Left Coast Mom is on Vacation

Lots of travel over the past month and now we're off to Wyoming!

We'll be gone until Monday night, so probably no posts until Tuesday.

Some of those to come:

• BlogHer wrap up
• Couple of product reviews and a pinkey swear that they're not compensated (apparently, the FCC is trying to get in on the action).
• Possibly a Dammit, since I haven't done one of those in awhile.
• Perhaps an anti-Dammit, because I don't want you to think I'm always angry!
• More Hannah-isms, and perhaps a couple of Charlotte-isms--she's getting pretty sassy, too. It
• It's probably a good thing that we still can't understand all of what she says.

See you in a week-ish!

Recipe for Making It to the Morning Sessions

There seem to be more cocktail parties at BlogHer this year than actual sessions, so this is for this is for any-her in need of a little after-party pick-me-up.

Vampiro
This spicy morning-after cocktail was featured on the last day of the 2009 Tales of the Cocktail conference in New Orleans, at a session called "Paying the Piper: Your Hangover and You."

1 serving
Ingredients:

* Ice
* 2 1/2 ounces tomato juice
* 1 ounce freshly squeezed orange juice
* 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice
* 1 ounce silver tequila
* 1 teaspoon honey
* 1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
* 3 thin crosswise-cut slices hot chili pepper, such as jalapeno
* 1 dash Worcestershire sauce
* Salt

Directions:

Fill a highball glass with ice.

Combine the three juices, tequila, honey, onion, pepper slices, Worcestershire sauce and salt to taste in a cocktail shaker. Add ice and shake vigorously, then pour (strained) into the glass.

You're welcome!

Recipe Source:
Created by Wayne Curtis of the Atlantic and John Myers of the Grill Room in Portland, Maine;adapted from "Stir Your Soul: Tales of the Cocktail Recipe Book" (Mud Puddle Books, 2009).

Finally Finding Myself, at 40

I've never really liked having my photo taken, even though I was, for a very, very brief period a "model-in-training" if you will, with a couple of shows to my credit.

I've also never thought I was more than run-of-the-mill attractive. Crooked smile. One eyelid a tad lazier than the other. Chin too pointy. Ears too small. These observations aren't all a result of me spending too much time in front of the mirror--though after 40 years, most people have logged a few hours there, whether or not they care to admit it. I've actually heard all of these comments from various people over the years. One charming ex went so far as to preface anything that even approached compliment-hood with "Don't let this go to your head, but . . . "

But why were some photos fabulous and the others, ah, crap?

For instance, my friend Kat always took really good photos of me. In fact, I never looked like the Me that I saw in other photos, but rather, closer to the Me I thought I saw in the mirror. Other people, it didn't (doesn't) really matter how I felt that day, what I was wearing, if I had dropped a couple of pounds or if I had won the lottery (still waiting!), I always manage to look short and squat and very far from the Me I think I know. Well, the Me I'm trying to get to know, anyway.

It recently occurred to me that it wasn't so much how I looked, but that it was the way in which I was relating to the person behind the camera. Kat felt like a sister from the day we met. We told each other everything. There was no hiding anything, and I suppose it never occurred to me to hide from her camera.

Other cameras are held by those for whom I may have conflicting feelings: I may love them, but may also be afraid that I don't measure up. That I'm going to fall short in some area or another. That I'm not smart enough, or ambitious enough or competitive enough. And on and on and on. This is not the fault of those hands in which the camera rests. The fault is mine, because I think those things about myself and project them on to the people I am most afraid of disappointing. And so I curl in to hide, to protect myself from, well, really, from myself.

I've been in and out of therapy for a few years now working on the root cause of this lack of self-esteem, and even when not speaking with a professional, I've made a huge effort to stop the negative thinking and to stop worrying about what other people think of me. I have good days and bad days, same as everyone else. But I think my better days are more frequent, at least in terms of self confidence, and now I have photographic proof. I think.

Last week I updated my profile on facebook with a photo I had taken myself, using the Photo Booth on my Mac. I was bored with the old photo and thought this would be the perfect little project to assist in my efforts at procrastination elsewhere.

Whadda ya know? I was actually looking right at the photographer--who in this case was me. Clear, direct, unafraid, unapologetic. Maybe it seems like a shallow, navel gazing thing, but I see it as evidence that, after all this time, I'm coming to terms with being me. That I was ok with what I was going to see.

There were two other photos--Hannah likes the sepia-toned one best, but I thought I'd post both of them, mostly because the thought of THREE photos of me being out there makes me squirm. I guess I'll have to be ok with that, too. Even if my chin is too pointy and my eye sort of sleepy looking . . .

Feeling Old, Part 24,364

Our babysitter, who just graduated from high school, doesn't know the band Tears for Fears.

But

She did say that it was great that we still like to go to concerts.

And this after we sat through the concert (which was AWESOME!) thinking we were insufficiently aged.

Can I spell Karma? (No, not usually. I like to add an "h.")

Short and Sweet

No, no. Not me. But thank you for immediately thinking that's what I meant! So charming!

It was only this:

I love that public transportation around here doesn't waste time letting you know that a bus is out of service. Which is exactly what the buses in Virginia* always said--that and the route. You'd just have to wait for the entire message to scroll by. But here, you get a short, sweet, one word answer before you can even ask the question:



In case you can't see it, the message in the back is "NOT."

Due to budget cuts, they'll be shortening that to "NO."**


UPDATE:
Bah--the front of the buses now offer the very polite "Not In Service."

* That's what it was six years ago, anyway.
** No, not really.

Can I Get a Mulligan?

I went to the doctor on Friday because I thought I might have bronchitis AGAIN.

Why do they have to weigh you for that??

Oh, right. In case medication is needed.

Most reluctantly, I took off my sweater and shoes and, for good measure, my sun glasses. You know, because they must weigh all of seven ounces.

Surprise! I didn't like the answer the scale gave to the age-old question of "Jeezus Edith! Who switched my jeans for the not-quite-supermodel size?!" Which would be why I wasn't wearing jeans that day, so I shouldn't have been surprised. And this particular nurse won't even hedge a bit and drop it half a pound. She just murmured something about how no one likes the scale, especially if they don't feel good about themselves anyway. Wow! Dr Phil in drag and orthopedic shoes--at my doctor's office!

On Saturday, I started my period and almost immediately lost five pounds. I want a do-over!

Ouch. Form Rejection!

I got the first official rejection of my book today.

Well, the first 10 pages, anyway.

The very first email in my box.

I knew it was coming--especially after I read over the query letter that went with it. It's amazing how many things you can find that should have been worded differently, or the one little typo that most people wouldn't have noticed, Of course, I did--too late. And I'm guessing the agent did. They have this thing, this odd fascination with words.* Of course, it couldn't have been all the fault of the query; I did send some of the book, too.

But now that the dreaded rejection part of the process is over, and I have the crying-over-the-first-rejection part of the process out of the way, I can finish things up and keep sending it out.

And resist the urge to just rewrite the whole manuscript again, first.

Sigh.

*It's a joke, people!

Sad, But Possibly True

Perhaps a glass of wine will loosen things up!

I Feel Old

Hannah is the youngest kid in her art class--the others range from 12-16 or so.

This past Tuesday,* they were all talking about Michael Jackson when Judy (the teacher) asked if they wanted to listen to some of his music.

Before Judy could turn on the CD player, a 15-ish year old girl turned to Hannah and said

"Michael Jackson had lots of records. Have you ever heard of those? They had songs on one side and then you had to pick them up and turn them over to hear the rest of the songs! My mom said that records were pretty heavy, too."

This on the heels of an article about the three days it took a 13-year-old, tech-savvy teen to figure out that there were actually two sides to the cassette tape used in the ancient Sony Walkman he was test driving.

It's a lot easier for me to see why kids Hannah's age wouldn't know about the joys of the LP and the jumble-of-tangled-tape agony that was the cassette player. After all, she's only six. But, dammit, a 13-year-old was born in the same century as I. And I'm not yet old enough to refer to the Internet as "that thing you young people use" or as being nothing more than "a series of tubes."

So when the most-sought after gadgets of my middle- and high-school years are spoken of in the tones of awe and wonder usually reserved for the discovery of an ancient civilization, yes. I feel a little old. Not quite hot-tea-and-a-parka-in-July old, but maybe a bit chase-the-snot-nosed-little-bastards-off-the-lawn-with-a-cane old.

Not really.

Well, maybe.



* For some reason I haven't been able to sign in to Blogger for a few days. My excuse du jour for the recent dearth of posts.

It Must Be True . . .

I just read this in The Week, their section "It Must Be True . . . I read it in the tabloids." Haven't stopped laughing yet:

"Two baby flamingos at Britain's London Zoo have developed a phobia of the color pink. The month old chicks, named Little and Large, both have the pale gray plumage flamingos are born with. In an attempt to feed them, zookeepers used a pink sock-puppet of an adult flamingo, but it only terrified the chicks. Their resulting phobia of anything pink has worrying implications for their future mental health. "We'll just have to hope they get used to the color," said keeper Alison Brown."

For some reason this reminds me of a recent-ish (January, 2008) study which showed that the vast majority of children dislike clowns. Are afraid of them, even. And yet, there are still clowns all over childrens', well, pretty much everything--from pajamas to blankets, and yes, even some hospital walls. So I don't hold out much hope for those poor flamingo chicks--they're just gonna have to get used to that scary, pink sock monster. Of course, there's always Prozac . . . .

Ecomomics of Happiness

It's true. The little things do make you happy. And sometimes they do make you spend more money.

Most Wednesdays, I take the night off and treat myself to dinner at the same place. Sometimes I hit the gym first; occasionally I try a new place--only because I keep thinking that I need to break myself of the "creature of habit" habit. But I'm rarely satisfied--well OK, there was the one time I skipped dinner all together and saw Burn After Reading instead--but I generally wind up at Vino Santo. Because food-wise and not-minding-if-I-bring-a-computer-a-book-or-a-friend-wise, this is my absolute favorite place to go for a lovely dinner. Every once in awhile I do take a friend!

Tonight, I tried to talk myself into either staying home (a bad mashup of "I'm too unmotivated to decide on anything" and "maybe I should tighten that belt a bit") or trying something different. But old habits and my adoration of the Vino Santo Caesar salad with grilled chicken won out.

I might call it a habit, but what really keeps me coming back is that, like tonight, when I got there, the only open table was "my" table. There were two couples waiting, but as soon as I arrived I was told that MY table was ready. And after dinner when I confided to the waiter that I loved seeing them so busy on a weeknight, he told me that they had actually turned away a table because the only one open was . . . MY table.

I’m not sure that everyone else would find the Caesar salad to be as tasty, or the pan roasted sole with a white wine, butter and caper sauce to be as divine. In fact, even my favorite Daniel Gilbert* might say that, because of the habituation factor, even I don’t enjoy the salad or fish as much as I did the first time. And yet.

Vanity has ever been an economic motivator and it is always in the merchants’ best interest to make sure you want to come back again and again. After all, why would you not want to go where every body knows your name (Norm), where the staff all know where you like to sit and know which menu items you might like and those . . .well, maybe not so much.

It may have been a complete fabrication--even a partial would have felt good--but the waiter said that it was my table, and they were going to hold it on the (very good) chance that I came to claim it. And I was told that my “usual” house white had been replaced and that I probably wouldn’t like it. I didn’t. It was then upgraded to something much nicer—cost (to them) be dammed. Maybe it was a small exaggeration. But there WAS a couple waiting by the door, and there WAS only my table open.

The upshot is that it made me happy. It didn’t cost them a whole lot.

And it made me want to keep going back.



And this post just reminded me to buy my own copy of Burn After Reading.


* I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t catch Mr Gilbert on the Colbert Report a couple of years ago. But now you can! God I love the Internets!

Hannah-isms

I.
Hannah:
Daddy, can I [[whatever it was]]?

Thomas:
No.

Hannah, not even bothering to wait until Thomas had left the room:
Mommy, can I [[same whatever it was]]?

Me:
No.

Thomas:
Hannah, why did you just ask Mommy when I JUST told you No?

Hannah, without missing a beat and with a smidge of attitude:
Uh, because she's older and she owns the house?
(only true on one count)


Sadly, Thomas did not find this as amusing as I.



II.
Hannah, gazing up at me:
37, 38, 39 . . .

Me:
What are you counting?

Hannah:
The little lines around your eyes. I lost track of the little holes [the pores] in your face.

Ah, That New Car Smell

I told Tomas that he could get a new car. This new car:

If It's Too Hot in the Kitchen . . .

I could have burned my house down today.

Not in a fit of pique. Not in festivities-gone-awry celebration of the impending end of school year.

No, because I was cooking. With the window open. Next to a cluttered counter. On a windy day.

According to the National Fire Protection Association (NFPA), cooking fires are the number one cause of fires in the home, and twelve percent of kitchen fires occur when something that can catch fire gets too close to the equipment.

In this case, it was paper, caught up by a gust of wind and pushed under the sauce pot, into the flame. I had my back to the stove, but fortunately my nose is very sensitive. By the time Thomas asked if something was burning I was able to say, "Not anymore."

I know I'm not the only one (or, I hope I'm not the only one) who can't manage to keep the kitchen counters clear, so here are a few tips from the NFPA:

• Stay in the kitchen while you are frying, grilling, or broiling food. If you leave the kitchen for even a short period of time, turn off the stove.
• If you are simmering, baking, roasting, or boiling food, check it regularly, remain in the home while food is cooking, and use a timer to remind you that you are cooking.
• Keep anything that can catch fire — oven mitts, wooden utensils, food packaging, towels or curtains — away from your stovetop.

If you have a cooking fire

• Just get out! When you leave, close the door behind you to help contain the fire.
• Call 9-1-1 or the local emergency number after you leave.
• If you try to fight the fire, be sure others are getting out and you have a clear way out.
• Keep a lid nearby when you’re cooking to smother small grease fires. Smother the fire by sliding the lid over the pan and turn off the stovetop. Leave the pan covered until it is completely cooled.
• For an oven fire turn off the heat and keep the door closed.

As I learned today, if it's too hot in your kitchen, maybe it's time to do a little de-cluttering.

The Dammit

As sad as I am to have to do it, The Dammit is back. Swear words abound, so cover your ears and try to block the spittle!


Dammit #1:
I'm sick of my book. It's so close to being done, and I'm sick of it. I'm beginning to wonder if I like being able to say "I'm writing a book" more than the thought of saying "I wrote a book! (And NO I don't know when it will be published!)"


Dammit #2:
I had an intellectual disagreement with the woman I want to co-author book number two. Or three. It's caused a bit of a brain jam and I'm not entirely sure why. So the disagreement is Dammit 2a and the brain jam is Dammit 2b. I don't mind so much that we had a difference of opinion--that happens a lot--but this was a real stunner, from a quarter where I least expected it.


Dammit #3:
I could have posted this as a Random Question of the Week:
Why are there always so many more men than women in the right to life crowds?


Dammit #4:
This should have come a couple of weeks ago, but we were all sick and I wasn't blogging. All of this Prop 8 crap. It's bullshit. People were calling in to NPR saying that "it's just a word--if "they" get all of the same rights and benefits as marriage, why do they need the word, too?" Well, if it's just a word, why the fuck are you working so hard to deny an entire community the dignity and recognition you confer upon yourselves with that word?

And why is it OK to say that some-THING is the "perfect marriage of a this and a that?" A cookie that's "the perfect marriage of chocolate and espresso." An interior design plan that's "the perfect marriage of traditional and modern." Why is that OK?

And while we're at it:

For all of you Prop 8 supporters: How does a same-sex marriage affect my marriage? How the fuck does that make my marriage any less than what it is? And who the fuck are you to take on the role of defender of MY marriage? YOU cheapen the institution. YOU make a mockery of it. YOU are allowed to marry and DIVORCE at will. YOU say that marriage is for procreation, yet YOU are free to divorce and remarry as many times as you like and at whatever age you choose, usable sperm and eggs or not. YOU are able to divorce your first spouse after a couple of years and yet deny marriage to a couple who have been together for 20.

I'm sure none of this is exactly coherent, but I was a little pissed when I wrote it.

Dammit.

Happy Birthday To Me . . . .

I love having a family with a sense of humor. I love even more that I love having a family with a sense of humor (which may only make sense to me):




Thanks, John and Penny, for having a sense of humor and for sharing it with me. Oh, and for liking me. That's good, too :) And thanks to everyone else for the birthday wishes!

Hannah-isms

1.
Charlotte is not a morning person. She comes by that honestly.

Hannah is most definitely a morning person. Charlotte does not appreciate this, but Hannah persists in her belief that the power of positive chattiness will convert her little sister. So I couldn't help but laugh when, a few mornings ago, I heard:

"Good morning Char Char! Can I have a good morning hug? C'mon, give Nana a little huggie."

And then

"Awwww, I got a good morning shove!"



2.
With a little time before art class and no Philz in sight, I asked Hannah if she'd like a Frappuccino:

"A crappuccino? What's a crappuccino?!"

Exactly.

3.
I turn 40 tomorrow. Today, Hannah informed me that I don't look 40.

39, maybe.

But definitely not 40.

Who Says Chickens Aren't Cuddly?

Not Hannah:

Little House of Horrors

Spring is supposed to be the season of rebirth and renewal, but this year, it has translated into a few plagues visiting our family.

First, Hannah has strep throat. The nurse says this is only the second time she's seen it come up positive that fast. Antibiotics for 10 days. While we're in the doctor's office, Charlotte breaks out in full-body hives. Benadryl for three days.

For the past several weeks, Charlotte has been unable to shake a cough, though the cold that brought it on has long since decamped. Off to the doctor, who thinks it's due to allergies. Claritin for 10 days.

Fast-forward 11 days, and we're back in the doctor's office for the same cough. Another 10 days of Claritin, plus Benadryl and an inhaler. (The inhaler does NOT go over well, to put it very mildly.)

That same day, Hannah breaks her arm. Thomas takes her to the doctor because I have a doctor's appointment for a cough, sore throat, fever and earache. My diagnosis: bronchitis (second time in less than six months) and a sinus infection. Antibiotics, an inhaler and lots of sleep. Hannah's diagnosis: Broken radius and cracked ulna. Cast for 4-6 weeks (neon pink) and Tylenol with codeine.

Fast-forward another week: I'm better. Charlotte's cough seems to be getting better though she still refuses to use the inhaler. Hannah has an appointment to get another x-ray of her arm and to choose a new cast color (acid green). The next day, the school calls to ask me to pick her up from school as she has a severe headache and a temperature of 102. A trip to Urgent Care and two chest x-rays. Diagnosis: Early stage pneumonia. Antibiotics, Tylenol and lots of sleep.

Sunday night, Hannah is bitten by something that leaves her with a rash and welts all the way around her torso. Topical antihistamine and Benadryl which we beg from the neighbor as we've used up the 20 gallons we bought earlier in the year.

And that brings us to today. Everyone is better. Charlotte is still coughing but nowhere near as much. Hannah is back to her old self. I actually get to write a blog post, though by no means as entertaining as I'd like it to be.

And while I can't blame it on the house, I decide that it is as good a time as any to do a little Spring cleaning. All the windows and doors are thrown open. The house is scoured from top to bottom. Dust bunnies are routed. Toothbrushes are tossed. Walls are wiped down and the playroom carpet taken out and beaten.

Hopefully that will be the end of this little run of illness, but we're keeping our eyes on Thomas: I'm not sure his running-induced blisters count as his share of this mess.

Random Bit of Grossness

We've* now gone from playing "Guess What I Found In the Dog's Poop?" to "Guess What Color the Sock Was?" and "Who Left Tiny Blue Panties Where the Dog Could Get Them?"


* By "We" I mean "Me" as Thomas refuses to play anymore.

Can You Feel the Love?

Mothers' Day 2009

Now that I have arisen from my sickbed, I thought I'd share my Mothers' Day, which included the most surprising, unexpected gift I have ever received.

First, I got to sleep in. Always a gift; always much appreciated.

When I finally joined the rest of the family, I was greeted with a dozen tulips and a banner that Hannah had made all by herself. It read "Happy Mom Day" in construction paper letters that she had designed and cut out by herself. The little manager that she is, she had Thomas string the banner across the room.

For breakfast, there was a selection of pastries, omelet and lots of coffee.

And then the gifts.

From Thomas and the girls:

A Kindle: The gift I was sure I would never want. I love it!

From Hannah, two new paintings:

Sheep in the Meadow

Mommy

And, as promised, the most unexpected, stammer-inducing gift I have ever received. Hannah has the honor:


While the photo isn't as clear as it could be (I'll replace it later when I figure out why my auto-focus isn't working), "It's the Exoskeleton of a Cicada!! I found it in Garden class and Miss Jessica said I could have it!" I am neither required nor expected to keep it--Hannah just has a wicked sense of humor.

The Unexpected Graduate

Kairos graduated from his beginners/puppy training today:



Within one hour of arriving home after the "ceremony," he had eaten a hole through the toy the trainer gave him as a graduation gift. And swallowed both of Charlotte's socks.

Sigh.

New class begins next week.

Random Question of the Week

Am I the only person who apologizes to bugs if I am forced to, or accidentally, kill them?

Thomas says "Yes."

It's not like I think about it first. It's just a reflex.

Thomas still says "Yes."

AppleCare Is My New Best Friend

After five days of an involuntary vacation from my laptop, I have it back and am so happy that I had the AppleCare extended warranty.

I've had a problem with my MacBook not wanting to wake up after going down for a nap or after being shut down altogether. I finally got around to taking it to the Genius Bar, where they diagnosed the problem as a malfunctioning sleep switch (that may not be the technical name). My favorite Genius, Tae, also noted that I had taped down a bit of plastic that had peeled up from the lower right corner. I thought that the girls had been playing with it, or worse, that the dog had decided to see if the case was as tasty as socks. Turns out that the peeling plastic was caused by the "bumpers" at the top edge, above the screen. Apparently the bumper designers were under the impression that users would gently close the lid--every time. Hah. (Note: Do not use the words "design flaw" to anyone at the GeniusBar.)

I had to check it in to the MacHospital for repairs which took two and a half days. Of course when I picked it up, it started right up--twice. Less than a week later, the same problem was back, though it didn't happen as often.

Back to the GeniusBar I went and again almost passed out when Tae told me that it would take five to seven days, as they'd have to ship it out. A near-agonizing five days later, I got the call--it was ready for pick up. Happy dance ensued.

This time when I picked it up, I tested it several times, waking it up from shut down and sleep. I also restarted it a couple of times, just to be sure. Everything works, all of my data are still there, and the concierge again told me how lucky it was that I had the AppleCare. The first set of repairs would have cost $250. I didn't ask about this time and she didn't offer.

I now have a new:

1. Sleep switch
2. Main logic board
3. Frame
4. Heatpipe
5. Top case
6. Bezel

Guess all of these new parts sort of puts a damper on my plan to get a new laptop (this one is two years old, after all.) Or perhaps this mean that I SHOULD get a new one, you know, just so Tae and I don't have to keep meeting at the GeniusBar.

W. Pooh on the Swine 'Flu*

Thanks, Thomas, for the free blog fodder :)

* apologies for the terrible rhyme.

In Which I Confess My Lack of Qualifications for an Ambassadorship

Diplomacy is not my strong suit.

I try to assess situations fully before reacting. I am (frequently) tactful. I don’t break confidences. I can keep my mouth shut if asked or when absolutely necessary. But if I think someone has been treated unfairly, my instinct is to say so, and not necessarily quietly.

Let's say, for instance, someone loses his job. Layoffs happen, yes. I get that. I’ve been laid off before. But unless the company is going out of business all together, a layoff can be seen as “You didn’t have the skills to make it in the new organization.” Even if the person let go sees it more as an opportunity, a gift, even, there is still an element of “There’s nothing you have to offer that we value enough to keep you here.” (But perhaps, for today at least, I am neither diplomat nor natural optimist.)

Now, when I know this person to be possessed of a keen intellect; a quickness of understanding that makes it as easy for him to absorb new information and spot new connections as it is for him to learn a new language; boundless loyalty; an engaging personality; and unflagging enthusiasm and determination when it comes to improving morale and to promoting the name and reputation of his organization, I think it quite natural that I get a little, what’s the word . . . pissy, when a person of this caliber, my friend, is let go.

But of course, as stunned and irritated as I am, I am compelled to admit that this organization he is exiting is still a remarkable one with an important mission, and I am fully aware that both he and they are better off for the association. I also recognize that he was fairly compensated and that he still has good friends there who are going to miss him, so I’m trying to frame it as less “How could they not recognize what they were losing?” and more “How nice of them to let someone else benefit from his talent and abilities.”

So no ambassadorship for me, but I am trying.

Time to Do the Laundry!

The Potty Wars

Charlotte turned four in January and still refuses to potty train. We've tried everything:

• Rewarding her with chocolate--her favorite food group. The first time since she was two that she refused chocolate.
  
• Rewarding her with money--her favorite anything, until we added it to the potty training efforts.
• Bribing her with the promise of a trip to the Disney store--her second favorite place on Earth. Suddenly, she doesn't need any more plush toys or Polly Pocket-esque princess dolls.
• Having a "potty party," where she gets a doll/bear show her how to use the potty. Nope.
• Putting the rugs in danger and letting her wear the big girl panties. She takes them off and puts on a diaper when she needs to go.
• Buying her a DVD about using the potty. She loves the show's amazingly irritating song, sits on the potty but refuses to go.
• Putting a diaper in the (little) potty so she could go on that. She thought that was pretty funny.
• Telling her that her friends are all using the potty now. And your point is?
  
• Getting frustrated and taking money out of her piggy bank every time she goes in her diaper. I know: Very mean. See above.

The pediatrician and I finally decided that it's a control issue. Since she was about 15 months old, Charlotte has been dragged to speech therapy, physical therapy and occupational therapy, as well as to a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an audiologist, an orthopedist, and to a couple of other "ists" I've forgotten.

No one asked her if she wanted to go to any of these appointments--we just stuck her in the car and went. The potty is the one thing she has been able to control, so it seemed logical that this was the reason for her refusal to do this one thing on our time line. Until today.

After finding out that she has been using the potty at school, I asked her why she refused to do it at home.

"Cuz. Cuz me make you cry."

So it is a control issue, just not the one I thought.

Chicken Poop for the Soul

UPDATED: New photo! I was finally able to get Sophia and Zsu Zsu in the same shot.

This morning, the Washington Post provided another reason to love our chickens: apparently, their poop can be converted to energy. Lots of it. And it's actually a triple-threat. According to the article:

"Using a process called pyrolysis, the device super-heats the droppings to transform them into three products: an oil that can be used for heating, a slow-release fertilizer and a gas that the researchers hope will one day be recycled to power the machine."

Chicken poop is already used as fertilizer (and an excellent one, IMHO), but in Virginia, a lot of it makes its way into the Chesapeake Bay. The fish and plants there don't seem to have the same appreciation as the veggies, so converting the excess poop to energy would help reduce contamination of the Bay's waters.

While I don't think that Sophia and Zsu Zsu will be powering our house anytime soon--we'll still be relying on the solar panels for that--it is good to see that our feathered little friends will be adding one more item to the list of gifts they give us. Thanks, Girls!

Insert Title Here

Some random guy just tried to Friend me on Facebook.

In his profile pic, he is standing next to the wreckage of a small airplane that has crashed nose down.

Two of my brothers died when their plane crashed, nose down, at a small airport just outside of Denver, CO.

I am not crying, but I feel curiously . . pale. And shaky. And I keep telling myself that this is nothing more than an odd coincidence that feels like a bad joke.

And now I am crying.

Random Question of the Week--The Survivor Episode

Due to a DVR malfunction, we missed the first couple of episodes of this season's Survivor and I keep meaning to ask:

How did they manage the color coordination of players? Did wardrobe come in after they split everyone in two groups and say, "Here are the buffs, now you choose something red from this rack and you get something blue from the rack over by the window"?

I'm sure someone finds it aesthetically pleasing but, for some reason, I find it to be almost as annoying as the guy who played the (not really) Dead Grandmother Card, a.k.a: Johnny Fairplay.

The Courage Campaign Needs Help

Just got this email from Rick Jacobs of the Courage Campaign--an organization that seeks marriage equality for ALL. Please read it, watch the fear-mongering ad put out by "the National Organization for Marriage" and contribute whatever you can to help counter this ridiculous, narrow-minded bigotry.


This TV Ad Makes Me Sick

Marriage equality is gaining momentum across America.

On Friday, the Iowa Supreme Court -- by a unanimous ruling -- made marriage equality the law of the land. Then the Vermont legislature overturned their Governor's veto of a marriage equality bill by a two-thirds margin on Tuesday.

And now the religious right is responding with a national TV ad filled with fear about a same-sex marriage "storm" gathering across the country.

This morning, the "National Organization for Marriage" launched a disturbing ad using actors to push lies claiming that marriage equalty threatens personal freedoms. The ad is going up on the airwaves across America -- eight times a day in California -- as NOM seeks to build what they are calling a "rainbow coalition" against equality.

We need your help to fight back right now against this deplorable ad. With many legal experts expecting the California Supreme Court to uphold Prop 8, our only option will be to place an initiative on the ballot to restore marriage equality. To repeal Prop 8, we will need to build a grassroots army for change in every county of California.

In response, the Dolby Family is challenging our community to raise $25,000 as a matching grant to fund Camp Courage trainings for marriage equality activists.

Can you help us respond to these lies and distortions by turning fear into hope? Watch this despicable TV ad now and then contribute to support more Camp Courage trainings by helping us meet this generous $25,000 matching grant from the Dolby Family -- thus doubling their amazing donation:

http://www.couragecampaign.org/TurnFearIntoHope

While NOM's TV ad uses actors to portray false victims, Camp Courage is mobilizing real people to speak from their heart, door-to-door across California.

While NOM's TV ad uses actors to portray false victims, Camp Courage is mobilizing real people to speak from their heart, door-to-door across California.

Modeled on the "Camp Obama" training events that helped propel President Obama into the White House, Camp Courage uses the "Story of Self" to transform personal experiences -- each participant's unique inspiration for supporting marriage equality -- into compelling and authentic narratives that can persuade undecided voters.

Here's what Sara P., a participant, said about Camp Courage Los Angeles:

"At any time throughout the day I could look around the room and see a smile on someone's face, a tear running down their cheek, and the wheels turning in their head. Every moment, you could look to your left and look to your right and know that you were sitting next to a fellow soldier, someone that will be, or is, in the trenches with you fighting in the name of justice. How powerful is that?"

To build a movement to push back on the right-wing's lies and fear-mongering, we need to train and empower more people like Sara. These transformative trainings have been held in L.A. and Fresno and now San Diego and the Bay Area are next. Meanwhile, we've also mobilized grassroots organizers to launch 23 Equality Teams and 13 canvass events across California, with teams going door-to-door to talk directly to voters.

Please turn fear into hope. Watch this TV ad right now and then do what you can to help us continue to build an army for marriage equality. Your contribution will help us double the Dolby Family's amazing donation and expand Camp Courage into more locations:

http://www.couragecampaign.org/TurnFearIntoHope

We've made history in Iowa and Vermont. Now let's fight the right to make marriage equality a reality again in California.

Rick Jacobs
Chair, Courage Campaign

.............

The Courage Campaign is an online organizing network that empowers more than 700,000 grassroots and netroots supporters to push for progressive change in California.

To power our campaign to repeal Prop 8, please chip in what you can today

One Game I Don't Want to Play

Today I am buying socks. Lots and lots of socks. Not for me--for the girls. These socks will probably all be one color and one size. Because half of their socks wind their way from the floor to the dog's mouth to his digestive tract to his ---well, you know by now--Hannah and Charlotte are no longer permitted to request a particular color or size or style.

No. Now I get to answer "But why can't I have pom poms on my socks??"

with

"Because Mommy is tired of playing "Guess what I found in the dog's poop this morning?!"

Random Question of the Week

Do you ever look up at the night sky and think, "Wow. I'm a part of that"?

"The Number Zero, Brought To You By The Party Of N-O"

ht: Sam Stein

Another Poop Story

By now you've probably seen the list of things that Kairos has eaten. There's no telling what else he's ingested that we missed.

After his breakfast this morning I took him out to go to the bathroom. The last couple of times he'd had a little bit of trouble making things work. He would assume the position and then just move his tail up and down, as if he were working an old-fashioned water pump. It was the same today: he just stood there, waiting, moving his tail up and down; waiting, moving his tail up and down some more.

Finally! There was a bit--a tiny poop. More of a nugget, really. He moved to a different patch and continued his efforts. The neighbor came out of his side gate, scaring Kairos, who spun around, sending a sock whipping from his butt.

Two days ago, I saw him throw up what looked like either a sock or a napkin. Before I could get to it, he swallowed it again. I hope that this was the sock that he just pooped out and that there isn't another one in there somewhere.

And I still don't know where or when he found the sock. I do know that, because some of the sock poop got stuck to him and he won't left me wipe it off and he keeps trying to wipe it on the floor, I'm going to have the groomers shave his butt today.

Overheard in a Coffee Shop

The guy sitting at the table behind me was trying to set up a web account. He had apparently already paid for the account, but hadn't yet received a confirmation email, so he called customer service.

After a few minutes on the phone, he uttered one of the funniest things I've heard in a long time:

"Yeah, you're right. I guess "butt smoke" is too obvious a password."

Thanks for the laugh, dude!

Suicide By Sock

Kairos is one of the happiest dogs I've met. He's so excited to see people, whether a new acquaintance or an old friend, that he pees on them. Or on the ground at their feet. His tail is almost always wagging, occasionally even while he sleeps. Which makes it that much more difficult to understand why he seems intent on killing himself. With a sock. Or a headband. Or anything else that he can ingest that stands a good chance of blocking or wrapping itself around his intestines.

To date, the tally stands at:

1. Fabric square from Hannah's Knot-a-Quilt kit: Forcibly removed before it went all the way down). Cost: one fabric square from Hannah's Knot-a-Quilt set and pierced eardrums when Hannah realized that we were going to throw away said fabric square.
   
2. Fabric headband: Induced vomiting at the vet. Cost: two sets of X-rays, a full day stay, whatever medicine they used to make him vomit. Probably peroxide (see below). Cost: $600
3. Sock: Induced vomiting at home. Cost: one tablespoon of peroxide (at the vet's instruction) and a roll of paper towels to mop up.
4. Fabric headband: Induced vomiting at home. Cost: another tablespoon of peroxide, a roll of paper towels and having to listen to Hannah crying that that was her absolutely, positively most favorite headband and why can't she keep it. (She changed her mind after I took the limp, soggy, dog-food-smelling scrap of pink and silver headband out of the trash for her inspection.)
5. Sock: Vomiting. He did this one on his own. Cost: A roll of paper towels, plus Thomas had to get up in the middle of the night to clean up the mess.
6. Sock: Forcible extraction. I got it before it went down, but only because he was wearing a muzzle and I think that prevented him from swallowing it.
7. Small cloth doll: Forcible extraction. Cost: temper and nerves.
   
8. Ribbon--the one the vet used to tie on his post-op cone: It went all the way through. Cost: Ew, yuck, he had a ribbon hanging from his butt. (Hannah: Did you get it? I wanted that pretty blue ribbon. Me: It's not blue any more, sweetie.)
9. String from a rope toy: Also passed through on its own. Cost: none.
   
10. Sock: Still waiting for him to vomit it up. Cost: One tablespoon of peroxide and an "Oh my god--you're going right back to the breeder!"
    

I've been doing a little poking around and some of the tips I've found include:

1. Obviously, putting all of the socks away, which we're all getting better about, but he grabbed the second headband while we were playing in the back yard, a mere five seconds after it fell from Hannah's head.
   
2. Putting cayenne pepper or bitter apple on a sock that you leave out intentionally. The trainer did not recommend this.
   
3. Give them a toy-but NOT a treat--in exchange for the sock--but this assumes that you actually see them before the sock goes in all the way.
   
4. More exercise. In the beginning this would have made sense, because poor Kairos was pretty much confined to the house and yard until he had all of his shots. But either that's not the answer for him or it's just become a habit. He gets lots of exercise now and still, many things other than food must be eaten.
   

UPDATE:

The sock exited the dog, using the back door. No complications. No $600 vet bill. Whew!

Pica–noun Pathology.

an abnormal appetite or craving for substances that are not fit to eat, as chalk or clay, common in malnutrition, pregnancy, etc. Dictionary.com Unabridged Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2009.

---

Things I Never Imagined I’d Say

Hannah please don’t put the chickens down the slide again! And NO she does not want a ride in the swing again, either.

Charlotte—DO NOT wash your hands with that toothbrush!

Charlotte! Toothpaste! NOT the soap!

Whatever that is DO NOT put it in your mouth!

Jesus Edith! There’s a ribbon sticking out of the dog’s butt.

Feel free to add your own!

Update on Hannah's Art Contest Entry

Hannah's Poppy earned an Honorable Mention at the art contest sponsored by the Loma Prieta District Womens' Club and one of the judges said that she would like to buy it when Hannah has her first gallery show!

Reminder: Hannah is six.

She literally glowed when her teacher gave her the news.

I guess I'd better get started on transforming my plant room into an art studio for the girls.

A Paean to Citi--Well, Maybe Not

The New F***ing Citibank - watch more funny videos

The Dammit

First one of 2009! How, you must be asking, did I manage to go this long without finding something to be outraged about? Well, that gives us

Dammit #1:
I'm lazy. Well, feeling lazy, anyway. I just sent out invoices that should have gone two weeks ago (shut up, Thomas!). I've been dithering on a book proposal. There's a pile of laundry in my room that needs to be folded. The front garden is a mess (most wouldn't think so, but I'm usually a bit anal about it). Usually these would be signs of creeping depression, but now my brain is just tired. And feeling lazy.

Dammit #2:
R u s h L i m b a u g h. He calls women hos and femanazis; says that women work because they're unattractive and don't have alternative options for meeting people (men). He's loud and rude and crass. And yet he wonders why women don't like him. He has republican party bigwigs cowering at his feet and kissing the ring. He actually had the gall to invite the president of the US to debate him on the issues. Obama has more important things to thing about than a bloated talking head who thinks of no one but himself, but R u s h isn't not stupid; even this futile invite serves his purpose: Obama won't take the bait, leaving R u s h with the ability to say that Obama was afraid to come on his little show and "face" the 20 million, mostly male, listeners.

Dammit #3:
Bernie Madoff's portrait didn't go at auction. I expected that someone would have thought 100k a small price to pay for a large, sneering dartboard. Oh, wait: no one had any money left to pay for it. And he's just not worth the jail sentence one might get for slashing it. Not that I'm recommending that. Really.

Dammit #4:
I'm not ready to be 40.

Hannah Takes First Prize!

Hannah's Poppy took first prize for her age group in an art contest sponsored by the Woman's Club of Palo Alto this weekend:


The winners advance to the district competition on March 9.

Inadvertently Inappropriate, part II B

Charlotte's new favorite movie is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The movie is cute so I don't mind that I've already seen it 10 times (I'm not listing the real number here as I don't want you to think that my children watch television all day). The problem arises, again, from her inability to make certain sounds--"ak," for example--and her need to add an "a" at the end of many words and often, mid-word.

Yesterday afternoon we were at Peet's (yes, again!) and Charlotte said she wanted to watch "Chadee a Chocit F u c k a de tee."

Much more of this and I might have to switch my office to the other Palo Alto Peet's.

Hannah's Gallery

I'm making up for lost time: there are new posts up on Hannah's Gallery.

Inadvertently Inappropriate, part II

1. Hannah, on seeing a photo of a model:

Mommy, why is her skirt all the way up to her vagina?

Why indeed, peanut.


2. Charlotte, still unable to pronounce the blended sound, "ow":

Mommy! You c[o]unt! You c[o]unt! One, two, three . . . .

Her speech therapist didn't understand at first why I thought this an important thing to work on. But once I told her that this had been yelled at me in a crowded store and in a coffee shop, she figured it out.

Little Slices of Heaven

For Charlotte, it's Disneyland:




For Hannah, it's her art (well, Disneyland, too):

Kairos

Just a little sketch Hannah whipped out this morning. And by "whipped out," I mean "in under two minutes."

Hannah's Gallery

I've finally updated Hannah's Art Gallery.

There are three new posts, covering 2008 (a small sample) through this week.

Stroll through and remind yourself that she's only six.

Random Request

Let's say that you're waiting in line at your local coffee shop.

Emphasis on "Coffee Shop."

It is not a pharmacy. HIPAA does not apply. The person in front of you is not giving out sensitive information and, in most cases, will not mind if you overhear an order for a nonfat soy double latte, or anything else on the menu.

It's a coffee shop, not a bank. You do not need to stay behind some invisible line and wait until the Next Available waves you over.

Rather than force the line behind you out the door, please, move up. Really, it's OK. And if someone gives you trouble, tell them to talk to me. Especially if I'm waiting, un-caffeinated, in a cold rain.

My New Favorite Photo

25 Random Things--The Cheat Post

What follows is from my favorite chain-esque mail of all time. This is possibly not a very good description, as I detest chain email to the point where I am certain to spend eternity in hell, or at least be hit by a bus tomorrow, because I refuse to forward these letters. But this one was fun and a great way to learn random things about people I've known for years. In two cases I learned things about women I've know for most of my life.

So my responses to this I-only-saw-it-on-Facebook chain was going to be my post for the day (well, yesterday, if I'm being honest; I never got around to posting it), but then I saw that Dan Zak also received it and then used it for a column in today's Washington Post. His is way funnier--and he was paid for it!--but this is mine:

Rules: Once you've been tagged, write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you.

At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

25) I am afraid of spiders.
24) I once passed out when my brother dropped a plastic spider on my shoulder.
23) I am a chocoholic who is allergic to chocolate. Fortunately it is a mild allergy.
22) I would like to live in Europe for a year or so.
21) I am equally afraid of success and failure.
20) I didn’t get my first cavity until I was 30.
19) My favorite TV show is House.
18) I once went an entire year without watching TV.
17) My favorite TV show is The Daily Show. (Yes, I know. Two favorites)
16) I can’t watch psychological thrillers.
15) I also can’t watch horror movies.
14) In the year before my mother died, I spoke to her for a grand total of three minutes.
13) I suck at math.
12) Sometimes I still wake up from nightmares about waiting tables.
11) If I can see the entire plot line of a show in the first two minutes I can’t watch it.
10) I love the type of friends you can go for years without seeing and then pick up where you left off.
9) Unmedicated, I am painfully shy. Medicated, I sometimes still am.
8) Politically I lean very hard to the left, but I never vote based on party affiliation.
7) Give me a pint of ice cream with any sort of chocolate chunk, chip or ribbon and I will do a little mining to remove all of those chocolate bits.
6) I hate these lists. [[Update: obviously not true]]
5) I have started getting up at 5:00 two days a week. This is perhaps more shocking to me than it will be to you. (Depending on how well you know me, of course.)
4) I’m a writer and almost (REDACTED) years old, but have only recently figured out the mysteries of the semi-colon.
3) I like my in-laws more than my own parents (see #14).
2) I detest having my photo taken.
1) I hope I have 25 people to send this to.

And There Goes the Neighborhood?

Now that Kairos has finally had all of his shots, Charlotte and I were able to take him for a walk yesterday morning. We were three blocks from the house when I found what looked like a small bag of cocaine.

Cocaine. In a little baggie. Just sitting there, next to the telephone pole between the sidewalk and road, on the only patch of grass that was covered in the yellow oxalis that Charlotte likes to pick.

Kairos found the bag first and I barely managed to get it away before it ended up the same way as a few other things he's put in his mouth--slimy, $600 vomit on the floor of the vets' office (though in this case it would probably have been a bit more expensive).

Because I forgot to bring my phone and I didn't want to just leave the baggie there for another dog--or little kid--to find, I scooped it up in a poop bag and took it to the police department.

One might think that the possibility of drugs appearing on a street in a quiet neighborhood might excite a little attention, but in this case you would be wrong. I sat in the police station for 45 minutes before anyone came to take the bag. The receptionist only wanted my name, address, phone number and where I found the bag.

When she finally appeared, the detective only wanted my name, address, drivers license number, phone number, cell phone number, where I found the bag, and then the bag itself.

Next time I'm just going to call and let them come to me. Not that I want there to be a next time, of course. But then, there's always Weeds.

Yes, I Can!

While I am certain that the following is not what our new, and much beloved, President had in mind when he first (or last, even) spoke the words "Yes, we can!" here is a short list of non-political things I learned on Inauguration day:

1. I CAN stand in a jam-packed Metro station for an hour and a half without having an anxiety attack or getting frustrated or angry.
2. I CAN stand for hours in below-freezing weather, hopping around to avoid the knife's edge that called itself the wind and to spare my toes the threat of frostbite; and bobbing my head side to side to get a better view of the jumbo tron.
3. When absolutely necessary I CAN tell absolute strangers in the 5'9" and over set that they have strayed into the Short People Section and that they will have to move on. NOW.
4. I CAN go more than 13 hours without eating or drinking or peeing.
   
5. I CAN, when circumstances compel, swallow my own vomit. A little explanation is probably in order: My friend, Sharon, and I got up very early to leave for the Inauguration. As it didn't occur to me that I might not get anything to eat for hours, I took my several medications on an empty stomach, rode in the back seat of a car on a winding road, and then bounced around in a hot, crowded Metro car. Although Sharon offered me her newspaper to throw up on and the man in front of me encouraged me to "just let it out--they have people to clean that up," I couldn't bring myself to do it. And it wasn't just because I was too embarrassed (though there was that), but the thought of some other happy Inauguration-goer stepping on to the train and into that--well I just couldn't do it.
   

Random Question of the Week

The serving size for ice cream is listed as ½-cup. Is that calculated using:

1. The amount of ice cream that comfortably fits into the ½-cup (i.e.: loosely scooped);
2. The amount of ice cream you can force into the ½-cup; or
3. The amount of melted ice cream that fits into the ½-cup?

Interesting Fact of the Day

Australian researchers found that mixing liquor with diet drinks can intensify the alcoholic effect by 50%.

(Source: Womens Health)

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Mall

You've seen, on television and in the paper and everywhere online, the crowds that packed the National Mall, waiting for Barack Obama to be sworn in as the 44nd President. None of those people drove to the Mall. A few were dropped off by limo or taxi. Many of them walked. But many more arrived by Metro, Washington D.C.'s subway system.

My friend Sharon and I took the Metro in from her home in Bethesda, MD. Because her stop is almost at the end of the line, the cars were relatively empty when we boarded. But by the time we transferred to the correct line, the trains were full, and when we finally reached our station, the cars were packed so tightly that you didn't actually need to put your feet on the ground.

It took us 40 minutes to get from Bethesda to the L'Enfant station. It took another hour to get from the train door to the street:






The funny part? No one was angry. Some were afraid that they might miss everything. Some were pushing, but only because they were being pushed and had no choice. But everyone apologized for pushing and made sure no one pushed or knocked over the little kids. But no one was angry about being stuck underground for so long with no idea when we were going to be set free. We just laughed and chanted "Let my people go" and "Yes We Did" when we finally moved toward the gates.

Of course there were a few other, less polite, chants:

Inauguration 2009--The View From The Mall, Part I

I wanted to capture a little of what it sounded like to those of us on the Mall. The echo was at first annoying but came to feel appropriate, as a voice ringing down the halls of history ought to sound and feel.

A Note About the Inauguration

Can't post photos yet, but a note:

This was the happiest crowd of people I have ever seen. Patient. Joyous. Singing. Chanting. Laughing.

Two million people and not a single Inauguration-related arrest.

Two million people and not a frown in sight.

I've loved being here and I love this day!

Let the Inauguration Begin!

Well, tomorrow anyway.

Hannah is a Brilliant Artist--and Only Six

The Convergance of Life, Politics and Family

I am going to Barack Obama's Inauguration

I'll probably have to walk two miles to get there.

I have no ticket to the swearing in.

I have no guarantee of a spot on the parade route.

I don't have an invite to a ball, or a party of any type.

I'm not sure I even have a coat warm enough for the East coast weather.

But when I allow myself to believe it, I am, for the first time in a very long time, gloriously and incandescently happy.

Because I am going to Obama's Inauguration.



As an added bonus, I am going to DC alone, which means six hours on a plane by myself. And six more on the way back. Very happy indeed.

Vice Presidential Handlers Lure Cheney Into Traveling Crate

From The Onion:

Vice Presidential Handlers Lure Cheney Into Traveling Crate


January 13, 2009 | Issue 45•03

WASHINGTON—A team of nine specially trained handlers have successfully lured outgoing vice president Dick Cheney into a reinforced steel traveling crate in order to transport him back to his permanent enclosure in Casper, WY, official sources reported Monday. "He's a smart one. Once he sees the crate, he gets pretty nippy, but we've learned a few tricks over the years," chief VP wrangler Ted Irving breathlessly said while applying pressure to a deep gash on his forearm. "If we break a rabbit's legs and throw it in there, he will eventually go in to finish it off. Doesn't work with dead rabbits, though. Cheney only eats what he kills." Irving said that the latest vice presidential relocation went much more smoothly than September's diplomatic trip to Georgia, which was delayed for several hours after Cheney mauled three secret service agents and escaped inside the White House walls.

HT: Thomas :) Thanks for the laugh!

Glacier National Park in Summer

Until I'm feeling more like myself, I thought I'd share a few of the photos from our road trip last summer.

Thomas and the girls walking up the glacier at Logan Pass:





Wildlife in the parking lot:


The reason it looks so close isn't because the zoom on my camera is working better, but because I took the photo from the door of the minivan. Into which I leapt to avoid the horns.

12 Days of Christmas Reinterpreted

Because it gave me a much-needed laugh . . .

Inadvertently Inappropriate

1. Me, playing with the puppy:
"Hey little man! Where are your balls? Get your balls!"

2. Hannah playing with the puppy:
"Oh, how sweet! He's hugging my leg! And dancing!"
No, Hannah. He's neither hugging nor dancing.

3. Charlotte in the theater at Hannah's school performance. Every time the lights were dimmed, she shouted:
"Ooooh, dark-y!"
The inappropriate part was that, the first time she yelled it was after the first act. The lead dancer, one of the most talented kids in the K-2 program, also happens to be African American. Fortunately, speech therapy continues.

4. Hannah, after climbing onto my lap:
"What do you have in your pants?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"What do you have in your pants that's crunchy?"
uh . . .
"Oh! No! That's a (dog) poop bag in my sweatshirt pocket!"

Yes. I leave you for a week, and this is what you come back to.

How They Grow

I was all ready to send a friend over to see photos of the girls when I realized that I hadn't posted any recently. So . . .

Hannah is smiling here because I told her to. Normally we have no trouble getting her to mug for the camera. In fact, we generally have to tell her to knock it off please, so we can get a nice photo for Grandma.:)

A Peet's girl from her infancy.

Charlotte's favorite show is Mickey Mouse Playhouse, and you simply must have the Minnie Mouse costume in order to properly execute the hot dog dance.

Charlotte sick and looking unbearably fragile. She is, of course, anything but.

When Puppies Attack

I introduced Kairos to the camera today. Unfortunately he's still at the stage where he eats everything first and then asks if it's actually edible.

He is the Very Model of a Modern . . . Golden Doodle

The new puppy, Kairos, has settled right in and is quickly proving himself a member of the family: He's very fond of gadgets and gizmos, particularly if they have lights, make noise or--most importantly--have cords. He's also taken a liking to my computer and even offered to help out with work while I'm sick, the licking and pawing of the keyboard a lovely, modern twist on "the dog ate my homework."





(My apologies for the poor quality photo--it's from my iPhone. Not bad for a phone, but not great for publishing.)