pixie sticks

transition to Fall

2010-09-01T13:48:00.000-07:00

We're transitioning from summer to fall as the school year starts again. It's always a weird time because it just begins to get truly hot in San Francisco in September and October, and while you're trying very hard to say goodbye to summer it feels a whole like what the rest of the country calls summer June through August when school is the last thing on anyone's mind. Prepping for the start of school helps a little. Slickers and rain boots are purchased (and will sit unused for at least 8 weeks). New jean gets shoved in the back of drawer while the shorts you've ignored all summer get pulled out. Lovely shaggy summer hair gets trimmed so you can actually see what your teacher is doing up there in the front of your overly hot classroom. Ah, San Francisco: you're weird.

"San Francisco is a funny place. Everyone says that and nobody laughs."
- CW Nevius

contrasts

2010-08-24T12:43:00.001-07:00

my life. one week apart.

we needed one to get ready for the other.

words | "lose"

2010-06-16T14:31:00.000-07:00

"Often he'd couch it in historical anecdote, or pepper his conversation with apt examples, but the gist was: Lose. Lose early. lose often. For it's how you lose that counts. And you will lose. Your hair, your looks, your teeth, your body fluids and fecal matter; you will lose friends, your memory, and if you're one of the elite few, who expect to be remembered, give it time: Eventually, the world will lose it memory of you, too."
- from "The Heights" by Peter Hedges

Sometimes when I'm reading a book I get stuck on a phrase or paragraph that I can't stop thinking about. A string of words, the perfect use of comas and/or colons (God, I love colons although semi-colons confound me) that just nails it. Peter Hedges above take on loss comes just about as close to the bone as anything I've read lately. I'm about as comfortable with loss as a person can reasonably expect to be. I've experienced it profoundly and casually and will again and again. I've also had innumerable moments of appreciating my lack of loss and spend a majority of my free time polishing every single silver lining I can get my hands on.

an accopmlishment

2010-05-14T14:51:00.000-07:00

For the longest time I have ogled photographs of people who are clearly outside yet are seemingly standing before a blown out white background. You know the type. Pure geniuses, that's who. I love the way the subject pops and the big sky background seems to go on forever until it blurs out completely. I happened to be in sunny Santa Cruz last weekend and had the energy to haul out my actual fancy, real-life camera instead of depending on my cell phone camera with the very funky photo application and hey! I did it. One more thing to cross off the list of mad skills to acquire. I truly don't think I've been this proud of myself in a long time. Straight out of the camera, people! Now ask me if I can figure out doing it again? maybe. just maybe...

the cheez whiz | try it

2010-02-24T11:20:00.000-08:00

Mew York Magazine posted 50 Steps to Simple Happiness.

Try The Cheese Whiz. I did. Don't I look relaxed, confident and like I know what I'm doing??

“Leave your mouth in that slightly upturned position it takes after saying ‘Cheez Whiz.’ It’s a relaxed, confident look that will convince other people you know what you’re doing.”

sum

2010-02-11T10:54:00.000-08:00

I just finished the book Sum, by David Eagleman and found it amusing and thought-provoking in an unexpectedly playful way. Eagleman cobbled together "Forty Tales From the Afterlives." 40 vignettes about what may happen after we die. I admit I'm a sucker for this type of hypothesizing. I loved Mary Roache's Stiff too. I find these explorations into the fantasy of heaven and the science of death oddly reassuring. Lots of people think this is weird. What can I say? I'm dark like that. Here's my favorite tale from Sum (the first chapter, also called "Sum"). It really has me thinking about how I spend my time. I think I'd have to add time spent chimping my camera and deleting digital pictures, as well as at least 5 hours spent smelling my kids hair to my own sum. And surly my time spent doing laundry should be upped.

What would you add to yours?

Sum | David Eagleman

In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this times with the events reshuffled into a new order: all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.

You spend two months driving the street in from of your house, seven months having sex. You sleep for thirty years without opening your eyes. For five months straight you flip through magazine while sitting on the toilet.

You take all your pain at once, all twenty-seven intense hours of it. Bones break, cars crash, skin in cut, babies are born. Once you make it through, it's agony-free for the rest of your afterlife.

But that doesn't mean it's always pleasant. You spend six days clipping your nails. Fifteen months looking for lost items. Eighteen months waiting in line. Two years of boredom: staring out a bus window. Sitting in an airport terminal. One year reading books. Your eyes hurt, and you itch, because you can't take a shower until it's your time to take a marathon two-hundred day shower. Two weeks wondering what happens when you die. One minute realizing your body is falling. Seventy-seven hours of confusion. One hour realizing you've forgotten someone's name. Three weeks realizing you are wrong. Two days lying. Six weeks waiting for a green light. Seven hours vomiting. Fourteen minutes experiencing pure joy. Three months doing laundry. Fifteen hours writing your signature. Two days tying shoelaces. Sixty-seven days of heart-break. Five weeks of driving lost. Three days calculating restaurant tips. Fifty-one days deciding what to wear. Nine days pretending you know that is being talked about. Two weeks counting money. Eighteen days staring at the refrigerator. Thirty-four days longing. Six months watching commercials. Four weeks sitting in thought, wondering if there is something better you could be doing with your time. Three years swallowing food. Five days working buttons and zippers. Four minutes wondering what your life would be like if you reshuffled the order of events. In this part of the afterlife, you imagine something analogous to your Earthly life, and the thought is blissful: a life where episodes are split into tiny swallowable pieces, where moments do not endure, where one experiences the joy of jumping from one event to the next like a child hopping from spot to spot on the burning sand.

beautiful & true

2010-02-01T15:40:00.001-08:00

and literally breathtaking. Puts into words, how I feel in my parenthood: privileged, fierce and very often lost. but lucky, so lucky.

so true

2010-01-20T15:11:00.001-08:00

"The 30-Second Rule, A Decision Tree" by Audrey Fukman and Andy Wright

proof

2010-01-14T12:11:00.001-08:00

accidental camera/phone shot from yesterday that shows I've been keeping up the red lipstick resolution from last year.

a new year | a new post | a 2010 miracle!

2010-01-13T15:01:00.000-08:00

It is entirely possible that no one aside from me will read this. Things like that tend to happen when you neglect a space like this for eight months. I just haven't been feeling it. Instead of thinking about blog posts I've been dwelling in the world of facebook status updates, tweets and pictures on flickr. I guess I currently have a short attention span and feel the need to sum it all up a little more expediently than this large white, empty space inspires in me. But I stumbled upon a list of resolutions I drafted for a post here a year ago and never published and was **shocked** and *amazed** and then slightly proud of myself about how many of them I'd followed through on. I love lists and use them frequently in my everyday life to keep my head from exploding, but holy moley do I tend to role my eyes at New Year's resolutions. So imagine my surprise when I opened the draft post and realized that I had, in fact: 1. taken a photography class 2. found a doctor to help me figure out if my three year old was just a big snorer or if he had mini-apnea 3. wore red lipstick more often 4. wore dresses more often 5. started composting before the Mayor had me arrested and 5. drove less on the weekends.

As much as I kind of wanted to punch 2009 in the face, I don't believe I've ever followed through on so many specific, personal-to-me goals in one year. Let's ignore the fact for a moment that I'd forgotten about the list all-together for the the better part of the year and that the goals themselves weren't all that earth-shattering to begin with. Let's instead focus on the fact that I did take Nicole Hill Gerulat's photo101 class (you should too, she's amazing). We did take Hadley to a pediatric ENT doctor and had, what turned out to be his enormous adenoids, removed and then spent the long, early days of July eating popsicles in a darkened room while watching cartoons instead of playing outside in the sprinklers until he was back to normal. He really does sleep better and longer and the snoring has stopped completely. I figured out, after making some very wrong decisions at the MAC counter, that I can add red lipstick to my trusty lip gloss to achieve a non-clown-like red lip look and have, thankyouverymuch, been wearing dresses more often. We've been composting for at least six months and I'm detesting it less and less everyday. And lastly, there are plenty of Monday mornings when I get in my car and realize the sunglasses or earrings or headband I'd been looking for all weekend had been right there in my car in the garage since I left it there Friday night after work.

For someone who hates making a plan because I'm pretty sure I'll hate myself for not following through perfectly that's one hell of a list, people. So, I think I'll let myself off the hook a bit on the blog pressure too. It's not always going to be long or profound or genius, but there will be something here more often in 2010. Probably something small or funny that I've already posted on my facebook status that only my mom and high school boyfriend will have seen anyway.

I'll be back soon(ish).
Happy New Year.

pretty cargo bike

2009-07-13T09:26:00.000-07:00

This bike is so rad. Don't you think? Click on that picture and maybe I'll win one or win the lottery and buy one!

oh mother!

2009-05-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure I believe in Mother's Day. I was that kid who asked every year when "Kid's Day" was only to have to same rote answer repeated annually that "EVERY DAY IS KID'S DAY." I have to admit that I now sort of understand why it wasn't a funny question in the first place. My own mother was so disenchanted with the entire concept that she specifically requested to work on the day while we went to my Dad's childless Great Aunt Ruby's for brunch. Looking back I'm pretty sure she was disenchanted with my Dad's family, but at the time it seemed really weird to be motherless on Mother's Day. In our very mother-heavy household Mother's Day has meant getting out of town for the past 5 years. Problem solved! We were happy mothers and the kids were clueless. That worked until last year when the sight of a family bbq/pancake breakfast clearly in honor off all the wonderful, loved mothers in the large and very happy family made me burst into tears at a Tahoe City playground. Something was missing. I wanted that - whatever it was that family had. That's what I wanted. I almost walked over and sat down at one of their picnic tables just to soak up all the mother worship that was swirling around the lovely lot of them. I settled for a strong cocktail with a view of the Lake and that was nice too. I keep thinking about the year BabyQ was 2 and my Gram mailed him an envelope with a twenty dollar bill and a note saying "buy your moms a pizza for Mother's Day." Man, I wish I'd kept that note. I miss her like crazy. If she were still alive I don't think it would be so easy to hit the road and pretend like it's not Mother's Day just so I don't have to deal with juggling my family, my mom, my step-mom and my very own childless great aunt. All of whom have individual needs and expectations around this most Hallmark of days. Not to mention my own obviously deeply buried feelings about that big, happy extended family pancake picnic with all the lovely balloons. Did I mention the balloons and the smell of maple syrup wafting through the pine trees?

{photo via danske on flickr}

funny bunnies

2009-04-15T15:48:00.000-07:00

If you look very closely, you'll see that one bunny has a mouth full of chocolate and the other bunny is guarding his jelly beans very carefully just before tipping the entire lot into his mouth.

happy easter / happy spring

an excuse to s l o w down

2009-03-04T10:21:00.000-08:00

I'm very slowly making my way through the archives of This American Life. I don't know if it's the kitschy harmonica music that links the segments, the fact that I've been battling strep throat and Ira Glass' nerdy mellow voice in the background is such a wonderful distraction to the shards of glass in my throat or that given all the bad news in the world, these simple stories - that almost always end up making me laugh - also serve as a great reminder that people are fucking weird {in the greatest way}. Weird and sweet and corny and sentimental and that everyone has a story to tell. It's helping me slow down and focus on my own story. It's way too easy for me to spin out of control, organizing errands, meals, dentist appointments, flu shots. And then I stop and tell myself how boring that is and how much more My Story has to offer. There are sweet preschool songs that I can't quite understand from his secret life at school and enthusiastic pronouncements that almost everything I suggest is "A GREAT IDEA." An almost six-year-olds brain, exploding with new words he can read. Words from the actual book laying in his lap and store signs comprehended and shouted out from the back seat as we streak through the blissfully rainy March streets.

something I love

2009-02-10T09:57:00.001-08:00

I bought this ring a few months ago and I love everything about it. It makes me happy every time I look at it. {pretty good for $15} This site has amazingly fun jewelry and party supplies and is super reasonably priced. It's my new go-to site for little presents.

cheap & awesome

2008-12-10T09:49:00.001-08:00

someone please buy this rug. It's my dream rug, only in my dream it's black and white. Okay this is my actual dream rug, but if Pottery Barn wants to rip it off and then put it on sale! - jeepers, somebody please buy it. If red would work for you (it won't work for me) then this is the rug for you. Modern, clean-lines and cheap! It would make such an awesome statement in the right room. Oh! Pottery Barn you're killing me, why didn't you make this in black and white and then put that one on sale too?

I heart spinach

2008-12-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

As I'm careening through my morning routine on about cup 3 of lukewarm coffee I realize that my usual toddler shadow isn't attached to my personage as I dry my hair. Weird. I turn the blow dryer off and man, it's really quiet. Too quiet. Part of me (the part that can't believe I've been up for two hours and still have wet hair) thinks, just enjoy it. Be appreciative. Finish this one thing and then go investigate. The other part of me (the one that fears uncapped markers and toppled bookshelves) thinks wet hair is not such a big deal compared to a ruined couch or a quick trip to the emergency room before work. It's a long walk down the hallway to find my monkey sitting on the floor of his room, half dressed reading (okay talking out loud with a book in his lap) this book. All I hear as I get closer is "now, can I have dessert??" repeated a few times, clear as a bell. He looks up, sees me and asks for some spinach. It's 8:15 in the morning and dammit if I'm not tempted to walk back down the hall and whip some up. You should get this book. You should also get a three year old if you can. They're the best.

in the meantime

2008-11-21T13:58:00.000-08:00

we'll stop shopping at Whole Foods and start shopping at Trader Joe's.

we'll cancel HBO and Showtime.

the Cutie Q won't go to his after school program.

we'll drink less {sob}.

we'll have the most stripped down version of Christmas I've yet to experience and it will be simple and sweet.

we'll thank our lucky stars that our boys are healthy and strong and happy - no, joyful.

we'll stop buying toy cars from every damn store we walk into (so that joyful thing may subside a bit.)

we'll be thankful that we love to read almost as much as we love to breathe and that we have access to a great public library system.

I'll stop trolling etsy.

we'll take stock and attempt to appreciate all that we have.

we'll stretch and juggle to hold onto a house that we've work so hard for and we'll remind ourselves that in the end, it's just a house. We are each others home.

this is the first of many list that I'll write to remind myself how fortunate I am. In the midst of being scared as we face the fact that our double-income status just got brutally halved yesterday. A beloved job, a necessary job, but a job none the less. Not a life. This is what I'll do in the meantime to keep from going crazy.

some new flavor

2008-11-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

I seriously love it when the author of a book includes details about what the characters are eating, cooking, ordering in a resturant. I'm constantly looking for kitchen inspiration around what to cook for dinner or put in my kids lunch. I like people who appreciate food. We've started writing out weekly menus on Saturday mornings before grocery shopping in an attempt to avoid the nightly stop at Whole Foods, so I thought I'd begin to post them here. I'll link to specific recipes whenever I use them and will try and include details when I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Our approach is pretty easy, usually organic or local. Sundays usually bring something we can eat again in some form during the week. I don't love leftovers, but feel particularly resourceful when we can turn some portion of a meal into another meal. Pot roast becomes stew. Chicken breasts turn into tortilla soup. I'm also trying to eat meat sparely. Not just putting it on the menu out of habit or tradition, but because some forms of meat (hello! bacon) are too good to skip altogether.

SAT :: lasagna (we had MAS' homemade mushroom and olive tomato sauce in the freezer and I added spicy Italian sasuage and spinach)

SUN :: turkey meatball sliders and salad (the only salad I'm making these days is arugula, dried cherries and toasted walnuts). I used the Little Owl slider recipe mostly for the sauce ideas (minus the fennel). The meatballs were made by MAS and were pretty straight forward: ground turkey, egg, basil, a little red wine, some bread crumbs pulled from a loaf of sourdough and an egg.

MON :: leftover split pea soup (from last week) and bread and cheese

TUES :: lemon arugula pasta. I use orecchiette pasta and skip the broccoli. I also substitute whole milk or half and half for the cream that's called for and throw in a handful of bacon (hello! bacon) or pancetta. We're huge fans of asiago over parmesan.

WED :: leftover lasagna and salad

THURS :: flank steak with lime dipping sauce and broccoli salad. The lime sauce is the juice of three limes, salt and pepper and a pinch of sugar and I'm skipping the ginger in the broccoli salad.

FRI :: eat out.

SAT :: butterfly lamb (Trader Joe's), cucumber, sour cream and red wine vinegar salad and orzo/arugula/kalmata olives tossed together.

bittersweet

2008-11-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

Today is bittersweet for me with the passage of Proposition 8 in California which amends the CA Constitution to ban same-sex marriage. As someone who lives her life honestly and bravely as an example for my children that their family is just as genuine as every other kid they know - this is a horrible manipulation of a governmental process that I truly believe in and work in everyday. I've been a campaign fundraiser, a PAC staffer and field representative for a US Senator and now, a city employee. That's it. I've only worked in government since my parents (a public school teacher and a nurse) finished paying for my very expensive liberal arts college education.

I'm tempted to be really pissed off, but instead I'm going to channel my new president (yay! seriously, thank God) and realize that it's always easier to choose love over hate (am hoping that the 52% of Californians who voted for Prop. 8 will see their way to this someday too).

And now I'll leave it to the legal scholars to figure out if my marriage is stickable or not. In the meantime we feel really lucky in so many ways and nothing really changes for us beyond hurt feelings. Our lives continue very much along the same lines as many of yours. We're a young, busy family who seeks to do our very best for each other - and that's all still true today and everyday.

h e l l o {and welcome}

2008-10-28T12:21:00.000-07:00

I want this coat rack. It's really calling to me. So cheery. So yellow. So directive.

bacon pesto

2008-08-28T14:45:00.000-07:00

Also known as What The Hell to Do With the Big Bucket of Basil From My Mom's Garden Pesto. I added some bacon because I had it in the fridge and we usually toss in a bit of pancetta to our pesto before serving anyway. This was fast, easy and tastes great.

Bacon Pesto
4 cups basil leaves
2 chopped up gloves of garlic
a handful of chopped bacon
a handful of chopped salty almonds
generous pinch of sea salt
a pour of white wine, around 1/4 cup
6 glubs of olive olive

I used my blender to puree it all together as it's always on my counter (margaritas, duh.) but a cusinart might be easier.

phootobooth inspiration

2008-08-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

I love this idea of blown-up phootobooth pictures as wall art from oijoyphoto so very much that I'm thinking of starting a photo wall project in my hallway. Instead of using old family photobooth pictures (since I don't have any of those) I'm going to crop and edit pictures of my kids to adapt the look a bit. And I'm starting with this picture of my Super H. He's a rockstar, afterall.

pretty much perfect

2008-07-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

I'm asking Santa to bring me this mug for my birthday.

LO VE

2008-06-19T11:03:00.001-07:00

I just ordered these pillow cases to give to friends who got married last summer (jeesh, talk about cutting it close to the one year window). I think they may be my new go-to wedding present. It was very hard not to throw an extra pair in the cart for me.

goodbye, preschool {well, sorta}

2008-06-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

We went to The Bean's preschool graduation this weekend, which is hysterical as he's right back there this morning, and will be, until the end of the summer when we jump feet first into The Kindergarten Era. They call it Summer Session, but it looks and tastes and smells like preschool, so while watching a bunch of five year olds collect diplomas and teddy bears was cute, aside from bookending our first foray into the world of preschool, I'm not sure just how significant it was. I think it's been fairly well documented here that I had a hard time giving over to the preschool experience. I didn't like all the rules and the inexplicable mandates. A lot of that lessened this fall when Q moved from the little kid class to the pre-K class. Suddenly, not only was his teacher talking to him like a fully formed human, shockingly! we - the parents - were being communicated with as adults. There were monthly calendars and instructions for field trips and when to bring the classroom flowers and were to put the classroom flowers when it was your turn to bring them. Not exactly life altering stuff, but extremely helpful when you're trying to get out the door in the morning with two small people screaming at you for long-lost toy cars and shoes and asking if it's the weekend yet. That being said I was in a full-on preschool-righteous-rage this past Saturday morning whilst frosting strawberry cupcakes for the big celebration as I hear The Graduate informing MAS that he can't possibly wear the "Sunday Best" clothes I shopped for instead of going to working Thursday morning - "dress them in their Sunday Best!" was most definitely printed on some very directive graduation flyer adorned with teddy bears (oh god! the teddy bears) earlier in the month. Ut-oh. Here we go. This instantly feels so very familiar. He can't wear his Sunday best because he's supposed to wear "jeans and a white button-up shirt". What?? It's 40 minutes before we have to walk out the door and I'm trying very hard not to take my frustration out on the innocent cupcakes. So unlike my pre-pre-school self, I take a deep breath (after admittedly ranting the tiniest bit to MAS) and simply focus on the cupcakes. I let MAS and The Bean figure it out. They look through the laundry basket (no luck) and look through his discarded clothes in the 4T bin in the garage (without luck) and move onto the one pair of jeans without holes in the knees that they find in his drawer and his Sunday Best! shirt and sweater over a white long-sleeved tee shirt. The logic being that he can peel off the Sunday Best! layers if, in fact, he's been instructed to wear the white shirt instead of the Sunday Best! garb. Jeebus. And brilliant. I guess we've all learned quite a bit these past two years. And since the Bean's baby brother is scheduled to march through those same preschool doors in a little less than two months, I'm pretty much ready to do this all over again. Lots smarter and calmer this time.

photobooth

2008-05-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

We're pretty big fans of photobooths. If I ever learn how to use my scanner I could prove it by posting the strips that currently line the front of our fridge. It's fun to get a handful of ones and head to the nearest photobooth. Kids love them and the pictures always have a timeless quality. We lucked out last Spring when a developer who is building a new project in our neighborhood commissioned Christopher Irion to put together one of his photobooth installations to document communities across the U.S. and create public art of the collected portraits.

The human face is really amazing. The expressions, the stories, the love all come through.

time flies

2008-04-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

...when you're having fun.

three years ago today

2008-04-21T11:24:00.000-07:00

Three years ago today I was on what would turn out to be my tenth and final full day of bedrest. The idea actually sounded lots better than the reality, even to a confirmed couch potato like me. I was having contractions and had been for almost two days. I was worried I was messing up the whole stop-watch timing thing and would end up giving birth alone in the bedroom with a rerun of The Gilmore Girls in the background. There was math involved so I was right to be worried. I was watching the Vatican window on tv, waiting for the damn white smoke. I was emailing my three aunts who were so dialed-in to my routine of doing nothing that they all knew I'd gone into real labor and left for the hospital the next morning once I stopped instantly replying to their emails. Three years ago today I was the mother of one just turned two-year old. I was worried I wouldn't love a new baby as much as I loved the one that had lived with us for a few years and who I'd just recently gotten used to. Three years ago I was 33 years old and didn't know what it meant to literally be born to be someone's mother. The Cutie Q always seemed to be on autopilot, almost like he knew better than we did what he needed and what would soothe him. All we had to do was listen and learn. Three years ago today I didn't know that I wouldn't meet this baby until the morning after he was born because he spent his first night in the NICU and I was too dizzy to get myself there. I didn't yet know that he would be a he or that he would be pulled from me blue and stay that way for too long to think about it now without crying. I didn't yet know that he'd teach me that I had the ability to light up a room just by entering it. I didn't know that this baby, my second son, would think I hung the moon just for him. I didn't know that he'd have my eyes, which it turns out are my Gram's eyes too and that I'd think of her often when he smiles and they turn down ever so slightly. I didn't know that our family of three wasn't complete without him. I just didn't know. How could I have possibly known how much more love was out there?

the really hard questions

2008-04-12T22:11:00.000-07:00

Q (age 5): Mama, why is a pajama party only for girls?
Me (age 37):

new house numbers for an old house

2008-04-10T15:18:00.000-07:00

As soon as we complete our condo conversion process in this wacky little city, I'm thinking a celebratory gift to the house might be in order. We've spent months and months writing checks for work that nobody will ever see - patching holes in the ceiling of the garage, building a strange concrete step at the bottom of our back stairs and grounding billions of outlets - all in the name of bringing things up to code in our two-flat 100+ year old Victorian. This is on top of paying lawyers and permit fees and on and on. Just off the top of my head I can think of three thousand things I would have rather spent so much time and money on. A back deck would have been very enjoyable. New windows to replace the original windows in a house full of windows. New sod in the tiny patch of spotty grass in the backyard. New window coverings to replace the levolor blinds I swore the day we bought the house would be the first thing to go {hello two years later!}. You know, things that actual people, not just City inspectors would notice. Things that I would notice and that would bring complete joy and happiness to my family and our TIC partners downstairs who also have small children who seem to always needs things. Like shoes and food. So, to celebrate when this is all behind us I think we'll modernize the ugly brass house numbers that currently adorn the front stairs with these beauties. I can't wait.

view from my front window

2008-04-07T13:03:00.000-07:00

Eye Candy

2008-04-04T16:09:00.000-07:00

If I had an extra thousand bucks sitting in a fun money account somewhere, this is the first place I'd go. The colors in every one of these Craig Kanarick Eye Candy series are spectacular. I think I'll just go ahead and lick the computer screen in the meantime.

enjoy.

Mr. Five

2008-03-28T10:58:00.000-07:00

I was recently reminded that your birth five years ago had the very unintentional effect of freaking me the hell out. I simply wasn't prepared for the upheaval. And all the love. And the need - how much you needed us and how much we needed you. We made so many mistakes around you. Nothing that I would classify as an actual mistake with you because then you wouldn't be you. And you my friend, are incredible. You pretty much started talking right around your first birthday and haven't stopped since. You remember everything and you are so certain. Yesterday you told me that an orange was a vegetable and when I tried to disagree, this: "Yes, it is, Mama. You're wrong." Okay, then. I just don't care enough about how we classify an orange to trifle with that fierce sense of certainty. I fear that life will do enough of that without my early intervention in this area. You've been obsessed with little toys cars from the minute you could grasp one in your hand. Buses on the street have never been met with a more enthusiastic admirer than you. Oh! those lucky buses to bask in your affection. It's genuine and real and people (and buses) literally delight in it. This Fall you will start kindergarten and you are very ready. Preschool has been mastered. You walk around saying hi to people and checking-in on the progress of little siblings - "oh! he's getting very big!" - like you own the joint. You know which car in the parking lot belongs to which family and it's you who spots and greets the parents we should recognize in the grocery store. You weigh 39 pounds and eat next to nothing. Milk remains its own food group in your world. The irony of going from a tiny infant who was so allergic to the dairy that was slipping through the breast milk that it was causing you to bleed internally is not lost on me as I stop for the third time in a week to pick up yet another gallon of milk for you. Candy holds little to no value for you, but we can make you do almost anything with the promise of french fries. You can name the planets in their proper alignment to the sun and know far more than I about why Pluto is no longer included in this list. There are still times when you ask to climb over the front seat and snuggle a little before we walk into school in the morning, but these requests happen less frequently these days. Most of the time, you are ready and prepared to face your day and when I ask you for a hug and a kiss you still comply readily. As I turn around at the door on my way out I smile and tell you to have fun and every single day you reply "you have fun at work too, Mama." I love that. I really do.

You are the best company a person could ask for. I am so happy to sit back and bask in your five-year-old glow. It's really and truly one of my greatest pleasures.

I just bought these without thinking

2008-03-27T10:02:00.001-07:00

Saw them, grabbed them and walked directly to the cash register to pay for them and bring them home with me. I'm not entirely sure what made me fall in love with these plates so instantly. All I know is that I do love them and can't wait for a reason to use them.

Looking back, I think it might have been the honey bear that did it.

Do people know about this???

2008-03-21T09:59:00.000-07:00

Are you aware that there's a place of awesomeness where a person can borrow any book their little heart desires. For free? This magical place is quiet and welcomes children and sends you kind emails to tell you that "hey! you've kept our book too long, would you like to keep it for a few more weeks? No, problem. Thanks for letting us know. You can give us the 20 cents we're going to penalize you for pretty much ignoring us whenever it's convenient for you." Damn. How on earth did I manage to forget about the library for so many years? I don't even want to contemplate the money I've wasted over the last few decades buying books. I'm a reader. I read a lot. I think at one point post-college the vague idea of the library as a place to get books rather than to cram for finals must have crossed my mind and I'm pretty sure the germaphobe that lives inside me pushed that idea away just as quickly. But now that I'm a parent (ie: broke and pretty much covered in germs anyway) the library seems downright dreamy. Here's how it works in my world: First, I walked into my neighborhood library and produced my driver's license and was handed a library card. duh. Then I established on online account where, get this - I reserve every and any book that might slightly catch my interest and then! the library elves find said books and TRANSFER them to my neighborhood library which triggers an extremely nice email notification that my books are ready to be picked up. It's seriously Christmas everyday. You should do this. Perhaps you already are. If so, you're about 100 times smarter than me and probably have a really nice savings account where I, on the other hand, have a bunch of books sitting in boxes in my garage.

the dog days of toddlerhood

2008-03-19T10:26:00.000-07:00

My baby is almost three. On the nights when he can't fall asleep and the music on the side of his crib has been turned on and off and on and off - the toddler equivalent of counting sheep - and he finally starts crying for me in sleepy frustration, I go into his room to see what the matter might be. His room still smells vaguely of baby. One part baby powder (even though we never used baby powder), one part Pampers (even though we never used Pampers) and one part milk (even though nursing is long over). On these nights I sit in the rocking chair with this little boy clinging to me and try and tell myself to remember this feeling. It won't be long and this room will smell all-boy and this boy won't consider sitting quietly with his mama an option in any way. On these nights I try to somehow physically pour love into his little solid frame and to let that part of him that is still mine seep into me. Just to stow away all that love to last me during the times when I might not be his favorite person. Love that will sustain us both during the silent years. Those years when I won't know exactly what he's feeling and needing every second of the day, usually me. Just to sit with him and be still.

I'm so loving....

2008-03-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

I am LOVING this hand soap. It's foamy and antibacterial and smells delish. In case you don't know me in real life I am, in fact, the kind of person who will STALK the three different Target's within driving distance looking for my brand (and preferred scent - orange in this case) of hand soap. We've also taken to stuffing the hand sanitizer in every pocket and bag we own. Alcohol-free, non-toxic people! And such lovely, lovely simple packaging.

water soothes small people

2008-03-14T14:27:00.000-07:00

Why do I always forget just how mezmorizing an effect water has on my kids? It doesn't matter if it's the ocean, a pool, rain, the bathtub or simply streaming out of the hose. Water is instant fun and calm and happy. I don't know why this is so surprising. Water has the exact same effect on me.

happy valentine's day

2008-02-14T10:36:00.001-08:00

Valentine's Day does seem a little sweeter with kids around. More genuine. Truer somehow. I bought these little valentines for The Bean this year and, god love him, he sat and wrote on the back of each one. It was something to behold, his determination and pride. This kid is so ready for kindergarten and I still look at him and wonder where the time has gone. Where did this amazing little human come from? And since we are madly, deeply in love with spinkles at our house, we made lots of heart cookies too. The majority of these got wrapped up in parchment paper and stuck inside little bags for The Buddah to bring to his child care peeps. It was fun and colorful and sweet.

{happy day of toddler sugar rushes to you too.}

someone way smarter than me

2008-02-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

Found this through a friend, originally posted at The Woman's Media Center, a group I admittedly know nothing about, but this articulates so much of what I've been feeling about this Democratic primary. {Full disclosure: I'll enthusiastically support whoever is the Demo nominee.} And yes, like so many other people, this gave me goose bumps. But truthfully, I simply can not NOT vote for a qualified democratic woman for President and have been so dismayed by the amount of vitriol aimed at Hillary Clinton. I just don't get it.

This inspired me (and gave me goose bumps - so there, BO kool-aid drinkers). Copied here for your pursual and thoughts.

Goodbye To All That (#2)
by Robin Morgan
February 2, 2008

Goodbye To All That” was my (in)famous 1970 essay breaking free from a politics of accommodation especially affecting women (for an online version, see http://blog.fair-use.org/category/chicago/).

During my decades in civil-rights, anti-war, and contemporary women’s movements, I’ve avoided writing another specific “Goodbye . . .” But not since the suffrage struggle have two communities—joint conscience-keepers of this country—been so set in competition, as the contest between Hillary Rodham Clinton (HRC) and Barack Obama (BO) unfurls. So.

Goodbye to the double standard . . .

—Hillary is too ballsy but too womanly, a Snow Maiden who’s emotional, and so much a politician as to be unfit for politics.

—She’s “ambitious” but he shows “fire in the belly.” (Ever had labor pains?)—When a sexist idiot screamed “Iron my shirt!” at HRC, it was considered amusing; if a racist idiot shouted “Shine my shoes!” at BO, it would’ve inspired hours of airtime and pages of newsprint analyzing our national dishonor.

—Young political Kennedys—Kathleen, Kerry, and Bobby Jr.—all endorsed Hillary. Senator Ted, age 76, endorsed Obama. If the situation were reversed, pundits would snort “See? Ted and establishment types back her, but the forward-looking generation backs him.” (Personally, I’m unimpressed with Caroline’s longing for the Return of the Fathers. Unlike the rest of the world, Americans have short memories. Me, I still recall Marilyn Monroe’s suicide, and a dead girl named Mary Jo Kopechne in Chappaquiddick.)

Goodbye to the toxic viciousness . . .

Carl Bernstein's disgust at Hillary’s “thick ankles.” Nixon-trickster Roger Stone’s new Hillary-hating 527 group, “Citizens United Not Timid” (check the capital letters). John McCain answering “How do we beat the bitch?" with “Excellent question!” Would he have dared reply similarly to “How do we beat the black bastard?” For shame.

Goodbye to the HRC nutcracker with metal spikes between splayed thighs. If it was a tap-dancing blackface doll, we would be righteously outraged—and they would not be selling it in airports. Shame.

Goodbye to the most intimately violent T-shirts in election history, including one with the murderous slogan “If Only Hillary had married O.J. Instead!” Shame.

Goodbye to Comedy Central’s “Southpark” featuring a storyline in which terrorists secrete a bomb in HRC’s vagina. I refuse to wrench my brain down into the gutter far enough to find a race-based comparison. For shame.

Goodbye to the sick, malicious idea that this is funny. This is not “Clinton hating,” not “Hillary hating.” This is sociopathic woman-hating. If it were about Jews, we would recognize it instantly as anti-Semitic propaganda; if about race, as KKK poison. Hell, PETA would go ballistic if such vomitous spew were directed at animals. Where is our sense of outrage—as citizens, voters, Americans?

Goodbye to the news-coverage target-practice . . .

The women’s movement and Media Matters wrung an apology from MSNBC’s Chris Matthews for relentless misogynistic comments (www.womensmediacenter.com). But what about NBC’s Tim Russert’s continual sexist asides and his all-white-male panels pontificating on race and gender? Or CNN’s Tony Harris chuckling at “the chromosome thing” while interviewing a woman from The White House Project? And that’s not even mentioning Fox News.

Goodbye to pretending the black community is entirely male and all women are white . . .

Surprise! Women exist in all opinions, pigmentations, ethnicities, abilities, sexual preferences, and ages—not only African American and European American but Latina and Native American, Asian American and Pacific Islanders, Arab American and—hey, every group, because a group wouldn’t exist if we hadn’t given birth to it. A few non-racist countries may exist—but sexism is everywhere. No matter how many ways a woman breaks free from other discriminations, she remains a female human being in a world still so patriarchal that it’s the “norm.”

So why should all women not be as justly proud of our womanhood and the centuries, even millennia, of struggle that got us this far, as black Americans, women and men, are justly proud of their struggles?

Goodbye to a campaign where he has to pass as white (which whites—especially wealthy ones—adore), while she has to pass as male (which both men and women demanded of her, and then found unforgivable). If she were blackor he were female we wouldn’t be having such problems, and I for one would be in heaven. But at present such a candidate wouldn’t stand a chance—even if she shared Condi Rice’s Bush-defending politics.

I was celebrating the pivotal power at last focused on African American women deciding on which of two candidates to bestow their vote—until a number of Hillary-supporting black feminists told me they’re being called “race traitors.”

So goodbye to conversations about this nation’s deepest scar—slavery—which fail to acknowledge that labor- and sexual-slavery exist today in the U.S. and elsewhere on this planet, and the majority of those enslaved are women.

Women have endured sex/race/ethnic/religious hatred, rape and battery, invasion of spirit and flesh, forced pregnancy; being the majority of the poor, the illiterate, the disabled, of refugees, caregivers, the HIV/AIDS afflicted, the powerless. We have survived invisibility, ridicule, religious fundamentalisms, polygamy, teargas, forced feedings, jails, asylums, sati, purdah, female genital mutilation, witch burnings, stonings, and attempted gynocides. We have tried reason, persuasion, reassurances, and being extra-qualified, only to learn it never was about qualifications after all. We know that at this historical moment women experience the world differently from men—though not all the same as one another—and can govern differently, from Elizabeth Tudor to Michele Bachelet and Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.

We remember when Shirley Chisholm and Patricia Schroeder ran for this high office and barely got past the gate—they showed too much passion, raised too little cash, were joke fodder. Goodbye to all that. (And goodbye to some feminists so famished for a female president they were even willing to abandon women’s rights in backing Elizabeth Dole.)

Goodbye, goodbye to . . .

—blaming anything Bill Clinton does on Hillary (even including his womanizing like the Kennedy guys—though unlike them, he got reported on). Let’s get real. If he hadn’t campaigned strongly for her everyone would cluck over what that meant. Enough of Bill and Teddy Kennedy locking their alpha male horns while Hillary pays for it.

—an era when parts of the populace feel so disaffected by politics that a comparative lack of knowledge, experience, and skill is actually seen as attractive, when celebrity-culture mania now infects our elections so that it’s “cooler” to glow with marquee charisma than to understand the vast global complexities of power on a nuclear, wounded planet.

—the notion that it’s fun to elect a handsome, cocky president who feels he can learn on the job, goodbye to George W. Bush and the destruction brought by his inexperience, ignorance, and arrogance. Goodbye to the accusation that HRC acts “entitled” when she’s worked intensely at everything she’s done—including being a nose-to-the-grindstone, first-rate senator from my state.

Goodbye to her being exploited as a Rorschach test by women who reduce her to a blank screen on which they project their own fears, failures, fantasies.

Goodbye to the phrase “polarizing figure” to describe someone who embodies the transitions women have made in the last century and are poised to make in this one. It was the women’s movement that quipped, “We are becoming the men we wanted to marry.” She heard us, and she has.

Goodbye to some women letting history pass by while wringing their hands, because Hillary isn’t as “likeable” as they’ve been warned they must be, or because she didn’t leave him, couldn’t “control” him, kept her family together and raised a smart, sane daughter. (Think of the blame if Chelsea had ever acted in the alcoholic, neurotic manner of the Bush twins!) Goodbye to some women pouting because she didn’t bake cookies or she did, sniping because she learned the rules and then bent or broke them. Grow the hell up. She is not running for Ms.-perfect-pure-queen-icon of the feminist movement. She’s running to be president of the United States.

Goodbye to the shocking American ignorance of our own and other countries’ history. Margaret Thatcher and Golda Meir rose through party ranks and war, positioning themselves as proto-male leaders. Almost all other female heads of government so far have been related to men of power—granddaughters, daughters, sisters, wives, widows: Gandhi, Bandaranike, Bhutto, Aquino, Chamorro, Wazed, Macapagal-Arroyo, Johnson Sirleaf, Bachelet, Kirchner, and more. Even in our “land of opportunity,” it’s mostly the first pathway “in” permitted to women: Representatives Doris Matsui and Mary Bono and Sala Burton; Senator Jean Carnahan . . . far too many to list here.

Goodbye to a misrepresented generational divide . . .

Goodbye to the so-called spontaneous “Obama Girl” flaunting her bikini-clad ass online—then confessing Oh yeah it wasn’t her idea after all, some guys got her to do it and dictated the clothes, which she said “made me feel like a dork.”

Goodbye to some young women eager to win male approval by showing they’re not feminists (at least not the kind who actually threaten thestatus quo), who can’t identify with a woman candidate because she is unafraid of eeueweeeu yucky power, who fear their boyfriends might look at them funny if they say something good about her. Goodbye to women of any age again feeling unworthy, sulking “what if she’s not electable?” or “maybe it’s post-feminism and whoooosh we’re already free.” Let a statement by the magnificent Harriet Tubman stand as reply. When asked how she managed to save hundreds of enslaved African Americans via the Underground Railroad during the Civil War, she replied bitterly, “I could have saved thousands—if only I’d been able to convince them they were slaves.”

I’d rather say a joyful Hello to all the glorious young women who do identifywith Hillary, and all the brave, smart men—of all ethnicities and any age—who get that it’s in their self-interest, too. She’s better qualified. (D’uh.) She’s a high-profile candidate with an enormous grasp of foreign- and domestic-policy nuance, dedication to detail, ability to absorb staggering insult and personal pain while retaining dignity, resolve, even humor, and keep on keeping on. (Also, yes, dammit, let’s hear it for her connections and funding and party-building background, too. Obama was awfully glad about those when she raised dough and campaigned for him to get to the Senate in the first place.)

I’d rather look forward to what a good president he might make in eight years, when his vision and spirit are seasoned by practical know-how—and he’ll be all of 54. Meanwhile, goodbye to turning him into a shining knight when actually he’s an astute, smooth pol with speechwriters who’ve worked with the Kennedys’ own speechwriter-courtier Ted Sorenson. If it’s only about ringing rhetoric, let speechwriters run. But isn’t it about getting the policies we want enacted?

And goodbye to the ageism . . .

How dare anyone unilaterally decide when to turn the page on history, papering over real inequities and suffering constituencies in the promise of a feel-good campaign? How dare anyone claim to unify while dividing, or think that to rouse U.S. youth from torpor it’s useful to triage the single largest demographic in this country’s history: the boomer generation—the majority of which is female?

Old woman are the one group that doesn’t grow more conservative with age—and we are the generation of radicals who said “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” Goodbye to going gently into any goodnight any man prescribes for us. We are the women who changed the reality of the United States. And though we never went away, brace yourselves: we’re back!

We are the women who brought this country equal credit, better pay, affirmative action, the concept of a family-focused workplace; the women who established rape-crisis centers and battery shelters, marital-rape and date-rape laws; the women who defended lesbian custody rights, who fought for prison reform, founded the peace and environmental movements; who insisted that medical research include female anatomy; who inspired men to become more nurturing parents; who created women’s studies and Title IX so we all could cheer the WNBA stars and Mia Hamm. We are the women who reclaimed sexuality from violent pornography, who put childcare on the national agenda, who transformed demographics, artistic expression, language itself. We are the women who forged a worldwide movement. We are the proud successors of women who, though it took more than 50 years, won us the vote.

We are the women who now comprise the majority of U.S. voters.

Hillary said she found her own voice in New Hampshire. There’s not a woman alive who, if she’s honest, doesn’t recognize what she means. Then HRC got drowned out by campaign experts, Bill, and media’s obsession with everything Bill.

So listen to her voice:

“For too long, the history of women has been a history of silence. Even today, there are those who are trying to silence our words.

“It is a violation of human rights when babies are denied food, or drowned, or suffocated, or their spines broken, simply because they are born girls. It is a violation of human rights when woman and girls are sold into the slavery of prostitution. It is a violation of human rights when women are doused with gasoline, set on fire and burned to death because their marriage dowries are deemed too small. It is a violation of human rights when individual women are raped in their own communities and when thousands of women are subjected to rape as a tactic or prize of war. It is a violation of human rights when a leading cause of death worldwide along women ages 14 to 44 is the violence they are subjected to in their own homes. It is a violation of human rights when women are denied the right to plan their own families, and that includes being forced to have abortions or being sterilized against their will.

“Women’s rights are human rights. Among those rights are the right to speak freely—and the right to be heard.”

That was Hillary Rodham Clinton defying the U.S. State Department and the Chinese Government at the 1995 UN World Conference on Women in Beijing (look here for the full, stunning speech).

And this voice, age 21, in “Commencement Remarks of Hillary D. Rodham, President of Wellesley College Government Association, Class of 1969.”

“We are, all of us, exploring a world none of us understands. . . . searching for a more immediate, ecstatic, and penetrating mode of living. . . . [for the] integrity, the courage to be whole, living in relation to one another in the full poetry of existence. The struggle for an integrated life existing in an atmosphere of communal trust and respect is one with desperately important political and social consequences. . . . Fear is always with us, but we just don't have time for it.”

She ended with the commitment “to practice, with all the skill of our being: the art of making possible.”

And for decades, she’s been learning how.

So goodbye to Hillary’s second-guessing herself. The real question is deeper than her re-finding her voice. Can we women find ours? Can we do this for ourselves?

“Our President, Ourselves!”

Time is short and the contest tightening. We need to rise in furious energy—as we did when Anita Hill was so vilely treated in the U.S. Senate, as we did when Rosie Jiminez was butchered by an illegal abortion, as we did and do for women globally who are condemned for trying to break through. We need to win, this time. Goodbye to supporting HRC tepidly, with ambivalent caveats and apologetic smiles. Time to volunteer, make phone calls, send emails, donate money, argue, rally, march, shout, vote.

Me? I support Hillary Rodham because she’s the best qualified of all candidates running in both parties. I support her because her progressive politics are as strong as her proven ability to withstand what will be a massive right-wing assault in the general election. I support her because she knows how to get us out of Iraq. I support her because she’s refreshingly thoughtful, and I’m bloodied from eight years of a jolly “uniter” with ejaculatory politics. I needn’t agree with her on every point. I agree with the 97 percent of her positions that are identical with Obama’s—and the few where hers are both more practical and to the left of his (like health care). I support her because she’s already smashed the first-lady stereotype and made history as a fine senator, because I believe she will continue to make history not only as the first US woman president, but as a great US president.

As for the “woman thing”?

Me, I’m voting for Hillary not because she’s a woman—but because I am.
________________________________

{me too}.
pixie sticks

what's another $32 (plus s+h)?

2008-02-08T15:21:00.000-08:00

I think this quilt would look great folded up at the foot of my bed. And for just $32 this little splash of whimsy and color seems like a veritable bargin.

eye candy

2008-02-01T11:19:00.000-08:00

April Reed gorgeousness found via Oh Happy Day and now I'm going to have to sit and stare at these all day long to figure out how to deconstruct and create these little gems on my own.

just perfect in every.single.way.

so, these boots

2008-01-30T11:37:00.000-08:00

So these are dreamy, right? Oh boy, how I dream of these boots. But, for $230? Someone should (and probably will) beat me upside the head for dreaming of these boots.

So, I better get these. Although they only have my clown size in the "Army" color.

Oh, what to do?

birthday tees

2008-01-24T12:02:00.000-08:00

I started an informal birthday tradition for the smallies at my house. The last few years I've splurged on a birthday tee for each birthday boy. They've ranged from this little monkey tee by the fabulous egg press to this buddha belly tee for my buddha baby. For the 2008 birthday season I've settled on these two. I'm not sure my soon-to-be five and three year olds really care at this point, but I love that each tee marks a favorite animal or a nickname of the moment and tells a tiny story of what each kid is fascinated with as they start a new year.

Mr. Five (in March):

Mr. Three (in April):

advent activities :: 2007

2007-12-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

This year we actually came up with 24 activities and I actually printed them out (in red & green! so festive I am) and put them into the little match box advent calendar I made last year.

The pretty little boxes that last year sat around pretty & empty.

So, yay! me.

1 :: watch The Muppet’s Christmas Carol

2 :: get christmas tree

3 :: decorate christmas tree

4 :: hot chocolate with all the fixings

5 :: sing-along with Charlie Brown Christmas carols

6 :: watch A Charlie Brown’s Christmas

7 :: watch Happy Feet in penguin pjs

8 :: hang Christmas lights on the porch

9 :: make Christmas cookies

10 :: write lists for Santa

11 :: donate food in bins at preschool

12 :: make red & green paper chains

13 :: go shopping for toys to donate

14 :: eat chocolate beans

15 :: hang up gumdrop wreath

16 :: go see santa!

17 :: watch Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer in (in ruldolph noses)

18 :: set up train around tree

19 :: go out for pizza

20 :: drive around looking at Christmas lights in pjs

21 :: make pancakes for dinner

22 :: find the North Pole on the map

23 :: hang stockings

24 :: put out cookies for santa and carrots for reindeer

It's a bit tv/food/commercial-aspects-of-Christmas heavy (ie: jesus-free), but I can live with that.

note to self ::

2007-11-21T18:25:00.001-08:00

just to file away for those days when you feel useless and incompetent :: You're a resourceful genius who never lets the clown run out of sprinkles.

Tonight I'm thankful for sprinkles and the pure joy they bring my kids and the joy I take in their delight. My house. This house that we fought so hard to make our own and that challenges us to plant roots and plan for and implement projects and to grow. To grow as providers, as nurturers, as collectors and as appreciators. For friends who make me laugh and swear and remember and feel young and unencumbered and less alone in the world of parenting small humans. MAS who lets me "sleep in" until 8 o'clock on some weekend mornings and chases little boys so I don't have to. For wine that dulls the chaos and questioning. A job that makes me think and scream and plot and still be able to leave early to pick up a kids most nights. For toy cars and tivo'd Mister Rogers that buy me time. For toddler shrieks and kisses that make it all makes sense. And my camera. My camera forces me to stop and see and remember and take it all in.

Happy Thanksgiving.

a little bit funny

2007-11-17T19:46:00.000-08:00

The Bean: So, does Santa bring A LOT of presents for us??

MAS and I turn and look at each other. MAS says something under her breath along the lines of "we need to figure out what the right answer is..."

US: Well, you know... Santa brings more presents than you get on a regular day ** and/or** three...or...four.

Me: you know what!? you should make a list and Santa will review it as soon as Thanksgiving is over.

The Bean: okay. How do you spell cars?

oh yeah right, like we hadn't already thought of that.

living in my head

2007-11-16T14:33:00.000-08:00

I work at a place where it's pretty obvious when it's holiday or vacation season. I see families getting ready to brave countless hours on an airplane with small children on a daily basis. Going to visit family and friends in far away places. What usually strikes me is how incredibly cheerful they look. And that's where it all starts to go downhill for me.

"Why can't I feel like that?"
"Why do my small children leave me acting so harried and unkind?"
"God! What must people think of me looking so surly and tired?"
"I'll bet that woman has a great relationship with her mom and and is really looking forward to a nice, long Thanksgiving visit."
"I suck."

And on and on and on. It all starts in my head and makes me fantasize about a fictional family caroling together in a perfect little snow globe world. There they are, preparing to fling across the county toward a loving supportive family who thoroughly enjoys and appreciates time together with turkey and peppermint eggnog and roaring fires that kids don't try and touch and christmas tress that don't topple over when the cat plays with an ornament. While the reality in all these cases may be much closer to my experience than I allow myself to believe, it often feels like I'm the only one negotiating with their spouse down to the minute how long we'll stay for a holiday dinner or crying in frustration that the scotch tape keeps folding over on itself while I'm attempting to play Santa at midnight. Why do I torture myself with visions of how easy and enjoyable it must be for everyone but me? The truth is my kids are really pretty great and can't be blamed for my current state of mind. They're happy and healthy and for the most part, put up with me and my demands for photos, kisses and quiet every now and then. And their hair smells so amazing that I should just shut up and sniff one of their heads for awhile. Right?

you're sure of a big surprise.

2007-09-27T14:51:00.000-07:00

Today was the annual Teddy Bear Picnic at The Bean's often-malinged preschool. Last year we were still in such a state of transition about whether we could actually take a whole year of this school and all their rules that I truly couldn't bring myself to go. This year I dragged myself and my camera and managed to enjoy myself. The simple fact of the matter is that kids are just better behaved, and therefore exponentially more adorable, when someone other than their parents is in charge. This year I didn't get all caught up on what to bring as our contribution to the picnic treats and what whatever we brought said about us. This year MAS had the brilliant idea of letting Q chose what to bring to feed the teddy bears and - in what I'm hoping is the next phase of parenting for us - he chose more quickly, effortlessly and appropriately then we ever could. This year I hid behind my camera and took pictures of preschoolers marching along a little hiking path and running around a field scattered with blankets with stuffed animals perched atop. This year I decided not to talk with anyone about where they're looking to put their little future-mensa members in kindergarten next year and what homemade halloween costume they're going to whip up in the evenings while I watch tv and order something online for six-times the cost. This year I hung out with my 4 year old who all of the sudden seems so big and so sure.

I have lots to learn from him.

summers end

2007-09-06T10:52:00.001-07:00

Even though I work full time and summer is not all that different from any other season here - we still careen about getting out the door most mornings, laundry gets done, kids need new shoes, my desk at work continues to pile high with things that require attention - I still feel sad when it's over. It's almost like somewhere deep in my brain or bones is the memory of what real summer was - floating in a pool for hours :: being barefoot for three months straight :: sleeping late and waking up to an empty house, parents long gone to work :: smelling like coconut oil - and just how much it sucked when it ended and feet needed to be crammed back into shoes and tans faded. We had a nice summer. We spent time in the backyard watering tomatoes and watching over rose bushes. We managed a vacation, got outside and ate lots of popsicles. The Bean learned to really swim and my Baby Buddha has officially turned into a little boy. Almost all traces of baby are long gone. We're lucky that living in San Francisco entitles us to two more months of sunshine. September and October really is summer in this city, but it feels somehow out of whack knowing that friends and family back east are pulling out sweaters and getting ready to crunch through orange leaves. Time to start thinking about Halloween costumes.

you should make this tonight.

2007-07-30T10:54:00.001-07:00

I've deconstructed it here.

portrait of a summer, so far.

2007-07-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

seriously, don't stand so close to me.

2007-06-14T16:37:00.000-07:00

I went to The Police reunion concert the other night and ended up having a great time, but not before I noticed that hey! by the way?? I'm too old for this. The irony was not lost on me in the moment that the last time around I was too young for this. Life's funny like that. The Oakland Coliseum was so packed you literally couldn't move around the concession concourse to get to your section until the loud nepotism band and then these jokers (2 opening bands in two too many) stopped playing and people started getting serious about finding their seats. I contemplated sitting on an old water fountain to pee rather than wait in a line for the women's restroom that would have meant missing my four year old leave for college it was so long.

I loved The Police as a kid. I was in the sixth grade the last time they toured and my parents just couldn't be persuaded that missing the Synchronicity tour would most definitely ruin my life. But that didn't stop me from watching all 20 hours of Live Aid to just to see them on tv or writing my History of Music report on The Police complete with blue, yellow and red scrawl in crayon (crayon!) across the front cover. So even though I've pretty much sworn off concerts because I'm tired and tragically unhip (example: I went straight from work and never really got around to throwing a change of clothes in my bag before leaving that morning so I'm pretty sure I was the only person there in patent leather ballet flats) I dragged my ass to Oakland to watch drunk old men sing Roxanne (fellow concert-goers, not the band) and cruise the merchandise table looking for a 2T concert shirt. Yet, in between all this I did seriously manage to enjoy a few cocktails with my sister and listen to old guys (the band) play some great music. Plus, the songs completely stand up after all these years and those guys worked their asses off to entertain. I had fun and that 11 year old dork with her History of Music report clutched in her hands was so happy.

summer reading

2007-06-12T13:22:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I have the working-parent equivalent of Summer Slide. I know I must have read a few novels in the last four years since the first of the smallies moved in, but for the life of me I cannot name one at the moment. This is pretty sad for someone who counts reading to be one of her most valued special skills along with the one where I manage to pick up the most expensive and beautiful card on any display without fail even though I realize spending $8 on a card is absurd. I swear, I'd mention something along the lines of "has the ability to chose and appreciate great books and read them while blow drying her hair, hiding under desk at work and whilst waiting at stop lights" on my resume if I believed anyone other than me thought that was in the slightest way extraordinary.

So, it's worth mentioning that I just read two books (thank you solo trip to Chicago) that I loved and reminded me that when you love a book you stay up past midnight reading it instead of falling asleep in front of reruns on tv.

I realize I must be the only person with an Amazon login who hadn't yet read this one. I almost passed it by after seeing everyone on the street and my mother-in-law carrying it around. Yeah, except that I ended up loving it. If you haven't read it, don't get all the Oprah-book-club-seal-makes-me-autmoatically-hate-it on me. It's good and thoughtful and makes you hungry for pasta. All in all, worth reading for that fact alone. And then there's The Girls, by Lori Lansens, another one I almost skiped becasue I got an alert from Amazon that since I loved A Gracious Plenty (a favorite from pre-kid days) and other people who loved a Gracious Plenty LOVED (and bought) The Girls that I should too. It was quirky and thoughtful and dark and sweet. Just right.

tv girl

2007-05-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

Apparently, sombody(s) out there loves The Gilmore Girls even more than me. Seems unfathomable when you consider how I could have gone to graduate school with the time I've spent watching all the GG reruns stored on my DVR. Check it out.

flickr pressure (and a confession)

2007-04-13T12:07:00.000-07:00

Jeesh. I am a highly persuadable person, apparently. It's not uncommon for me to immediately purchase something after seeing it on someone else's site, but I've officially hit a new level of contagion.

I've had Starbursts for lunch three days in a row and it's all because of this.

it's not you. it's me.

2007-03-22T10:55:00.000-07:00

Well, it's a little bit you (as is always the case whenever this phrase is used). Sometimes writing here feels a bit like screaming into the abyss. But mostly it's me. I'm just not motivated to post much right now. When it flows it feels incredibly cathartic to articulate how I'm feeling about kids, parents, preschool, laundry...whatever. But I'm just not feeling it right now. The home computer hard drive died and I've done something to the settings on my camera that won't let me take a picture that isn't fuzzy. But it's Spring and I bought a new bag (okay, I'll admit here that I have a bag fetish, not in real life, just here so let's not bring it up again, okay? okay.) and the kids winter-long coughs have turned from hacking to dry and we've entered the birthday season at our house (3 birthdays in 2 months) so cupcakes are sure to be abundant.

the opposite of going to the park

2007-02-15T14:54:00.000-08:00

I love bathtime. Please don't misunderstand, I relish the nights when it's mas' turn to wrangle slippery little bathers and monitor the output of water being splashed all over the floor. But when it's my turn I thouroughly enjoy it. I've mentioned before that I don't exactly play well with other parents. I avoid the playground if at all possible and definitely don't attempt to chat with the other parental types when I'm forced to bring my kids to the park for some fresh air (or drop them off at preschool every morning). Inevitably, I find myself infuriated at something another parent is doing that annoys me or makes me feel less than superior in my parenting skills. I've been known to make a comment (or fourteen) to mas in a tone (and at a volume) of voice that makes her want to bury me in the sand. Let's face it folks, you park parents really bug me.

But bathtime is a solitary parenting experience. I get to play with my kids while serving the greater purpose of making them smell like heaven on earth - all without the annoyance of other parents comparing their toddler's ability to do long division with the fact that my kid mostly likes to eat sand.

No judgement, no seething, just fun. All mine.

perfect peace

2007-01-25T22:23:00.000-08:00

There's this place :: This place right between being awake and being asleep :: Almost every night :: After everyone else is sleeping :: It's quiet. Really quiet (thank fucking god), and I have big decisions to make. Should I take a bath? read? watch something mindless on TV?

My God, the leisure of it. That's the thing – it’s downright leisurely. I don't worry about my list of things to do, all the missed expectations, the loss, the laundry. Most nights it's all of 30 minutes. But it's mine and it’s silent and I need it and look forward to it when things are noisy and out of control. This time: I really do appreciate it and it makes me better able to cope with life.

This life.
My life.

blech!

2007-01-22T11:16:00.000-08:00

ONE of the things I find amazing about parenting my two small humans is the incredibly strange phenonmon of trying to convince them of the value and perfectness of things that are good for them that I myself would never contemplate doing. Let's start with the food. Things like peas, yams, yogurt, whole milk, oatmeal and carrots. Whenever any of these things are ingested by the smallies, even in the teensiest of amounts, I feel a wonderful sense of satisfaction. That I am indeed equipped to keep these fellas alive, and in the best case scenario healthy, happy and well-adjusted. This sense of satisfaction is tinged with a slight feeling of hypocrisy however, as I myself feel the following to be true: Peas are disgusting and should make any sane person gag. Yams are all wrong, the consistency, the density - just plain wrong. Yogurt smells like bad breath. Whole milk is altogether too thick and white. Oatmeal looks like wet cement (or worse) and carrots are okay as long as they are raw, cold and dipped in something...like peanut butter. And that's just the food.

As someone who strives for a healthy amount of self-awareness in life, how can I smugly justify making them go to bed early on a Sunday night so they'll be ready to start their week fresh and rested, when I stay up until midnight watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs? How do I feel so emphatically that TV before naptime is bad for their brains and cookies for breakfast will be the end of the world when I, the supposed adult, use my DVR to record The Real Housewives of Orange County marathon and have been know to drive across town, completelty out of my way, just to pick up the world's most amazing almond croissant for breakfast? Just who do I think I am?

I guess it comes down to the fact that in my mind they're perfect and new. These two little creatures who have their wholes lives ahead of them. Lives that I dream about for them filled with health and emotional well-being and good clean fun and wholesome nutrition. I want them to be better than me (and clearly, they already are) and make better decisions and be stronger and wiser. And it just seems like they'll need the occasional brussel sprout to pull that off.

lunatic, heal thyself.

2007-01-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

Here are just a few things that are soothing me on this chilly Friday. I'm going to take this three day weekend to get some things in order and enjoy and take some pictures and maybe create a little something with the smallies. I'll report back on my crabbiness factor or hopefully, lack thereof, next week.

enjoy.

I'm loving these monkey cards and can't wait to see what valentine's loveliness DeMarco Designs comes up with.

Okay, so my mornings are nothing like this, but I'm really enjoying the calm light of these morning photos and maybe these quiet, powerful images will inspire me to get out of bed a little earlier and attempt to look at things differently in the mornings. Maybe.

And this. Can't.stop.watching.this and I haven't even been that much of a U2 fan since high school, but this is worth watching again and again. Plus, how can you not love a song that uses the world "rapadize" in a way that gives you goose bumps? not me.

f u n k y

2007-01-11T10:18:00.000-08:00

Every mood needs a mascot (and its own cheering section in this case). I hope you like her because I'm thinking she'll be around for awhile. And yes, I realize that I'm not so much Asian or all that little, but I like her. She's pissed off and she makes me feel better.

I'm in a funk that just won't lift. I thought for sure that once the holidays were behind me I would embrace 2007 with a genuinely refreshing new attitude. Not so. I just can't seem to get over how much I hated 2006's fucking guts. I've been on the verge of tears since New Year's Day when I truly thought magic would happen and the f u n k would lift. Instead I'm swearing like a sailor and yelling at little boys who can't seem to share their mountain of new toys or eat anything or leave me alone. There. I said it. I'm a bad mom and person but that's how I feel. I just want to be left alone. Alone to brood and mope and pout and scream and swear and rant and drink cocktails. Yet, even writing that I know this isn't who I want to be. I want to be breezier. Calmer. I want to care less that everything isn't perfect. I want it not to grate on my last shred of patience that christmas wrapping paper is still rolling around my laundry room tripping me up every time I attempt to pull yet another load of clothes from the dryer. I want to feel less enraged that I keep finding ornaments under every piece of furniture even though the one post-holiday thing I've managed to accomplish was to take down the tree. I want the back of my car not to be filled with bags and bags of things to return. Things that were bought with hard earned money by family and friends in an attempt to mark the season for my family and let us know that we're loved. Too bad it's all the wrong color, size, taste - just all wrong. And then I hate myself for having these problems. These incredibly privileged problems of mine. These are not real problems. Not to a sane person anyway.

So, please excuse me whilst I attempt to get over myself and embrace the good and the real and refocus my energy. Part of me thinks the whole "if you don't have anything nice to say..." adage should be put into affect here on pixie sticks, but the other part of me thinks nobody reads this thing anyway and hey! if you do, you've been warned right up front that I'm cranky and by the way, isn't that what blogs are for? To share (okay...vent) my feelings about my life? In the meantime, I'm fighting hard not to say this to anyone who dares to ask me how I am or wishes me a Happy New Year.

oh yeah, Happy New Year, by the way.

holiday (card) hell

2006-12-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

I swear to God, next year my holiday card is going to be all the "outtakes" I have from trying to get two smallies to actually look at the camera at the same time. I kind of like the effect of all the "mistakes" grouped together. You most definitely get a sense of each personality from the "candids". Wow. That's a lot of quotation marks there. Guess that pretty much sums up my holiday "cheer" at this point.

ho ho ho. ha ha ha.

a project

2006-11-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

This is just about the time every year when I tell myself to slow down. Enjoy. Drink it all in - the craziness and the calm. I'm thinking of a project to focus on the good stuff that does abound in my life (not that you'd ever know it from all my harping on this here blog) and I'm contemplating a little advent project. I loved advent calendars as a kid, and this was before they were filled with chocolate candies. I still prefer the versions whose doors open to little glittery pictures and snowy animals and shrubbery. But, I'm thinking of changing the concept a little. Something along the lines of dressed up small match boxes (covered with colored paper and an appropriate number) - emptied of their little sticks of fire inducing fun - and filled with a little slip of paper dictating a cheery activity or treat for my smallies.

All I can think of so far is ::
1. hot chocolate with all the fixings
2. a new toy car (can you really ever get enough of these puppies?)
3. watch a movie in pj's in the "big bed" (aka: mine)

And that's about it. 3 out of 25.

So tell me, what little rituals, goodies or traditions mark the holiday season for your families? Do tell.

the one where I explain that jury duty is sucking all my spare time (not to mention my will to live).

2006-11-16T11:11:00.000-08:00

I was required to report to jury duty last Wednesday and it's all been downhill from there. I started out as Alternate Juror No. 2 and soon became Officially Needs to Pay Attention to This Shit Juror No. 12 as soon as two brainiacs way smarter than me figured out how to get their behinds kicked off the jury for talking about the case to each other during lunch and then turned themselves in to the judge. Brilliant! Wish I would have thought of that. In between all this fun we've all been sick (kids with the barfing variety), I needed to fly to San Diego overnight for a family wedding and haven't seen the inside of my office (or laundry room) for days. I've officially decided that lots of people have way too much time on their hands and lots of lawyers will take any case just to have a place to go everyday and waste a bunch of people's time.

Yeah, I'm not enjoying my civic duty so much.

the day after my rant

2006-11-08T19:36:00.000-08:00

yay.

what a great start.

vote

2006-11-07T09:51:00.000-08:00

please note: all things political inspire me to swear more than usual.
------------------------------------
You should know that I'm not one of those people who's going to tell you that I don't care how you vote, just that you should vote. Hell no. Please only vote if you're going to do your part to make sure that we're about to witness history by making Nancy Pelosi the first woman Speaker of the House. Please only vote if you've come to realize that the current leadership in Washington - in addition to be bigoted, closed- minded fuckhats - are also driving this country into the ground and making us all hate each other in the process. I've spent my entire work-life in politics - on a campaign, for an elected official, for political organizations and in government itself, so I have a pretty realistic view of what people are capable of and all the compromise that has to occur for anything substantial to happen. How easy it is to lose any sense of inspiration. I get how in compromise lots of people end up getting really pissed off and cynical, but come on! we can do - and we deserve - so much better.

...and just in case it doesn't go the way I want tonight after the polls close, a little inspiration from someone who should be running the country:

"When shit brings you down, just say "fuck it, and eat yourself some motherfucking candy."
- Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris

Good thing this election day follows so close on the heels of Halloween and my kids are too little to know if I eat their entire pumpkins of left-over candy.

they're everywhere

2006-11-02T10:05:00.000-08:00

Toy cars liter my world. These images are a few real life snapshots I've stumbled upon recently - just a few of what could be hundreds. I find toy cars in my bed, in the shower, in my work bag, the washing machine and underfoot every day. I've literally left work early and used precious vacation hours to go home to pick them up. I probably should have gotten stitches on the bottom of my foot from stepping directly onto the upright ladder of a fucking toy fire engine. That spot bled for hours and still hurts when I've been on my feet for awhile. ::I'mnotkidding:: Some parents stock up on snacks and juice before they leave the house for any period of time - we have to make sure the diaper bag and all little boy pockets are fully-loaded with toy cars. The point here is that I am the mother of two boys. Two boys being raised by two women (at least it's a fair fight). Two boys who we swore would have access to all kinds of toys, not just "boy toys", but dolls, kitchen toys, sweet little stuffed animals. ::Yeah, right suckers:: Bean's been obsessed with toys cars since he could reach for them. We still don't quite honestly know whether or not he's right or left handed as he always has a car in his right hand so often uses he left to do actual survival things - like eat. The baby buddha's following close behind in paying homage to die-cast metal. We don't stand a chance.

happy halloween

2006-10-31T14:17:00.000-08:00

update:

our lion and dinosaur rooooaared their way through the neighborhood and scored tons of sugar.

I'm enjoying the changing of the season and the shifting light. This time of year makes me feel like simplifying and slowing. Staying at home and cooking, napping, reading, planning. I never realized how much the Fall was associated in my mind with my Gram. It must have been the Nebraska farmgirl in her, but she was keenly aware of the light and weather and temperature. Halloween was also my Pops birthday and I always called her to say I was thinking of him (and her) in the years after his death. This year I'll just put it out to the universe that they're both on my mind and try and keep them close as we run around picking up the kids, making chili, lighting pumpkins and pulling Halloween costumes onto our little trick-or-treaters in the early darkness.

tiny monsters (and I'm not talking about my kids)

2006-10-23T10:45:00.000-07:00

So the preschool rules for Halloween have been sent down: No costumes at school on the 31st (wouldn't want to stain them prior to trick or treating!! read: we really don't what to deal with you hysterical parents) :: Please send your child in their costume on November 1 and 2. Uhm...okay cause it won't be trashed by then :: & Please send your child with 30 treats, but if at all possible, don't send candy.

I know you think I'm about to rant here, and as much as I relish my righteous outrage at the preschool leadership, I was happy to be challenged on the 30 non-candy treats thing. It provided a good excuse to order oodles of my favorite version of crack for kids.

A few years ago, I bought these little beauties for MAS and then baby-Bean's stockings and they've since provided hours of fun. We've managed not to lose most of them (a miracle in and of itself, maybe they're infused with actual magic). Buddha loves them beyond explanation and MAS has come up with a new technique of using the finger puppet opening to suction cup them on our checks - as in "hey, Bean, there's something on you're face!" followed by peels of laughter and "do it again!".

Cheap at any cost.

Fall

2006-10-05T09:43:00.000-07:00

I realize that when most people think of Fall they think of leaves turning, kids going back to school, fires in the fireplace and all that. Not me. For me, it's not Fall until my house smells like these. This version of Fall happens to be in the form of mini muffins (better to pack in Bean's lunch & no, it.is.not. a treat. sshhhhhh!). In the past its been in the form of bread. The best pumpkin bread in the world bread. This is my Auntie Kay's recipe and as kids we used to stack piece upon piece on our plates until the whole pumpkin bread tower would topple over. That's how we knew we had enough to get through Thanksgiving dinner. It was the only recipe I asked for the first year I decided to have Thanksgiving with friends in my little San Francisco apartment right after college instead of going to the big family dinner 40 miles south. It just wasn't going to be right without that bread.

Forget the cousins and the turkey, I needed the bread.

Auntie Kay's Pumpkin Bread

4 eggs (slightly beaten)
3 cups of sugar
(I've only been using one cup so it's not so "treaty" if you know what I mean.)
2/3 cup of milk (whole milk is best)
1 cup of oil
2 cups of canned pumpkin
3 1/2 cups of flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. baking powder

bake at 350 degrees
(5 small bread pans: 45 minutes)
(2 big bread pans: 1 hour)
(muffin pans: 20 minutes)
(smally muffins: 13 minutes)

I literally throw this all in one big bowl and mix together with a whisk or spatula. So easy and good.

Happy Fall.

family dinner :: the aftermath

2006-09-25T20:06:00.000-07:00

Research says that eating a family meal with your children will decrease the chance that they'll become crack heads. What I'm not so sure about is how these meals impact the the long terms effects on the parental units substance abuse issues.

But, I like a good internet challenge - so family dinner it was.

It only took 5 ears of corn (we're a family of four), three popsicles and a box of Whole Foods crackers to keep my two drug-free (so-far) kids in their chairs.

touchstone gone

2006-09-21T09:54:00.000-07:00

My Gram died on Tuesday morning and even though she was 88 years old, it was completely unexpected and I catch myself and my family suddenly bursting into tears like we've just found out for the first time all over again.

I tell myself all the things I'm supposed to say: "she had a good life" - yes, she did, but it doesn't feel like she was done to us; "she didn't suffer" - that's true, but we are suffering in our grief over missing her; "she lived a good long life" - again, true. But as my sister said yesterday - "not long enough for us."

My Gram was the perfect grandparent to older kids and adults. I watched her delight in observing my kids and my cousin's kids (she had 5 great grandchildren) and as much as we knew she loved us as children, it didn't feel like she "got us" until we were older. You see, she like to chat. She loved to hear about our lives and our jobs and our partners jobs and families and their in-laws and the neighbors friends she met years ago. She keep a list in the front of her address book of all the birthdays in her family. It's a long list. She came from a Nebraska farm family of 7 kids and my grandpa was one of 12. Aside from my grandparents, they all stayed in Nebraska and proceeded to have lots of kids and those kids had kids, etc. She had over 100 nieces and nephews and she knew them all. When my dad and aunt were kids living in San Francisco they spent every summer with this extended family on the farm(s). I think this was partially because my grandparents wanted their city family to be connected to their roots, but it was also because my Gram was a working mom long before that was common. She was a registered nurse and summer vacations most likely presented a babysitting problem, so a nice long trip to Nebraska was lots of things, but practical must have been right up there.

I'm so sad over losing her that it physically hurts. This is most likely a painful side effect of losing a grandparent and a friend. This woman knew me and loved me and never said a harsh or critical word to me. She was easy and oh boy, easy is not a term used to describe many aspects of my family. Loving and loyal, yes. Easy? not so much.

I didn't get to say goodbye. I saw her two weeks ago tomorrow and we had lunch and chatted. I think I talked to her on the phone at least once in the last two weeks. I know I didn't call her on my Dad's birthday to wish her "happy 63 years later" and that fact alone makes me want to scream. I'd intended to, the weekend just slipped away and then she was gone. She died in the hospital on the morning of the day we'd been told she was going to go home. Just a little blip. Perfectly normal given someone of her age with mild or early heart issues. I'm guessing now that there is no such thing as a mild heart issue and am now trying to focus of the sum of our relationship, not the little bits I wish I could have rearranged in the end.

A friend of mine gave the eulogy at her grandfathers funeral a few years ago and made of point of saying that his family would be his legacy. I do believe she will continue to be the tether that links us together. She will remain alive in us. In the way we talk, laugh, the way we cut flowers from our backyards and bring them inside to put on the kitchen table. Every time one of us counts our Christmas cards and compares the outgoing vs. incoming totals, every time we tell a story that goes on just a little too long, every time we delight in our children's children's children, and every time we write someone a little note and actually place a stamp on it and put it out for the postal carrier to take away into the world, she will be alive in us and we will be reminded of just how much she loved us and how much we loved her.

the politics of a lunch box

2006-09-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't get nostalgic thinking about a lunch box? It's jammed packed with emotion. Remembering the good old days, the anticipation of lunchtime (only to be confronted with the cold reality of what my parents considered healthy vs. the Hostess frenzy going on around me; but I digress), the urge to provide your tot with just what s/he needs to get them through the day, the special note or sticker placed lovingly inside so they know you're thinking about them, negotiating what hideous character (or lack there of, in my - and some others -opinion) should appear on the front.

In today's world there seem to be many rules about the box itself and what goes inside and what it all says about you (I mean them. It's all about the kids, right?).

Some are clear: no peanuts, peanut butter, peanut dust or anything made with peanuts or processed in a factory that uses peanuts or any product that has ever been touched by a person with peanuts on their breath, for that matter.

Others are couched as "suggestions" by the preschool Nazis: "Please don't send any food in a container that can't be opened by your child" (uhm, well...what kind of mood is he in at that exact moment in time? He's three for Christ's sake, are you going to help him if he needs it, or just let him starve to death??). "We frown upon the use of plastic bags here." (gee, really? because I know he can open that, which rule is more important to you?). "Please don't send any treats of any kind (even healthy ones)." WTF? (Does the carrot/banana/granola muffin I made with my own two hands with whole wheat flour and half the called for sugar count as a treat? It's the only way I know to get carrots down his gullet at this point, so you tell me).

And then there's the end of the day inspection of the box. (Not in front of the tot, of course! don't want to start off this educational process by hinting at an eating disorder of any kind.) What does it mean that they sent the top of the yogurt home with him? Where's the container itself? Did I use the wrong container? I did, right? I'm sure I did. Are you trying to tell me that I'm a bad environmentalist? Is yogurt considered a treat??? Why is that muffin that he scarfs down in front of me still in the box and the apple slices are gone? No way did the Bean CHOSE apple slices over a muffin. Did they confiscate the muffin, only to return it to the box to send me some sort of message?

Perhaps I'm looking to find meaning where none exists. I most certainly care too much about what the pre-school staff thinks about me and my family by what appears inside Bean's non-character lunch box. Maybe this is just all new for me too.

the baby buddha

2006-09-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

Told you.

Bean: pre (and post) preschool

2006-09-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

before the first day of preschool yesterday.

and after! He survived. So we got ice cream to celebrate. Pictured here is one happy preschooler with his banana ice cream & "rainbow sprinklers". Note the ever-present backpack close at hand. The contents, you ask? - his "wio" (blankie) and many, many toy cars.

overheard:

2006-09-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

Bean: "Milk, please!"
(full disclosure: I added the "please" part. The "milk" part was pretty much barked)

MAS: "Your cup is in the fridge, buddy. You can get it."

b: "Okay." - gets milk and closes fridge door.

m: "That's great, I'm really proud of you."

b: "Don't say that!"

m: "Why?"

B: "Don't YOU tell ME about ME!"

Slightly existential for a three year old.

I'm definitely gonna like having this kid around for the rest of my life.

I need to do some laundry. really, really badly.

2006-08-28T15:20:00.000-07:00

I returned late last night from the out-of-state wedding (destination weddings?? I just don't get) of my oldest friend. Just looking at her radiant self in her wedding dress seemed impossible as she's eight and wearing pony tails in my minds eye. Everything about her makes me grateful that my parents decided to buy that house on that block. She is my childhood and sharing those times with her was a gift. She is an amazing friend who threw the perfect wedding for her. Simple and happy and just right, except for the fact that both the bride and groom and their respective families came down with the stomach flu the week of the wedding. They fell like dominoes in their Montana ranch house - scaring each arriving guest to the welcome dinner the night before the wedding with cautions to avoid physical contact with any of them. Who can't hug an almost-bride? Try not to do it, I dare you.

As I worried about my friend and all the work and energy she put into this day, I selfishly made deals with the universe about myself. I just kept thinking "okay, I can get the flu, I'm okay with that, just please - not until I get home. Not in the hotel. Not on the multiple airplane rides it took me and the Buddha to get our behinds to Montana and back. You can see where this is going, right? Well, there is a god and s/he definitely has a sense of humor.

The minute (actually second) I hit the top of our porch landing (I swear to god, I couldn't make this shit up), the baby started throwing up all over me. Two more times as I raced up the stairs to the flat yelling for help. MAS bathed him (screaming) while I peeled off all my clothes (crying), and then sat with him, walked him around and finally passed out in our bed with him at
1am. I'm tired and my stomach hurts. I swear I may never go to a wedding again.

I bet this will sound weird (especially if you live in, like... Iowa).

2006-08-11T20:59:00.000-07:00

So this weekend, I dropped just over $300 on hair-related things (I know, enough with the hair already). A cut, some low-lights, some color to even out some previously indulged-in highlights and just regular summer-time sun exposure blondness that had no business being on my head, as well as shampoo & conditioner for this two-girl-head(s)-of-household and some very important post-wash, yet pre-blow dry products. My fucking lord. Are we nuts?? Really, please chime in if you have thoughts on this. $300+?? And, by the way, my hair looks just okay. What gives? When did life get so complicated? And by complicated, I mean expensive. If I truly think about the money that goes out everyday (gas, coffee, groceries, wine, diapers, gifts) versus what MAS and I bring home in our paychecks every two weeks - not even taking into account our mortgage, taxes, insurance - the math just doesn't add up. We both make okay money. Incredibly decent salaries in any other part of the county. Is it just me or does urban life cost more? And please someone tell me, just what are we paying for? The privileged of finding no parking, sharing my doorstep with the neighborhood homeless guy, or private school for a 5 year old that costs more annually than my parents spent to send me to college.

Captain Underpants

2006-08-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

Oh Yeah. We are making some serious progress on potty training with the Bean. After my electronic hissy fit last week, I thought it appropriate to talk about the things that are lightening my load and Bean putting it in the potty is right up there. He's into his undies big time and is so there during the day. We're still working on nighttime, but boy howdy! he's doing it for 70% of the day and just in time for preschool where diapers are not allowed. Also, did I mention that the Baby Buddha is walking? Did I mention that he started walking one day before his 15-month pediatrician appointment where I was truly worried she was going tell me she was concerned. Walking? check. Healthy? check. Chill mom. Okay, check. And the cherry on the top of this pile of happiness?? MAS got a new job. This is great for many reasons. Financially it will help begin to dig us out of the San Francisco real estate hole we've been in the past year and professionally it's a great opportunity to leave her current situation which was just a dysfunctional abyss. This move is such a great thing for her. All good. And me? I'm about to hop over to a little piece of internet heaven - hello? free shipping (even on returns)? no tax? you carry my clown sized 11 shoes in styles that don't look like something a drag queen would wear? I'd marry this website if I could - to buy three pairs of shoes. Today's such a good day in a good life.

life. it's really starting to get to me.

2006-08-04T09:37:00.000-07:00

But then there's this. These two little heads that smell so good. I'm trying to just focus on the good stuff and there's lots of it, really, but I have this feeling of overwhelming exhaustion and pissed-offness that seems out of place considering that my "baby" is 15 months old. Why is he waking up at 2am every night? WHY? He's started walking so I was thinking all the upright action would tire him to the point of some really good sleep. ha! and just cause it's fun and for some reason really makes me feel better, let me recap some of the crap before I list the good stuff:

Three - count 'em three - flat tires in the last 10 days.
(mas - 2, me - 1 = apx. $350 in "new" tires)

One scratched cornea (mine) due to the above-mentioned 2am wake-up calls and sharp Buddha finger nails resulting in a trip to the doctor's office and two! eye drop prescriptions and three! different Walgreens attempting to fill/pickup effing prescriptions.

At least 6 wasted hours of on-line traffic school just to be told that the particular county (I truly hate the East Bay) I got the ticket in doesn't really believe in the whole on-line traffic school concept so much so could I now print off the final exam and find a notary public to WATCH me take the exam? What the everloving hell?? What exactly was the point of doing all the other stuff online?

So there's a little snapshot of life in my cranky pants lately.

Good stuff next, I promise. It's Friday and neither of my parental units have requested an audience with their grankids (which will make mas happy) and there's my sister-in-laws birthday party tomorrow night which will include booze (making me very happy), so next post, the good stuff.

back to reality

2006-07-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

Lake Tahoe was great. Not the Tahoe of our youth - no poolside cocktails whilst playing cards or reading magazines, no kayaking across a glassy silent lake, no leisurely breakfasts made by people we don't know and don't have to clean up after - all indulgences made next to impossible with a one year old (who still naps twice a day) and a three year old (who refuses to sleep. ever.). Lots of back and forth between the condo and the pool. Lots of sunscreen and snacks and pool rings. Not so much reading or snoozing in the sun. It really is a whole new world, but the doods had so much fun it's hard to complain (even though I try). I did manage one perfect swim in the Lake from a pier to a swim dock in the middle of what felt like nowhere. Made the whole thing feel just right. Just like always. I've fairly consistantly been a parent who has a hard time adjusting to how much these small humans have changed my life. Constantly trying to drag an unfailingly cheerful MAS into my whinny "remember when...?" game. A nasty side effect of liking your pre-kid life very much. I vividly remember driving to the after-hours/weekend pediatric clinic one bright & clear Sunday morning a few weeks after the Bean was born, for what turned out to be some insignificant ailment, weeping to MAS that it wasn't that I didn't want him around, I just wished he could fit a little better into our routine. You know, the one with Sunday brunches and sleeping through the night. I know a lot of it was just the stark newness of it all, but it still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about that feeling, just a few short years ago. I've most definitely had it less and less as I adjust (okay, submit, give-over, whatever...) to the whole parenting thing and add to my memory bank with imagines of new front teeth grins, waking up to baby hands on my face, the monkey-like toodler hugs and just how great they smell. All those moments when I just close my eyes and think "remember this, this is what it's all about" over and over. My kids rule. They are each perfectly perfect in their very own realness. Bean is articulate, engaging and as funny as anyone I've ever met in my entire life. The Baby Buddha smiles and giggles and makes me chase him around until I just give in to his cheerful chaos. Everyday I feel lucky that they are mine and I am theirs. Have I mentioned how much I love their feet? I have a serious obsession with their little feet. And where better to get my fill of their pigs than poolside?? - right between changing swim diapers, blowing up pool toys, fetching juice, telling above mentioned little feet to stop running and the sunscreen, oh god! the damn sunscreen......

yeah, that seems about right.

2006-07-03T11:03:00.000-07:00

As I stare down the last six weeks of my 34th year, it appears that this particular year has made me old. That seems about right. I feel old and my hair has decided to go along with this feeling by turning grey. Perfect. I find myself scouring the crown of my head in the rear view mirror at stop lights. Could that one maybe, possibly be blond? Do they just sprout fully-formed overnight, during the course of a staff meeting at work or as I'm looking at our bank statement or talking to my mom on the phone?

I should admit, I've always liked my hair and taken some secret pride in the ease of our relationship. It's just your basic brown, straight hair, but its always been very cooperative. It lets me do my thing, and in turn, I treat it well. I give it ridiculously overpriced shampoo and hair products, and with the exception of that regrettable perm right before leaving for college, we've always managed just fine. But now its turned on me. Gone are the days of impulsively getting color or high/lowlights for fun, on a whim, in a sleek and stylish salon. I'm now going to be one of those crazy moms who locks herself in the bathroom every sixth Saturday to home dye her hair.

Is this truly what its come to? And more importantly, why does it make me want to cry? I don't consider myself vain, but I now have one more mandatory beauty ritual to add to an ever growing list. Along with waxing, plucking, moisturizing, hydrating, etc. I need to add dying my hair when on most days I'm thrilled to shower before I leave the house in the morning.

summer glide

2006-06-28T09:43:00.000-07:00

Another perfect piece of inspiration - this time for the grown ups. This is an Eric Zener painting called Summer Glide . The water imagery is so spot-on. Don't you feel like you're just floating looking at it? Perfect, as I'm attempting to get my little family ready for a few days in Lake Tahoe.

This will be me next week. I'm trying to make it my state of mind until then.

We need this break. In Early August we will have owned our new place for a year. It will be a bittersweet anniversary. The whole experience of buying a building and subsequently attempting to sell a teeny-tiny loft, deal with tenants, selling the lower unit in the building we ending up buying on our own, entering into a Tenancy-In-Common relationship with the new buyers, juggling loans and mortgages - all the while attempting to be present and engaged with our two small humans. It's taken a toll. We're still reeling from the bottom-dwellers that were our first realtors and the parade of freak stagers and painters that came with them. We still owe a real estate attorney some money (on top of the 3 grand we originally gave them to negotiate the tricky waters that are SF renter laws), my ever-patient dad for his help with the original down payment, as well as a forthcoming supplemental tax bill on the whole building since we bought it for approximately 4x what the guy before us did. The middle class squeeze feels real. Very real. But there's fours days at a blue lake in our future. My kids will smell like sunscreen and ice cream and sand at the end of the day and I'm gonna just summer glide for a little bit.

Did I mention that MAS received an email that she got a second interview for a semi-dream job. Great, except that it's smack dab in the middle of the little getaway I just lovingly extolled above?? uuuuh-hum, WTF?? She's attempting to get them to "re-schedule" (pretty please with sugar on top). Who schedules a round of second interviews during the Fourth of July week? Punk-ass jokers, that's who.

yow-za

2006-06-23T15:35:00.000-07:00

I've had a hard time getting inspired this week, hence the whole zero posting thing. Its been one of those weeks where we seem to have something to do every night. The laundry has piled up, bedtimes have been blown, plumbing has acted up. Just not a whole lot of loveliness or ease happening the past few days. I did stumble upon this little piece of visual happiness today while trolling the internet. Oh! Brandon Reese! thank you, thank you, thank you. Gorgeous illustrations. I need to get something(s) for the kids rooms and I'm in love with everything. Fresh and happy and thought-provoking. Love it.

We did manage to sneak in a little fun between all the morASS. It's been hot here in San Francisco, pretty unusual for late June in the City. Here's The Bean on the steam train at the zoo one night after work. He's having fun, really. I swear.

Here's to a mellow weekend!

friday :: blue

2006-06-16T07:30:00.000-07:00

This is a fairly typical scene around here. The boys are getting to an age were they actually play and entertain each other. joy. Pure & simple.

If I hadn't messed up the colors for yesterday, and today I just happened to be looking for a red image, I could take a picture of Bean's eyes. Yes, pink eye - just in time for the weekend. We're off to the doctor for magic drops. Fun times.

Happy Friday. I've really enjoyed this Week of Color.

thursday :: blue (yeah, not so much)

2006-06-15T09:36:00.000-07:00

I realize that this isn't blue.
It is in fact, red.

And it's my brain in its physical form outside my head. Too bad I didn't consult said brain to confirm that Thursdays color challenge was red, right? Wrong, it's blue.

Sooo, it'll be a Blue Friday over here at Plaza Pixie Sticks.

I'm obviously challenged in many ways.

wednesday :: black + gray

2006-06-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

I'm learning a lot about the feel and light in my house through this Week of Color.

It must have been the time of day I took this picture - late at night after kids were in bed, dishes done, blah, blah, blah. But also maybe the reflecting of the cherry cabinets and adjacent orange-walled dining room. I wanted a coolish feeling image for the black and gray photo but no luck! The kitchen had other things in mind. I'm okay with that.

tuesday :: brown

2006-06-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

I'm loving how this challenge is making me look at the things in my house.

week of color

2006-06-12T20:43:00.000-07:00

monday :: white

for little birds and port2port's Week of Color.

Now here's someone I could be friends with.

2006-06-12T16:43:00.000-07:00

I think I could be friends with this mom. Which is shocking as I'm close to home schooling Bean after the excruciating experience of actually having to inter-face with other parents throughout a grueling (yes, folks - grueling) preschool application process. I'm basically allergic to other parents. Don't talk to them at the park (actually try very hard to avoid the park all together because of all the annoying parental-types), don't smile at them in the store, and most certainly do.not.join.playgroups.

But this mom? I think I could be friends with.

I really should have learned to sew.

2006-06-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

Images like this make me really irritated that I shunned home economics in high school. Damn Free to Be You and Me!

I must have this fabric bunting for Buddha's nursery or I will die. I love the clean, simple lines of the fabric and the colors! oh! the beautiful colors. Couldn't you just stare at them all.day.long?

Yet, I just can't see spending around thirty bucks per strand on something that I now must be really simple to make.

Some of the first blogs I ever came across that caught my interest were craft blogs. Sites like Little Birds, Posie, Loobylu (on whose awesome kid site Kiddley I found this heart-stopping image in the first place) and Hop Skip Jump literally make me ache. I'm crafty in a cooking- pulling things together- photography- gardening sort of way. But these gals are artists. So amazing.

So that's that. I must learn to sew. I admit I'm a little put off thinking that my expectations of what I want to make with far exceed my ability, but you gotta start somewhere, so here I go. I'm freakin' going to make me (and my baby) some fabric bunting.

Here begins one of the major goals of writing all these things down. My private equivalent of saying them out loud. I'll have to report back (even if it's just to myself) that I said I'd do it and I will. That, and I really want to take the time to create things. I want it for me and I want it for the kids. It'll be fun. This site will keep me honest.

Aaah. June.

2006-06-06T15:57:00.000-07:00

I love summer. I love it even though I'm long out of school and my kids are way too young for summer breaks. Childcare is year-round, baby. The summers of my childhood are hazy and shimmery. Lots of bare feet and swimming. We live in a city. We work full-time. How can I capture this elusive feeling of summer in a little bottle and pour it over my kids? Will they miss something that only I remember?

For now, my answer is watermelon and lots of it. Big juicy handfuls with every meal.

2006-06-02T09:22:00.000-07:00

Oh Sugar.

In addition to pixie sticks and candy necklaces (yes, I'm an 8-year-old-girl trapped in the body of a 34-year-old-woman) I enjoy my sugar in the form of the perfect cupcake. There is something just so personal about a cupcake. We've recently come off of the birthday season at Casa Pixie Sticks. Between the beginning of March and the end of April three/fourths of our little family turns another year older. Its taken us the entire month of May to convince Bean that cupcakes do not just, as a matter of course, follow every single meal. I've started a campaign aimed at telling him that strawberries and corn are just as yummy as the oh! so! beautiful cupcake. What a big fat lie.

2006-06-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

It Is What It Is.

And most of the time it's pretty amazing. Two great kids, a house, a full-time job that allows me the flexibility to do lots of household things, both mundane and crafty.

I suppose the motivation for attempting to put this all down somewhere is to take the time to stop and appreciate all the sweet things. And to capture those incredible little kid moments I'm privileged to witness everyday.

I want to remember it all.

Today: The Bean is 3 years and 3 months. Loves cars, buses and ice cream. Won't eat anything substantial aside from bowls and bowls and bowls of O's and what feels like gallons of soy milk a day. The Baby Buddha is 1 year and 1 month. Smells like watermelon (I swear!), loves his mama, plays the meanest game of peek-a-boo you've ever seen, has four teeth and no interest whatsoever in standing on his own or walking. I tell myself he'll walk to college, right? MAS, my partner in crime and parenting, is for sure the fun parent. She dances and plays and makes the best funny faces. She is not happy in her job or the amount of time she gets to spend with the kids. This feeling is affecting how she sees her world. We're working on it. And me, well...I'm taking a lot of pictures and great pleasure in the fact that we no longer live in a tiny loft with no true walls or doors, that we managed to escape (just barely) being incredibly screwed by the San Francisco real estate market and that I no longer have to deal with realtors, mortgage brokers, stagers, tenants and other asshats in order to inhabit my Victorian flat in a sunny SF neighborhood.

Today I am very grateful for what I am and who I have.
We'll just see how long that lasts.
hahahaha