptop Bag?! I’ll tell you what kind of world. This is the kind of world that makes gorgeous total-tease laptop bags with way-too-small-not-big-enough-for-the-world’s-smallest-laptop-bag sized openings. I tried. And I tried. I pushed. I grunted. I broke out into a sweat. Well, maybe to get it through the opening, I have to put it in the long way. Yes, OK, that works. Stay calm. Breathe. Now, once Kara has made contact with the bottom of Dream Bag, I just turn her…just turn…turn…IT WON’T FIT!!! What kind of piece-a--- bag is this?!!!!
I’m devastated. I’m heart-broken. But more than anything I feel betrayed. My hopes were so high for this bag. I really felt like we had something. This was a laptop-bag-and-laptop-bag-user-relationship made in heaven. Wrong. Totally, totally wrong.
I’ve already requested my return label. Now, I just have to take MY time to print the label, package Dream Bag back into her cozy (back-stabbing) packaging and MAIL her back to the people who find it funny to create gorgeous laptop bags that don’t fit laptops. That’s hilarious. Oh, haha, I might wet myself with the glee of it all.
And so, the hunt for the REAL Dream Laptop Bag begins anew…
After checking on the progress of my bag for days on end and multiple times a day, I finally rejoiced when, on Monday, the UPS package tracker announced unto the world that Cute Bag was “In Transit.” Oh rejoice! To make my agony all the more painful, there were not one but two solicitors that chose to harass the Martin household (despite the “No Solicitors” sign that is basically built into the door – not our doing, it came with the house and I thought it quite rude and standoffish but it doesn’t seem to be an issue as they completely disregard it’s unfriendly message and try to sell magazines or Mormonism to me anyway). Alas, every time the doorbell rang, I flew down the stairs, flung open the door, hoping to find the UPS person that survived the ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS, and with arms spread in greeting for Cute Bag, quickly realized (in utter disappointment) that it was just some Solicitor. Finally, at long last, I heard a quiet knock on the door and the low rumble of none other than the UPS truck high-tailing it out of here. Poor UPS man was probably like, “Good riddance! I’m so glad to finally have that damn, EMERGENCY CONDITIONS-causing bag out of my hands!”
After a brief tug-of-war with Matthew, who insisted it was his package, a present for him, and therefore, I was not to touch it, I managed to pry the box from his sweaty little hands. (Don’t actually know if his hands were sweaty but the box did come fairly easily as if sliding through a slippery slope. I’m all about the clichés tonight, can you tell? Can ya dig it?).
I opened the box and with bated breath (there’s that darn breath being bated again!), I pulled Cute Bag from her protective wrappings. She seemed unscathed despite her turbulent arrival into my life. I examined her thoroughly on the outside, reveling in the silver claspy-things that made her all the more attractive. And then I unzipped the main compartment only to discover that – well, well! Cute Bag, you’ve outdone yourself this time. Hiding behind her sophisticated, yet fun exterior of dark pin-stripe there lurked a naughty little secret. The inside lining was this wild, funky, I’m all business on the outside, party on the inside bright pink paisley pattern. Forget Cute Bag. No, she’s Dream Bag.
I carried Dream Bag over to the dining room table where, unfortunately, my laptop is pretty much in permanent residence. (I’m still waiting for Mike to build that addition off the back of the house that includes a sun room and my writer’s studio. I’m also waiting for an additional roof downspout-gutter situation to happen too. I wonder which will happen first).
I put Dream Bag down, lift Kara (laptop) up and begin to place her into the loving folds of her new (fun, stylish and funky) home. She doesn’t fit. It doesn’t fit. My laptop freakin’ doesn’t fit. What kind of cruel, inhumane, unjust world is this that my laptop – a standard size, not super large laptop – does not fit into Dream laptop Bag?! I’ll tell you what kind of world. This is the kind of world that makes gorgeous total-tease laptop bags with way-too-small-not-big-enough-for-the-world’s-smallest-laptop-bag sized openings. I tried. And I tried. I pushed. I grunted. I broke out into a sweat. Well, maybe to get it through the opening, I have to put it in the long way. Yes, OK, that works. Stay calm. Breathe. Now, once Kara has made contact with the bottom of Dream Bag, I just turn her…just turn…turn…IT WON’T FIT!!! What kind of piece-a--- bag is this?!!!!
I’m devastated. I’m heart-broken. But more than anything I feel betrayed. My hopes were so high for this bag. I really felt like we had something. This was a laptop-bag-and-laptop-bag-user-relationship made in heaven. Wrong. Totally, totally wrong.
I’ve already requested my return label. Now, I just have to take MY time to print the label, package Dream Bag back into her cozy (back-stabbing) packaging and MAIL her back to the people who find it funny to create gorgeous laptop bags that don’t fit laptops. That’s hilarious. Oh, haha, I might wet myself with the glee of it all.
And so, the hunt for the REAL Dream Laptop Bag begins anew…
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I ordered a new, super-cute laptop bag as part of my I’m-going-to-treat-myself-since-I-landed-this-great-music-class-gig-AND-I-need-a-way-cuter-one-as-Mike’s-freebie-from-some-Nerd-Convention-just-will-not-do-no,no,no-as-I-continue-on-my-quest-to-becoming-a-real(and much cuter)-grown-up-writer…Mission (that’s the name of the Mission…that whole long part and then Mission. Got it?). So, I’ve been eagerly awaiting my new bag. Hmm, would you like to see a picture of it? Let’s see if I’m savvy enough to provide visual aid.
Anyway, I’m so excited about the arrival of Cute Bag that I’ve been eagerly watching the “Tracking Info” provided by UPS. Cute Bag was moving along swimmingly across the great USofA and it was due to arrive this afternoon. So, I click on the status this morning and it tells me in loud all-caps anger: LOCATION: SEATTLE, WA [woohoo! It’s in the same state and only a 15 minute drive away!]. TIME: 1:00AM [how nice of them to work through the night so I can be united with Cute Bag]. STATUS: EMERGENCY CONDITIONS BEYOND UPS’ CONTROL. [WHAT?! Has a terrorist taken hold of Cute Bag?! What kind of emergency? Help! Help! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! ]. TIME: 2:00AM. STATUS: ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS. [and again…] TIME: 2:00AM. STATUS: ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS.
Is there some sort of freak weather system hanging over Seattle UPS headquarters?! Because as far as I know UPS is pretty down with the lame weather travel and we’ve had nothing but sun and last chance summer here for the last week. OK, a few clouds rolled in yesterday morning so that it only reached the upper 70’s as opposed to 80’s. But is that really “ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS?” And must you yell it at me like I’m in big, big trouble?
There is this thing about Seattle, I’ve noticed. We are a slow people when it comes to adjusting to a new weather system. When the first day of summer dawns hot and clear, all of us pasty-peeps come creeping out of our homes, shielding our eyes against the bright glare of that mysterious glowing orb in the sky. Then, when it rains – even though we’re Seattleites and rain is no weird thing – we still have a hard time driving in it for a while. Don’t even get me started on snow. Seattleites have NO good working relationship with snow. With rain, we have an awkward relationship with this returning, but very common, aspect of our life. It’s like a coworker that you don’t like and you got so used to them being on vacation and you were like WOOHOO! Party! Rain is out of town for two weeks! But then Rain walks back into the office and you’re like, oh, you, Rain. You’re back, eh? And you half-pretend to be nice(ish) but then you totally talk badly about Rain with the other employees at the water cooler.
Hmmm, where was I going with this? Right. UPS.
So, what the heck? If Cute Bag is in some sort of danger I feel like I should saddle my horse and ride into the sunset…er, sunrise to save her. (It’s totally a girl). And I can do things like saddle a horse and come to someone’s (or in this case, some bag’s) rescue BECAUSE I’m like a pioneer with all my vegetable-growing action on the Martin plantation/homestead this summer. I should totally have a horse. I need to rock the horse thing. And, really, I was made to wear a cowboy hat. I look amazing in them. Maybe I need to work the cowboy thing, and storm UPS all cowboy(ish) with my six shooters (I don’t know what those are, I think they’re guns), and be all saddles blazing (don’t really know what that means either), and be all, “Give me Cute Bag or else…partner.” But they may think I’m just another disgruntled postal worker and not take my threat seriously…or maybe I should just pray that the ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS plaguing UPS in Seattle, WA clear up so that Cute Bag and I can be reunited at long last. Stay tuned in the case of missing Cute Bag Saga ‘08…
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Every once in a while, we are those people. Yesterday morning, we were those people. The boys and I walked down with Andrea and her daughters (the most mellow little children EVER) to the new chocolate/espresso place. It’s a magical place full of the smells of…what else? Chocolate and coffee. It could very possibly become my favorite place in the world which is why I don’t go there often. I was buying treats for Andrea (and her girls) to thank her for taking care of our lawn and mail the couple of weeks we were gone in August. So anyway, we get our goodies and head outside to sit in the sun to consume our first-thing-in-the-morning sugar overload.
Matthew was being…a boy. When we are with The Most Mellow Girls in the World, my boys’ boyishness stands out more than ever. Now, we have good boys. Really good boys. Some would even say that our boys could be considered fairly mellow (some of the time, anyway). But put our boys next to The Most Mellow Girls in the World, and they are little crazy rascal-people. When the boys do something ‘boyish’ The Most Mellow Girls in the World look at me like these little mature mini-adults wondering, ‘Um, what is wrong with your children?!’ I feel like I have to be on my best behavior with The Most Mellow Girls in the World.
The boys had finished their chocolatey goodness and were a chocolatey sticky, gooey mess. I was a slacker mom and had opted for a cute purse instead of my mom purse. Thus, I was unprepared – no diapers, no wipes, no face/hand wet ones-wipes. I attempted to clean their faces with the sandpaper napkins provided by the Chocolate Palace (that’s not the actual name, but a good one, me thinks). All the napkins did was get stuck to their faces and leave little bits of sandpaper residue on the perma-stick caking their faces. I gave up on getting my children clean. We weren’t far from home (it’s right down the big hill) and wouldn’t be out for too long.
So, we’re outside, and Matthew is ripping all over the place and being a little over-the-top wild and kinda obnoxious, not listening to a lick of what I’m saying. (Hmm, can you say “sugar first thing in the morning” anyone?!) Zachary is Matthew’s little – more wild and creative – shadow. He takes whatever Matthew does and puts his own goofy-clown spin on it. I had just finished saying, “Matthew, come back up here, you’re too close to the parking lot and too far away.” Zach was acting like a nut and goofing off while watching Andrea’s reaction. All of a sudden, Andrea – nearly as mellow as her Most Mellow Girls in the World – starts yelling, “Zach! Stop. Zach! Look out!” Yeah, Zach didn’t stop. Zach didn’t look out. And he took a major nose-dive for the pavement. Um, there was a curb there. He face plants, pops back up and says, “I’m OK. I’m OK.” And carries on his way. I shake my head in wonder. If that had been our sensitive Matthew, he would’ve cried the whole way home. (I would have too, for the record).
Half a minute later, the delayed reaction sets in. Zach’s lip starts to tremble and in a shaky voice with eyes starting to well up, he says, “Mommy….Mom-my…” I run over to him and pick him up, murmuring mommy things, “It’s OK, Baby.” I start to examine the damage – some pretty impressively scraped up knees. Zach’s cries turn angrier and he yells, “No, Mommy! I’M POOPY!!!!!!” The Most Mellow Girls in the World giggle awkwardly. How inappropriate! Matthew comes running over and says, “I have to poo too!” Seriously? Seriously. What’s with the badly timed bowel movements?! How dare they!
“Look, Zach, I don’t have a diaper or wipes, so we just need to get home. Matthew, can you hold it? You’re going to hold it. Let’s just get home. For the love of Pete, let’s just get home!” Poor Zach is arching his back and kicking and screaming about being forced into the stroller to sit in his poopy mess, but we’ve got a MAJOR big hill to walk up and I just can’t do it (in a fairly rushed manner) with two walking kids (who complain the whole way), a big stroller and hot coffee. (Save the coffee!)
We start the trek up Mount Newcastlest. I mumble something to Andrea and The Most Mellow Girls in the World about how you can’t take us anywhere. We’re a total train wreck. Andrea looks back at us. What a sight. I’m sloshing coffee everywhere, there’s probably poo every and…Andrea says, “So, is that chocolate on Zach’s face or a big booger?” Yeah. We are those people. “Um, let’s pretend it’s caramel,” I say. “As long as you don’t eat it,” Andrea replies. “Yeah, I’m not actually a fan of this kind of caramel,” I say as I scrape the biggest booger known to mankind off of Zach’s sticky cheeks (leaving more chunks of sandpaper napkin behind). This booger could be written up in the Guiness Book of World Records.
As I summit the hill with my poopy, sticky, boogery children we come upon the John Deere digger that’s been doing work at the end of our street. This, of course, has provided my very pro-John Deere offspring with all sorts of glee. One of the “worker men” (as Matthew still prefers to call them), says to my kids, “Hey guys, we could use an extra hand here. Grab a hard hat.” Matthew stops dead in his tracks; all thoughts of the call of nature vanish. It’s his dream finally come to fruition. “Cool,” I say. “Matthew, come home for your lunch break.” I keep walking. “Wait, Mom!” Matthew says, “I have to POO!” Yes, we are those people. I know the worker men enjoyed us at least even if The Most Mellow Girls in the World didn’t.
Matthew was being…a boy. When we are with The Most Mellow Girls in the World, my boys’ boyishness stands out more than ever. Now, we have good boys. Really good boys. Some would even say that our boys could be considered fairly mellow (some of the time, anyway). But put our boys next to The Most Mellow Girls in the World, and they are little crazy rascal-people. When the boys do something ‘boyish’ The Most Mellow Girls in the World look at me like these little mature mini-adults wondering, ‘Um, what is wrong with your children?!’ I feel like I have to be on my best behavior with The Most Mellow Girls in the World.
The boys had finished their chocolatey goodness and were a chocolatey sticky, gooey mess. I was a slacker mom and had opted for a cute purse instead of my mom purse. Thus, I was unprepared – no diapers, no wipes, no face/hand wet ones-wipes. I attempted to clean their faces with the sandpaper napkins provided by the Chocolate Palace (that’s not the actual name, but a good one, me thinks). All the napkins did was get stuck to their faces and leave little bits of sandpaper residue on the perma-stick caking their faces. I gave up on getting my children clean. We weren’t far from home (it’s right down the big hill) and wouldn’t be out for too long.
So, we’re outside, and Matthew is ripping all over the place and being a little over-the-top wild and kinda obnoxious, not listening to a lick of what I’m saying. (Hmm, can you say “sugar first thing in the morning” anyone?!) Zachary is Matthew’s little – more wild and creative – shadow. He takes whatever Matthew does and puts his own goofy-clown spin on it. I had just finished saying, “Matthew, come back up here, you’re too close to the parking lot and too far away.” Zach was acting like a nut and goofing off while watching Andrea’s reaction. All of a sudden, Andrea – nearly as mellow as her Most Mellow Girls in the World – starts yelling, “Zach! Stop. Zach! Look out!” Yeah, Zach didn’t stop. Zach didn’t look out. And he took a major nose-dive for the pavement. Um, there was a curb there. He face plants, pops back up and says, “I’m OK. I’m OK.” And carries on his way. I shake my head in wonder. If that had been our sensitive Matthew, he would’ve cried the whole way home. (I would have too, for the record).
Half a minute later, the delayed reaction sets in. Zach’s lip starts to tremble and in a shaky voice with eyes starting to well up, he says, “Mommy….Mom-my…” I run over to him and pick him up, murmuring mommy things, “It’s OK, Baby.” I start to examine the damage – some pretty impressively scraped up knees. Zach’s cries turn angrier and he yells, “No, Mommy! I’M POOPY!!!!!!” The Most Mellow Girls in the World giggle awkwardly. How inappropriate! Matthew comes running over and says, “I have to poo too!” Seriously? Seriously. What’s with the badly timed bowel movements?! How dare they!
“Look, Zach, I don’t have a diaper or wipes, so we just need to get home. Matthew, can you hold it? You’re going to hold it. Let’s just get home. For the love of Pete, let’s just get home!” Poor Zach is arching his back and kicking and screaming about being forced into the stroller to sit in his poopy mess, but we’ve got a MAJOR big hill to walk up and I just can’t do it (in a fairly rushed manner) with two walking kids (who complain the whole way), a big stroller and hot coffee. (Save the coffee!)
We start the trek up Mount Newcastlest. I mumble something to Andrea and The Most Mellow Girls in the World about how you can’t take us anywhere. We’re a total train wreck. Andrea looks back at us. What a sight. I’m sloshing coffee everywhere, there’s probably poo every and…Andrea says, “So, is that chocolate on Zach’s face or a big booger?” Yeah. We are those people. “Um, let’s pretend it’s caramel,” I say. “As long as you don’t eat it,” Andrea replies. “Yeah, I’m not actually a fan of this kind of caramel,” I say as I scrape the biggest booger known to mankind off of Zach’s sticky cheeks (leaving more chunks of sandpaper napkin behind). This booger could be written up in the Guiness Book of World Records.
As I summit the hill with my poopy, sticky, boogery children we come upon the John Deere digger that’s been doing work at the end of our street. This, of course, has provided my very pro-John Deere offspring with all sorts of glee. One of the “worker men” (as Matthew still prefers to call them), says to my kids, “Hey guys, we could use an extra hand here. Grab a hard hat.” Matthew stops dead in his tracks; all thoughts of the call of nature vanish. It’s his dream finally come to fruition. “Cool,” I say. “Matthew, come home for your lunch break.” I keep walking. “Wait, Mom!” Matthew says, “I have to POO!” Yes, we are those people. I know the worker men enjoyed us at least even if The Most Mellow Girls in the World didn’t.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
It’s true. I’ve been a blogger for over 2 ½ years (thanks to my hospital bed rest stay with Zach), I’m married to a computer/techie/nerdy guy, I spend way too much time puttsing around on the internet, and yet, I’ve got the most aesthetically unappealing blog out there. It’s boring. It’s blah. It’s BLAHG.
I have to say that Facebook has changed my life as of late. I’ve connected with so many friends and faces from the days of yore and yesteryear, and it has been so very, very cool. So, I must thank, my stupendous friend Jessica Salerno-new married-last-name [people went got married and changed their names!! What the heck?!], for subtely hinting at what many of you have known for some time: this BLOG needs a serious make-over. Look, I’m not making any promises because you know how long it takes us to get pictures put up on our family website (or maybe you don’t…it takes a while), BUT I will try. And dude! Helloooo! It’s so easy. There’s a little picture button that I never even noticed before! I fear I may become obsessed with picture-bloggage.
So, now I’ll pick a random photo to incorporate into this new entry! (it's a picture of me at Mo's wedding after a few peach bellini's -- I didn't even know what those were! They're quite delicious!)
I think Mike may be questioning my abilities to parent. He arrived home from work the other day to a fascinating scene: the boys had dumped EVERY SINGLE toy box on to the floor in the living, were booty-stark naked and were “swimming” in the “toys swimming pool” while I sat at the dining room table, finishing my dinner, checking email and wearing an overturned toy box on my head (placed there by Zachary). I think I calmly looked at him and said something to the effect of, “Welcome home. Welcome to my world.”
2 ½ year old Zachary has been a chatterbox for quite some time. He did the whole mostly skip first words and just jump into sentences thing. He does, however, have a little bit of a problem with S’s and D’s. Instead of messing with those troublesome letters he just trades them in for G’s. One day, I figured that I should step up my momminess (see example of lame momage in previous paragraph), and work on this with him. He had said something about a stick (gick). “Sssstick. Zachary. Can you say sssssssssstick?” Zach looks at me like whattup, Mama? “Gick.” “No, sssssssssstick,” I say again. “G-ick!” “SSSsssssssstick.” “GICK!!” Now, he’s looking at me like, um, what’s your damage, lady? Are ya slow or something? Why don’t you understand me? He’s annunciating GICK just as much as I’m annunciating STICK. “Ssssssssssssssssssstick.” “GGGIIICCCKKK!” He yells figuring that I just can’t hear him. We move on to dark (gark). “D-ark. Dark,” I say. “G-ark,” he responds. “De, de, daaaaaaaaaark.” “Gark.” “DARK.” “GGGAAARRRKKK.” You’re right. Gark. Totally gark. We’ll work on it another time. Maybe I’d be more convincing with a blue toy box over my head.
The boys were downstairs this morning, when I saw a dog run through our backyard. I watched as it went below the deck towards the sliding door. I ran downstairs to tell the boys to look at our canine visitor. Zach was already on to him and started screeching excitedly, “Gog! Gog! Goggie in our yard!” Matthew jumped up and said, “Thanks, Mom! I always wanted a dog!” Unfortunately all this screaming and movement frightened the dog away.
Zach ran up to the door, and in a scene somewhat like but very unlike Juliet’s “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” He smooshed his nose against the glass and shaking his head slowly back and forth, quietly said, “Oh, goggie. Where you go, goggie?” It was a sad, sad sight. I was determined to immediately remedy the situation, but I have no idea how one goes about buying a goggie.
[By the by, to save you the time, because I know you were all about to google “gog” and “goggie” to help in my search, let me tell you what’s out there: Two VERY different things. www.gog.com and www.gog.org could provide people with quite the surprise depending on which they were looking for. The .com version is “the home of Good Old Games;” as in, COMPUTER good old games. Whereas the gog.org version says: “Gynecologic Oncology Group (GOG) is a non-profit organization with the purpose of promoting excellence in the quality and integrity of clinical and basic scientific research in the field of Gynecologic malignancies.” Both are very good causes but not the kind of gogs for which I looked. And don’t even get me started on all the different gog references provided by Wikipedia. Though, Zach would say that they are all VERY inaccurate to the real meaning of gog.]
2 ½ year old Zachary has been a chatterbox for quite some time. He did the whole mostly skip first words and just jump into sentences thing. He does, however, have a little bit of a problem with S’s and D’s. Instead of messing with those troublesome letters he just trades them in for G’s. One day, I figured that I should step up my momminess (see example of lame momage in previous paragraph), and work on this with him. He had said something about a stick (gick). “Sssstick. Zachary. Can you say sssssssssstick?” Zach looks at me like whattup, Mama? “Gick.” “No, sssssssssstick,” I say again. “G-ick!” “SSSsssssssstick.” “GICK!!” Now, he’s looking at me like, um, what’s your damage, lady? Are ya slow or something? Why don’t you understand me? He’s annunciating GICK just as much as I’m annunciating STICK. “Ssssssssssssssssssstick.” “GGGIIICCCKKK!” He yells figuring that I just can’t hear him. We move on to dark (gark). “D-ark. Dark,” I say. “G-ark,” he responds. “De, de, daaaaaaaaaark.” “Gark.” “DARK.” “GGGAAARRRKKK.” You’re right. Gark. Totally gark. We’ll work on it another time. Maybe I’d be more convincing with a blue toy box over my head.
The boys were downstairs this morning, when I saw a dog run through our backyard. I watched as it went below the deck towards the sliding door. I ran downstairs to tell the boys to look at our canine visitor. Zach was already on to him and started screeching excitedly, “Gog! Gog! Goggie in our yard!” Matthew jumped up and said, “Thanks, Mom! I always wanted a dog!” Unfortunately all this screaming and movement frightened the dog away.
Zach ran up to the door, and in a scene somewhat like but very unlike Juliet’s “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” He smooshed his nose against the glass and shaking his head slowly back and forth, quietly said, “Oh, goggie. Where you go, goggie?” It was a sad, sad sight. I was determined to immediately remedy the situation, but I have no idea how one goes about buying a goggie.
[By the by, to save you the time, because I know you were all about to google “gog” and “goggie” to help in my search, let me tell you what’s out there: Two VERY different things. www.gog.com and www.gog.org could provide people with quite the surprise depending on which they were looking for. The .com version is “the home of Good Old Games;” as in, COMPUTER good old games. Whereas the gog.org version says: “Gynecologic Oncology Group (GOG) is a non-profit organization with the purpose of promoting excellence in the quality and integrity of clinical and basic scientific research in the field of Gynecologic malignancies.” Both are very good causes but not the kind of gogs for which I looked. And don’t even get me started on all the different gog references provided by Wikipedia. Though, Zach would say that they are all VERY inaccurate to the real meaning of gog.]
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Matthew heads back to preschool this morning. I’m pretty pumped about it. Not only will he have the opportunity to learn five mornings a week, but I’ll have the opportunity to have him learning five mornings a week. (If ya know what I mean). I’m also looking forward to another year of navigating the preschool parent cliques. Actually, as you know, I try to not even compete or get too caught up in the mix, but the drama always makes for good blogging material.
Just as children do (make for good blogging material)…After a weekend jam-packed with parties and presents, Matthew looked at all of his gifts (primarily LEGO’s – the boy cleaned up). I said something about how lucky he was to have such great friends. He replied, “I love my friends. Isn’t that so nice of me, mom?!” I just hope his love isn’t too closely connected to the pile of loot he was admiring at the time.
Just as children do (make for good blogging material)…After a weekend jam-packed with parties and presents, Matthew looked at all of his gifts (primarily LEGO’s – the boy cleaned up). I said something about how lucky he was to have such great friends. He replied, “I love my friends. Isn’t that so nice of me, mom?!” I just hope his love isn’t too closely connected to the pile of loot he was admiring at the time.
Monday, September 08, 2008
September 8, 2008
My music class situation has exploded in the last week. (Exploded in a good way). So, I’d been scheduled to teach classes at the Boys & Girls’ Club starting Sept. 19th. Unfortunately, I could go to on and on and on on the many ways in which they dropped the ball, but it’s easiest just to sum it up and say that things just weren’t working out well for me there. I sound like a very high maintenance contracted business owner when I say, they just weren’t treating me well enough…but it’s true. So, I was starting to get frustrated with the whole thing when, out of the blue, I received a phone call from one of the moms who used to take my class (with her son).
She said, “Jenny! I’ve been waiting two years to make this phone call. The music teacher that used to come to Jack’s Montessori School just quit. You could come and teach your classes here.” (As in, they would provide me with three full classes of full-paying clientele). Let me think about that. Um, yeah. So, I met the preschool directors, figured out my childcare situation (oh yeah, this little guy named Zach…and Matthew needing to be picked-up from preschool…right. Minor detail.), and within two days they had registration forms and fees being turned back in! Karina, one of the directors said, “You know, we have a great relationship with some of the other Montessori schools in the area, I would love to tell them about you and pass along your brochures.” I went, practically overnight, from no business to plenty of business.
My music class situation has exploded in the last week. (Exploded in a good way). So, I’d been scheduled to teach classes at the Boys & Girls’ Club starting Sept. 19th. Unfortunately, I could go to on and on and on on the many ways in which they dropped the ball, but it’s easiest just to sum it up and say that things just weren’t working out well for me there. I sound like a very high maintenance contracted business owner when I say, they just weren’t treating me well enough…but it’s true. So, I was starting to get frustrated with the whole thing when, out of the blue, I received a phone call from one of the moms who used to take my class (with her son).
She said, “Jenny! I’ve been waiting two years to make this phone call. The music teacher that used to come to Jack’s Montessori School just quit. You could come and teach your classes here.” (As in, they would provide me with three full classes of full-paying clientele). Let me think about that. Um, yeah. So, I met the preschool directors, figured out my childcare situation (oh yeah, this little guy named Zach…and Matthew needing to be picked-up from preschool…right. Minor detail.), and within two days they had registration forms and fees being turned back in! Karina, one of the directors said, “You know, we have a great relationship with some of the other Montessori schools in the area, I would love to tell them about you and pass along your brochures.” I went, practically overnight, from no business to plenty of business.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
I’ve been officially relieved of my duties. Matthew informed me yesterday, on his 5th birthday, that I am no longer necessary. He said, “Mom, since I’m 5 years old, I can take care of myself. I make the rules now.” Sweet! One down and one to go!
On Thursday night before bed, I said, “Matthew, this is the last time you’ll go to bed as a four-year-old! You’ll wake up so much older.” He was a little concerned about all the growth that would occur. “Hmmm,” he said, “my pajamas will be too short for me! Zach will wear them now. I’ll be so much older than him!” We called my dad to say goodnight (one last time as a four-year-old), in a forced deep voice (complete with furrowed brow and very serious face), Matthew said, “Goodnight, D-Dad.” It was his new ‘deep, five-year-old voice.’ I didn’t know puberty happened this early!
So, my newly independent five-year-old had a marvelous day yesterday. He actually said, “Thanks, Mom! This is the best birthday ever!” (I’m glad we set the bar low with lame birthdays the first four years. My plan worked!). We went to Mom & Dad’s where the birthday boy got to make pigs-in-a-blanket for lunch. This was very thrilling. He opened one seriously major award present – a grandma-made John Deere fleece robe and cozy ‘I (heart) John Deere’ pajamas. When we got home he immediately put the robe on over his jeans and t-shirt. The poor kid was practically sweating and literally sitting right in front of the fan. He asked if he could wear the robe for the birthday BBQ last night, but I had to say no to that one. (It would’ve been great to find a cravate to wear with it – a nice smoking jacket look. Very mature. He is five-years-old, after all).
We had a fantastic birthday BBQ that I feel was, in my slacker Mom way, thrown together, pretty much at the last moment. I mean literally thrown together. About 20 minutes before guests were to arrive I was just throwing random goodies in the backyard along the fence. Each kiddo decorated a goody bag and then we had a goody hunt. They all got one small box of LEGO’s, some suckers and little baggies of cookies. Sugar ‘em up and send ‘em home. That’s my motto. (Or at least it was yesterday’s motto).
The party was so wonderful and Matthew had such a great time that in all the chaos of fun and opening presents, I didn’t even realize until I was tucking him in, that we’d totally forgotten to give him OUR presents. The LEGO’s from us and Zach were still wrapped and hidden in the closet downstairs! So, this morning Round Two of the birthday started off with a bang. And there are more festivities to come (and thankfully, we’re not in charge of any of them). Today is Newcastle Days down at the park – pony rides, bouncy houses, music shows, booths, food. So, we’ll do that this afternoon. Tonight my runny-buddy/neighbor/friend Andrea is having a Bday BBQ for her two girls. Then tonight there will be fireworks for Newcastle Days (which Mike and I can watch from the living room couch)! Then tomorrow, we will drag our two very tired, cranky, sugar-crashed children to church and THEN to the church picnic where there will be more food (and sugar), face-painting, prizes, etc. Holy Smokes it’s a big party weekend!
On Thursday night before bed, I said, “Matthew, this is the last time you’ll go to bed as a four-year-old! You’ll wake up so much older.” He was a little concerned about all the growth that would occur. “Hmmm,” he said, “my pajamas will be too short for me! Zach will wear them now. I’ll be so much older than him!” We called my dad to say goodnight (one last time as a four-year-old), in a forced deep voice (complete with furrowed brow and very serious face), Matthew said, “Goodnight, D-Dad.” It was his new ‘deep, five-year-old voice.’ I didn’t know puberty happened this early!
So, my newly independent five-year-old had a marvelous day yesterday. He actually said, “Thanks, Mom! This is the best birthday ever!” (I’m glad we set the bar low with lame birthdays the first four years. My plan worked!). We went to Mom & Dad’s where the birthday boy got to make pigs-in-a-blanket for lunch. This was very thrilling. He opened one seriously major award present – a grandma-made John Deere fleece robe and cozy ‘I (heart) John Deere’ pajamas. When we got home he immediately put the robe on over his jeans and t-shirt. The poor kid was practically sweating and literally sitting right in front of the fan. He asked if he could wear the robe for the birthday BBQ last night, but I had to say no to that one. (It would’ve been great to find a cravate to wear with it – a nice smoking jacket look. Very mature. He is five-years-old, after all).
We had a fantastic birthday BBQ that I feel was, in my slacker Mom way, thrown together, pretty much at the last moment. I mean literally thrown together. About 20 minutes before guests were to arrive I was just throwing random goodies in the backyard along the fence. Each kiddo decorated a goody bag and then we had a goody hunt. They all got one small box of LEGO’s, some suckers and little baggies of cookies. Sugar ‘em up and send ‘em home. That’s my motto. (Or at least it was yesterday’s motto).
The party was so wonderful and Matthew had such a great time that in all the chaos of fun and opening presents, I didn’t even realize until I was tucking him in, that we’d totally forgotten to give him OUR presents. The LEGO’s from us and Zach were still wrapped and hidden in the closet downstairs! So, this morning Round Two of the birthday started off with a bang. And there are more festivities to come (and thankfully, we’re not in charge of any of them). Today is Newcastle Days down at the park – pony rides, bouncy houses, music shows, booths, food. So, we’ll do that this afternoon. Tonight my runny-buddy/neighbor/friend Andrea is having a Bday BBQ for her two girls. Then tonight there will be fireworks for Newcastle Days (which Mike and I can watch from the living room couch)! Then tomorrow, we will drag our two very tired, cranky, sugar-crashed children to church and THEN to the church picnic where there will be more food (and sugar), face-painting, prizes, etc. Holy Smokes it’s a big party weekend!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
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
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
Thursday, August 28, 2008
CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
PART ONE
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…
Saturday, August 16, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
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 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.
Friday, July 11, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
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.)
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.)
Thursday, June 19, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
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!”
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!”
Monday, June 09, 2008
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!
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!
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