Island Haddons

Dear Catholic Bishops & President Obama

2012-02-13T08:44:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to let both of you know that I'm Catholic and I use birth control.

Sincerely,

Tess

Catholic Bishops Oppose Obama Birth Control Compromise

Cookies

2012-01-18T00:21:00.000-08:00

I don't know why cookies are such a popular fund raiser. What a terrible thing to fling at middle aged parents! I'm trying my best to get ready for my high school reunion this coming fall and I've got to wade through a fund raising mine field.

Shoot, the Girl Scout cookie sale is in March. That shouldn't be too terrible considering that the cookies are all in sealed boxes so I never have to actually be confronted with their delicious yumminess. Cookies are one thing, but cookies with a good cause thereby making you feel like you're doing the world a favor -- well, that's just hard to resist. Both of the girls are taking cookie orders right now so if you're looking for cookies, they can hook you up.

Last fall, my hubby ordered 3 tubs of cookie dough from my friend's kid for his soccer club. It keeps well in the freezer so despite them telling us that the dough was ready, we've avoided having it in our house by never picking it up. It's been a good arrangement. We pay for the cookie dough and we don't have to actually eat it.

But... two things happened at the same time this past week. 1. I was at my friend's house. 2. She remembered about the cookie dough that has been taking up freezer real estate.

Shucks.

My husband had ordered peanut butter, chocolate chip, and snickerdoodles. I'm not really much of a cookie eater. None of this really phased me at all. My hubby's real Achilles' heel is the snickerdoodle. He just can't get enough.

As far as I can tell, it is a sugar cookie with a slight tartness from cream of tartar, and covered in cinnamon before it is baked so you can see the fissures in the surface as the dough spreads from the heat of the oven. Kind of like skin on the aliens from the movie Alien Nation.

When I discovered that a big snow storm was on its way, I decided to cook up the cookies. It would be good to have prepared food on hand for the kids just in case we lose power. It has happened for over a week for us before.

But I decided to stick the snickerdoodle dough in the freezer.

Lil'T couldn't understand my reason at first.

Me: I don't like us having cookies around much in the first place because I know your daddy might sneak them. He can probably resist the peanut butter and the chocolate chip, but snickerdoodles are his favorite. I don't want it to easily available for him to eat.

Lil'T: We'll a-course he's gonna sneak them. They are SNEAKerdoodles!

I'm so totally not making this conversation up. My baby girl is hilarious. She made up a joke all on her own.

Genius.

Better living through plastic

2012-01-08T13:37:00.000-08:00

When I got my first iPod, my husband suggested that I get a Zagg to cover it. If you're not familiar with this product, basically it is a plastic scratch resistant skin that you place on it. The advantage of such a product is you don't have a case that adds to the profile of the device making it bulky for your pockets and your purse. The other thing is that a scratched up display or touch screen will simply bug the crap out of me. To the point that I will obsess on that blemish and get irritated every time that I use the device. I know. It is neurotic. What did you expect?

You have to clean the device meticulously with the enclosed lint free cloth. You mist it with water. Then you take the sheathing and carefully, not letting your fingers touch the adhesive, place it on the iPod. You take the enclosed squeegee and push out air and water bubbles. If you do it correctly, you've got a gorgeous application with a surface that keeps your electronics from getting banged up. The neurotic person within me is saved.

It took me hours to wrap my iPod in it's Zagg protective sheathing. The most challenging part was the two concentric circles for the controls. I think part of my brain went up in smoke that day.

Despite that, the results were phenomenal. The iPod still looks brand new despite being obsolete in some ways. It only has 4G of storage so I can only have about half of all the music recorded in the last century stored upon it. Unacceptable.

Anyhow, when we got our new Samsung Droid phones, I went ahead and got the Zagg screen protector for it. This time I really missed that part of my brain that went up in smoke with the iPod installation. I couldn't get it right. I kept having to reposition the thing and by the end, there were all kinds of nasty pock marks in the sheathing. It has been bugging me for the past year. Seriously, I'm a wreck of a person.

Yesterday though, I found a new kiosk in the mall. There was a young man sitting behind the counter saying that if I would like to replace my old pock marked screen protector, he'd give me it since it is a lifetime warranty. He would only charge $5 for installation unless I wanted to do it myself.

Best $5 I had spent all day!

The only distressing thing is that the company would like to see why people are returning the films so he took my used cover and stuck it on a white piece of paper. It was horrifying. It was so brown it was practically black. That I could see the screen of my phone at all is remarkable. And the thought of the microbes making their nest on my smart phone screen conjures up memories of the South Park episode where the sea monkeys became sentient beings in Cartman's room. It is a good thing that no sea men were involved with the maintenance of my phone.

My phone looks brand spanking new. I think it actually works better. No joke! And this kid installed it in less than 10 minutes.

I can't keep myself from touching it.

Rodents

2012-01-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

My mother is visiting. One of her most quoted quotable was in relation to my pet rats. I told her that we bought them from the pet store and she said, "You *paid* for them?" Did she really think that we went outside, trapped some wild rats, stuck them in a cage and told the kids, "Here's your new pets!"?

This morning when we were talking about the rats and how I still missed them, I told Mom that unfortunately we can't get pet rats anymore. At least, not as long as we have Holly in the family. She asked why.

Me: Holly is a rat terrier. Rats are her...

Hubby: racial enemy. Holly gets an extra hit die roll against them.

Forcast

2012-01-04T21:34:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Susan is encouraging me to join her on a half marathon in May. Things you should know about me, I am not a runner. I am not a jogger. I am barely a walker. But I like the idea of running. I think maybe this could be good for me. At least I feel glad to go for the walk because my dog needs the exercise anyway.

Then I remembered that I live in the Seattle weather zone. By that I mean, we share the exact same climate as Seattle. Famous for its rain, we get it too. Just not the fame. Nor the traffic. But I think I'm veering off course. I'm trying to stay true to my training schedule so this half marathon thing isn't as daunting a goal.

I wasn't totally unprepared. Despite it being rainy and awful, I put on my running shoes and an allegedly waterproof coat. I even put a coat on the dog. (A note about clothes on the dog: Holly barely tolerates wearing her collar. She is joyous when we take it off at night. So when I do put a harness on her, she's already sad. But when I reach for her coat she is positively stricken. She'll stand there, stock still, with her ears pinned so far back that they touch in the back of her head and her eyes look at me pleading. They seem to say, "What did I ever do to you? Why do you torment me so?" But it was raining pigs and cows today, so despite her protests, she wore the coat and was much drier for it.)

I had to pull Holly out of the car when we reached our destination. She knew better than me that this was no weather for walking. But out into it we went and she endured. I tried to do that thing that Susan told me to do, walk for 2 minutes then jog for 10 - 30 seconds, rinse, repeat. But Holly stopped me as soon as we got to the grass, quickly did her business and then looked at me with those pleading eyes again. "Did my thing. Let's go home. Can't you see that it is wet out here?"

But against my dog's better judgement, I started out with my walk/jog training regimen. 7 minutes into it, my feet soaked, my pants soaked, my allegedly waterproof jacket turning out to be a passable sponge, my fingers freezing and my job approval ratings from my dog reaching an all time low, I turned around and headed back.

Later that day I managed to go for a more leisurely walk with another friend. At least I got out. But this time I wore waterproof boots, woolen socks, ski pants, ski gloves, a touk, a properly waterproof coat, poly-pro long johns, and carried an umbrella.

I was still cold.

Days like this have me questioning the life choices I've made that led me to live here instead of where I was born: Hawaii.

I heard a conversation on the radio today that while meant to be funny, kind of turned a knife in my gut. Some woman called in and asked, "Any idea what the weather will be like tomorrow?" The DJ said, "Well, considering that tomorrow will be a day between September and May in Seattle, I'm going to take a stab at it and say that it's going to be rainy."

I know, I moved here with eyes wide open. Who knew I was such an idiot when I was in my twenties?

Dinner

2012-01-01T13:00:00.001-08:00

Me: Today is the Feast of the Holy Family.

Him: We get to eat the holy family?

Nine

2011-12-27T11:51:00.000-08:00

I know I don't corner the market on mixed feelings about Christmas. People the world over lost their loved ones near the holidays. I mean, millions of people die every day. You would hope that you'd get a break from death around Christmas, but that doesn't happen.

Nine years ago on Christmas Eve, my father died. And if you look back on my blog, you'll have read the story. You might have even heard me tell it. So I don't need to rehash it here. My two older kids were 5 and 1 years old at the time. They don't remember a Christmas time that there wasn't a sad Mommy in the mix. This was 9 years ago. Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds?

For me, it manifests in me dragging my feet in getting ready for Christmas. Those traditions that we are so careful to cobble together for our families, to make our own stories for the kids to reminisce about when they're adults, I push off to the last possible second. I avoid the smell of a real tree as much as possible, because sometimes the scent brings back the grief strong and present instead of suppressed and in the background. I get that scent and it hits me hard in the chest.

Three years ago, my uncle took his departure front he stage. Just days before he died, I told him that I was finally feeling like I could do Christmas again. That maybe the grief had become a quieter note in the song of the season. Only to have my uncle bring grief right back to the foreground.

Thanks.

So it was with dark humor we coped with my last uncle in the family of the originals entering the hospital at Thanksgiving. No, Uncle John didn't ruin Christmas this year. However, all of us got nervous about it. His daughter Sham thought that maybe her dad went into the hospital to maintain his Star Rewards status at Pali Momi. He almost made it through 2011 without a single hospitalization.

Next year is the tenth anniversary. I'll be in Hawaii for that Christmastime. Not sure how I'll deal with that. I've got no insights today. No great revelations. Just that I'm glad that it is almost over.

Marisa

2011-12-20T14:56:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago, I made a promise to write a letter to all the people who are important to me, who have impacted my life in some way. They were supposed to be a kind of thank-you letter and a kind of testimonial too. How meeting them has changed me life in whatever way it did. But when it came to the actual practice of writing these letters, I was frozen. Maybe the people who are important to my life felt slighted waiting for their letters that never came in the mail. I mean, when you set out a task like that, it really is daunting. I was a fool to ever set that out as a goal. I am an idiot. It is an impossible task and subject to some serious procrastination.

But today I'm going to write one of these letters.

Today is Marisa's birthday.

She and I met years ago when our first kids were both still in diapers. Now that they're teen agers, that is sure to embarrass the heck out of them, and for that I am glad. Her older child is a girl, my eldest a boy. But back then, they were great buddies. Marisa was new to the island as was I. We both had given up our careers to stay home with our babies and were adjusting to being stay-home moms. Marisa had the added challenge of having a husband who travelled for work. We both were desperate for adult interaction. We became fast friends, but not terribly close back then. My first impression of her was that she was funny, very pretty, and super social.

As the kids got older, they went to different preschools. You'd be surprised how that little change can make a difference. The kids also moved into the phase where they preferred to be with kids of their same gender. Suddenly boys and girls were not playing together like they used to. We started running in different circles, but were always glad to see each other whenever we did meet up. Living on an island, that happens a lot.

A couple of years ago, I got in my mind that I wanted to really be a grown up. Start hosting and going to dinner parties. After reading about a supper club in some magazine, I decided that was what I was going to do. I made a couple of rules for myself on these supper parties. They had to be with people who loved food & were willing to try new things. My two best friends were instantly eliminated because of violations of that basic premise, adventurous eating. By these rules, I shouldn't have allowed my own husband in the club, but he got a pass because of me. He's still iffy on certain types of veggies and seafood, but he's come a long way. There was brief talk of me bringing somebody else to be my date because my husband could be such a dud.

I admit, I struggled to find the 3 other couples to be in my group. Some people were worried about the time commitment. At least that was what they told me. Maybe it was the fear of meeting new couples who only had me in common. Who knows. But I really struggled to find people to meet the criteria.

On a whim, I went with my daughter to watch the local musical theater company do a production of Beauty and the Beast. Sitting by herself was Marisa, right in front of me and my daughter. We chatted and I asked her if she and her husband might be interested in being in my supper club. She said yes immediately. Yay! Coincidentally, I asked the wife of the guy who played the Beast to be in it and she agreed as well. Who knew that half of my recruiting problems would be solved at Beauty and the Beast?

It was one of the luckiest things that has ever happened to me.

For one, Marisa can make a drink. She says that her mom would have her mix drinks for the family dinner parties when she was a kid. Imagine bartending from the age of 9. (That *might* be an exaggeration.) Marisa has a very heavy hand. Or maybe I have a very light tolerance. But for the first few supper clubs, I could barely make it through the appetizers without being completely blotto. She is easily one of the most interesting people I know. She's studied World Religions and has a totally different philosophy about spirituality than most people I know -- but she still manages to be respectful and nonjudgmental about other people's views. Something that I know other people simply don't know how to emulate. Nor often do they know how to recognize it when they see it. She volunteers and works tirelessly in service as a Rotarian and as a Girl Scout. She has this GORGEOUS voice which she used as part of a band with her husband (they have a cd). Went karaoke with her friends & her once and was blown away. She is a stunningly graceful belly dancer. A belly dancer after 2 kids and you couldn't ever tell! Saw her in a bikini this summer and if she weren't my friend, I'd have thrown jealous daggers at her all day.

A couple of years after I started the supper club, the unthinkable happened to our family. My husband lost his job. Beyond that, he didn't seem to be motivated to look for a new one for a while. I knew that he needed to figure that out. I needed to figure that out too. Unless you go through something like that, you don't know what it is like. It was devastating, and ego crushing. I knew the right thing to do was to go back to nursing, a career that always felt like shoes that didn't fit. Sure I could walk in them, but it would hurt. Nursing was soul crushing to me because it doesn't speak to my passions. And who gives a crap about passion when there are babies to feed and a house to pay for.

The other thing is that nobody knows how to help you out. Nobody knows what to do for you when this happens, because it is so uncomfortable. In this society, we don't talk about money. We say empty promises like, "If I can help in any way, just let me know." How exactly are we supposed to ask for help?

So I cannot express the gratitude I felt when Marisa would call and say, "I'm just overrun with produce from the garden. Why don't you come over and help me out." That summer and fall, she gave us so much from her bounty, always with the attitude that we were helping her since her girls wouldn't eat the stuff and her husband was out of town. Once she even insisted that we take a bunch of meat she had in her freezer because it was "just going to go to waste."

Not only did she help feed my family in a very concrete and real way, she did so without ever making me feel beholden to her.

I guess she has even more grace than her ability to dance.

I'm grateful to my son for being little at the same time her daughter was so that Marisa and I could meet. I'm grateful to my daughter for wanting to see Beauty and the Beast with me. I'm grateful to my dog for being such a spitfire that she tires out Marisa's big dogs and gives me an excuse to hang out with Marisa.

Mostly, I'm grateful, Marisa, for the friendship you give me. Love you, sister!

Lips

2011-12-02T22:06:00.001-08:00

Burt's Bees. I wanted to let you know that you've won. I'm not getting paid by you. This is not an endorsement. This is surrender. I'm addicted to your lip balm. I didn't know that lip balm could be something you could get addicted to. I never put much thought to it before. But you've succeeded in giving me a completely irrational brand loyalty. You win. Uncle.

Before last Christmas, I saw your pretty yellow boxes with pseudo-Victorian era drawings of produce, bees, and the guy who looks like Santa in the off season. I always wanted to try your lip glosses. But when I looked at the price, I shied away. If I can get a Chapstick for 99 cents, why would I pay $3 for a tube of your stuff, right? Just made no sense.

But you lured me in Burt's Bees, with a cute little gift set which gave you 3 lip balms and a "keepsake tin" for only $4. What a bargain! Can we talk about that stupid keepsake tin? It was supposed to be an ornament. Maybe at your corporate offices, you might decorate your Christmas tree with ornaments emblazoned with your logo. Not my Christmas tree. Lucky for you my 4th grade daughter was thrilled to have another small box in which to put her treasures (aka rubbish).

I didn't care for the pomegranate. It was red but colorless when applied and tasted nothing like pomegranates. The honey smelled too much like... well, honey. It reminded me of old lady perfume. But then there was your plain old Cooling Soothing Beeswax Lip Balm. It makes my lips tingle. Feels so good. (Is it wrong that I'm blushing a little writing this?)

I found myself actually running out of tubes of this stuff. Nobody ever runs out of lip balm, but I did. I use it multiple times a day. I actually pay *gasp* full price. I've expanded my addiction to include multiple shimmers which feel all tingly but have a little bit of color. My fave is Fig.

Burt's Bees, I'm yours.

Why not?

2011-11-20T10:37:00.001-08:00

It isn't her fault that she doesn't spell this right. It sounds like it should be spelled with an "h." In fact, I wouldn't be against her writing a proposal that we do add the "h," to Wyoming. Think of it: WHYOMING. Why not? In fact, as my husband says, if they had spelled Whyoming that way, it would be logical to name the capital Whynot.

Fortunately, my husband caught the error and before my daughter went off to take her geography test, he reminded her not to put in the "h." Aside from that erroneous h, my daughter had this nailed. States & their capitals -- Mrs. Sua from St. Joes would be impressed with my daughter. Mrs. Sua gave me an "F" on that test in the 6th grade. Hey, I got Hawaii & its capital.

When my daughter came home, Hubby asked how she thought the test went. She said that she think she did awesome. Then he asked if she put the "h" into Wyoming. She stopped in her tracks. Oh bummer, she said, at least I'll get a 3 (instead of the 4, equivalent of an A+).

So on Friday she came home totally thrilled.

"Daddy, you're WRONG!!! Whyoming does have an H! My teacher didn't mark it wrong!"

When he showed her that indeed, Wyoming doesn't have an "h," she made him promise not to let her teacher know. She wants to preserve her 4.

Wile te onorable ting to do is let er teacer know of te mistake, I tink instead, I'll just sacrifice some H's out of words to make up for te extra one my daugter put into er state test.

Isn't it ironic, doncha think?

2011-11-15T08:18:00.001-08:00

There is an irony to life that has been bugging me the way a scab you pick at all day does. Not really painful, but not comfortable either, and you just fuss with it without ever meaning to. It strikes me that the people who dislike something so much, that they dedicate their energies to it's banishment or management, end up faced with the thing they hate the most constantly. For example, I imagine that fitness buffs hate sloth and fat. But if they pursue this as a career path, they end up working with overweight and heavy people. And granted, they'll likely transform these people into fitter and healthier versions of themselves, but there will always be another heavy person to take their place.

But what has been on my mind lately are the people who fight for sexually abused children.

A couple of years ago, I remember watching an Oprah (Must have been when I just had one of my 3 kids. Really the only time I ever watched her show with regularity. What else can you do when you're breastfeeding a kid on the couch?) which was focused on child pornography. There were 3 people they were interviewing about their work, which was, of course, facing budget cutbacks. There were two women who spent their days watching child pornography (the phrase kiddie porn makes something heinous seem less horrifying so I don't use it) building cases against the alleged offenders. The one guy was the detective who had to slog through the case files and arrest the perpetrators.

What struck me about the three of them was that there was a world weariness around their eyes. That they all looked at things that turned their stomachs and that they knew they had to do it because otherwise there would be no way to bring justice down upon the perpetrators. Theirs were the eyes that watched when the children were being violated. Their eyes were the ones that recognized the suffering. It was their witness that could testify against the rapists for the voiceless children. The male detective said that there were nights that he had to tear himself away from his desk because each one of those files sitting on its top represented one more child who was going to endure a living hell. One more waste of breath violating another innocent life. And it weighed down his soul to know that the next day, more files would be added to the stack. More children, more perpetrators. More.

I think what has brought this to the forefront for me is the latest scandal at Penn State. I've tried to avoid hearing about it but it is even on NPR. So I turn the station and it is all over the morning talk shows. But that's the deal, isn't it. While the whole pedophilia thing upsets me and makes me want to call down some serious smiting from the heavens, it is so beyond my understanding that I cannot let it into my psyche. I cannot look at it square in the face. I cannot believe the reality of it because it shakes my basic understanding of what it is to be a person. I know it exists, but I cannot pay attention because to me, it feels like breathing in asbestos -- it is destined to grow cancer on my soul.

I think that is why there is inaction on the part of other adults faced with the ugly truth of some kid being violated by an adult. There is a desire, unthinkable and unforgivable, to wish it away. That if the accusations would just disappear, then there would be a return to normalcy. The world view that adults protect and nurture children would not be replaced by the world view that somebody you know is abusing, molesting, and raping children. I think this is why so many adults err on the side of complicity. You would hope that the first adult a child approaches would be the hero. Likely, it is the only adult that the child will have had the courage to approach. And if that person cannot get past the inertia of not wanting their world view to change, then that child's freedom is likely lost.

I think this is what happened in the Penn State case. I think that the coaches couldn't believe that this was happening. Despite being confronted with the actual act of rape witnessed by another person, inaction prevailed. That one of their coaches, a guy they've hung out with, been friends with, discussed strategy with, had been a voice of reason and a good sounding board for them, could ever be the kind of person that raped children. The children who were victimized were already from troubled homes. These kids were already voiceless in their own lives, and this predator took advantage of the groundwork laid by other adults.

I don't have much insight to offer here. Just making the observation. If not for those investigators, those detectives who are willing to look the ugly of our society full in the face, those kids would remain voiceless. They don't wear capes, nor can they fly. They're not trumpeted or given keys to the city. But what they have devoted their lives to, they pay the price. What they do is no less than heroic.

Annual birthday celebration

2011-11-06T01:25:00.000-07:00

Sharon, Julia & I have our birthdays within 2 weeks of each other. When we figured this out, we instituted yearly birthday outings without husbands or kids. This was after we had a disastrous year of having 3 individual birthday celebrations. There was too much cake and just... well, it got really bad by the time we got to Julia's birthday. Just felt like watching the same movie over and over and over again. Like when I was a kid and looked forward to watching The Wizard of Oz. You only got to see it on television once a year and it was an event. If you missed it, you'd have to wait until the next year. Then came VHS & Betamax and all of a sudden watching the WoO wasn't as exciting. I got a copy from my Aunty Pris one year and I haven't watched it since. So having 3 birthday parties with the same circle of friends all within the same 2 week period... You see how bad had gotten.

We went to the Harbour Public House (yeah, with the extra "u" because the people who founded it were from England) along with all the adults on the island. At least it felt that way. We showed up relatively early, at 5:45 PM, and still the place was packed. I think the senior citizens who show up to meals at 3 PM for the blue plate special have a good idea. Plenty of parking and you don't have to wait for a seat. I suppose that is just around the corner for the 3 of us. I had my first pint of mangoweizen. You know the Hawaii in me can't pass up a mango anything. Same goes for coconut. Or lychee. But it just tasted like beer to me.

We are such old moms. Even though the kids were safe at home, of course our conversation turned to living with teen aged boys and tween girls. I'm the only one with a kindergartener anymore. Those girls are so close to the finish line. Damn. I guess you can take the moms away from the kids but still, our worlds revolve around them. I wonder if I'll have anything to talk with these broads about when their young ones end up graduating. Who am I kidding, of course I will. They're my girls!

So anyway, we decided to try to find some karaoke someplace. It's my birthday celebration and despite neither of these two chicks being filipinas, I was going to make them come with me. They had promised to be a good audience while I sang. Neither of them wanted to sing with me. It's okay. So long as they'll go with me, I'm good.

We tried the Mexican Cantina first. When we entered the establishment, we doubled the number of women in the packed bar. No karaoke. They were watching some game on tv. I don't know what kind. There was green field underneath men running around with numbers on their backs. Who knows? Anyhow, we turned around and left. Even though we're old broads, we remember those bar survival skills we learned in our twenties.

I knew another bar had karaoke on Thursday nights but this was Friday. I knew our chances were slim. We drove by and saw a similar television situation in there: astroturf, men with numbers, etc. We wandered down to see our friends at BIBBQ. The closed sign was up but maybe it would be a better time than having another drink while people interested in watching men run around on a field made noise to interrupt our conversation.

I was still jonesing to karaoke with my friends. But it was looking like there was to be no karaoke. I was trying to convince Greg from the BBQ to give me a little Louis Armstrong -- he obliged with just a couple of bars. I suggested, I Get Ideas, one of my fave Satchmo songs. I sang a little of it and while Greg didn't know it, I sparked the interest of a 6 year old girl whose family was just leaving the restaurant. She tugged my sleeve and asked if I knew the words to Jingle Bell Rock?

Do I know the words to Jingle Bell Rock? I'm kind of awesome when it comes to Christmas Song lyrics. I may obsess on them a little. For the past few years, I've made it a point to choose a Christmas song that the family will concentrate on singing for the season. In the past we've done Joy to the World and O Holy Night. How do you think I've managed to learn Adeste Fideles or Ave Maria? That's right, hard work, determination, and a fanatical devotion to the pope... actually, no, but a kind of razor sharp focus on expanding my carol file capacity.

So this little girl and I belted out Jingle Bell Rock at the top of our lungs! She and her 9 year old sister sang a Halloween song. The 9 year old sang an original composition which was surprisingly great. Seriously great. (damn, I should have gotten her name. She'll be famous someday.) Then the little one said she was going to sing Gaga. Joy! She didn't know the name of the song but the second she started with, "rama-ooh-lala..." I jumped right in. She was astonished that I knew the lyrics since all she knew was the rama/lala parts. These girls were just darling. The older girl invited us to see her school's art show where she would be performing. Too cool.

After they left, my big girls and I found a booth and started chatting. My friends officially cut me off from drinking. They thought I had too much with 2 beers. Seriously. With the wonders of my smartphone and YouTube, I was able to get in some pseudo-karaoke. I sang Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know (the non-radio version) and for contrast, Adele's Someone Like You. Truth is that Alanis' attitude about the break-up "did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?" seems much more empowering than Adele's whiny "Don't forget me, I beg..." However, Adele's song is way easier to sing. That middle bit of Alanis's song is tongue-twisty. At that point my friends were fading fast and we headed home before the clock struck 10 PM. Damn, we're getting old.

An aside, one of the karaoke versions of You Oughta Know on YouTube has the most fabulous mondegreen in it: "It's not fair / to deny me / the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me..."

Cross-eyed bears make me smile.

Girl Scout camping without girls

2011-10-30T15:42:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the first ever Peninsula Girl Scout leader retreat. I'm not 100% sure what I want to say about this past weekend other than the very non descriptive: It was AWESOME!!! We had representatives from all over the peninsula including vampire/werewolf country: Forks, WA. I'm thinking I need to make a dig to the SU's from Bremerton and Poulsbo because they missed out on a fabulous weekend. We talked a lot about the girls, commiserated about challenges, things we had learned, but mostly just got together and had a freaking blast.

Our contingent ended up getting there a little later than we should have. Turns out it is hard to find the camp in the dark. It is in the middle of ~~BFE~~, I mean, the Tahuya National forest. The sign for the dirt road turn off for the camp is about the size of notebook paper. Anyhow, when we did finally get our gear put in the cabin and get downstairs to meet the rest of the people, I have to admit, I was a little intimidated. That didn't last very long, mind you. But still, I was a little nervous. The whole point of the weekend was for leaders from all over to get to know each other.

I walked into that room and I thought they all were a bunch of old friends -- they all must have come from the same area. I had to fight that urge to sit by myself or find a table that had enough seats for my contingent to sit together. Instead, I went to a table already in the middle of something -- unwrapping the hershey kisses on the table so they could make a foil ball to see if they could make the trash can from across the room. (It made sense then. What can I say?) Anyhow, I got right in the middle of this and I was welcomed instantly. Cool, right? Turns out that these ladies weren't all from the same service unit. Turns out a lot of them had just met the hour before. But how cool is that?

The next day we could attend discussions, do crafts (which were pretty darned cool -- batik & decoupage -- not at the same time but I suppose you could) or whatever we wanted. I took a hike around the lake after we attended a morning discussion about resources in our local communities. Later that afternoon we had a great discussion about the new Girl Scouting program. Yes, has changed once again and it is really really cool. Change is good. Stagnation is bad. Stagnation = irrelevance. It's that simple.

The food was fabulous. (Honestly, when do you get creme brûlée while camping?)There were flushing toilets, showers & electricity but my data connection was spotty at best. (I know, lame to use a cell phone during a camp out but how else was I going to check my Facebook?)

And while we were on our weekend high, our group decided to host next year's event. This was an event pulled together just since this past June and already the bar is set crazy high. But since we have a year to put it together, hopefully it won't be too bad.

Just don't know how to top creme brûlée.

Death ettiqette

2011-10-27T13:08:00.000-07:00

Was talking to a girl friend of mine today and we realized that we are at that age when our elders are headed for the exit. There just seems to always be somebody in our circle of acquaintances or friends that has suffered a major loss of some kind.

She knows somebody whose father just died. Here's the problem: she doesn't know this person very well. She is an acquaintance. You know the kind of person you recognize, but rarely get past the "how are you/fine thanks, and you/ fine/good seeing you, bye/bye," cycle of conversation. Should she acknowledge the deep and profound loss that this person has experienced, or should she just remain in her usual cycle? Would it be considered rude not to offer condolences?

To answer her question, I told her that I didn't think she should offer her sympathies. Here's why.

When my father died, it was the first major loss I had suffered as an adult. It was catastrophic. I barely could make it out of the house. In hindsight, I probably could have sought medical care and probably had dealt with the loss better. But despite the lack of medical intervention, I did have my better days. I did what people had done for millennia, sucked it up, put on my big girl pants, and went out into the world to do what needed to be done. Those early days of grief were probably the hardest. But I'd have to go to the store and get groceries like everybody else.

Anyone who lives on an island knows that no matter how big the population is, you start to recognize everybody. You also come to love the times of the day that most people don't frequent the grocery store so your 30 minute shopping doesn't include an impromptu conversation. Stack a few of those up and you're in there for over an hour.

So I was shopping, actually doing pretty well. Hadn't cried yet that day and was well entrenched in picking the right tomatoes or whatever, when I had one of those friendly acquaintances say hello. And so I got into my cycle of how are you/fine, thanks/and you... when she went off the script and said, "Oh, I heard that your father died. I'm sorry for your loss."

w t f

I was instantly plunged back into my despair, tears welling up into my eyes, and this woman, this woman I barely knew, walked away with her shopping cart as I was left to pull myself together again.

So I told my friend that if it were me, I wouldn't say anything. Not unless I was willing to put my arms around this nearly perfect stranger and try to truly act out the words, "I'm sorry for your loss." Those words aren't like the little niceties that we throw away with little regard. Truly empathizing, truly being sorry that they are going through this grief, simply should cost. That's why we bring tubs of potato salad, tuna casserole, potted flowers, and more importantly, hugs and presence. Because that is what being truly sorry for another's loss means.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I know that I didn't want that woman to leave her script.

Nerd moment of the day

2011-10-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

What: Hubby & I watching an interview with Peter Dinklage talking about the Lannisters:

They're evil, they're corrupt? I don't know... Nobody's black and white. There's no villans and heros. Everybody has faults... The Lannisters have that as well.

Me: Not Cersei. She's pure villan. There's nothing good about her.

Him: She loves her kids.

Me: Yeah, so did Vader. But he still destroyed a planet.

So, how's my nerd cred now?

Sleeping under the stars; it's not for the weak

2011-08-29T11:34:00.000-07:00

Ever since we first laid eyes on Dabob Bay, I've fantasized about sleeping under the stars there. Think of it. Eagles soar over these waters. Sea otters hunt and play here. Oysters willingly offer themselves up for your feasting. Deer wander fearlessly. In a word: idyllic.

So it was with great anticipation that my family set off to take on this new challenge.

What we pictured in our heads:

Camp fire to keep us warm through the night.
Soft forgiving sand to lie upon.
Moon and stars brilliant in the sky.
Sounds of the water lapping up on the beach.
Soothing sounds of crickets, hoots of owls, perhaps even frogs as they lulled us to sleep.
Good dog keeping watch.
Teaching the kids the constellations with the help of our iPad.
Telling ghost stories (not too scary) and singing the kids to sleep.

What really happened:

Fire dead before we even fell asleep, so out of the sleeping bag to restart the blaze.
Sand is hard and cold. And filled with pokey things. It also slants quite a bit so you're always a little off kilter when you're lying down.
The sounds of the water were actually pretty soothing so that was okay.
The sounds of Lord-knows-what-animal sniffing around the campsite was not quite so soothing. Hubby's convinced that something sniffed his head. But the Chupacabra did not eat any of us. Not even the dog.
Speaking of the dog, she was balled up at my feet in my sleeping bag keeping watch of nothing. She remained serious about her job as family protector because she woke up and barked/growled a couple of times during the night. She never left her spot at the foot of my sleeping bag however. She did leave me to try to fall asleep again. Great.
iPad had no signal out on the beach. Not like I expected to have any bars out there, but you'd think it could at least get something.
Mosquitoes. ugh.
At least the kids slept.

So maybe it wasn't idyllic. But we did learn a couple of things. Bring a good rake and prep your sand before dark. Stack up extra wood so that when the dog does wake you, you can just reach over and feed the fire. Study constellations in a book first so you don't look like an idiot to the kids. The iPad was not reliable. Borrow a couple of bigger dogs because the little one only kept my feet warm. A big dog would have been nice to cuddle.

Waking up to everything covered in a little bit of dew was kind of cool. Well, cold. But seeing the otters playing just off shore first thing in the morning was pretty darned awesome.

Karaoke lessons learned

2011-08-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

After ages of begging anybody who would listen to go to a karaoke bar with me, I've gone twice in as many weeks.

Truth is, the first time it was completely by accident. My friend Elvie just wanted me to have a margarita the size of my head: the big gulp equivalent of margaritas from Just Tacos in Pearl City. I asked if we could go karaoke, but Elvie & Grace said no. Boogers. How serendipitous that the night we went was karaoke night?With Grace & Elvie, I thought for sure they could channel their inner filipinas. When the karaoke binders went around, they both started protesting about how they don't sing. Really? Don't they know that the filipinos favorite pastimes are line dancing, ballroom dancing, and KARAOKE??? Hell, they disappointed me by not even toasting with "Mabuhay!" and instead said, "Cheers!" If you'd seen these girls, you know they're brownies from Waipahu just like me. However, Grace managed to point out a pretty good song to start with. Of the 4 songs I did that night, it was the only one that I didn't have to prompt people to clap after I was done. She suggested the theme from the show"Friends." You know, the clap, clap, clap, clap song?

The next time I went was with my supper club friends. Sadly, of the 4 women who should have gone, one got sick and the other had a scheduling conflict. I tried to get other friends of mine to go but I think they were all afraid of my karaoke prowess. Kidding. Actually, they were probably more afraid of my whining to get them to sing too.

But this post is supposed to be about karaoke newb lessons learned so here goes:

Do pick songs that are uptempo and which were played repeatedly in its prime. You'll have a better chance of remembering how to sing the lyrics and not just the chorus.
Do pick popular songs on which people will sing along with you. People like to sing along. Think "Lion Sleeps Tonight," or "Working 9 - 5."
In Hawaii, the country songs are not readily recognizable. Try out the Hawaiian section instead. Otherwise your friends will say, "I've never heard that song before." You'll have to remind them to clap.
On the mainland, there is no Hawaiian section. Or Tagalog for that matter.
Karaoke lists are generally a couple of months or years behind. You'll have to dig deep into your memory banks.
Know at least the first line of the song. If you only know the chorus, you'll stumble through until you get to the part that you know.
Uber sappy love songs are not as fun to listen to, even though they're a little easier to sing. Think funny first.
If you are a woman and try to sing a song originally sung by a man, it might be harder to find the right pitch. At least for me and my mediocre singing skills. I'm thinking it is probably the same for men too.
If you attempt hip/hop, KNOW YOUR LYRICS AHEAD OF TIME. Nobody can read, process, and rap that fast. Nobody.
Don't choose a song that goes on too long (Bohemian Rhapsody) or is atonal (don't have an example but the one that was attempted last night by somebody was so hard to listen to, the singer hid behind the room divider until it was over.)
Go early so you can get your friends properly likkered up. By the end of our time at Just Tacos, Elvie and Grace sang along using a mic. Seriously.

Okay, that's my karaoke wisdom so far. Feel free to add more if you have some.

Until then, may Debbie Gibson and Tiffany continue to grace your karaoke performances for years to come. They will mine. Buahahahaha....

Starring Lil'T & her daddy

2011-06-02T21:29:00.000-07:00

The latest episode of Starship Excelsior, "The Man from Syracruse," has Lil'T as Isaac Brahms. Her daddy is playing one of the collective and also the survivor who doesn't. Woohoo! Lil'T is in the first 10 minutes of the episode.

Pray, But Still Study: Norma Bolosan, an essay by her eldest grandson

2011-05-24T23:35:00.000-07:00

Imagine you are eating a minuscule dinner of rice with your family when Japanese soldiers knock on the door. A few unintelligible words are spoken, then the men take your father and leave your house. Silence. You don't understand what has happened, but your mother takes your hands and leads you and your siblings in silent prayer. Your father later returns unharmed. He survived this night, but maybe not the next. My grandmother, Norma Bolosan, was a young child during World War II. She grew up in the Philippines but, because of the war, could not go to school. She later started medical school in the Philippines, but when the opportunity arose for her to move to the United States and earn a nursing degree, she jumped at the chance. Norma Bolosan is currently a nurse in Hawaii but was born a Filipino and Chinese Roman Catholic with eight other siblings in the Philippines.

My grandmother, or Lola ( grandmother in Tagalog), had a rough childhood because resources were spread thin, and only made thinner when the war broke out in 1941.

My grandfather, Eloy Koh, an accountant, and my grandmother, Graciana, a home maker, had nine children together. Eloy had married her out of love, something that went against the arranged marriage custom of his family. Eloy was supposed to have married a young Chinese doctor. Eloy was the first son of a wealthy Chinese man. But for love, he eloped with Graciana, an 18 year old bride, and lost his claim to his father’s wealth. They raised a devoutly Catholic family. There were five boys and four girls. My great-aunt Lydia was the eldest, eleven years older than my grandmother. The five boys, Elisio, Efren, Herman, Eloy Jr., Nestor, were born before my grandmother made the scene. Her sisters Arsenia and Priscilla are 2 and 4 years younger than Lola respectively.

When Lola was two years old, she broke her leg falling down the stairs which led to her family’s apartment. Her father immediately ran out in a panic, not realizing that he was wearing only his boxers, and picked her up. He sprinted with her to the hospital. Since they were living in Manila, they had resources nearby. The doctors wanted to amputate the leg because it was broken in three places and they thought it wouldn't heal. Fortunately, her father convinced them to put Norma into a cast and she eventually recovered. She has foggy memories of being constrained in a full leg cast. If they did not live in the city, surely my grandmother would have lost that leg. But their living situation had a dark consequence once the war started.

By 1941, Norma was about 3 years old. The Japanese occupied Manila. Once a multicultural icon of the Pacific, it quickly became over run with hostile Japanese forces. These forces took all the resources like food and water from the citizenry and left very little for the residents. Norma's father was taken away many times by Japanese soldiers for questioning. The Japanese would round up all the men in her village. Then a man with a hood over his face would point to whom he even felt was collaborating with the Guerrilla forces. Anyone to whom he pointed was never seen again. It didn’t take long before the family looked to other accommodations.

Her eldest brother Elisio was a very young teen, maybe 13 or 14 years old, when the Japanese occupied the city and the Koh family’s life was put on hold. School was stopped for all the children. Elisio took to the woods and aided the guerrilla soldiers. He helped the American forces. Through his connections, the Koh family moved to a remote province to find food. Elisio knew other people in the resistance. The province had a kind farmer who took in Norma’s family in exchange for help with the work. There were few people there, and while she had her siblings to play with, there was not the busyness of the city or school friends. Sometimes Elisio would send Klim powdered milk for the little ones to drink. The war was not easy for anyone, let alone a young child in a war zone.

Norma Bolosan's early education was very sparse compared to education today or education before WWII. Because of the Japanese Occupation (1941-1945) there was no public schooling. This caused Norma to miss kindergarten and preschool and go directly into 1st grade. However, education during the Japanese occupation consisted only of going to church. The church taught her how to share, and to be kind to your neighbor. The church also taught other important skills that preschools normally teach. Japanese soldiers supervised and taught the children Japanese words and songs during Sunday school. They would start by saying what sounded like “Ohio.” This was “good morning,” in Japanese. In response the children were supposed to also say “Ohio.” However the children would say, “Ohiop,” which means “you animals,” in Tagalog. This small resistance was remembered fondly by Norma. While she could do very little to fight the forces of the world, she could at least remember calling the Japanese occupiers “animals,” directly to their faces. The Japanese soldiers only thought that they were saying good morning. After the Japanese occupation ended, American soldiers brought English books for the schools because the Japanese soldiers had destroyed many of the earlier English books. Norma learn to read, write, and speak in English. This also caused all of her high school classes to be in English. Only the Filipino language class was in still Tagalog.

Things were much better after the Japanese occupation was over. The Filipino people depended heavily on the American shipments.

“During the war, … resources were hard to come by. Right after the war, the Americans were sending food to Manila. Sardines, peanut butter and rice were distributed at certain areas of the city. You lined up to get some... Because it was based on how many people were in your family, we'd get 11 cans of sardines because we had 9 kids and 2 adults... We had so many bottles of peanut butter and bags of rice. The Americans sent us relief. ”

Even though her childhood years were hard, that is not to say there was no joy to be found. Her family participated in the yearly town fiesta centered around the Catholic Church. There would be a procession of a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The whole town would prepare foods to share with each other and people would invite friends from all over for this fiesta.

They also had their own traditions within the family. Even though money was scarce, for each person’s birthday, her mother would prepare a chicken and pancit, a noodle dish. Her mother taught them that noodles signify long life and that you should not break noodles because of this. For Christmastime, they didn’t set up a tree like we do here. They would hang a star shaped paper lantern that they’d make out of bamboo and paper. The gifts weren’t noisy toys, but usually new shoes or new clothes.

The war years were terrible on Norma’s mother, my great grandmother, Graciana Koh. She moved her 9 children via caribou (a type of water buffalo) drawn cart miles from their apartment in the city. Her husband and eldest daughter quickly opted to move back to the city for work. During the war, her eldest son Elisio, would be out with the resistance for days at a time. Directly after the war, Elisio joined the guerrilla forces. Every day during the occupation was filled with menial labor to earn their keep on the farm. After the occupation was over, “she just went downhill. She died about 5 years later. She was only 43 years old in 1950. It must have been very stressful on her.”

Her mother’s illness and death changed Norma’s focus once again. At the time, her eldest sister was away at university or training in the hospital. Her father continued to work to support the family. Her brothers opted to work right out of high school as opposed to continuing for higher education. While her eldest sister Lydia organized family life and assigned chores, it fell to Norma to care for her siblings and her father. She cooked and cleaned, likely more than a child who still had a mother in the house. However, after Graciana’s death, Eloy who had once married for love, now took a wife out of practicality and obligation.

Eloy saw how hard his children worked at keeping the family functioning. Within the year of his wife’s death, Eloy married again. His new wife was named Felicidad. They married shortly after my great grandmother’s death as Felicidad was pregant. Norma’s step mother was nicknamed Kabayo by Graciana’s children. In Tagalog, it means horse. The origin of the nickname is a little ambiguous. She was not kind and loving to Norma’s siblings. She could not understand her husband’s misguided need to pay for his children’s higher education. At one point, Kabayo made Eloy get an apartment just for the two of them and the baby they had together. That way she didn’t need to be around his children.

When she graduated from high school, Norma's father told her go to school or get a job. She chose to go to school. Following in the steps of her sister, Norma decided to join the medical profession and went to the University of Santo Tomas in the Philippines to become a doctor. With this good education Norma was finally starting to have something good happen in her life.

Two months after she started studying to become a doctor, Norma got word that would change the course of her life. Her eldest sister Lydia was a medical resident in Hawaii. Lydia invited Norma to come to Hawaii to study nursing. She readily agreed.

My grandmother is a strong and intelligent woman. After landing in Hawaii she started a new course and became a nurse even though she could have easily became a doctor and been wealthy in the Philippines. She left the Philippines not just for herself but for her future family. She had hopes that they would have a better life living in the U.S.

The Koh women were driven. Norma and her sisters all pursued education in medical fields. Her sisters Lydia and Arsenia got their medical degrees in the Phillipines but moved to the United States. Norma got her diploma in nursing. Priscilla became a radiology tech after her sisters sponsored her immigration to the United States.

Lydia and Norma were very close despite the difference in their age. Lydia was always head strong and opinionated, even before she became a doctor. Her younger siblings always called her the Commander in Chief. When Norma arrived in Hawaii, Lydia was newly married to a young man who was introduced to her via his sister, a nursing instructor at St. Francis Hospital, Genedina Bolosan. Lydia’s husband Mauricio also had 3 brothers; Domingo, Onofre, and Juan Bolosan. Onofre and Juan were still in high school and grade school respectively. Domingo, who was eight years older than Norma, had been in the army and already had earned his degree. He was a veteran of both WWII and the Korean war. His service was done, but he had a job with the federal government as a civil servant. Over the course of many family functions, dances at nursing school, and shared babysitting duties for Lydia and Mauricio’s daughter, Norma and Domingo got to know each other. By the time Norma completed her nursing degree, Domingo and she were headed for the altar.

Together they had four kids, the youngest of which is my mother. Both she and Apo (grandfather in Ilocano) worked full time for their entire adult lives. She was a nurse working in a clinic setting with her sister Dr. Lydia Bolosan. Her husband Domingo worked as an office worker and later as a pest controller on the military bases on Oahu, HI. With their modest incomes, they sent all four children to private school for both elementary and high school. She boasts that all four of her children have their degrees. Her eldest Dwight, has his MBA and her youngest son Norman, has his DDS. Her middle son David is a corporate chef for a multi-state Italian restaurant chain. My mother has her BSN, RN, but stays home with me and my sisters. Lola boasts 7 grand children, of which I’m the first.

When asked what values were important to her, she cautioned that we should always remember what is important: God and family. We should try to be good citizens. We should always study and maybe through an education we can get somewhere in the world. She thinks that if she had not gotten her education, she’d probably still be in the Philippines and likely would be dead by now. “Trust in God, but you won’t get good grades unless you work. Pray, but still study.”

It is easy to look back and see how these values were active in her life. She and her family are all devout Catholic Christians. Her brother Elisio risked all to help his family and his country. Norma married a veteran of 2 wars. Her sisters all helped each other come to the United States and to earn their degrees. On her husband’s and her own modest income, they sent four children through private schools and universities. Those values directed her through her life despite all the turns it has taken. She says that even though she doesn’t have much in the bank to show for it, her children and grand children are the fruits of her labor, her treasures. To her, we sparkle as much as gold.

Throughout this whole Culture fair I have found out a lot about my grandmother I have learned about the sacrifices that she made so that I could have a better life than what she lived through. Even though her future family was just a vague concept when she decided to get on that plane to the United States, I’m glad she made that choice. I am now proud that I am going to Hawaii this summer to stay with my grandmother for a month. And in the words of my grandmother, “Pray, but still study.”

Attached: Culture fair paper.odt

Google Docs makes it easy to create, store and share online documents, spreadsheets and presentations.

It most certainly will blend

2011-04-28T14:18:00.000-07:00

I kind of want to start out this post by saying that I am not a lecherous old woman. That probably isn't the best way to start out a story in which I'm drooling over smoothies and a particular smoothie maker at the Costco, but I needed to put that out there. You can disagree with me if you like but I know in my heart that I'm still a good girl.

Last week Friday, yes, I appreciate that it was Good Friday, I went shopping with my friend Sharon at Costco. We were stocking up for our Easter festivities. Sharon was going to be hosting an Easter egg hunt and then we were going to have supper together. Good wholesome family fun. Because of this, Costco had pulled out all stops. A lot of people had Good Friday off so the place was jam packed. There were dozens of vendors sampling candies, roasts, desserts, hors d'oeuvres, and beverages. It was a bonanza. Lil'T was in foraging bliss. And right across the way from the produce aisle was the Blendtec booth.

Blendtec is the company made famous by a series of YouTube videos called, "Will It Blend?" Thing is, I love these blenders. I've had mine for about 3 years now. The thing is a workhorse. It makes breakfast smoothies from start to clean up in less than 5 minutes, which makes me get on with my day faster. Always a good thing. It crushes ice like all the other blenders claim to be able to do. They don't even come close. 3 horse power, baby! But for all that power on your kitchen counter, you need to pony up (see what I did there?) about $400. It is a lot to ask for when a lesser blender can cost you about $50. *cough* Magic Bullet *cough*

Blendtec has figured out what car companies have known for decades. You want to sell your outrageously priced convertible sports car to some middle aged dude with more money than sense, then put it next to a hot chick. This does not mean that the car is lesser somehow. I'm sure it can go fast. But if you want to convince a guy that he needs to get the job of tooling down the highway done in that fancy car versus an economical hybrid, you put a pretty young thing next to that car and pretty soon the guy is signing away the kids' college money.

The demo guy was whole fruit juicy. Unlike the car show girls, he was not wearing a swimsuit or even a tuxedo. He was dressed in chinos, baseball cap, and long sleeved polo shirt. All Blendtec approved apparel. But on his frame it was blenderlicious. Clearly the boy worked out. And tanned. And he *made* you want to have a smoothie.

So aside from that, he was demonstrating my favorite appliance in my kitchen. I had remembered that my friend Julia had recently broken her sorry excuse for a blender. She has a history of coveting my kitchen appliances. She's even borrowed my Kitchenaid mixer. After she had used it, she threatened not to return it without a ransom. Problem is, once your eyes have been opened to what a good amount of power can do for you in the kitchen, you can't go back to your "sold in the Rite Aid next to the baby wipes" type of appliance. You'll want power that you don't just turn on. You wield.

I'd seen the Blentec demonstration a few times since I had gotten my blender. Since Julia's blender was broken, I had a reason to go ask the Blendtec guy a question about what was in the box, what sized carafe was included, etc. All under the umbrella of being a helpful friend. I texted her the 411 and since there was only one more day of Blentec at Costco, I wanted to pick one up for her if she needed it. Sharon asked what was the difference between her Oster (laughable) blender and the Blendtec.

Dude, is there any better excuse to have to watch the whip me/frap me demo guy do is pitch?

I sauntered over there with Lil'T in tow, and said that I had a friend who needed convincing. I had made his day.

"It is better for me to just show you rather than try to tell you how this blender is better than the one you have at home..."

This was great. I had a front row pass to pulsemaster demo guy. I could soak in all the handsome dude goodness and not seem too lecherous. Slowly a crowd began to form. There were about 15 people there. There were 2 kids, one dude, and the rest were women. Well played Blendtec, well played.

One gal behind me started asking questions. "When you're blending whole fruit, can you put in the whole thing, or should you peel them?"

"Depends on which kinds."

"Well, take bananas for instance..." I want you to read that in the most sultry and suggestive tone that you can muster. The poor demo guy. Sure, I was enjoying the view but I wasn't trying to flirt. He answered her questions and while the blender was running that same gal said, "I think I understand but I might need an in home demonstration." At this point, just about every woman in the crowd laughed. Blender dude was blissfully ignorant. At least I hope he was.

We were mid-tortilla soup demo when Lil'T lost her patience. At her height, her head was just about level with the motor of the blender and with our front row view, she was unhappy about the noise. I promised her that in the end he would be making ice cream so she was content to wait out the ridiculously long demo for ice cream. Her hands were firmly placed over her ears. Oh the things she will endure for ice cream.

At last it was ice cream time. He started out pretty good. He made almond milk using almonds and water and the Blendtec. Then he added agave syrup (yuck--90% fructose) and ice cubes. Still acceptable from Lil'T's point of view. It was when he put in spinach that she turned around and looked at me with daggers in her eyes. Poor girl. But it was still ice cream, right? She did take the sample but told me later that she would never eat spinach ice cream ever again in her life. I don't blame her.

Sharon did ultimately buy a blender. She opted for red. Blenderlicious demo guy mentioned that red was really popular and he was sure he would sell out shortly. It is no mystery as to why red is selling out faster than the staid black or traditional white. He had whipped these women up into a frenzy (punny yet?) and red is the color of desire and passion. Shoot, isn't that why all those sports cars out there are red?

Opposites

2011-04-16T22:49:00.001-07:00

Dad: What is the opposite of hungry?

Lil'T: Pizza!

Lasts a lifetime

2011-04-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

The other day I was at some store and saw a woman who was maybe my age or perhaps a few years younger. Anyway, she looked like your average housefrau. She was dressed in jeans and a shirt, nothing remarkable. The reason why I noticed her though was that she had an interesting tattoo on the back of her neck. It looked like jaguar spots, except all brown. It took me a second for just the right brain cell to engage for me to remember why that looked so familiar. She had tattooed her neck to look like a Trill from Star Trek: DS9.

Can you imagine that? What a freak! I mean, a decision you make in your twenties (maybe) to look all cool like Jadzia Dax from Star Trek won't look so cool when you're an octogenarian and the series has been gone for half a century! All I could see was her neck. What if the spots go "all the way down," as Jadzia used to say. YIKES! Sure she was probably the talk of the town at the Comic Con when she was a youngin' but now... What if she had her name changed to Jadzia and made her husband change his to Worf? That's just crazy talk. Her husband wasn't with her but I wonder what they named the kids. Ezri? Bashir? Narisse? Riker? Oh wait.

Nevermind.

People watching at its finest

2011-04-03T00:47:00.000-07:00

My nephews are mental about trains. They are 6 and 3 years old so it is understandable. My boy was briefly into trains but much more into dinosaurs and Spiderman at that age. How great is it that they live in San Francisco where there is light rail. My brother said that it would be an adventure for us to ride the MUNI light rail so that they kids could go through the tunnel on the train. We'd even be able to see some real cable cars at our destination.

We wanted to take in the "world famous San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market," which is one of those events/places that just must not be missed. According to my brother David, the whole farmers' market organic movement had its birth here. One might say that this farmers market is the model for others across the country. (One who lives in SFO. Clearly not one who lives in Seattle whose Pike Place market started in 1907 because of outrage over the price of onions, but I'm not going to argue with my brother the chef. This is his turf.) The ferry plaza was remodeled about 5-6 years ago and so it is a great draw.

It was a slightly overcast day this morning so we bundled the kids up on sweaters and light jackets and set off. We drove to a neighborhood towards the beginning of the L route train. I am thinking it was near the SF Zoo. We were the first to get on the train and it was a good lesson for my kids to learn some mass transit etiquette. I insisted my boy give up his seat for a senior citizen (with a cane I might add) who was trying to find a seat. Surprisingly, the people towards the front of the car did not stand up for them but I was very proud that my boy did without complaint. Later I had my kids and my niece double up so more people could get a seat on the train. It was actually a good lesson in consideration and compassion for all.

We went to David's favorite burger place on the waterfront where none of us ordered burgers. I had Ahi Poke tacos. Clever idea. Wish it were really Hawaiian style poke, but it was good anyway. I also tried the Blue Bottle Coffee iced New Orleans coffee. It was quite good. My brother said that their individually brewed drip coffee is not to be missed but it was far too warm outside. I'm sure I'll have another opportunity to try their coffee before we depart.

While the rest of our party played, 'Cess went to brave the long lines at the ladies' room. You would think that by this time, meaning the 21st century, architects and planners for public places would know that women need more stalls; that boys can stand and need fewer stalls. And yet, there are still never any lines at the boys' room and always 15 - 20 people deep lines at the girls' room. I say people because moms bring boys in to the girls' room all the time. Anyway, while I was waiting for my daughter to get out of the bathroom, I got to witness a little bit of crazy that big cities attract.

I sat on a bench out by the water when a man came by walking very purposefully. He had a kind of scowl on his face and he held a paper grocery bag in his left hand by the handles; his hand clenched in a fist. In his right hand, he was gesturing like he was holding a spider by the web. You know, like when you are trying to put a spider outside from the house and it keeps dropping more web so you try to wind it up on your hand so you can get outside the door. I couldn't see the spider, but I assumed it was there as he didn't seem to be off kilter at the time, aside from his general angry demeanor. He walked over to the railing and appeared to throw the spider out in the water. Well, that is until he appeared to be punching some invisible foe over the side of the railing and angrily muttering to himself the whole while. After he ostensibly defeated that foe, he walked away from the railing and then turned back towards it glowering. He again walked back to the railing and gesticulated with his right arm and hand like he was fighting zombies that only he could see. He then stomped off back into the market. Aside from the general wackiness of the situation, what was surprising to me was that nobody else seemed to notice this guy being strange. They were all in their own worlds and I kept scanning the faces of the people around me to see if they were noticing what I was noticing. Nobody was. That was a strange experience to be so crowded with people but be completely alone in my observations.

Holy crap! Maybe I'm the one with the imaginary zombies.

But the best part of the day came when we made our way back on light rail to the neighborhood where we parked the cars. I sat by myself and waited for the people to load on the train. The second stop we were at, we were inundated with a sea of humanity coming on board. My brother later told me that all the buses in the city dump out at that particular stop to connect with light rail. An older Chinese woman sat down beside me as she was one of the first on the train, but when the numbers of humans just kept coming, I said, "Wow..." to nobody in particular, but the lady beside me echoed my amazement. "Wow."

She had clearly just come from the same farmers market that I had been to. She had 3 grocery bags full of produce. It all looked wonderful. She was happily snacking on some clementines. It was around this time that I realized that there was a very twitchy guy standing, well, barely standing at the front of the train. He was barely steady on his feet and moving around like there was music playing. Messed up midi synchronizer type music, but still music only in his mind. I realized that I was staring at him so I did the rational thing. I lowered my sunglasses over my eyes so I could watch him undetected. You know, like how the secret service does. Except for the fact that their sunglasses are mirrored so you can't see their eyes. Hell, I was only trying to fool a twitchy guy. And I happened to be on a train in a tunnel so wearing my sunglasses was completely ludicrous.

It was about this time that I heard some shouting from the front of the train. Lucky me, I had second row seating. Two women were in a very loud and very foul altercation with a rough looking young latin man. According to my brother (who is far more worldly that his hick sister about city life) the young man was obviously in a gang as he was wearing his colors under his hoodie -- red. Take that as you will, but apparently he was getting a little too close to one of the women and when the other woman told him to back off, tempers flared. That is the very washed down version of events. I give credit to the woman who apparently was the object of the inappropriate touching. She jumped up between her friend and this man and kept repeating that this was no big deal. Everybody just needed to calm down and just drop it. Neither her friend nor this young man were about to back down. Strains of Heart's "If Looks Could Kill..." were streaming through my consciousness and also the worry that I had to somehow shield my kids and the cousins from harm. I don't know exactly what I'd do. It was a great relief when the two women left the train, but not before a renewed flurry of foul racial and misogynistic slurs were shouted at them by our gang banger. You should know that I did take my sun glasses off by then because if I had to go all mama bear on this guy, I needed to be ready.

Twitchy guy told gang banger guy that he had hoped to see gang banger guy beat down the two women. Nice. After gang banger guy left, Twitchy guy sat down next to droolly-swollen-lip lady. She wasn't all that interesting to watch, aside from the fact that she couldn't seem to close her mouth and subsequently drooled all over herself. She was using a cell phone which makes me think that maybe she had some emergency dental work done. Twitchy Guy was actually a lot of fun to watch. Aside from his bizarre midi dance moves, he was carrying a purple and pink floral back pack with a random assortment of treasures inside. He offered to sell some cd's from the back pack to the passengers near him. He never asked me. My favorite moment with Twitchy Guy was when he bent over and picked up a used kleenex off the floor of the train. In keeping with this city's general reduce, reuse, recycle fervor, Twitchy Guy cleaned out both of his nostrils with a thorough reaming out with the found kleenex. I did mention that it was a used kleenex, right? A powerful argument against illegal drug use right there.

I turned to my seat mate and asked her, "does mass transit here always have so much drama?"

She responded, "You like," gesturing to the oranges in her bag, "only one dollar." (I'm hoping that wasn't too offensive.) She clearly didn't speak any English. So there I was, alone again with my thoughts. Again hoping that I wasn't the only one seeing phantom zombies.

Thirsty

2011-03-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Him: Whose glass is this on the nightstand?

Me: Mine

Him: What about the one on the dresser?

Me: Mine too. I was thirsty last night.

Him: You know you can refill those. There's a hole at the top just for that.

Yes, I knew he was a smart*ss when I married him.

Family of Performers

2011-03-22T13:56:00.000-07:00

So two more Haddons are trying out for parts in Star Fleet. Our 10 year old and 5 year old are both recording lines for the upcoming podcast of the Starship Excelsior. It is a challenge to get a 5 year old to say words like Klingon, Vulcan and Cardassian. That last one being the hardest. Also difficult to explain what any of those words mean. But they're recording lines and I'll let you know if they'll be joining their dad in the upcoming episode.

Kaplah!

Double digits

2011-03-11T17:12:00.000-08:00

Today is my first daughter's tenth birthday. She lucked out to have her birthday fall on parent teacher conference week. It was a present in its own right. The school district gave her 5 days off for her birthday. Awesome. When I was a little kid, my Catholic school used to give me a similar present. November 1st is All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation. So my friends and I would trick or treat late (past 8 PM) and be able to sleep in the following day. When I got older, the school decided to have kids go to school instead, and they (maliciously) took that day away from me. I ended up not only having to go to school, but having to go to mass during the day and again with my parents at night. Where is the fairness in that?

Daddy got up early to make heart shaped waffles, strawberries and whipped cream, hash browns & turkey bacon for breakfast. (Yes, I know it is Friday, but this is her birthday!) Luckily, Lil'T gets Fridays off from preschool. When Princess announced that she wanted to have a real piggy bank for her birthday, I had the idea of going to one of those paint your pottery places in the next town over. We made a full day of it. 'Cess picked out the largest pig they had and Lil'T picked out a dog. I made a spoon rest that looks like the title of my blog. I used the same color scheme and a hibiscus too. I'll post pictures next week. The pottery place messed with us a little psychologically. There definitely is a time shrink aspect to being in there. We noticed that they had one song on continuous loop, probably for an entire hour while we were there. Maybe they want to make you forget that you're spending so much time working on a piece. We were there for about 2.5 hours but only heard 3 songs. I wonder if it drives their staff loopy. Then again, it could just be that the staff really liked those 3 songs. Don't know.

After painting, we went to a bakery and the girls got to pick out cookies. 'Cess picked out one that was as big as her head -- cinnamon swirl. Lil'T got a 4 pack of yellow frosted smiley faced cookies. And just in case they didn't have enough sugar on board, we stopped by Dairy Queen to pick up the birthday cake. Both girls opted to get some kids meals with a slushy and an ice cream cone for dessert. Maybe I should have them do some push ups before we leave for dinner. 'Cess wants to to go Red Robin for burgers and shakes. She's bringing her vegetarian best friend with us. Hoo boy, maybe they have grilled eggplant burgers. Certainly they'll have grilled cheese. That should work.

I love birthdays with my kids. My husband is really freaked out that we don't have a big wowzer of a present planned for her birthday, but I don't really think it is necessary. I think having a full day of just fun time, of more yes than no's from us, strawberry heart shaped waffles and turkey bacon (favorites of hers both)... these are experiences that are gifts. Who really needs a new shiny? What is important is the gift of time, laughter, and memories.

Yup, today, I'm feeling like a pretty good mom.

Resistance is futile

2011-03-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

Very exciting news for the next Starship Excelsior. My wonderful Hubby has been cast as one of the collective. Yup! A BORG!!! Pretty sweet. It is also the first time he'll be on one of these without me. I couldn't be more excited. I guess Vesant won't be in this one. *sigh*

I really liked her.

Vesant (like pheasant with a vee) part 2

2011-02-07T15:12:00.000-08:00

Here it is:
http://starshipexcelsior.com/episodes/

Episode 305: Trust, But Verify

If you are desperate to hear just me and Hubby, scroll to these time stamps.

33:34 Me
34:04 Me
39:00 Hubby
49:15 Me

At 18:25 there is some gagging sounds that could be Hubby, you'll have to discern that yourself.

The interview

2011-02-03T12:29:00.000-08:00

As part of an assignment, my 13 year old had to interview my mother about her life when she was a child. My mother was 3 years old and the 7th of 9 children, when the Japanese occupied the Phillipine Islands. My son thought that was an interesting topic and really wanted to explore that in depth. He recently asked (more like demanded but such is the life of a mother) that I transcribe the interview for him. Here's the thing I don't want him to know.

I'm glad he made me do that.

While my mother had told me things about that time in her life, it was always a scant collection of stories. Most of the time she said that she didn't remember too much because she was so little.

In this interview she spoke of how her father was pulled out of their apartment in the city by the Japanese a number of times and questioned. Her mother and her siblings kept vigil, praying and worrying all night until my grandfather came home. My grandfather was not a part of the government or an official of some sort. He was a CPA. Mom recounted how they fled the city in a horse drawn cart. How her brother told them to go to the province because at least there was fresh food there and very few Japanese. The supplies and resources were scarce during the occupation because those things were intercepted by the Japanese and the people had only the soldiers' leavings. Her eldest brother was in his early teens. She remembers that it was he who had friends in the province farmlands that gave their family refuge. She suspects this brother might have been a guerrilla fighter or at least helped the resistance and the American soldiers. He was maybe 14 - 16 years old at the time. She spoke about how her mother died at age 43, only 5 years after the war ended.

My son asked a question that probably was worded poorly. Maybe he was asking how the family interacted during all of this. How did they cope? What happened during the darkest moments? But no, he instead asked this:

"Did your family feel stress?"

Stress. That euphemism for anything that might bother us like a parking ticket or a library fine. Even the bigger dramas like looking for a job or fixing a septic system pale in comparison to the stressors my grandparents faced. And when he asked the question, to me it felt like a first world question and not anything that remotely applied.

But my mom instead said that she thought it was incredibly stressful for her parents. She said that she thinks that was why her mother died so young; the stress of moving her 9 children, the eldest of whom was helping the resistance and was gone for weeks at a time, and the effort to keep her family together, safe and fed, left her with insufficient reserves to fight off illness when it came.

Mom also talked about her evil stepmother. The kids had nicknamed her "Kabayo," which means "horse." It was not a term of endearment. And before I heard this particular story, I would never have labeled her the evil stepmother. But that is a post for another time.

After I was done transcribing, I did what any good Asian mother would do. I piled on the pressure.

I told my son that he's the eldest grandchild. That he needs to do a great job because he's inadvertently stepped into the role of family historian. There is the chance that his younger cousins and siblings won't have the opportunity to do this interview. As much as it pains me to admit, it could happen.

And if any of you are lucky enough to have your parents around, set up your recording devices and start talking. You'll be amazed at what you find out.

Channeling my mother

2011-01-12T21:07:00.000-08:00

I was on the way in to drop off Lil'T at her preschool. I happened to be behind a fellow parent and her young son. Anyway, she tried to tell her son to hold the door open for me and my daughter as we were entering. He wandered off as though she were speaking a different language. This mom turned around to me and, embarassed, apologized for her son's manners. I told her not to worry about it and recounted to her how my son will hold open a door for the people behind him but stand in the opening. It is hard to explain without a picture, but we're pretty much left to duck under his outstretched arm or just take hold of the door ourselves. It isn't as much of a problem now.

He's 6 feet tall.

Anyway, we stepped on the elevator not because we were lazy to walk up the steps but because we were with people who insist on pushing elevator buttons. We were laughing about how you just don't see common manners anymore. I mean, the young people these days! They don't know how to open a door for somebody or how to hold a door when somebody is behind you on the way out of a building. We were well on our way to discussing how the music of today is just noise when that recognition came. We both turned into our respective mothers for a moment. Damn.

Sure we laughed it off. Acknowledged it even. Still, I hate that. I am still young at heart (whatever that means) and I've got the maturity to embrace being silly. I've got my radio firmly fixed on 89.5 FM, less talk, more non-stop dance music. I refuse to hear stuff played at my Junior prom on the oldies station. REFUSE! But I know it is there.

Ah hell, who am I kidding? I'm listening to NPR just like the rest of you Class of '87 folks out there.

We got game! Yes, we do! We got game! How 'bout you?

2011-01-02T16:02:00.000-08:00

For the second year in a row, we've hosted a geeked out Game Night for New Year's Eve. I apologize if I forgot to invite you directly, and next year I'll improve on that too. Maybe you can just assume that we're hosting and you can come. If you ask what you can bring, I'll say something to eat during game play because I won't be serving dinner, just heavy pupus. I will, however, make mochiko chicken. And if you like, you can bring something to drink, but we'll have punch, sodas, and beer. Each time we host one of these things, I discover something new to add.

The first year, I desperately wanted to play a spooky game called Arkham's Horror, based on the stories of H.P. Lovecraft. If you don't recognize Lovecraft's name, you'll recognize all his characters because just about all the scary bump in the night stories out there have their roots in Lovecraft's universe. That was a totally geeked out 5 hour game at least. Not a great choice. Lesson learned. Lost players and interest pretty quickly, and being the host of the festivities didn't afford me the luxury of playing it.

This year we selected games that take a shorter time to play. We had 3 zones of play. There were the console games area and a board game table in the downstairs living room. Upstairs, we had refreshments and a nice place to chat or play in that living room.

I had envisioned that the kids would play games in one room, the adults in another, and the teens in yet another area. But I think the way it went was a lot more organic and worked out fine.

Next year, I think I want to play Puerto Rico and Ticket to Ride with expansion pack. Both are great games but we didn't even open the boxes.

I participated in the game Portrayal (which works best with adult only players) and Mexican Train. We also played Camp which is probably the best game for different age players. It is a trivia game with 4 levels of play: preschool, school age, teen age, and adult. One of our teen aged contestants was so well versed in the outdoor/wildlife trivia, we voted her to be an adult player.

To improve for next year:

Short tables for the living rooms. Aside from the dining table, which got overrun with snacks, we need to put coffee tables or ottomans with boards on them to make a good playing surface.
Short games work better than long games, so use the games 30 min - 1 hour in length.
Hide the muggle games (i.e. Monopoly, Scrabble, Life - sorry Maggie, Taboo, etc.) Muggle games have their place, but the Euro games are so much more interesting and challenging.
Have an area for card games. We didn't really address those and we've got great non-muggle card games.
Make a sign that points out the beverages are being stored on the back deck. Make a sign for the recycle bin. Get punch cup hangers. Remember champagne flutes.
Somehow remove the curse from the dice rolling tower which repeatedly rolled ones for me. It was so bad, other players wouldn't even let me touch their dice for fear that my low rolling cooties would get on them.
More mochiko chicken. 'Nuf said.

I'd like to make a plug for game nights no matter what. When my eldest was in preschool, he had a pretty bad stutter. It was gone by kindergarten, but took lots of work and parental retraining... a post for another day. One of the things that the speech therapist suggested was that we start playing board games. While I'm sure my mind went numb from repeated playing of CandyLand, the board games forced us to slow down, teach good turn taking, and most importantly, listen carefully to our child. Turns out he wasn't the only one who needed to learn how to communicate. We don't play games as often as Hubby would like but when we do, it is always a break from the usual tuning out of each other's lives. The kids laugh and rarely break down in tears. We have an extensive collection of board games and really, they're treasures I'd go as far as to say that if you're considering getting married, you need to play a board game with each other first. You can learn volumes about each other.

Vesant (like pheasant with a vee)

2010-12-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

Hubby and I have been cast in the next episode of Starship Excelsior. I am reprising my role as Vesant (a.k.a. Pilot #1) , a fighter pilot. Yup, I am sure you can tell why I was cast as this. I am a fighter pilot on the inside. That's my inner me.

Rob's got 2 roles. He's Martinez & Random Crew Member. The director called the role of Martinez a "difficult and thankless role". Rob's line: 15 seconds of agonized screaming. It is not as easy as it sounds. Just try it. Maybe even right now. As you're looking at your iPhone in the Starbucks reading this post, just haul out, clear your throat and scream. See. You can't do it, can you? And at the very end, Rob has a pivotal line as Random Crew Member. I won't spoil it but it is fair to say the entire episode is leading up to Rob's big line. I'll post the link as soon as it becomes available. I know you've all been waiting for it.

Here's the fun. Lines are due back to the director 3 days before Christmas. Upside, I only have 3 lines. Really important lines, mind you. But only 3. Didn't need more than 3 really. I'm a fighter pilot. I don't have time to chit chat like a bunch of grandmas on a Sunday afternoon.

The boy's award

2010-11-30T09:21:00.000-08:00

Last night we attended the boy's Water Polo end of season banquet. I know I have that tunnel vision that a lot of parents get. Even when your child is in a team sport, your eyes stick on your own child. Last night, though, I was struck by the caliber of the kids in this program. The team captain, a senior, last night got up in front of the entire group of parents and kids and addressed them with such candor; unafraid to say that these are the most intimate friendships he's made in his life, that this team has brought him so much joy, that these guys have his admiration with how they evolved as a team and how they always watched out for each other... I was impressed. And those boys didn't tease or cajole or cat call. They nodded their heads, gave enthusiastic applause, and were candid themselves with their admiration for their captain and each other.

Enthusiasm is alive and well in high school. Who knew?

Because of our world stopping 2.5 inches of snow last week, the banquet had been rescheduled. Unfortunately that meant that the boy's JV coach was not in attendance last night. Drew already had a vacation planned. Instead he sent notes on each player. Here's what he had to say about our boy:

"Striker a.k.a. The Boss. He rarely missed a practice and never gave me any trouble. (He must save all the trouble for me. - MH) Too bad he won't get tall seeing how his dad is so short."

Striker also got the Most Improved Player award which is pretty awesome. It was voted on by the other boys on the team. Kristen, the head coach, said she completely agreed with the team's assessment with Striker's performance.

As we were chatting about the award and how great it was that he got it, he revealed, "I voted honestly, so I voted for myself." Hah!

Politician in the making.

BTW: another thing about our epic 2.5 inches of world stopping snow. Turns out that Bainbridge Bakers donated a cake for our event last night. Because our event was cancelled last week, Bainbridge Bakers made the cake TWICE! This was the most EPIC Chocolate Cake ever! It was HUGE and it defeated me and Hubby. We had to split our one piece. Amazing. Next time you're in Bainbridge Bakers, thank them for me, okay?

Anti-crap Christmas

2010-11-29T11:44:00.000-08:00

This year I'm requesting something completely different for Christmas. My kid's aunts and uncles will always call asking what to get my kids. When they were much younger, it was very easy. They'd ask for crap: Spiderman crap, Hot Wheels crap, Dora crap, Barbie crap, Groovy Doll crap, even *gasp* American Girl doll crap. That last one was pretty pricey crap. But this year, for my kids (at least the older ones) I'd like to get experiences.

The boy is asking for a zippo lighter, an ove glove, and an Airsoft gun. Those first two because he'd like to have them in his camping gear. His last ove glove was damaged. Instead, I'm asking him to consider a visit to the shooting range with his uncle, or maybe a camping trip, or maybe a class with the NRA to improve his marksmanship. Ooh, what about a paint ball scrimmage? See, these are great ideas!

My 9 year old princess needs to think about less crap. She's pretty disorganized. Typically things that she loves, she loves hard and then forgets them after a week. However, she's really into creating costumes for her dolls right now so I'm thinking maybe a set of sewing classes or maybe knitting classes. She also likes beading jewelry so maybe a class for that too. She's in Aikido and will be testing soon. She could use a bigger gi. She's also been on my case to bring her to the Girl Scout store to use up her cookie dough gift card she earned last year. On the other hand, I sure could use an agent to get her some modeling gigs. I don't even know how to start with that one.

My 5 year old just wants crap. But here's what is fun! She loves reading. She's amazing at addition thanks to her big brother who has been quizzing her on math facts since she was probably 3. She also loves playing on the DS or will take off with my phone and change all the settings. Books are always a hit and generally not crap. Just f.y.i.: I don't like Berenstein Bears, Dora, Clifford, & Diego books. Don't even get me started on Amelia Bedelia & Curious George books. I grit my teeth and get through them but I can't stand reading them. Knowing my brothers, that's the only kinds of books they'll get her. *sigh*. But we both LOVE Eric Carle books, simple chapter books, Arthur books, and fanciful picture books.

May your days be merry and bright and may all your Christmases be less about crap and more about experiences.

School lunches

2010-10-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

A lot of the posts I have here are about my boy. Truth be told, he's turning into a man p.d.q. It is hard to refer to him as "the boy" when he towers over me at 5'11" and his voice is doing that Peter Brady "pork chops and apple sauce" thing. (Thank God for Nick @ Nite for the Brady Bunch reference still being relevant.) He's really turning into a responsible guy.

I haven't had to wrestle him to do his homework. Last year he brought home nearly straight A's. He managed to get all his requirements to earn his Scout 2nd Class. The biggest challenge with that was remembering to have his book with him at events and meetings. With Water Polo, he's been really responsible and only grouses slightly when he has to wake up before the sun to get into the pool for practice. After 2 short seasons in the pool, he's being groomed for the center forward position, earning his new moniker: Striker. He's also been nominated to go to a training camp with the US Olympic team.

Wow, I get why parents brag about their kids' athletic & academic exploits. This is fun! What a rush!

But this morning we had a conversation about the kid he used to be and not the kid he is today. See, some logical consequences have long term pay offs.

My kids have been enjoying having soup for lunch. I will make a crock pot of soup before bedtime and pack it up in the morning for lunch in their thermoses. My boy has never been very good about remembering to bring his thermos back home after school. When he was in elementary school and intermediate school, he went through at least 4 thermoses. He still complains about the intermediate school's lunch policy of putting the classes' lunches in a basket to be delivered to the cafeteria. Then each child was to REMEMBER to get their lunches before they went home. He lost 2 thermoses that way.

When we went shopping for the thermoses, my daughter and he would select their favorite design. His would be understandably boyish or plain. My daughter would select pink & purple flowers and Barbies. After the years of lost thermoses, all we have left are the pink & purple flowers and Barbies. Striker, my mini-man has a grown man's apetite. One small thermos of soup will not carry him through the day. So, this morning I packed him his 2 thermos lunch in the pink & purple flowers and Barbie thermoses.

Yay for him being confident enough in himself to be okay with bringing his lunch to school in these ridiculous thermoses. Boo for his exasperation with me for even buying these girly thermoses in the first place. I reminded him about all the lost thermoses that he got to pick out. The black and silver one, the one with Hot Wheels on it, the plain green one, the blue one... all lost by a younger version of himself that couldn't remember to bring home his thermos.

Now before I get comments that I should get the boy a proper non-girly thermos, you should know that I'm already planning to do so. No worries, okay? In fact, we have been trying out a set I got from Costco and it looks like a winner. It is dark blue with not a flower or Barbie in sight.

The walls

2010-09-11T12:06:00.000-07:00

There are a few events in one's lifetime that the place you got the news will always let you remember the place. What is it about memory that sears your physical location to the place that it happened? It must be an evolutionary thing. That you always remember the place some world changing event happened so that if you need to, you can avoid that place. Funny how the mind tries to insulate a tragic event by marking it in your brain as possibly avoidable. Maybe that spot is imbued with memories of hurt. Maybe that spot is forever changed by that event. Why else would your mind remember it so strongly? Is it possible that every time you touch that spot of earth, a little of that tragedy touches you again?

So I remember the radio alarm clock going off on 9/11/01. I remember hitting the snooze and my husband leaving the bed. I remember him coming into our room after a few minutes, telling me that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. We got out of bed and turned on the television. We sat on the couch and both watched as the second plane crashed into the towers. There was the grim realization that this was not an accident. We both called our loved ones in Hawaii and California to make sure they knew what was happening. I remember asking my husband to stay home, to avoid the ferry, to avoid the down town city scrapers. He went to work anyway. He wanted to stop watching the repeating loop of the planes crashing, the people jumping, the ash choking all those people on the streets. Then they stopped the ferries for a time and I thought he would be stranded in Seattle.

But I couldn't avoid the bed where I heard the news. I couldn't avoid the living room, a place where I had watched the second tower fall. We lived in it. We avoided the media, turning on radios and televisions sparingly -- just enough to know what was going on but not enough to steep in grief all day. Like most people, we sent money and went to church. The whole world was reordered around me.

I imagine that if grief were paint, 9/11 would have sprayed our bedroom and living room. When my father died a year later, the rest of the house received a second coat. Maybe three. On my mother's first visit back after Dad died, I remember she refused to close any of the doors in the house, choosing to shower with the door ajar and changing her clothes in the bedroom with the door wide open. I think the grief was so big for her that the doors couldn't shut, even if she tried.

So we moved out of that place about a year and a half later. This new house has a couple of coats of grief too. Someday we'll shed it as well.

If only it were so easy.

Not a soccer mom

2010-09-05T16:23:00.000-07:00

The beginning of every school year of my childhood started with the predictable writing prompt: "What did you do this summer?"

I can tell you what I didn't do. I didn't work on my blog at all. I didn't get to sleep in except during August. While you working people would find that whiny, I am and have always been a night owl. Parenthood doesn't allow you to be a night owl. I remember being disgusted that my parents would fall asleep in front of the TV at around 9 PM. I get it now. Staying up past midnight and then having to get up at 6 AM so your son will be at the pool by 7 AM leads to crankiness and sleepiness.

My boy took up water polo this summer. He's loved the sport since he took a summer camp for it about 2 years ago. What sealed his enthusiasm was the last Olympics when both the US men's and women's water polo teams silver medaled. After years of signing up for the youth league and the youth classes which are routinely cancelled because of low enrollment, he's finally old enough to play with the big boys. They really are the big boys because this is the high school team.

At my boy's first game, within the first few minutes of him being in the pool, he made an assist for a goal, the first of that game! It was so exciting. Less exciting were 2 failed passes later in the game when he inadvertently gave possession to the other team and in the second case, assisted them with a goal. There was a little bit of grousing from a parent sitting next to me. I sidled up to them and cheerily asked them which player was theirs. They told me that their boy was entering the 11th grade and had been playing for 3 years. He was probably the team's biggest and most able player. I then told them that my boy was just entering the 8th grade and this was exactly his 6th time in the pool since practice started. They didn't grouse after that and were very understanding of his errors considering what a novice my boy was. At 5'10, he doesn't really look like an 8th grader, and when you add the fact that all you really can see of him is his head and sometimes his arms when he's in the pool, he looks like a kid who is much older. I really like the group of parents of the water polo team. I've been told by a couple of them that starting the athletes in their 8th grade year really makes the transition into high school so much easier. They already know a lot of the kids at the high school and the older kids tend to take their younger team mates under their wing.

That was exactly what I reminded myself of every week of summer when I woke at the crack of dawn... Well, 6 AM. He had practice every day of the week either starting at 7 AM or 8 AM and lasting 2 hours. Then he had practice every evening at 7:30 PM - 9:30 PM. The fall schedule is not much better except that the early morning swimming practice is only 2 times a week, but the evening practices are 5 times a week.

I only had a break from that schedule while he was off at summer camp for a week and also for the week that he was taking his NRA Hunter's safety course. He is surprisingly good at shooting targets. He's angling for us to get him a rifle or a kit for him to make his own. I have to admit it is too much testosterone for me to make a rational decision about. Maybe I should just let his dad deal with all of that.

Thoughts of my boy getting a college water polo scholarship started swimming in front of my eyes. One of the coaches went to University of Hawaii after she played for our girls team at the high school level. I started hoping hoping hoping that my boy could follow in those footsteps. Then a quick google search later, I found out that they don't even have mens water polo at UH. How does that happen??? I consoled myself that Stanford, M.I.T., Harvard, and Princeton do. Still, him going to UH would have been nice so he'd be around family.

I'm adjusting to dealing with a sport that will require me to get on the ferry to go to games. This is something that a lot of parents do here on the island. I've always thought it was crazy to do, but when I think that the people on the US National team are playing well into their 30s, I realize that this is a sport that can guide my boy through his high school, college, and young adult years. I suppose that getting up early and dealing with the ferry will be easy enough for me to do.

There will be no reprieve for me when the season is over though. Most of the boys are also on the swim team to improve their form and speed in the water. I've heard rumors that swim team practice starts at 5 am.

Bummer.

Six nurses

2010-06-26T00:39:00.000-07:00

This particular story might be mildly embarrassing to my cousin Grace's two kids, E and G. It shouldn't be. It really is the backdrop to some of the language we use in our house so I am obligated to put it in.

Like Grace, I'm a proponent of breastfeeding as long as the child wants to have it. I never had the weaning horrors that some people go through. And I know that I'm totally blessed to have had the opportunity and family support to allow my kids to self wean. For my kids, they nursed about 2 years, which means that they were talking some before they stopped breastfeeding. Grace's kids were at the breast a year or two longer. I applaud her patience and devotion to nursing them. (Look at me trying to be all diplomatic against the people who would judge breastfeeding kids. Oh, get over yourself if it is a problem for you. Breasts make food for babies. The perfect food for babies. So there.)

Grace and her husband Jim tell a story about a friend of theirs who breast fed their kids after the kids started speaking. Their friend's child was running around in toddler fashion, and when he became thirsty, he went up to his mother and asked, "Boob?"

From that moment on, Grace and Jim vowed never to be asked for boobs (especially in public) by a hungry child. Instead they taught their kids to refer to their milk dispensers as "nurses." That way if the child wanted to eat, she'd simply ask ,"nurse?" How sweet is that?

The age difference between Grace's two kids is about 8 years, so when G was 4 or 5, E was just starting out that wonderful phase of life: puberty. Imagine her horror when her little brother inadvertently walked in on her taking a shower and G ran off to report to his parents that E indeed had nurses too! (okay, that last bit wasn't probably necessary to tell my story but still funny, right?)

The lesson from those two stories stuck with Hubby and me, especially when we had our son. We did not want our precious boy's first word to be "boobs." We made a decision to copy Grace and Jim's example and refer to my breasts as nurses.

It's been a word we've used ever since we became parents and it is fully entrenched in our lives. I suppose it can be confusing considering how many registered nurses we have in our family. Amongst my first cousins, I think we have a total of 10. We are a good Filipino family that way -- we make quality health care professionals -- we love our nurses.

The other day, my mother was remarking about how her brother Efren, who spent most of his adult life working in Hawaii and sending money back home for his family in the Philippines, was able to send 6 of his kids to college for their degrees in nursing.

My mom said, "Can you believe your Uncle Efren has six nurses?"

I said, "Wow, that's really impressive."

Lil'T looked absolutely flummoxed. "Uncle Efren has six nurses?!? What the hoonies???" (hoonies = heck for preschoolers)

It took me a beat to realize that Lil'T was trying to figure out how Uncle Efren had so many breasts under his shirt. How the heck did he get the bras? Must be a Costco pack. And since when did men have breasts like Holly our dog? Oh so confusing!

Maybe we ought to refer to breasts as boobs after all.

Broken Legs 2

2010-05-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

Turns out that my audio acting debut is uploaded now. It is episode 302, The Sword of Damocles: Part II "The Pursuit."

My lines are in a teaser trailer after the credits. In fact, they say my name a few moments before you even hear my voice. I'm listed as one of the pilots. Woohoo!

Go ahead and have a listen.

57 flavor Phad Thai

2010-04-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

*Disclaimer: This post is not a request for phad thai recipes or where I can get better ones. I actually have a pretty good phad thai recipe that I didn't use because I hadn't gotten all the ingredients. This was my Iron Chef moment.

Somehow, like most weekends, the time had gotten away from me and all of a sudden, it was 6 p.m. I needed to get dinner ready or the kids would be late for bed making them grumpy and whiny in the morning. That also means that my alone time, that precious kidless time from their bedtime to our bedtime evaporates. That leads to patience-reserve-on-empty parenting. You see how everything snowballs? All because I didn't start prepping dinner at 4:30 p.m.

I looked in my fridge at that late hour and saw that I had all the ingredients for a quickie phad thai, the first recipe I had ever tried -- one that was most certainly posted by somebody who doesn't have easiest access to tamarind or dried shrimp or even tofu. It called for ingredients like vinegar, tomato paste, sugar and fish sauce. I did remember that it was quick and easy. Considering my time crunch, I thought it would be a good dinner.

I soaked the noodles, heated the oil for the meat and garlic, and then went rummaging for the tomato paste and vinegar. It was then that I realized that the pantry staple of tomato paste was missing from my arsenal. Totally unfair! I already had the noodles soaking.

It was then that inspiration struck me. Ketchup. Catsup. However you spell it, organic ketchup has listed as its top three ingredients: tomato paste, vinegar & sugar. Hazzah! Dinner was saved with a little bit of ingenuity. I ended up thinning out the catsup with a little bit of water. Surprisingly, it turned out a passable, edible, even delightful phad thai.

My apologies to any thai people out there.

Go Fish

2010-04-22T12:19:00.000-07:00

This topic has come to me. It's bugging me. I've decided to address it. It is controversial and will likely label me as a heretic (which isn't a title I necessarily reject).

I have a lot of Christian friends. Not just Catholic, but Christian friends. Some of them born again and some that belong to other religious faiths. Really, it is near impossible not to have Christian friends here in the US. I'm writing today to talk about 2 of my pet peeves with modern Christians: 1. Asking me if I "prayed about it," and 2. Quoting scripture.

The thing is, I think both of those things really shut communication down.

Let's examine the first.

Say I'm talking to a friend about some annoying habit my kids have. So many to pick from...hmmm... How about fighting with their siblings? That's common and a constant noise in my house. The boy picks on his sisters and his sisters antagonize him. It is a constant drone of sibling rivalry here in the Haddon home. So I might be sharing the latest play by ridiculous play with a friend of mine when out of the blue she says, "So have you prayed on it?"

That one sentence is a show stopper. Why? Because if it is a real question, it is as if something on my face or my demeanor says that I have not spoken to my God about it. What if I have? What if I haven't? What business is it of yours? And plus, what kind of response is exactly being elicited here?

"Yes, in fact, I spoke to God about it yesterday and He went on and on about spare the rod and spoil the child. Also that I might want to consider selling my son into slavery. Might decrease some of the conflict at home."

Really?

Or maybe, "No, why don't we have a prayer session right now? Because clearly, since I'm still having these lingering problems I am probably not praying right. Never had complaints from God before, but maybe with your guidance, my point can get across to our creator."

Does that sound too snarky?

Maybe it is only meant as a reminder to talk to God about it. But even then, who are you to give me such a reminder? Have you looked into my brain or heart and discovered me lacking? Have you yourself talked to our Lord was told, "Wow, that's the first I've heard Tess talk about that!" I'm thinking probably not.

I don't know what to say to the question, although I'm tempted in giving my most honest and non-snarky response.

"Sorry, I don't talk about my conversations with my God with other people. Your question suggests to me that you don't want to hear about my problems. Sorry to have bothered you. "

While the place where the question comes from is likely sincere and truly, truly meant to be loving, it isn't. At least not to me. It is a way to say, "Hey, you need to talk to God because talking to me does no good at all. Even if all you want is a sympathetic ear. Even if all you want is validation that you're not the only parent who feels like this. You need to bring that up with God and not me."

Now on to the second: quoting scripture.

For me, it feels like nails on a chalk board. It brings back vivid memories of a debate I took part in during the 5th grade. I loved debate during class. I loved making arguments and felt pretty dominant. I remember leading the discussion on legalizing marijuana on one of those occasions. That was a great day. Then I was picked to lead a debate about women's rights. It was a total no brainer, I thought. I went into the debate armed with facts about how women were being paid 40% less than men for the exact same job if he made the argument that there was no discrimination. That women were people afforded the same rights and liberties as their male counterparts under the Constitution. My rival, a boy whose initials were J.C. (take that as you will), only had his bible. He likely got a hold of a concordance and just looked up where in the bible the subjugation of women to men appeared. I remember standing there completely disarmed. I was in Catholic school. I am a cradle Catholic. And there I was in the unenviable position of trying to argue against the bible. Now, with some knowledge under my belt, I might have argued how God chose a woman to bear His only begotten son, how Jesus first appeared to women when He rose from the dead, etc. but that day, in front of my class, my words were silenced. I couldn't think of how to argue against that.

In using quotations, the speaker is doing 2 things at the same time. They are bolstering and boasting. They bolster their statements by drawing from the words of other people of note. There is the implicit challenge that you might disagree with me, but can you disagree with Matt, Mark, Luke or John, and thereby disagree with the big boss Himself? Then there is the boasting, which may or may not be intentional. People who quote scripture show the single minded focus to memorize the bible. They become a walking concordance by memorizing where in the bible the verse is from, telling you exactly which bible verse it is, but stopping short of telling you why that particular verse is relevant. Should be completely obvious to you since you profess to love God and Jesus. See how much better they can walk the path because they have read it and recite it?

Oh man. That bugs the heck out of me.

I don't have that fever to memorize scripture. Sure, like most people, I've got my favorite verses, but you won't find me quoting them to anybody else. Maybe that makes me a bad Christian. I have my bible. I read it, probably not up to the standards of most evangelical Christians.

I'm Catholic. We have priests to read it for us.

Our legs are broken

2010-04-01T13:41:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep last night probably around midnight. I'm reading the book Nurtureshock. If you haven't heard of it, it is one of those books that will change the way you talk to your kids. Right now I'm on the section about sibling rivalry and am astonished by it. There I go, all tangent-y. Sorry about that.

Anyway, around 1 a.m., Hubby woke me from a sound sleep and told me that he finally got an email from the producer of Starship Excelsior. Woohoo! He read me the entire email. He then retrieved my phone and read me the email that also accepted me to the Starship Excelsior cast. I admit, I was pretty excited to hear all of this, albeit rather groggy. I fell back asleep to dreams of Star Trek podcast stardom. Or at least bit parts.

Then this morning my son reminded me of what date it is. That's right people. April 1st. The boy is lying in wait for his sister to come home from a playdate to give her some fake (but non-poisonous) chocolate milk. Realization hit me that my husband might have been waiting until after midnight to give me the fake news that we were bound for stardom.

The jerk!

I ran downstairs and demanded he show me these alleged emails from the producer of Star Trek Excelsior. Well, turns out I should have trusted my man. Here is my acceptance letter.

Hello!

I'm James Heaney. I executive produce Star Trek: Excelsior (assuming "executive produce" is syntactical, which I assure you it is not. "Executively produce," maybe. But not "executive produce." Anyhow, I've already digressed). We received your audition last week, and it's been sitting in my inbox ever since waiting for a spare evening when I'd have a chance to listen to it.

That evening was tonight. Long story short, it was a fine audition. I like your voice, I like your microphone, and female voice actors are always in short supply on Excelsior. In short, I'm grateful to you for taking the plunge and sending in your audition. And I'm pleased to tell you that you "passed."

What happens next is, we put you on our directory list. Your name will sit there waiting for a part to open up that we believe fits your voice better than any other on the list (this usually takes a number of months). Since Excelsior usually has its main characters at least six months before an episode is released, the first roles to open up will almost definitely be very minor parts. If you do a good job with those smaller parts, and get your lines done on time, you'll remain in the cast rotation indefinitely. It'll be great.

Now, of course, most people who audition want to ultimately land in a major role on the show. And, to be honest, most people who stay on the list long enough do eventually end up playing a significant part. But the availability of major roles is unpredictable, and really has a great deal to do with luck. My point being, I can't promise any big parts in your future. It could definitely happen, but, as with any show, the parts we are trying to fill from episode to episode are usually the bit parts. If bit parts are okay with you, though, we're looking forward to working with you! (This little disclaimer may seem silly and obvious to you, but you'd be surprised at the high casting expectations from new auditioners that we've had to deflate over the years.)

Like I said, solid voice/solid mic/female is a triple threat here at Excelsior. Thanks for sending in your audition and welcome aboard! We really couldn't do it without generous people like you volunteering to help keep the Excelsior flying!

Sincerely,
James Heaney
Executive Producer
Star Trek: Excelsior

Hubby's acceptance letter went on an on about the "reckless" willingness he has to throw himself emotively into a role. I got only the trifecta of having a good voice, good mike, and being a girl. *sigh* Truth be told though, Hubby is the one with the real talent at voice acting. He's pretty amazing.

Just wait until he gets cast as a Klingon. Knock your socks off. Kaplah!

Goalsetting with Girls

2010-03-26T08:56:00.001-07:00

Every year it surprises me how much "anti-cookie" sentiment there exists in our community. We have brownie girl scouts out in front of grocery stores selling cookies. They have dreams of going camping, having a horse back riding adventure, painting pottery at a studio, and simply having fun. Every year my parents come back from selling cookies with stories of people berating the adults about childhood obesity, too much sugar in children's diets, & the negative message selling cookies has for our girls.

And yet we keep doing it. I don't need to re-argue the why. The Girl Scouts Organization does that far more eloquently than I can. Every year I have a cookie selling story that makes all those negative comments fade away like morning fog. Here is this year's one.

Before we launch into the cookie selling, the girls and their leaders discuss goals. For the past 2 years, my girls have been focused on going to the Great Wolf Lodge. What 8-9 year old child wouldn't want to go there? While we were setting our goals, we did some quick math finding out that we needed to sell 1444 boxes to reach that goal. This would be the year that we could raise enough money to go there overnight. Then we discussed a service project that the girls could get behind. We would participate in the usual Operation Cookie Drop which sends cookies to our troops overseas. However, we wanted something that was just our group's focus. Unfortunately, we ran out of time and the girls were charged with trying to come up with a service project by the next meeting.

The week before our next meeting, the earthquake in Haiti happened.

When we met, I thought I would ask the girls if they had heard about the Haitian earthquake. They had. The girls all had their hands up talking about their schools collecting money to send to Haiti. Each girl talked about pictures they had seen on television, or their parents had shared with them in the paper. They spoke about their ministers or priests urge for generous donations for Haitian relief over weekend. I credit our parents, schools and churches with talking to these girls and giving them their boundless capacity for compassion.

I mentioned to them that Girl Scouts and Girl Guides are everywhere in the world, including Haiti. In that moment, you could see in their eyes that they could identify with their sister girl scouts. They were so moved that one of our girls suggested we just give all our money in our bank account to Haiti. However, there was some protest at that idea, and the girls had worked so hard to save up towards their goal, we came up with a compromise. We would donate the first $1000 of our cookie proceeds towards the Haitian relief effort. I told them that we'd essentially double our cookie selling goal to almost 3000 boxes. If we didn't make our goal, we might have to postpone our trip to Great Wolf Lodge one more year. They understood.

One of my girls put it very succinctly, "they need it more."

In the intervening time, we participated in the Cascade Bicycle Club Chilly Hilly bake sale and raised $310 towards our goal. Also during the Chilly Hilly, our girls helped out at the Squeaky Wheels Bicycle Club's chili feed. That event raised $1400 for the American Red Cross. Because of our participation in that event, the organizers have given us the honor of presenting that check to the ARC. Along with our $1000, our girls have helped raise $2400 for earthquake relief efforts.

So go ahead and complain about GS selling cookies. This is what building girls of courage, confidence and character looks like.

Balls of yarn

2010-03-25T17:04:00.000-07:00

We had a Girl Scout meeting last night. The brownie who was running the content of our meeting had us turning skeins of yarn into balls of yarn so that we'd be prepared to teach preschool potential scouts how to make yarn dolls. You would be surprised how hard it is to efficiently turn skeins of yarn into balls of yarn.

I complained, "Every time I try to go fast, I drop my ball."

My daughter said, "I'm making them half fast."

What you need to know now is that when my 9 year old brownie girl scout said that, the other parent there and I both about dropped our balls. Say the phrase "half fast" out loud and you'll see what I mean.

Then I replayed what she said and very carefully inquired, "So you're making them half (pause) fast?"

She nodded and said, "yeah, but I still drop them."

The other parent there and I about fell over laughing but the rest of the girls had no idea why.

Broken legs

2010-03-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

Slowly but surely, I'm joining the modern world. About a year ago, my husband bought me an ipod. Not a huge swanky one, but a nano. It was the model that only briefly made the shelves. Not the long rectangle but the short squat one. Anyway, within the past couple of months I have discovered the podcast.

What a wonderful world!!!

While the youth of today are listening to their own "mixed tape" of life, I'm catching up on NPR programs that I may have missed: Selected Shorts, The Moth, This American Life, & Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. I've also discovered non-NPR shows like Comedy DeathRay and the Adam Carolla Show. What has really been fun are the radio dramas. I used to love those when I was a kid, sneaking on the radio at 10 p.m. to listen to the spooky stories. Now I get to listen to Star Trek stories and Zombie stories. Hubby and I have really enjoyed listening to the ZombiePodcast: We're Alive. One of the Star Trek stories we've been listening to is about the Starship Excelsior. What's fun about that podcast is that they're always looking for new voice talent.

Hubby and I have decided to audition.

Go ahead and make fun, but you've got to listen to Hubby's Warf before you make any judgement. Years and years of reading kids books and making silly voices for the different characters has been great rehearsal for this attempt.

The Excelsior producers have two selections from Shakespeare to let us hang ourselves. We have the introductory passage from Romeo & Juliet. Then there is Hamlet's soliloquy -- you know, the famous "to be or not to be" one. We chose the latter.

At first, I did my best Filipino accent and read through the former passage. I thought it was pretty good. Hubby couldn't stop giggling when he listened to it. So instead, I submitted the second passage. I tried to read it just like myself since I figure it would be easier to sustain a voice if I just played myself. Hubby read his in his Gandalf voice. He did Warf for a while but realized that it was hard to emote anything but gruffness when you're trying to be Warf.

Sadly, I don't know how to post an audio file to my blog. If I figure it out, I'll put our attempts at stardom here.

Tenses

2010-03-15T13:59:00.000-07:00

Last week was Princess's birthday. For other parents out there, you know what this means. It is yet another event that you have to prepare for and really just hope you don't mess up. It means treats for her class, cake to be ordered, the kid choosing the menu for dinner, the birthday present, and planning for the party.

So my day went from busy to frenetic pdq. I started the day at 5am. I needed to get prepped for special birthday breakfast which Hubby thankfully woke up early to make. Turkey bacon, waffles, scrambled eggs with blue cheese, white cranberry peach juice, and milk: a feast fit for a Princess. After I got the family off to their places, Lil'T and I went to the grocery store to get a strawberry cake for dessert after dinner, and ice cream for Princess's class. Surprisingly, I was able to find the strawberry cake easily -- even in March with random acts of freezing weather happening outside. I couldn't find the orange vanilla cups she requested and settled for popsicles which had orange vanilla. I crossed my fingers that there wouldn't be too much disappointment. You never know what is going to set off the whining and much dreaded tears. Living with children is like living with crazy people. Add a birthday into the mix and the crazy only magnifies. Off to the school I went and dropped off the treats with the front office.

I only had until 2 pm to get the next big part of the day done. I was off to the sporting goods store to find a tetherball set. Princess had her heart set on one for her birthday. Then I went to Costco to get her favorite frozen lasagne. I try not to think of it as an insult to my cooking that she prefers frozen lasagne to my home cooking. I instead concentrated on how nice it was that I didn't have to cook on top of everything else.

Lil'T was starting to pumpkin out by the time we had checked out and asked to have a Costco slice of pizza for lunch. On a Thursday in the middle of the day, Costco is the busiest place on the planet. It was so crowded that we were stuck looking for some kind soul to share their table with us. I spotted a tata sitting by himself in the corner. He was wearing a baseball cap the way my dad always did, more like a hat than a cap. It was perched up there not fully pulled down, so he looked like his forehead must be at least 5 inches tall if the cap was touching the top of his head. I walked over to him and asked him if it would be okay for us to share his table. He kind of made an uncomfortable smile and pointed behind me where his wife was walking towards him with their drink cups. I said that it was just the two of us and his wife ultimately answered saying that it would be okay.

I sat down and could tell that Lil'T was not too sure about sitting with these strangers but somehow, that lady sure sounded familiar. I leaned over to T and said, "That lady sounds a lot like Lola, yeah?" That was all it took.

The woman asked me, "Pilipina?" I told her that I was and then it was all better.

We started talking about where we were from, what flavor of Filipino we were, and how at first the tata thought that I was Japanese. He actually tried to speak a little bit of Tagalog and Ilocano to me. Too bad I didn't know any.

And then it happened. The moment when I made a decision to lie a little bit.

Tata asked me, "Are your parents still in Hawaii?"

I sat there knowing that I could answer truthfully or in the way that I wish it were. I went with the latter.

"Yes, my parents live in Hawaii." Followed by all kinds of pronouncements in the wrong tense.

"No, my dad doesn't speak Tagalog, but he's learning Hawaiian."

"My dad's brothers and sister all live in Hawaii."

It was a nice chat. Maybe my kids' crazy is rubbing off on me. Just felt so natural to talk to them like my dad and my uncles who have died didn't. Why did these people need to know my private pain?

Then I jumped right back into the fast stream and raced Lil'T to school (about an hour late), went off to church to walk the kids to religious ed classes, delivered an order of cookies, and then raced off to Aikido where the dreaded whining and crying finally came because I couldn't find Princess' Aikido belt and she didn't want to walk into class without it, despite her sensei having dozens of white belts lying around because the kids test out of them all the time! Raced off to pick up Lil'T and then raced off to the ferry to pick up Hubby. Then it was back to Aikido where Princess had tested up to a yellow belt! Hurrah! Side benefit being that the lost white belt can stay lost. Then it was dinner, cake, ice cream, tetherball, birthday phone calls, and (praise God) bedtime.

It wasn't until later that I could process my conversation with the older Filipino couple at Costco. Somewhere in this world, there are 2 strangers who think that my dad and my uncles are still alive. I know that it is irrational and kind of strange. I'm not entirely sure why I didn't just speak truthfully. Maybe it was their familiar accented English that got me reminiscent and a little heart sick for home. There is a comfort that there are these strangers for whom I am a woman whose dad is still alive and he is still wondering about his next trip to visit the grand babies, still playing his uke and learning Hawaiian, still calling with his recipe for roast chicken. Still.

Sitcoms

2010-02-20T01:22:00.000-08:00

My 12 year old boy made my jaw drop on the floor today. In modern terminology, what followed was a parenting epic fail.

We were having a perfectly lovely dinner. We were eating fish tacos made with soft tortillas. Hubby was trying to hand the boy one and apparently the boy wasn't catching on. So Hubby said, "Just take it and put it in your mouth."

To which the boy said, "That's what she said."

You might have heard that line on the sitcom, "The Office," as a crude punchline which turns the most innocent word or phrase instantly into something filthy. While certainly, a line like that delivered in my husband's office with a bunch of grown men around would have brought guffaws of laughter. But delivered out of the baby face of my child, it brought its own level of crazy.

My husband said, " I need you to know that was inappropriate. I have no more patience for you today."

I was shocked and tried not to lose my cool too much.

I started with being reasonable: "It is my fondest hope that you will grow up to be a good kind man. That you will be respectful and honest. That you won't be one of those guys who don't respect women and treat them like objects. That joke you told was crude and objectifying. As a guy with two sisters, I'd hope you'd be more respectful. I'd hope you'd be protective of your sisters and in turn be respectful to other girls and women."

Pretty good, right? I should have stopped there. But no, here comes the side of epic with that fail.

"I know you're going through a lot of changes right now and you're probably thinking about sex a lot. Here on the island, we hear of parties teens are having sex just for fun. Like instead of playing Playstation they're having sex. But it cheapens the experience and you end up objectifying yourself and others if you participate. You have my blessing to masturbate to your heart's content. Actually, save up your pennies and buy some good quality lube. I think it is more important to get rid of that frustration. Just j that stuff off. (okay, that might not have been my exact words but you get the drift.) I'd rather you jerk off than be a jerk."

The boy was completely mortified. He didn't even ask for seconds on his dinner. He just kind of left the table in a daze. My husband, for his part, was smirking in the kitchen while listening to my major tangent. Later, he told me that I was a freak because I have masturbation on the brain. He only says this because yesterday I had asked him to explain the punchline of a joke I heard on a podcast the other day. It went like this, "If God didn't want us to masturbate, why did He give us ziploc bags, warm grape jelly, and rubber bands?"

I still can't figure that one out.

We are not alone

2010-02-06T14:07:00.000-08:00

After having a truly awful week with my eldest, I attended a seminar at the local middle school called, "Understanding the Disorganized Teenage Brain." I already knew that brain development is not truly done until age 25. But I didn't know what to do about that. How is knowing that the 12 year old's brain is not fully developed going to help me when he won't do his chores without a major confrontation? Too much drama in the house.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to me when I showed up a touch late and saw the room full of other perplexed parents -- many of whom I recognized from preschool years 9 years ago. OMG. I know that in the whole of human experience, raising a 12 year old boy is not something new. This earth has seen this countless times and people do survive. And the boys usually don't turn out to be serial killers or kinslayers. They turn out to be lovely charming men. Or douchebags. There are plenty of both. All men were 12 years old at one time in their lives.

This, too, shall pass.

So, predictably, the lecture started with a review of the science -- that human brains are not matured in the prefrontal cortex as late as the mid-twenties. There are significant changes happening in the brain starting at around 10 - 14 years old. These changes SEVERELY impair the child's ability to organize. See, that last little bit I thought was peculiar to my own child. But it turns out that organization and the neural pathways needed for that particular skill, are nonexistent in the disorganized mind with an immature prefrontal cortex. In fact, there was a statement on our handouts in bold lettering: "Teens DO have brains."

Yeah, right.

So anyway, the part that was most helpful was the strategies to help your child organize. It takes 21 days to form a new habit. So this is day 1 for me. One of the things I need to do is demonstrate organization. So when I do things that help me keep track of my stuff, I say it out loud. Like, "I am putting my keys on the key rack. I am putting my watch in the jewelry box. I am putting my hairbrush in the bathroom drawer." These are little things. But apparently, this is modeling meta-cognition, or thinking about thinking. So for the next 21 days, I am going to concentrate on saying out loud the things I do to get organized. The other thing the lecturer touched on is that I need to let the kids in on when I am planning a big event. She said that when you're a kid, your parents will announce that you'll be going on vacation and one morning, all you had to do to get ready was put on your shoes and go. But there is a lot of planning and organizing that goes into a vacation. That needs to be modeled so that they can see what the process is. How do you choose the budget? Location? Transportation? Lodging? Packing? Preparing the house? Care for pets? See, I'm exhausted just listing all those questions.

The other thing to do is adopt a flat affect. Turns out that the thrill seeking part of their brain is in high gear during these years. So if you're thinking that you might be paranoid because you think your kid is just trying to get a rise out of you, you're right. Not the being paranoid part but the latter. He is just trying to get a rise out of you. It activates the thrill seeking part of their brain and that's all good. So now, I need to act like I'm on massive doses of mood stabilizer and say things like, "I'm sorry that you've waited until 11pm on Sunday to let me know about this 20 page report due tomorrow. I'm sorry I won't be able to help you tonight. I need my sleep. I will help you with it tomorrow." All this said very quietly, calmly, and with a completely blank expression. We'll see if I'm even remotely capable of doing it. Scorpio, after all.

Sharon had accompanied me to the lecture. After, we talked about ideas to help us remember that these boys were our babies. Unconditional love is somewhere in us buried, we just need to access it. We talked about buttons with baby pictures on them that the boys could wear. Maybe custom t-shirts with images of the sweet baby boys so that every time we want to throttle them, we'd be stopped by the achingly cute cherubs on their chests. Sharon had the best idea. She suggested baby head masks. They'd have to be as big as their torsos to make it be in proper proportion to their teenage bodies, because how could you ever yell at a baby's face for not turning in his homework on time?

I talked to my mom at length this morning about all the things I learned at this lecture. She's been praying for me to gain patience, especially when I deal with my son. I guess those rosaries are finally paying off. Or maybe not. Only time will tell.

I'll let you know in 21 days.

St. Volkswagon

2010-01-27T14:01:00.000-08:00

Those of you who have known us for a long time are familiar with Neighbor Bob. He was our neighbor at our old house. At the time, our eldest was very confused with there being an Uncle Bob on Hubby's side, and Uncle Bob on my side, and Bob who lived next door. So our nice older neighbor was dubbed Neighbor Bob by That. Neighbor Bob is still a good friend to us and we see him from time to time as we still own our first house and rent it out. In fact it was Neigbor Bob who found our new tenants when our old ones moved out. Even before we had the chance to list it! Neighbor Bob rocks!

Anyway, about 4 years ago, Neighbor Bob woke up one day with a belly that looked like he was 7 months pregnant. He went from being a very active, single, divorced guy to being infirm. His elderly mother moved in to take care of him. We saw Bob only rarely then, with his mom giving us the details of his condition. Things were so bad at one point that Bob ended up on the liver transplant list, wondering who was going to win the race: Death or a new liver.

It was truly a great surprise when we ran into Bob a couple of months ago at the library parking lot. Gone was the ashen pallor he had been wearing for the past few years. There was pink in his cheeks and his eyes had gone back to sparkling. Then he told us about the big dent in the door of his Volkswagon Euro Van that pretty much saved his life.

Bob had returned from his doctor's office pretty deflated. The internist had told him that his liver function tests were quite poor and that he had been moved up to first priority for a new liver. Things were looking grim and the doctor estimated that Bob only had a couple of weeks to a month to live. At that point he was walking with a cane and his nearly 90 year old mother was driving him around town. (I should add a pause here as you should all be realizing that riding around with his mom in the driver's seat was probably his best way of preventing his death from liver failure. Likely blunt force trauma would catch up with him first. But I digress...)

Bob was resting in the living room when his mother came home. She said that the van was making a funny noise and she thought she may have run over something. Could he please take a look. So Bob got out his cane and dutifully walked over to the still running van. Gripping the driver's front door, he leaned over and noticed that Mom had driven over a tomato cage which had wrapped around the front axle. He tried to dislodge it by poking it with his cane but was unsuccessful. So while he held the driver's front door, he laid down his cane and reached under the van with his other hand. He gave the tomato cage a mighty yank and somehow popped the car out of park and into neutral. It started to roll. Bob was caught under the van which rolled over his abdomen and over his legs. And because it was parked on a slope, the van started to roll back the way it had come, again over Bob's legs and his head. At this point, he knew that if he didn't get up, there was no way he was going to survive the day. So he caught the front door of the van which was still open and swinging freely. Somehow, he pulled on the door, wrenching it backwards and almost off of the car, but that move got him out from under the moving vehicle. As you can imagine, blood was streaming down his face from the headband shaped cut across his scalp. He calmly got on his cell phone and called his mother. He told her not to panic and to just turn the shower on as cold as possible. Told her that he had a little cut on his head but it was not a big deal. He was just going to clean himself up and no worries.

My thought is that he couldn't see saddling his mother with an emergency room visit since he only had 4 more weeks to live. So anyway, he walked up to the door probably looking like the Night of the Living Dead, except in real life, telling his mom not to panic and don't bother calling an ambulance. It was only a flesh wound. When he washed up and lay down with a red towel wrapped around his head, his mother did the only sane thing and called for an ambulance.

Bob was airlifted to the nearest trauma center where his head was stitched up and he was told to meet with a surgeon to assess if he had any other damage to his internal organs from the accident. That surgeon did an exploratory surgery on Bob, and like an expert Christmas Elf putting away a string of lights, the surgeon pulled out Bob's innards and replaced them back in the original packaging good as new.

After recovery, Bob was coming up close to his 4th and theoretically last week of life. He went to his regular doctor and they did the usual liver function tests. When the results came in, his doctor was flabbergasted. He said, "I don't know how you did it, Bob, but you've got the liver function of a 20 year old."

Now Bob's being asked by the University of Washington Medical Center to come in so they can figure out exactly how he's still alive. He hasn't fixed the damage he caused to the driver's side door of his van but it is a great lead in for a great story so I wouldn't fix it either.
When I tell this story, I laugh all the way through it -- only because I know it ends well. I mean, Bob told us the story after all. Either way, I am certain that that van was instrumental in a miracle. My husband likes to joke that the van only needs to cure one more person of a terminal illness and it can be canonized a saint.

Anybody out there game?

Linus & Lucy

2009-12-15T23:57:00.000-08:00

Did you ever notice that the song that opens the Charlie Brown Christmas Special is in a minor key? Charlie Brown starts off with the line, "I think there must be something wrong with me Linus. Christmas is coming but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel...I always end up feeling depressed." I never understood it as a kid. WTF was wrong with Charlie Brown?

But having started this Christmas season with my own anxiety attack, with a sense of impending dread, I get it Charlie Brown. I totally get it.

In recent history, very bad things happen at Christmastime for me. I've jokingly considered becoming a Jehovah's witness or maybe Buddhist. Anything that will get me out of Christmas. But I suspect, the only way to avoid the season all together is to move out of the country to maybe Turkey. Eh, Hubby likes Turkey. I'll think about it. Supposed to be pretty out there.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Uncle Nofre's death. In keeping with the whole keep-busy-to-avoid-grief thing, I took Princess on a shopping trip for Girl Scout meeting supplies. On the drive over, I guess it was too quiet and I got to thinking about the day I got the news. How the phone call came at 2am and I knew it was disaster. How I went to sleep sobbing even though he hadn't died yet. How I woke up with a vague sense of unease only to have everything rush back in crystal clarity. How every time the phone rang, I braced myself for the worst. I remembered the exact spot I stood when I got the news. And when my eyes started to well up with tears, I realized that crying while driving was absolute folly and I must move on to other topics and fast. Thank goodness my girl was in the back seat with all kinds of plans and schemes for Christmas surprises. She is a font of joy.

After we were done with our shopping trip, I turned the car radio on to the Christmas station. One of the radio stations here plays non-stop Christmas music, even during its super saccharine Delilah show. If you're not familiar with her, she's a nationally syndicated radio host. Her program has people call in to request a song for somebody special. Delilah has a knack for picking the *perfect* song for the situation. But during the holidays, her hands are a little tied because it needs to be Holiday music. And I suspect, my uncle's hands were too. But still, he was able to communicate with me through this most unlikely radio station. When I turned the music on, it was Linus & Lucy, from Charlie Brown. You know, that Vince Guaraldi piano piece that appeared in a lot of the Peanuts animated specials. I was surprised because it is one of my favorite songs. My first reaction was a happy one -- that kind you get when you have a moment of serendipity. And then I remembered.

In October of last year, I had visited Uncle's house and saw the jewel case on the coffee table. It was a Vince Guaraldi collection. On it was a picture of the composer fashioned into a Peanuts character. I picked it up and told Uncle Nofre that I loved that one song, Linus & Lucy. He told me to go ahead and take the CD if I wanted it but when I opened the jewel case, it was empty. Plus, the jewel case itself was broken. So I left it there. After Uncle died, my brother Dwight asked me if there was anything that I wanted of Uncle's things before the garage sale. I told Dwight that there was a CD that I had bought for Uncle the previous Christmas and also that Vince Guaraldi one if it was there.

By the time Dwight got to the garage sale, the box of Uncle's CD's had sold. Dwight was totally freaked out that I'd be upset that they were gone, but I told him it really was no big deal.

When Dwight came to visit us this past spring, he had four CDs of Uncle's that hadn't gotten sold, and surprisingly, the Vince Guaraldi one was in the collection. He gave them to me and I was thrilled to see that the CD had been restored to its broken jewel case. I wonder if that was why it didn't get sold.

So take that story however you wish. Coincidence, yeah. But I haven't gotten rid of my sense of wonder and magic just yet. And if there is a chance that Uncle has more to tell me, that I'll be sure to listen. Maybe that song was just to remind me that my first reaction, whenever I think of Uncle, should always be joy and happiness.

Midlife crisis

2009-12-01T19:47:00.000-08:00

There is nothing quite as effective in making you feel older than organizing old pictures. I finally got to that box in the back of the closet with packets and packets of pictures in it. Some of those pictures were 12 years old. When I look at myself in the mirror, I don't really think I look all that different than I did 10 years ago or 12 years ago, but when faced with the evidence...

So in a rare moment of feeling my age and the insecurity that comes with it, I looked to my husband for reassurance.

Me: You're not going to trade me in for a younger, prettier model, are you?

Him: No, of course not.

At that point he put his arm around me and kissed me on the forehead. He should have stopped there.

Him: I mean, it doesn't mean I won't try. I just don't think it likely I'll succeed.

Dork.

My goal for my 40th year

2009-11-18T12:27:00.000-08:00

I've been reflecting a lot on envelopes. I think that a lot of the best ideas that people have are often scribbled on the backs of envelopes or napkins. These are scraps of paper that are always at hand and can give a flash of inspiration a home in the world. I mean, how many stories have we read about some hit song scribbled on a cocktail napkin, the seed for a great work of art sketched on the back of the water bill. Stuff like that happens all the time.

So I say that it behooves (love that word because it is so hoity toity) all of us to pick up a pen, paper and an envelope and write a letter to everybody we know and care about. That way, your envelope can be there at hand to catch whatever inspiration strikes your loved one.

This is my fortieth year. I heard on the radio yesterday that Sesame Street made its 40th year anniversary too. I don't know what Bert & Ernie have planned for their 40th -- maybe they'll finally get the right to marry. But it is my goal to write my loved ones and friends this year. It will probably take all year and if you don't get a letter from me, I must not love you very much. jk. I was just thinking that celebrating my 40th birthday with a party would be fun, but I don't think I need a bunch of cake and presents. I'd much rather give presents of my thanks to the people who have enriched my life. The thank-you for being the person who held me while I cried when my husband got on the plane to leave for Seattle. The thank-you for the person who made me dinner when I brought my third child home. The thank-you for the gifts from her garden the summer that my husband had lost his job. The thank-you for the months taken away from her home to stay with me to watch my kids. The thank-you for the arms around me as I grieved my father's death. The thank-you for the first laugh I had during that terrible dark time. And countless other kindnesses I've been blessed to receive. Those are the moments and interactions that have formed me in these past 40 years. And the enormous gratitude of debts that I know I cannot repay except with a thanks and an envelope.

An envelope that can catch inspiration and can bloom into something marvelous.

15 years of marriage based on what exactly?

2009-11-07T18:49:00.001-08:00

Me: I saw this thing the other night on one of those lawyer shows. It said that there was research that proves that people of different races have difficulty seeing subtle differences in appearance. So that whole thing about Asians all looking alike, that's true. Man, how the heck did we end up together?

Him: I thought you were somebody else.

I gotta admit, I walked right into that one.

Fully Programmed

2009-10-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

The Great Wolf Lodge sent us some marketing materials earlier this month. We went there for Spring Break the year they opened and I guess they've been missing our contributions to their bottom line. I more precisely should say that they sent the brochure to our 3 kids. It was a glossy full color one complete with word scramble, connect the dots, beautiful pictures of happy children who have parents that look good in swimsuits. Clearly all fantasy shots. But there was a fun little activity that our princess took to immediately. It was a picture of an empty suit case and the directions stated that you draw all the things you need to bring with you to the Great Wolf Lodge. Princess enlisted the help of her brother and Lil'T to figure out what to draw. I could figure out what most of the pictures were. There were 3 sets of bathing suits, a speedo which is the bird shaped drawing in the upper left corner supposedly for my husband. There was a sack lunch and a bottle of milk. There was one pillow. There was dog food, a stick, and even Holly in the suitcase. Tho I'm pretty sure Holly would object to being stuffed in a suitcase. There was one really puzzling picture that looked like a rectangular brush with a dark stripe down the middle.

Me: What's that?

Princess: Oh, that's the money you could be saving if you switched to Geico.

I don't know how I feel about that. I don't think I'll get nominated for parent of the year considering that my kids are so easily programmed. On the other hand, maybe I should switch to Geico. Then maybe we could afford a trip to the Great Wolf Lodge.

Honest Answers

2009-10-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

I got tagged by a friend of mine to do this on Facebook and as my blog and FB are linked, I figured I'd post it here and it will eventually be posted there. Here are my answers to this MEME.

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose at least 8 people to be tagged. Don't forget to tag me!

To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours.

Next, tag 8 people (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :)

1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? Clam chowder that was leftover from last night. OMG I am a good cook. It is the first time I tried making clam chowder and I just tried what I thought would fit. Granted, this isn't like figuring out how to make a souffle but it was a triumph for me.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? At home after a dinner party with my mobile phone -- a Palm Pre. Hubby is getting increasingly annoyed with the Pre because it could be faster about loading apps, etc. but I don't care. It is freakin' awesome that I can answer my email, txt, send pics, etc. I love it!

3.Can you play Guitar Hero? We don't own Guitar Hero but I have played it before. We do own the pads for DDR for our old Xbox which is very similar, except was done with your feet.

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? My good friend Marisa. She did tell me what felching (sp?) was. Before you Google or Bing that word, remember you can't unknow something that you now know. And the visual is simply not pleasant.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Around 1am. I was up coughing. Damned cold.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Norway. Just watched SICKO by Michael Moore. The fjords are gorgeous.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? Yes. We got married on the Fourth of July. The country celebrates our anniversary with fireworks. At least that is what we tell our kids.

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? I'm gonna say Sharon. But I haven't taken out a map. It could be Marisa. Not sure.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? I think you can go back to friendly acquaintances. But true friends? Probably not.

10. How do you feel about Dr Pepper? It is good. It has been over a decade from the diet Dr. Pepper vaca on Kauai that Hubby and I took. We had about 4 days left on the vaca and we went to the grocery store. The "cube" of diet DP was on sale and I couldn't pass up on that price. After 3 days of drinking nothing but diet DP, Hubby and I couldn't touch it without wanting to throw up. I think we left some in the fridge of the hotel room.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? When Uncle Nofre died last December, I wailed. I mean truly loudly wailed. I still miss him terribly.

12. Who took your profile picture? I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Julia's dogs. Does that count as persons? If not, I've got Julia's leg in the picture.

14. Was yesterday better than today? No.

15. Can you live a day without TV? Hubby would disagree with this claim, but yes, I can live without TV.

16. Are you upset about anything? Not right this second. Oh wait, the railing on our deck fell off when it was dumping rain last night. I may have to get into it with my insurance company. But that is about it.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? Never. jk. Of course.

18. Are you a bad influence? Yeah, most likely. I could be better about cuss words and not losing my temper. I also keep a fairly messy house, as my mother would attest to, so that's not a good influence on my messy kids either. So definitely I'm a bad influence.

19. Night out or night in? In. I'm an old married lady with kids.

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? My mother, last October. She's cancer free now.

22. What does the last text message in your in box say? It was a note from Julia at 8:38am. "Not so fun standing in the rain at a soccer game..."

23. How do you feel about your life right now? These are the good years. I'm living the dream.

24. Do you hate anyone? No

25. If we were to look in your face book inbox, what would we find? Emails from friends. Nothing scandalous.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before? Yes. By my dentist. I have beautiful teeth.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Nothing right now. Blessed silence.

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? Paul Gross. I have a crush on that actor. He's on Eastwick on ABC this year. OMG yummy. He also was on Slings and Arrows, which is where I first started crushing on him. He's tall with dark wavy hair and light eyes. What can I say? I have a type.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? My son would be in his early twenties then and while it is possible, given that he's gorgeous but (thankfully) awkward, I doubt it. Hubby always jokes that we'll be grandparents in 3 years. (The boy is 12 right now...)

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? Pick up the boy from a campout.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Too much -- but obsessively on one thing at a time. So the last couple of days it was all Girl Scouts all the time. A couple of weeks ago, it was all dog training all the time.

33. Do you smile a lot? I think so.

34. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? I think maybe 5 - 6.

35. If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be? Paul Gross's mistress. jk. Martha Stewart before prison. Well, she wasn't so bad after prison either.

36. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook. I'm tweeting but not really well enough. There are some people who tweet way too much and I end up being deluged by them so I don't like checking too often.

37. Chicken or Beef? Beef. I'm sure I'm a mad cow and will likely turn into a flesh eating zombie if Zombieland is to be believed. Prepare for the zombie apocalypse.

38. Mac or PC? PC

39. Have you ever punched anyone in the face? No

40. Have you ever been punched in the face? Yes, by an old man who was a patient when I was a nurse. I wasn't familiar with him and had not heard that he was violent. He was sitting in a chair out in the hall and the nurse who was caring for him was in the breakroom giving report. He was tearing stuff up and throwing it on the floor so I bent over to pick the stuff up. I got too close and he gave me a fat lip. I was so shocked as I totally wasn't expecting it. He didn't even look angry. Who knows, maybe when I'm old I'll do crazy stuff like punching 20 year old nurses in the face too.

I'll remember you

2009-09-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

August 22, 2009, was what would have been my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. My father died on Christmas Eve 2002. When they had their 40th wedding anniversary, my brothers and I talked about arranging a big party for them. My mother talked us out of it saying that we should wait for a bigger one. Wait for the 50th anniversary, she said. We didn't know that we would not have the luxury of waiting.

The first anniversary after Dad died, my brothers and I didn't know what the right thing to do was. Should we call? Should we not? All my life we had celebrated Aug. 22, which we always confused with Aug. 24, Mom's birthday. The usual phone calls came from my brothers asking me if it was Mom's birthday or our parents' anniversary. If they couldn't get a hold of me, they always called on Aug. 23, so that they were late for one but early for the other. All averaged out, right?

So back to Aug. 22, 2009. When my brother called her and wished her a happy anniversary, she said, "Why? I'm not married anymore. I'm single." She's moved on, as well she should. But this would have been a big day. She had no plans so when her friend Beth called and asked if she'd like to join her at church, she said yes. Beth's cousin who is a visiting priest was celebrating the mass and Beth wanted Mom to meet him.

After mass, Beth announced that she wanted to go out for dinner. Her cousin has lots of friends and family in Hawaii so he had a full social calendar. Mom wasn't exactly prepared for a night out, but figured they'd just have dinner someplace close. Instead the group headed out to Waikiki and ate at a fabulous gourmet buffet at one of the resorts there. Pretty swanky, right?

In conversation, Mom told Beth that this would have been her 50th anniversary. Beth, inspired, called over a group of musicians to serenade Mom. The guy holding the guitar asked Mom what she wanted to hear and she said, "Anything Hawaiian..." The musician said, "I know exactly the right one..."

Mom said later that it was all she could do to keep from crying there, in front of Beth, her friends, and this musician who inexplicably had picked the exact song that my father used to sing for my mom.

Here is the thank-you note she sent to Beth. I helped her write it:

What a surprise you gave me on Saturday! I am grateful not only for the lovely dinner but also for the constancy of your friendship. Since Domingo died, the 22nd of August has been a bittersweet anniversary. While I always remember the life we built and shared together, it seems strange to celebrate our wedding anniversary without him. But when that musician sang the first words of Lei Aloha, it really felt like Sandy was with me, wishing me a happy anniversary. Thank you for such a special evening and memory.

Chicken skin, right?

Holly -wog

2009-09-08T10:10:00.001-07:00

Poor little Holly has such a fun name. All kinds of neat nick names can be made from it. Holly-wood. Holly-wog. Holly Berry. Hollyanna.

A couple of weeks ago, lil' Miss Holly proved that she loves me far more than any of my human children ever could. Maybe it is just that they've not been faced with proving their love for me by putting themselves in mortal danger, so perhaps I am a little unfair in my assessment.

We were at the beach for our last summer hurrah. It was a perfect day for it. The tide was low earlier in the day so when the water came in, it was nice and warm. There was a breeze so we weren't too hot on the sunny day, but it did make for choppy waters. I think the waves were maybe 3 or 4 inches tall but when you're Holly sized (she was maybe 8 - 9 pounds at the time) they're tsunami sized waves.

Lil'T wanted to go swimming so I walked out into the surf with her. Holly is not a swimming dog. Her breed historically lived on farms and hunted mice. They were always far from the sea. Holly doesn't even like to go out in the rain. But she followed me and T to the shore where she howled and barked for me to come back to the dry land because it was treacherous in the water. Surely, T and I should know better than to risk our lives in the sea. T and I played in the surf and Holly looked on completely dismayed. Somewhere in that doggy brain, she made a decision to save our lives and she jumped into the surf, braving waves breaking over her head, swimming (more like thrashing) because she's not an artful swimmer. I've covered how here breed is not a water dog, right? And she swam into my arms. At that point, I was holding both the dog and the pre-schooler. Lil'T was laughing and having a great time. Holly was crying, wet, miserable, shaking in fear, and cold. So I walked the 3 yards to the shore and plopped her on dry land. Again with the crying, whimpering, and howling. And again with the jumping in, thrashing in the water, swimming out to Lil'T and me. It happened about 5 or 6 times.

Our friend Kiko, who is a veterinarian, was with us at the beach. She saw the whole pathetic display of Holly's undying devotion. She was asked if this was normal for dogs to behave this way. She said that it wasn't normal. That it bordered on pathological. Kiko said that I should spend time away from Holly and let her learn to be on her own a little more.

Pathological?

I think I'm okay with she and me being codependent on each other. I mean, it isn't like I'm enabling her to do drugs or alcohol. She just has a slightly unbalanced attachment to me and I have to admit, I do to her as well. That throwing her own mortal fears to the wind and jumping into the water to "save" me, well, that just sealed it.

Devotion = Holly

MJ tribute

2009-09-04T14:07:00.001-07:00

Thanks for sharing this Jen.

I will NOT be your weenie wife

2009-08-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

I remember reading about Kennedy family dinners from when Bobby & JFK were kids. Every day, the kids were expected to learn a new thing and tell the family about it. What a great exercise, right? So when I learn something new (and as I get older and my brain fills up, it takes a little longer to find my new thing) I like to check the time and notice how long it took for me to gain some new knowledge.

This week at Girl Scout day camp, I am finding that I learn that new thing well before noon, usually before 10 o'clock. Pretty cool!

I've learned a bunch of knots. Before camp, I only knew the square, overhand, & lark's head. Now I know the taut line, bowline, and clove hitch. And of course the granny knot which is kind of a derisive label considering it is usually an intended square knot that got messed up on the second step. I don't really know what a granny knot is good for and if I can forgive naming a knot that is in some way dismissive of grannies and the role they play in peoples' lives.

I've also learned how great it is to be open to gaining knowledge from young adults as well as my elders. I have been learning all kinds of outdoor skills from my 19 year old co-leaders. I've also been learning about the history of scouting and the history of the island from my retired teacher and Girl Scout 1st class recipient (gold award from back in the day) co-leader. I only hope that I have something valuable to teach them.

The girls themselves are not without wisdom to impart as well. In fact, on the very first day of camp, one girl informed me that blue berries and raisins were both bad for dogs. I had blue berries in my lunch and there were raisins served at snack. I tried to be vigilant with Holly given this new information. Another girl told me that Toto from the Wizard of Oz was a Cairn Terrier. I had no idea! You would think I would know that considering my life long love affair with that movie. I was writing out the girls' camp names and when I came to Doughnut, I had spelled it the Dunkin' Donuts way which is wrong. She told me that I had spelled it wrong and that she knew that it was d-o-u-g-h-n-u-t because she even looked it up in the dictionary. Damn spell check! I need it implanted into my brain.

I have become impressed with the teen aged Program Aides. Before camp I was all stressed out about not knowing enough Girl Scout skills to competently teach the girls their progressions but it turned out I need not have worried. The PA's are all very skilled and know their stuff. The girls in the unit all look up to them and I know both the PA's and the girls are learning valuable life lessons.

I am also enjoying the silly songs at camp. I do, however, wish the infamous Vegas commercial applied to GS Daycamp. What you do in camp *should* stay in camp. My princess is constantly singing a song about a weenie man who sells everything from hot dogs to buns. Someday she'll be his weenie wife and share his weenie life. Oh, how she loves that weenie man. Cute song the first couple of times. We're now on the 3rd day of the non-stop singing of this song. I go to bed with it running through my head. Please. Help. Me.

All in all, I'm having a blast. I'm so excited to be part of this community of women and 3 men. There are 2 young men watching the boys unit which is comprised of the brothers of the girls whose mothers are volunteering at the camp. There is a dad who is working at base camp and is our resource manager -- essentially he's in charge of the U-Haul trailer where we lock up our gear. It is amazing the kind of work and coordination that goes into this event.

As an aside, here is the boys' unit cheer. I loved it, and even though they've since truncated it because the little boys couldn't remember all of it, its brilliance must be recorded and shared:

We are boys
We are diverse
and noticeably loud.
We are boys
attempting one verse,
and we can't rhyme.

Oh, and my official camp name is now TESTING 1-2-3. Like it? I thought it would be a good one considering that it sounds so much like my real name. I actually respond when people call me.

Mother of four

2009-07-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

Dog ownership is making me a much better person. I'm certain of it. I think because I no longer have a little baby in my arms, I am throwing myself completely into the training and teaching of this little puppy. I've read and reread an obedience book as well as one specifically written for her breed. At 3 months old, she is solid on coming to her name, sitting & waiting for her food, and walking nicely on the leash. She's learning settle, up, down, bed, stay, and the all important "do your business." I'm planning to teach her to fetch each of my kids by name and also my husband. That would be fun to send her out Lassie style. I also want to work on her psychic abilities. Like if I think to myself, "I need to take Holly out for a walk," she should instantly get her leash. Just you wait, she might learn how to do it.

She does display the usual dog like behaviors. While we NEVER intentionally feed her human food, in Holly, hope enthusiastically springs eternal. She sits alert and hopeful as I'm cooking or underfoot as Lil'T is eating. The other day, I was cutting up a zucchini. In the obedience books, they say that dogs like having raw veggies as treats. So when I dropped a piece of zucchini on the floor and she snatched it up like manna from heaven, I let her have it. I figured it would do no harm. That is until my husband came upstairs and saw the puddles of green vomit on the living room floor.

Hubby: Gross! There's green vomit all over the living room floor.

Me: Oh no. That's my fault.

Hubby: *pause* You vomited on the living room floor and didn't clean it up?

So for now, Holly only gets doggy biscuits for treats and she's a perfectly happy puppy. I may give her some sweet peas if she learns how to read my mind. Heck, I'll give her Chateaubriand if she learns to read my mind.

My musical Lil'T

2009-07-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

I was surprised one day while driving along with Lil'T in the back seat. I was singing this song and she joined in on that one line through the whole song. Too cute! Forgive the change in the verse and also the random brain fart that made me forget the lyric in the middle. Also, I hope that Ingrid Michaelson can forgive my singing. No disrespect intended.

We don't negotiate with terriers

2009-07-12T10:49:00.000-07:00

This is Holly, our rat terrier. The breed is also known as Feist Terrier. It gained its name "Rat Terrier," when Teddy Roosevelt's White House was infested with rats and mice. His Feist Terrier named Skip deftly removed the rodents from the White House and the breed became known as "Ratties." (Enough with the history lesson, right?)

So little Holly is now 11 weeks old. That picture is at around 6 weeks old. She's much bigger now. She's about 2-3 pounds in that picture. She's now around 4 pounds. She's a tank! What she lacks in size though, she makes up for in terrier feisty temperament.

I'm trying to be a good pet owner. I try not to yell at her, never have rubbed her nose in her numerous accidents around the house, and have never spanked her. I guess having kids has shown me the way to better patience. However, I almost sent her flying the other day when she playfully nipped at my face and bit my lip. I know she was playing. But it took all my self control not to throw her on the opposite wall when my lip started bleeding. You'd be proud of me. I left the room and then did some research on how to stop this playful nipping.

I did the stuff the books tell you to do, like substitute and reward an appropriate chew toy when she is chewing on something wrong, like my fingers. But this nipping thing! I was at a loss. I did my BING search (yeah, we love Bing and are rarely using Google now) and discovered that the puppy's litter mates and mother teach the pups what is appropriate with biting and how to inhibit their urge to bite. What she needed was play dates with other puppies.

Holly had her first play date last night with Julia's two Havanese pups, who are a few months older than she. It went really well. It was a strange experience for me because if my human kids were to bite and jump on their playmates, I'd have to intervene. But whenever the other pups nipped at Holly and she scampered away, I felt an inward thrill of self satisfaction. I did not jump up and say, "So what, Holly? You can dish it out but you can't take it?" That'll learn her good.

All in all, they seemed to have a fun time. There was a bit of "King of the Hill" played over Holly's bed. Whenever Messi or Deco would get on her bed, Holly would run to have them give chase, circle around, and then jump back on her bed. When they turned their backs, she'd jump on them and then run back to her bed. Very clever, Holly.

She comes when called and responds to her name. She's learned how to sit and wait for about 10 seconds and we're increasing it. She's also pretty solid on doing her business outside. She still does use the puppy training pad in the bathroom from time to time, but it is getting better. She's learning how to walk on a leash without pulling. That part is a constant struggle and makes walking with her take ages, but hopefully these summer walks will make for pulling-less fall and winter walks. Crate training is finally going well. She sleeps in her crate nightly and it makes for my nighttime slumber to be more sound.

Now I don't know how I went this long without a dog in our home. She's such a welcome addition to the family.

Jose, can you see?

2009-07-05T20:43:00.000-07:00

We had a splendid 4th of July. 16 years ago, when we were planning our wedding, I wanted a 3 day weekend. In Hawaii, all the best places were booked at least a year in advance. 3 day weekends, even faster. So the only 3 day weekend available for us to get married in 1994 was on the 4th of July.

We joked back then that we would tell our kids that the fireworks were to celebrate our wedding anniversary. The whole nation celebrated with parades and fireworks our union and I suppose the union of all the states. Eh, splitting hairs.

Yesterday, we totally dug out on our friends with whom we usually watch the parade. See, years ago, you could drop off your chairs on the side of the road a couple hours before the parade started and it was great fun. Now you have to camp out about 5 - 6 hours ahead of time. The thought of sitting in 81 degree heat for 5 hours was simply not appealing. And for goodness sake. IT IS MY ANNIVERSARY! I shouldn't have to do anything I don't want to do. So over the protests of our kids, we decided to skip the parade all together and head over to Dan & Terri's most awesome lake house.

Their lake house is not only bigger, nicer, and better decorated than our regular house -- but it is on a lake. Okay, that kind of goes without saying since it is a lake house. But the lake is so beautiful, the water so swim-able, with canoes, kayaks, and rowboats readily available... I want them to adopt me. They have a son and daughter. Maybe I can get one of my kids to marry into the family. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, Dan & Teri also have a hot tub. After all the kids were done swimming in the lake, the whole bunch of them went up to the hot tub. Most of the kids were in the 12 - 14 year old range. Lil'T and Princess hopped in too to warm up. Hubby overheard some of the conversation.

Lil'T: What the f-f-f-f...

A hush fell across the group.

Lil'T: What the fireworks!?!

There was laughter and lots of, "I totally thought she was going to say something else." and "What other words start with 'f' that you know?"

The boys especially were hoping, hoping, hoping that my 3 year old might have something a little more scandalous to say.

Too bad, suckas!

Again with the drama

2009-07-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

Let me start this story with the simple statement that the boy is okay. He's alive and his usual 12 year old self.

Things were a little shaky earlier this week. On Sunday, his Boy Scout troop went on a canoe trip from Bainbridge Island, WA to Bremerton, WA. This is in preparation for their 70 mile canoe trip scheduled for next week in Canada. So anyway, we dutifully got him his life vest and all other gear he'll need for this high adventure. He was paired up with Charlie who is a scout master, eagle scout and navy man. All good things. Except that some motorboat passed by too close to their canoe while they were waiting for the other canoe behind them to catch up. The wake from the motorboat swamped the canoe and my son and Charlie found themselves treading 50 degree water for 20 - 40 minutes. The time is differing only because the people on shore think it was more like 40 minutes and Charlie estimated it as only 20 minutes.

So I got an unexpected phone call from the woman whose summer house witnessed the entire scene. At the time, my son was warming up in her shower. She was very worried and asked if she should call 911. She said that she's not a medical professional but she would feel more comfortable. I told her that I was an RN and wanted to know what his status looked like. In recounting the story, I say that I asked her if he had lost consciousness, if he was shivering, if he had control of his extremities, if he knew who, when and where he was. She said no, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. I talked then to my son who was in the shower and knew exactly who I was when he heard my voice. He also told me that he couldn't hear me very well because of the shower. Then I talked to Charlie who said that he knows what hypothermia really looks like because of his training, but that my son was just cold and recovering quickly from their ordeal. That 911 wasn't necessary.

I ran outside during this conversation to get Hubby who was working in the back yard. I quickly told my girls to get shoes on and get in the car. That their brother fell into the Sound and needed to be checked out immediately. I grabbed his down comforter, a squid hat (because it was the closest hat at hand as I had just finished sewing it), and my first aid kit, thermometer, and stethoscope. Princess, with such concern for things other than her brother, complained loudly that the saimin I had just cooked for her would be cold and ruined by the time we got back home and could she please just finish it. Ah, the complete disregard for the welfare of her brother... so refreshing. We piled in the car and Hubby drove at 3 mph for the entire drive. Okay, he was kind of speeding, but it felt like he was crawling. We got to my son's location and he was bundled up in an electric blanket, 2 plush blankets, drinking tea, wearing a touk, and surrounded by 3 teenaged girls. Yeah, his life is so hard. Not a bad way for a 12 year old boy to be rescued. He was quite pink, no obvious neuro deficits, tympanic temp up to 95.2 degrees F, able to move all limbs with good capillary refill to toes and fingers, and absolutely mortified that I brought a squid hat and nothing else for him to dress in.

There were phone calls from all the scout masters that night. They've revised their plans for the 70 mile trip to include a motor boat trailing behind the boys just in case. My husband and son were furious with me at the mere suggestion that maybe he sit the 70 mile trip out. I was shot down pretty quick. The only thing that I could maybe work on is getting a layer of fat on the boy as he is so slender, he had no reserves to slow down the heat loss.

I suppose I better put some Oreos and fried chicken on my shopping list for the week.

I blow you up ... BOOM

2009-06-02T08:02:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday was Princess's First Communion. Pictures to follow provided that Hubby gets back from his business trip and remembers to offload his camera. I don't have a card reader for the behemoth memory cards on his SLR. Anyway, Princess was dressed in a sleeveless Cinderella pick up skirt tea length white satin gown. Her hair was up in a big pouffy bun (ala Carrie Bradshaw in Sex In the City) and she wore my handmade veil under it and a rhinestone/pearl tiara in the front. Around her neck she wore my mother's gold cross which Lola gave to her that morning. She wore brand new white shoes with 1.5 inch heels. By the end of mass, I was holding those heels while Princess ran around shoeless. To complete her ensemble, Princess wore white gloves that went up to her elbows. She looked like a real princess. She just needed a scepter and cape.

The kids were asked to be there at 3pm so that they could have their formal portraits taken. I took advantage of my early arrival to reserve seating for the 18 people who were going to be coming to witness Princess's First Communion. We had Lola, Uncle Dwight, who came from Hawaii, Uncle Norm, Aunty Bridget, Cousin Katie, who came over on the ferry, Uncle Davey, Aunty Jan, their kids Alex & Ashley 4 y.o. and Aidan 18 mos., Grams, Gramps, and Aunty Di who came from California. I went to my car and got out every piece of clothing I could find. Came out with a raincoat, hat, bandana, umbrella, paperback, and a bunch of Monopoly money that the now defunct dollar store used to give out as coupons. So I laid out said items and sprinkled a bunch of reserved signs made with the play money all over the pews. Then I waited.

Aside from a couple of snarky comments from people who came later and I told that I had reserved the 2.5 pews, people were pretty receptive to me having reserved the spots. To the one lady who exclaimed in disbelief, "3 pews!" I say, 'Chick, I was here for over 2 hours before you moseyed your way to get a seat so shut it. And peace be with you.' In my head of course.

Grandparents and our family took the front pew and the uncles, aunts and cousins took the 2nd. We had a couple of friends in the 3rd. It all worked out pretty well. Except for when the homily started.

The way the church is situated, the main lectern is on the left side of the altar (stage right). We happened to be seated in the first 3 rows of pews directly to the left of the lectern. We were pretty much spitting distance from our priest. So when the homily started, Fr. Emmett (who is a very sweet man) started talking about Pentecost -- a pretty big day in our faith -- celebrating the Holy Spirit's coming to the apostles and giving them the gift of tongues. One might argue that the Spirit was moving my 2 nephews and my niece. After all, are we not instructed to make a joyful NOISE unto the Lord?

So all during the homily, there were some gender clarifications: "Mommy, Alexander called me a boy. I'm not a boy. I'm a girl." There were also some threats of violence: "I blow you up. BOOM!" And general discontent voiced by the youngest of the 3: your basic baby cry. All this peppered by my brother and sister-in-law's desperate whispers of shush, put that down, don't touch that, quiet, etc. It gave me a major case of the church giggles. You know the kind where you can't laugh out loud but your body can't help but laugh so your shoulders start shaking up and down.

Hubby's sister Diane waited to see the famous church pinch that my mother used to deliver to us on a weekly basis. You know the kind right at the back of the arm on a nerve apparently connected to your voice box. One well placed pinch and you are effectively silenced for the remainder of the service. My mother wasn't sitting in the same row as the kids so only could give a stern look which was miserably ineffective. When asked why the pinches weren't delivered, she said simply, "I couldn't reach." She also hoped that nobody would notice the family resemblance and that she could pretend that those grand babies were not hers.

For his part, Fr. Emmett made every effort not to look in our direction. He truly is a soft touch. One can only hope that he didn't hear the ruckus, that he may have left his hearing aid out... but I suspect that everybody heard them. My friend Steve had arrived late to the service and was sitting clear across the church away from us. When we talked about what the kids were saying, Steve said, "That was you? I heard that."

For the rest of the visit with my brother and his family, our catch phrase was, "I blow you up ... BOOM!"

I can't wait to see them again. Even if I get blown up several times a day.

Playdate movie

2009-05-22T14:01:00.000-07:00

Lil'T and her friends Ben & Dora were playing together today. Yeah, Dora is the life sized stuffed doll. That Dora is a chair hog and almost knocked Lil'T off the rocker. Sheesh!

Play with your food

2009-05-15T09:30:00.001-07:00

This morning for breakfast, I made some toast for Princess. While I made her and That's lunch, Princess ate her toast.

Princess: Mommy, look!

She held up her toast. She had nibbled off all of the crust.

Me: What am I looking at?

Princess: It's a guitar.

She took another bite.

Princess: Mommy, now look. It's a fishie. Here's its head and here's its tail.

Another bite.

Princess: Now it's a worm.

And one more bite.

Princess: Now it's a blob.

To me, it all looked like half eaten toast. Does that mean I'm getting old? It is nice to reconnect with 8 year old imagination. Who knew toast could be so versatile?

TheGirlsWedding

2009-05-13T12:35:00.001-07:00

I didn't catch swine flu. At least I don't think I did. But I did get a major case of homesickness for Hawaii. When people ask me about the wedding, I tell them that it felt like I was at a garage party in the heart of Waipahu. The only things missing were the mosquito punks, the buckets of water under the outside lights to catch the moths, and the old guys in the corner playing Sakura cards and drinking beer. There was the beer drinking but not the card playing.

There was Hawaiian plate lunch food: steamed rice, teri chicken, fried noodles, kalbi ribs, mac salad, green salad. The cake was so good. It was a coconut type filling and so tasty that I had a piece as big as my head. Well, maybe not that big, but definitely bigger than I would have taken had it not been coconut in the center.

Dawn, Noelle's sister, sang "What are you doing for the rest of your life?" by Na Leo as Noelle and Edie danced. I folded up a dollar bill so small and put it so deep down Edie's shirt that I don't think Noelle had a chance to retrieve it. Oops. Seriously, I wasn't trying to cop a feel on your wife, Noelle. We sang "Dahil Sa Iyo" to Edie. It was a great moment; Noelle, her cousins and me belting it out to her wife. Edie said later that it was the only time she had cried all day long. It was so very sweet. Afterward, her cousins told her, "You're part of the family now, Edie."

During the reception, we had a jam session with guitar and uke playing, stumbled through Hawaiian lyrics that we had to plumb the depths of our memory to find those elusive melodies. We were cracking jokes and laughing. Noelle at one point told us the, "Watch out, watch out, watch out," story that had us all rolling. Music, laughter, free flowing wine and beer, and yummy cake. What's not to like?

I absolutely fell in love with Noelle's extended family. My head actually hurt from laughing so much. We reminisced about going to St. Joe's for grade school. We did the usual, "What school you grad?" stuff that is kind of a given when you gather a bunch of people from Hawaii in a room. And while I was just home to Hawaii only a couple of months ago with my own family, the visit was so colored with grief that I still miss home. The abject joy of hanging out with family, how Dawn's son Aston called me Aunty even though he had never met me before, all the inside jokes, how when I said, "chai wait," that I was understood perfectly (yeah, that slipped out of my mouth at one point and actually surprised me because I thought those Waipahu roots were well buried)-- I miss that.

Oh well, my brothers with respective families, my mom, Hubby's parents and my sister-in-law, will all be here at the end of the month. That means that I need to somehow get it so that there shouldn't be a red plastic wrap on my front door emblazoned with the word BIOHAZARD. I need to clean this house. That's the downside of family gatherings. But the upside is that I get to see everybody -- and we'll be laughing over shared inside jokes and singing loud bad karaoke in the media room.

I can't wait.

Yes, we have no bananas

2009-05-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

I live with crazy people. Lil'T is perhaps the craziest of them all.

Me: What do you want for breakfast? There's cereal. There's toast. I can make eggs. There's fruit...

T: Hmmm... Bananas.

Me: We don't have bananas. We have watermelon, apples and oranges.

T: Hmmm... Grapes.

Me: We don't have grapes. We have watermelon, apples and oranges.

T: Okay. I want bananas.

Me: We don't have bananas. We have watermelon, apples and oranges.

This went on for a good ten minutes or so. I was reminded of that scene from Red Dwarf when Holly informs Dave that everybody is dead. Dave keeps questioning if individual people from the crew are dead. Holly resorts to using every permutation of the four words: everybody, is, dead, Dave.

We have apples, watermelon, and oranges. Oranges, apples, and watermelon, we have. Apples we have; oranges we have; watermelon we have. And so on.

Ultimately I let her have spaghetti left over from dinner, canned cranberry jelly and a glass of milk. This was her breakfast.

I have a few errands to run. I'll need to buy some bananas and grapes. Even though tomorrow I've no doubt that she'll want to eat peaches.

I'm sure you can relate

2009-05-06T13:32:00.000-07:00

Lil'T still needs some help with the potty. She goes on her own, pretty much. And we have worked out that we get first wipe and then she has a turn (because the other way around is just too messy). She will flush the toilet unless it is too hard to push the lever. She also is in charge of pulling up her pants and underwear herself and then I help her wash her hands.

Today she was dallying in the bathroom -- it takes time to pull up underpants and pants. I was waiting and soon Lil'T became frustrated. She started crying while trying to pull up her jeans. She needed help. Sometimes we all do.

She said, "My pants are freaking me out!"

That just made my day. I don't often get freaked out about my pants but I'm sure that it happens to all of us.

Alphabet -- revisited again

2009-05-05T08:54:00.000-07:00

She finally did it!!! Yay!

Spamdemic

2009-05-01T07:44:00.000-07:00

Next weekend, one of my friends from my hana-butta days is getting married in Southern California. I'm so very excited to be invited to the wedding. Noelle and I have been friends since I think the 3rd grade. We've never lost touch. Even when I went off to Sacred Hearts Academy and she went to Waipahu High School, we remained close.

Anyway, she's getting married in Southern California where this swine flu has been found. I have to admit, I'm a little afraid about catching it. I'm coming off a nasty flu season when Lil'T got sick every other week. In fact, she's sick right now. But the thing is, I still have that lingering cough you get after you've had the flu. I can't shake it. And now, with everybody being in a panic, I'm worried that I'll be mauled when I get on the airplane next week Friday. I mean, what if I cough and all the passengers turn on me because they're afraid of the swine flu?

Plus, what if I go down to So Cal and end up catching it? I'd bring it back to my island and imagine what would happen. This island is so freaking small that if one kid has lice in one school, all of the schools are on alert. For weeks after the last lice outbreak at an elementary school that isn't even the one that Princess attends, I put the girls' hair up in ponytails and buns so that there would be no chance of transmission. Swine flu would go through this place faster than Chinese Food on a Tuesday night.

My mother is suggesting that I either invest in some face masks (yeah, that will look nice in the wedding pictures) or that I just cancel the trip until the spamdemic passes.

I think I'm going to chance it anyway. I wouldn't miss this wedding for the world.

Diabetes

2009-04-29T05:22:00.000-07:00

I got news last night that Uncle John will be having surgery on one of his feet as a complication of diabetes. He's battled that illness all of his life having been diagnosed as a very young adult. I'm writing asking for prayers that the vascular surgery goes well and the circulation to his feet and legs improves and that they won't have to take away more tissue than they anticipate.

It is a funny thing about diabetes. People are perfectly willing to nag and cajole -- even feel self righteous when talking to somebody with diabetes. They're easy targets. More than any disease, I think diabetes is one where people feel perfectly fine blaming the patient. "It is your fault your sugars are so out of control. Have you no will power?" "When are you going to start exercising?" The future is dire for any diabetic. Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, blindness, kidney failure, amputation, nerve damage, etc. There are so many great *reasons* to motivate somebody who loves a diabetic to be all fire and brimstone.

But it isn't really fair.

One would never scold a cancer patient for having gotten cancer. The same needs to hold true for diabetes. Consider this, for the diabetic person, they're going along on their daily life when there is an change. They're super thirsty all the time, or they pee a lot -- and then what? They go in, get checked, and then are told that for the rest of the conceivable future, they've got a deadly disease that can be managed, won't stop you in your tracks immediately, but will ultimately catch up with you. Oh, and by the way, if you're not totally on board with the lifestyle changes, everybody you know that loves you will scold you on a daily basis when you so much as think about a cupcake for dessert.

So I'm changing my attitude. I've stopped nagging. I've stopped being judgmental. Ask me my opinion, I'll give it, but I'll try not to be a pain when giving it. If you ask if you should have a cupcake versus an apple and cheese slices, I'll tell you the latter is a better choice. But I'll stop blaming you and try to be compassionate first, always. I'll have the faith that your own inner voice is telling you what you need to be doing.

Perhaps if I shut up, you'll be able to listen to yourself.

Lil'T and the alphabet revisited

2009-04-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

This is the video of Lil'T's version of the alphabet song. You'll notice some omissions, especially at the end. I am mourning the loss of "Emily" in place of "Elemeno," but I'm getting over it. When counting, she also forgets the 4 and goes straight to 5. It has something to do with holding up her fingers while counting. When she gets to 4, she can't hold her thumb down so she just skips it. 1, 2, 3, 5... Next year will suck for her because she'll have turned 4 but won't be able to say her age or just show her fingers. I'm sure we'll figure something out.

Mommy mouse crazy

2009-04-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

Last night we had supper club. It was a fantastic meal with good company and great Sangria! (Thanks Deb and welcome to the club.) Anyway, those of you who have been to my house know that my mother is eternally ashamed of my lack of house keeping skills. I truly do suck at it. It isn't her fault. I'm just bad at it. I also live with 3 agents of chaos plus my husband. That is not to say that I am not a contributor to the clutter, but it is easier to blame it on them than on myself. Plus, I typically don't leave my legos, dolls and reams of artwork lying around the house. But I am getting off point. So this past week and especially Saturday, there was a lot of running around, cleaning up, and getting things ready for the dinner party.

I did a lot of errands yesterday. Princess had a birthday party at the Grand Forest and needed to be picked up at the park afterwards. I also had to get last minute ingredients for the fish tacos which were my contribution to the dinner. Along with prepping and cooking the meal, I had to pick up our babysitter who lives in the next town over. Oh what a day!

So this morning, I woke up to a day which was surprisingly beautiful. Sun was shining but this being Spring, there was still a little bit of chill in the air. I got out of bed and picked up the hoodie that I was wearing yesterday during all my errands. Don't tell me you've never done that -- grabbed something out of the dirty laundry saying to yourself, "What was I thinking to have put that in there..." So don't judge me. I went to the dining room which was looking sparkly clean and I sat to have a leisurely cup of coffee with my darling husband.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on my left shoulder -- I thought that my hair must be blowing in the breeze. But wait -- I was inside the house. There was no flippin' breeze. WTF was that?!? I jumped out of my chair ran my fingers through my hair as fast as I could, pulled on the neck of my jacket and screamed, "Oh GOD!!! Oh GOD!!! There's something in my hair!!!" My husband was not compassionate at all but he did look through my hair. While I was on full freak out mode, my back turned towards him, he looked through my hair and yelled, "AAAAHHHHH!!!" in a completely believable panicky fashion. I jumped about 3 feet in the air and start tearing off my jacket and wildly swinging my head around to shake off the nasties in my hair. To which my husband just laughed uncontrollably. He told me that he couldn't resist scaring me. So he calmed me down and proceeded to look through my hair again.

This is what he said to me, "Honey, I don't see anything here. There's nothing here... Oh wait."

Oh. Wait.

Those two words sent me off the deep end again. Again with the screaming, the jumping up and down, the pulling at my clothes and shaking my head around. Meanwhile, my husband was doubled over laughing at me. He later told me that he sincerely thought that there was something there when he said, "Oh wait..." Unlike the panicked "AAAHHHHH!!!" from earlier, he was not just playing with me. He also said that the minute "oh wait," left his mouth, he knew the reaction it was going to get from me.

My sweet daughter came out from her room dressed for school and also refused to look for the bug in my hair. But she sat down in my seat at the table and within a few minutes screamed and ran from the table just like her mother. There was a inchworm on the seat next to hers. That inchworm was probably on my jacket from the previous day. That inchworm scared the bejeesus out of me.

Later, my husband told Princess,"Mommy went crazy. She went eating-your-babies crazy. Like if you were mice, she would have eaten you right up -- that's how crazy she went."

There are only a few times I've seen my husband laughing so hard that he couldn't breathe. This morning was one of them. Face all pink and almost falling on the floor.

I'm glad to have been of entertainment.

Thar she blows!

2009-04-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

Last week was our Spring Break. The first weekend was Hubby's mother's birthday so we had wanted to head out on Friday after his work and make it to So. Cal. by Sunday, Gram's actual birthday. Sadly, last week, Lil'T and I became human tubes with the stomach flu. Nothing stayed down and everything ran for the closest exits with frightening speed. At one point in the middle of the night while I was retching into a bucket, I actually started weeping. (cue violins) I begged my body to realize that the grilled chicken ceasar that was dinner was long gone and nothing was left inside. I was empty, but in perfectionist mode, my body continued to heave nothing but air for several hours that first night. On Tuesday morning, I while I rested, Lil'T climbed in to our bed and proceeded to vomit all over it. So she and I camped out on the sofa for a good part of the week watching endless hours of Nick Jr. and Dora the Explorer. (I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm THE MAP!) Lil'T didn't stop spewing until Sunday. We started our journey on Monday and SURPRISE, Lil'T had one last bit of sick in her. Nothing like cleaning your kid up in the parking lot of a Carl's Jr.

I do need to brag a little bit though. Lil'T at 3 years old is the most conscientious vomiter of our brood. Our son was famous for having the bucket in front of his face and turning his head away at the last moment to hit the floor. Once, on a road trip, he actually woke us all in the middle of the night screaming. He then rolled over and went back to sleep. After about 10 minutes, he sat up, vomited on the comforter, and then proceeded to lie down and go back to sleep. Just like a rock star. Are you kidding me? In contrast, Lil'T will always ask for her bucket. Of course it is the 3 gallon, very dramatic bucket with a handle. She could fit in this bucket with room for a rubber duckie. She will cry for it but if it isn't in reach, when she will vomit directly into a toilet, sink, or other within reach vessel. Unless she's in bed and can't get to the edge fast enough. At least she cries. I can be woken from a sound sleep to full alertness by the sound of a whimpered, "Bucket..."

I'll post more on our trip later. Highlights though: Legoland, visiting with family and friends, Laguna Beach & Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Telemarketers

2009-03-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

I only wish that I had thought of this first. This guy is brilliant and deserves a medal.

National Model Search

2009-03-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

Please vote! It is $1 per vote for a very worthy charity. If she garners enough votes, she may be chosen to model at a local event for this charity on March 28. This would mess up our travel plans a little bit, but still, what a great opportunity for her. Thanks!

Mom update

2009-03-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

Mom is home! Yay! And her fevers have abated for the time being. She's got a nagging cough but all in all, much better. A lot of you have offered help. My mother is notoriously bad about accepting it. I think all of you need to be pushy and just help out. Remember, her immune system is pretty depressed from the chemo so if you so much as have an itchy throat, stay away. But if you are inclined to, please feel free to bring her some chicken papaya or long rice. She's going to have to lay low for the next 2 weeks or so and feels pretty tired.

Thanks for all your prayers. They worked to get her home and she's much happier.

New Day

2009-03-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

I think this guy should release his album in Hawaii. I think he'd make a huge splash.

Kapiolani

2009-03-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

Mom is at Kapiolani Hospital. Two days ago she said that she thought she was coming down with something. She has a runny nose and wasn't feeling very good. At 4pm yesterday, she spiked a fever of 104.0F. Her oncologist admitted her. She had taken some Tylenol and showered before going to the hospital and lowered her temperature to 99.0F. They took some blood tests and we'll find out more today.

Until then, love and prayers. She's in the adult medical ICU -- but don't read too much into that. She said that the other med/surg units are full.

In Your Neighborhood

2009-03-17T12:50:00.000-07:00

The goal of the Girl Scouts is to encourage the growth of women of courage, confidence and character. It is a hard goal to envision when you're out in the cold with a wagon full of cookies and your Brownie Girl Scout. She knocks on doors and rings doorbells and at first painfully and shyly chokes out the sentence, "would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?" You never know what will greet you when people answer the door. Some people annoyed will give a terse "no thank-you," while others will say that they've already purchased some. Then there are those who joyfully greet your scout and will even purchase a box just because she knocked on the door. Between each house, whether she makes a sale or not, you try to find the teachable moments -- about how to interact with people, how to ask the next question, how to allow people to refuse graciously, and how to represent Girl Scouts positively. It is a lot for an 8 year old to absorb.

But during this year's cookie sale, we had one of those experiences that I doubt she and I will ever forget.

Two Sundays ago, Princess and I went out with our wagon full of cookies. We stopped by every house on our street but by the time we reached the end of it, we still had most of our cookies. We decided to walk the next street over. It is a tucked away street with more trees than houses and some gorgeous views of the beach below. We hoped that we'd be successful. It being Sunday, Princess found most people at home and had some great conversations about Girl Scouts and cookies. We learned that back in the day, you could get a box of Trefoils for 35 cents! Lots of folk liked chatting with Princess about her favorite flavor of cookie and about how she likes being a Girl Scout. I watched my quiet and sometimes shy girl become gregarious -- she actually started skipping down the street to the next house.

Then she rang the doorbell to one house -- its yard was immaculate and you could see the beach from the deck. It was very quiet and I almost suggested that we move on because I thought that the occupants weren't home. But then an older gentleman opened the door. He seemed very tired. Princess asked him if he'd like to buy some cookies and he answered that he really didn't want to. That his wife was quite ill and he needed to return to her side. I called Princess back and told him that I hoped his wife would feel better soon. He said, "She's in hospice care." I told him that I was sorry to hear that and we exchanged good-byes.

As we left the driveway, Princess asked, "What is hospice?" I explained that his wife was dying. That she likely was very near the end of her life and that it must be a very hard time for her husband. Princess grew very pensive but continued the sale and by the next couple of houses was skipping again. We had only 2 boxes of cookies left by the time we decided to call it a day. As we neared the man's house on our walk back home, Princess asked me if there was something that she could do to help that man through this difficult time. She thought about maybe making a card but writing "Sorry your wife is dying," seemed strange. She also suggested that we bring the Girl Scout troop to his house and maybe sing a song for his wife. I thought that might be too intrusive. Then I looked at our cart of cookies and said, "We could give him a box of cookies. It might make him feel better."

Princess loved that idea. She grabbed a box of Dulce de Leche cookies -- the new flavor this year -- and in crayon on the side, I wrote a heart and her name. She added "GS," for girl scouts. Princess put the box on his doorstep and we walked on.

You would think that this is where the story ends. But this past Sunday, we were selling cookies at the local Safeway. We were surprised when our neighbor came up to us and asked, "Are you the Girl Scouts who left a box of cookies on my doorstep?"

He told us that his wife was still at home, but that it may be her last day. He said that he had been looking for us all week. He was so grateful for that little box of cookies when he found it the next morning. He told Princess that it really cheered him up. And because they were so delicious, he was going to buy a couple of boxes and that we should keep the change.

It was a small kind gesture, leaving that box of cookies on his doorstep. Princess displayed her great capacity for empathy.

Courage, confidence, & character. Check, check, & check.

Cutest Kid Contest

2009-02-25T17:37:00.001-08:00

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is a network of professional photographers who help families when they suffer the loss of an infant. They volunteer their time and materials to take pictures of the family so that they can remember the life that was lost. It is a compassionate program and I am going to enter my kids in The Cutest Kid Model Search contest -- a benefit for this organization. Please join me in supporting it. To enter, follow the link above. You'll be asked to donate $1 per vote.

Don't keep your kids out of the competition just because you know that in a throw down, my kids are cuter...

Lil'T and the alphabet

2009-02-23T20:29:00.000-08:00

Lately Lil'T has been asking for the "a-b-c song." Very cute. But my favorite is when she sings it. Sure there are the omissions and the repeating of sections:

"A-B-C-D-A-F-G..."

But my favorite is Lil'T's take on the notorious "elemeno," letter. I remember thinking that it was just one letter. It isn't very clear by the song. But here is Lil'T's rendition.

"J-K-Emily-P."

Cool.

Been there

2009-02-16T19:34:00.000-08:00

Shopping with kids guarantees that you will visit every bathroom of every store at least twice for any child who needs your assistance. Those that don't need your help will wait until everybody else has gone and then just as you are to leave a store, suddenly announce that he too needs to visit the restroom. This makes a shopping trip that should last only 30 minutes last about 2 hours. At least it feels like 2 hours.

Today we went to Costco and had lunch. I told the family that I was going to the bathroom and asked if anybody wanted to go with me. Nobody did. As is typical, upon my return, Lil'T and Princess both announced that they had to go.

I know this detailed account of our bathroom visits really isn't that interesting to read, but this post is not about us. It is about a mother with 2 kids, likely twins: a boy and girl around 4 years old. I put Teira on the potty when I heard this monologue from outside our stall.

"Libby, I'll just hold the door closed for you. Don't lock it. Your brother and I are waiting. Don't lock the door. I said no. (exasperated sigh after she discovered that Libby had indeed locked the door.) Okay, well hurry up, we're all waiting for you to be finished... Are you done? Libby, I asked if you're done. Well, if you're done, wipe yourself and pull up your pants. I said, pull up your pants. Okay, your brother has to go to the bathroom too. John, don't lock the door. Libby, what are you doing? OH GOD! GET UP OFF THE FLOOR! LIBBY! OH GROSS! GET UP OFF THAT FLOOR THIS INSTANT!!! JOHN, GET UP OFF THE FLOOR. OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!"

At this point she started panicking because she couldn't get the door open. Then kids' grandmother asked from outside the bathroom if everything was alright.

"MY KIDS ARE GOING PSYCHO! LIBBY! OPEN THE DOOR THIS INSTANT!"

This mom totally lost it as both her kids were lying on the bathroom floor of the Costco. (You may have the impulse to rub yourself all over with hand sanitizer. Go with that.) She started pounding on the bathroom stall door.

"LIBBY! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!!!" *pound, pound pound* "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN IT!" Repeat.

Lil'T and I had finished washing our hands so we waited for Princess outside. I didn't want that poor mom to be too embarrassed with us watching. You could tell she had tried to hold it together as much as possible but just couldn't handle both kids peeking out from under the bathroom stall doors. I know that I'd have gone over the edge if I found my kids lying down on the floor of the Costco bathroom. At least it was the ladies room. I've heard horror stories about mens rooms. Hubby says that the bathrooms on the WS Ferries are so filthy that he'd rather hang his butt over the side of the boat than go to the mens rooms. Then again, he may just be telling tales because he hates having to take Lil'T to the bathroom.

The kids must have opened the door because while we were waiting both kids bounced out of the bathroom and that poor mom had returned to normal. She even offered to help them get a drink of water from the fountain.

I'm sure she felt embarrassed, but she's got to know. We've all been there. Every mom of every little kid has been there. At least I have. She doesn't need to feel embarrassed.

In the car, my son was cracking up at the recounting of this mother's harrowing visit to the bathroom. He thought it was so disgusting for those kids to be lying on the floor of the bathroom. This from the same kid who when he was about 4 years old picked up the urinal cake out of the urinal and asked, "What's this?"

Yeah, that urinal cake. The one that everybody pees on. The one that my husband says every guy aims for. That urinal cake.

I didn't burn the boy or douse him in bleach. But I think I used up my entire bottle of hand sanitizer.

I had to rub it all over him and myself just to feel clean again.

Contributing to the delinquency of a minor

2009-02-06T08:08:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening was Princess's Ice Cream Social and Open House at school. I have been attending these events since 2002. Every year I say to myself, "Next year, I will not come at 6:30pm. I will not endure the craziness of the gymnasium with kids hepped up on ice cream and the noise levels nearing the sound of a jet planes." But every year, I forget. Every year, I get begged and cajoled into getting in the car at 6:15pm so we can be there just as they start. Every year, my kids are near the first in line. I'm there so early that there are still parking spaces in the lot. It's not right.

Hubby was late in Seattle so it was just me and the kids. After our cups of ice cream, we eagerly waited to check out all there was to see in Princess's classroom. She proudly showed me her papier-mache model of the island. She had watercolored an adorable sunshine-in-a-box project. I thought that was very clever. She also showed me her biography report that she made into a cube. I actually had seen that one before, but we got to take it home. And she also made a book about the world. Up on the bulletin boards were her letters to her penpal from across the island at another elementary school. Her letters from her Lola and her Grandpa were also posted. I had to adjust the growing-up and sent-from pins on the map. Lola's letter was erroneously placed on Lanai. Wrong island. I also put Grandpa's pin a little more south in California. They had him in the middle of the state. I don't even know what is there.

On the dry erase board, Miss B. wrote a list of things to remember to take home. It looked like this:

Things to take home:
*Map of the island
*Biography cube
*Sunshine-in-a-box
*Book of the world

My son and I read off the list and noted a missing item. You really should take home your child. We kind of giggled about that and then I said, "I dare you to write it." He hesitated a little, scanned the room quickly to see where the teacher was. I said, "I'll even keep lookout." He said, "Okay, where's the pen?"

So I stood between him and Miss B who was talking to another parent. Scrawled in kid writing instead of super precise teacher writing was one more starred item: *Your kid.

We sauntered away from it and waited for people to notice. It took a little while, but then somebody did notice and there were a couple of laughs and it was pointed out to other people who got a kick out of it. It would have been fun to see Miss B's reaction but she was too busy. I'm hoping that Princess will see it in the morning and come home with a story about it.

For those of you who knew me growing up, you know that I was so straight laced that my laces were practically sticks. So this little act was really no big deal. But I found this benign act of graffiti with my son to be so fun.

See, I know that my kids know that I love them. That much is evident. But stuff like this shared tiny joke does something more. It lets my son know that I like him.

I really do.

Tess and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

2009-01-31T12:54:00.000-08:00

That title is directly from Judith Viorst's classic of a similar name. Just sub Alexander for Tess and you've got it. It was one of my favorite books as a kid. That and the story of Rikki Tikki Tembo Nosarembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Peri Pembo. I'm not sure if that is how that was spelled, but I've never forgotten that fictional character's name. He nearly died of pneumonia or drowning because his brother had to say that entire name when looking for help. Go look it up.

I was asked by my dear friend Julia to write this blog post because she has an unhealthy relationship to her keys. I think I'll have to blog on her key problem. It got so bad at one point that my husband suggested she gets one of those lanyards to wear around her neck and couple it with one of those key rings that clips to your belt. With two points of contact with her body, there would be a good chance that she could hold on to them. My situation on Wednesday filled her with a sick kind of redemptive joy. Oh well, here goes.

Hubby left very very early on Monday morning (4:30am wake up time) on a business trip to Houston. Before he left he asked me to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I've gotten a little addicted to Facebook. One of my friends manages to be online at 11pm my time so I end up chatting with her for an hour or so. Next thing you know, it is 1am and I need to get the kids up at 6:30am. This is just not good for my health. So told Hubby that I would try to get to bed on time. On Monday night, I found my friend online and managed to stay up until 2am my time. I was a bit of a wreck on Monday morning but managed to get the kids off to school and then I crawled back in bed with my youngest. I couldn't do that again.

When Hubby called to check in that day and asked when I got to bed, I told the truth. I certainly could have lied and said that I went to bed at 11pm like a good little girl, but I know he is wise in the ways of computers and can figure out exactly when I logged out. For all I know, he has my desktop mirrored on his Blackberry. So I vowed to go to bed at 10pm that night especially since I had an 8am appointment with my son's teacher for conferences on Wednesday morning.

Well, I did better but not 10pm better. I got to bed around midnight but was feeling pretty positive about that time. A good six and a half hours of sleep might just do the trick. That was until 1:30am when Lil'T decided that she didn't want to go potty and would instead prefer to whine a good long while. She also found it necessary to fight me picking her up out of bed to put her on the toilet. I finally got her back to bed by 2 am but because Hubby is out of town, I allowed her sister and her to sleep in my big bed with me. Big mistake. Lil'T kept complaining that her sister was too close. At one point, Princess was practically lying on top of me. That's when I kicked Lil'T out of bed. Around 2:30am. I lay there for what felt like hours before I decided to get out of bed and shop Ebay for a while. I finally got sleepy at 5am. Yeah, 1.5 hours before I had to get up again to get Princess to school. Plus I had to get dressed and ready for the conference.

In the book, Alexander woke up with gum in his hair. At least he had a good night's sleep. Having the conference at 8am meant waking Lil'T up at 7am. You wouldn't think that was a big deal but she normally wakes up at 8am. A 3 year old deprived of an hour of sleep whiny and clingy. Compounded with the fact that she's on antibiotics for a sinus infection. Way more opihi than normal. How wonderful to have to deal with her while That's teacher was telling me all the ways that he shouldn't have failed Art. Or Science. The boy disliked his Art teacher. I hear it is a common problem. But he shouldn't have totally blown off Art. Meanwhile he's acing Math. He failed Science because he missed the due dates for his project since we were in Hawaii. And instead of turning the project in, he just held on to it. OHN. So, he will be turning in the final project on Monday and hopefully the grades will be revised. No matter what I say, he won't deal with Art. He'd rather just fail.

Then I get a phone call from Julia. She'd had her car serviced and hoped that I could help her out. So I went to pick Julia up at her house, picked up Princess from the bus at our house and off we went. Since we were so close to the mall, I decided to see if Ross and TJ Maxx still had some of those formal white dresses they hauled out for the holidays. I just wasn't thinking 1st communion back in December. I'll remember when it is Lil'T's turn.

Anyway, because we were leaving the island, I let the kids use the DVD player in the car. Lil'T and That wanted to stay in the car and watch the DVD. I told them that they could provided they lock the car doors. I left them my cell phone in case they got harassed by anybody. Then my son could call the police or call the store for help. Plus, I was just going to pop in and out since Princess had a lot of homework to complete before Thursday.

After about 10 minutes in the store and seeing nothing but pink, yellow, peach and mint dresses, we were headed back to the car to leave. Just as we were leaving we saw That and Lil'T coming into the store. My son had to use the bathroom. Here is the exchange that followed.

Me: "Did you lock the car?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "Okay, let me have the keys."

Him: "What keys? You never gave me the keys."

I ran out to the car and sure enough, he had locked every door. And he left the DVD player running so the car was on accessories power. At least the engine wasn't idling.

Remember, I had left him with my cellphone. He left that in the car too.

So I was stranded a good 17 miles away from my home. My husband was in Houston. And I only had 2 of my friends home phone numbers memorized. Who memorizes phone numbers anymore??? I didn't have enough loose change to make a phone call at the pay phone. Thankfully the TJ Maxx sales people rock and let me use their phone. I called both of them and neither was home. Panic. Then I called my husband on the off chance that he had one or the other's cell phone number. He had Julia's phone number. I hoped and prayed that she wouldn't screen the call. That she wouldn't see "TJ Maxx" on the caller ID and say, "meh, I won't answer." But perhaps the fact that she was driving at the time helped me out because she answered after only a couple of rings. She said that she could come out but she had to find a way to take care of her daughter who was at swimming lessons. I told her how to get into our house and asked her to bring every key that she saw because I had the Toyota keys there too. Wouldn't it have sucked if she got to me and brought the wrong car's keys? And she had to go back to her house and pick up her van because in case she had to jump start my car, she wanted to use the van.

So we shopped and waited. At some point I noticed that Lil'T was walking a little funny. I walked over to her and got hit in the face with that distinctive foul odor that all moms dread. I asked her, "did you poop in your pants?" She got all teary eyed and told me that she had. So I found a 5 pack of panties for $3.99. Yay for TJ Maxx once again. If it had been Nordstrom, I'd be paying at least $10 for one panty.

I tried to get by on the sly. I don't know why, but I didn't want to embarrass her and let all the shoppers at TJ Maxx know that Lil'T had an accident. The doctor told me that a lot of kids on the antibiotic get diarrhea. It is a very common side effect. Unpleasant, but common. So I go to purchase my pack of panties and Princess pipes up, "Mom, I think Lil'T pooped her pants." I swear she was yelling it at the top of her lungs, but I'm sure she wasn't. I just loved the looks I got (real or imagined) from the other people there. The checker cut the panty bag open for me and I was off the the handicap stall in the ladies room. It happened twice, but the second time with more histrionics from Lil'T. She was really upset. Clean up was aided by my quick thinking and a sanitary napkin in her underpants. When you're diaperless, you do what you can with what you have. Thankfully I had the pads. Can you imagine if I only had a tampon?

Could this day get any longer?

Julia showed up about an hour and a half after I called. I couldn't thank her enough. Luckily, my car started up no problem, even with the DVD player in perpetual menu mode as the movie had finished ages ago.

When we got home and finished eating our $0.89 burritos from Taco Bell because there was no way I was going to cook after all of that, I bathed T, showered myself and felt a whole lot better. Sadly, I still had to contend with Princess's homework. She was up a good 2 hours past her bedtime. Poor thing.

Oh well, everybody has days like these once in a while.

Even in Australia.

Girl Scout Cookie Love

2009-01-28T22:52:00.001-08:00

Pre-orders are completed but if you still want some, I can def hook you up.

Culinary arts

2009-01-20T08:08:00.000-08:00

When That was around 4 or 5 years old, my brother Dave and his wife Janice played and insidious practical joke on us. We didn't know it at the time, but they got us good. They bought our son a kid cookbook. On the surface, it would seem that my chef brother had good intentions. It was a cute cookbook with cartoons of bears and dogs cooking all kinds of seemingly wonderful food. What happened next was no less than a full frontal assault on our sensibilities.

My sweet son soon asked to cook dinner for us. I dutifully gathered the ingredients to such classics like tuna casserole topped with potato chips, mini english muffin pizzas, tuna melts, and so on. See, that list of food doesn't sound bad at all, does it? And yet, in the barely capable hands of my pre-school aged son, it was all bad. Really bad. At dinner times, Hubby and I would tuck in to our meals all smiles and eating with great enthusiasm for the boy's efforts. All the while, spelling out our true evaluations of the meal. Our son didn't know how to read yet.

"Wow, this is so good, son. Great job. I think this is I-N-E-D-I-B-L-E."

"I agree, Honey, really great job. I think I'm going to have another serving and maybe P-U-K-E."

"Mmmm, me too."

And so on. But the upside of us braving those early scary meals is that our son is creative in the kitchen and still comes up with interesting concoctions. He's moved on to desserts.

I wish I had a picture to show you, but I think it would look a little rude. You'll just have to imagine it yourself. The look of it is likely quite familiar to you.

Our son decided to experiment with Jello brand products -- the two major categories of which are pudding and gelatin. Unfortunately, all we had in our pantry was chocolate pudding and lemon jello. Still sounds perfectly sane, right? It isn't. So here is my son's recipe:

1 six oz. package of chocolate pudding
Milk
1 six oz. package of lemon jello
Hot & Cold water

1. Prepare chocolate pudding according to package instructions. Pour into 5 squat highball glasses, preferably clear glass. Don't worry if slides down the sides of the glass. This actually enhances the final effect.

2. Prepare lemon jello according to package instructions. Pour over the chocolate pudding, taking care not to disturb the pudding much, you don't want the jello to dissolve the chocolate pudding.

3. Cover each glass with plastic wrap. Refrigerate for several hours. Serve.

You will learn that jello doesn't firm up well with the chocolate pudding inside of it. We didn't know if this was because of the milk in it or if the dessert itself knew that it was going to be a disaster. So imagine the lemon jello is still liquid when served. The chocolate pudding, semi solid. See where this is going?

My sweet husband called me to the refrigerator while these desserts were convalescing. He told me to brace myself and then take a peek inside. What I saw when I opened the refrigerator reminded me greatly of my last bout of the stomach flu. Or maybe the day after overindulgence at an all you can eat buffet. Sorry to be gross. But we still refer to that dessert as diarrhea surprise.

It tastes okay if you keep your eyes closed.

The wart hog from Namibia

2009-01-17T16:12:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to put this clip in here because when we saw it on tv last summer, my kids were entranced. We don't have cable/satellite. When we visited my brother, we were introduced to a whole world of new programs on television. The kids still talk about this show in particular. Princess will even detail how to prepare bugs (in the next segment of the show) as a crunchy treat. Around 4 minutes into the vid, you'll see the best part.

My speech from Uncle's burial service

2009-01-14T09:33:00.001-08:00

I did not think I'd give this speech so soon. I should have had at least another decade or two to organize my thoughts. A man so famous for his tardiness should not have been so early to enter heaven.

Uncle always styled himself as a Don Juan, and even introduced himself as "Ono" as in "tastes good." He was a real heart breaker and looking at all of us, I see that he was right. Our hearts are broken.

Uncle and I talked about his funeral a few months ago. It was a conversation full of laughter. He hoped there wouldn't be too much weeping -- especially because he loved the sound of laughing. We talked about him recording himself telling a few jokes. He told me about his joke with Verna and Felicia -- his fellow Pilipino Passion Puppets -- that when they come for the viewing, to look real close. He promised to smile.

For most of us, we touch the future by marrying and having children. But Uncle Nofre chose a different path, instead his legacy is borne in the generosity of his heart -- cultivating every relationship in his life -- with friends, co-workers, church family, classmates, fellow dancers -- and with family.

I'm sure my cousins and my brothers have said how Uncle was a second father to us. But what is remarkable is how this unspoken fact was acknowledged in our lives.

When my brilliant and handsome husband and I were preparing for the birth of our first child -- a boy -- he suggested we name him after Uncle Nofre. After all the heavy handed hints Uncle Nofre had made, we decided to go ahead provided my dad approved -- after all, this was to be his first grandson. Dad gave his permission without hesitation, saying, "Onofre would really like that."

When my cousin Shamayn was planning her wedding, she wanted Uncle to walk her down the aisle with her dad. It is the quintessential father/daughter moment. Sham told her parents of her intention -- and not only did they approve -- they were thrilled. Uncle was so proud to be involved in that way.

You see, his brothers knew and acknowledged Uncle's role in our lives. His siblings appreciated and gave credence to his role as a second father to us. He maintained this relationship through the generosity of his spirit, always freely given and joyfully received.

When Dad died, also at Christmastime -- seriously, I could go all bah-humbug on the season if You keep this up, Lord -- Uncle Nofre stepped in quickly with the generosity of his time to help our family. In the intervening years he stepped up - unbegrudgingly - bringing us to and from the airport, spending time with us, and driving Mom and Aunty Lydia (his brothers' widows) to their appointments.

The last time we saw each other in October of this year, he lamented to me that my youngest child did not know him very well. That she wasn't in his words "used to to" him. I want to assure him that I shall remember him to my children. I shall strive to love them and love life in his example. And that as an aunt, I shall always give toys, not clothes, and will always, always have gum.

HBDA Manoa Chapter

2008-12-27T19:27:00.000-08:00

I wanted to share with all of you this beautiful tribute that Hawaii Ballroom Dancing Association Manoa made for my Uncle Nofre. What I want you to notice is his million dollar smile in every one of these pictures. Man, he really knew how to live life -- surround yourself with people who love to dance and love to eat. How can you go wrong?

Here is a short vid that I took of Uncle dancing with Verna. Enjoy.

Spoiler Alert!

2008-12-16T22:08:00.001-08:00

I think you'll have to bear with me while I go through this process of grief. Hey, it is my blog. I get to run the show.

A few weeks ago, I watched a movie with Joan Allen (whom I so admire) called Yes, written and directed by Sally Potter. It is a very artsy movie told entirely in iambic pentameter. SPOILER ALERT!!! In one scene, the aunt has died. Joan Allen's character, She, runs to her aunt's side too late. While She is brought to her knees in grief, her aunt's body lying inert on the hospital bed, we hear her aunt's voice. This is a portion of that monologue which has been running through my mind since Uncle died.

AUNT:
(V.O.)
If and when I die
I want to see you cry
I want to see you tear your hair. Your howls of anguish fill the air.
I want to see you beat your breast and rent your clothes and all the rest.
And, sobbing, fall upon my bed.
I want to know that I am dead.
I want to know I'm part of you
and that you cannot bear me being torn away.
I want to see you dressed in black, with red-rimmed eyes from sleepless nights of grieving;
I want to hear you protest at me leaving.
I want to see you in each other's arms, and wailing.
See you kick a chair and punch the wall and see you, moaning, fall upon the ground and scream.
I want to know this isn't just a dream.
I want my death to be just like my life.
I want the mess, the struggle, and the strife. I want to fight and see you fight for me.
I want to hear your last regrets the things you wish you'd done and said.
In fact I'd like that just before I'm dead.
Don't let them put you off,
or make you go, or say it's bad for me, or makes it hard for me to leave. It won't be true. I want to see you grieve.
Don't let me drown in silence all pious and polite.
Let's make a lot of noise! A different kind of light will fill the room.
I want my death to wake you up
and clean you out. And as I end I'll hear you shout.

SHE
No, no, no!

AUNT
(V.O.)
But I will go.

When I watched that portion of the film, I was blown away by the truth in it. In so many memorial services, we see printed on the programs these saccharine poems written in first person. Each saying how we should not cry, should not be saddened. That our hearts be glad because our loved one is at peace and happy. God just wanted one more voice in His heavenly choir. And while I know these are meant to comfort those who mourn, I question how true the sentiment is.

I suppose I'm sounding a little bitter.

I loved the truth in Aunt's monologue. I don't know if Uncle Nofre would give voice to this poem. I'm sure he would never cop to it. But don't we all privately harbor the desire expressed here? Don't we all want to be cried and wailed out? Because I know, I know that this is how I'm mourning my uncle. He is a part of me that I cannot bear being torn away. My eyes are red-rimmed, and sleep comes only from pure and utter exhaustion. I can barely leave my house. I cry at every turn. I cried at the gas station while I waited for Hubby to fill the tank. I cried talking to the ticketing agent on the phone. I cried while walking the aisles at Safeway. I am to the point that I don't even try to hide the tears. I just let them flow and hope that stony silence will suffice if a stranger asks me what is wrong.

If I could scream at Heaven and change the events of that day, I would, until my throat went raw.

I wish that I could turn back the clock and call him before he went into surgery. Just so I could selfishly remind him that he needs to wake up at the end of all of this. He forgot that step. Just so I could tell him that Princess is waiting for the promised sleep over at his house in August. Just to remind him that my son has plans to bunk with him when he goes to University of Hawaii Manoa in 7 years. Just so I could hear his voice one more time and tell him those words. The three short words that are supposed to sum up all that he meant to me and means to me still. If only my phone call could have encouraged his heart to take up its life sustaining rhythm again.

But instead I have to focus on the blessings. I got to talk to Uncle a couple of times last week. I still have his voice on my answering machine. Not a week went by that he didn't call and ask how the kids were faring. I got to see him almost every day when I was there in October. On my last night in Hawaii, I got to see him cantor at mass and we had dinner afterwards. He got to spend 2 full days with Lil'T while Mom was recovering from her surgery. Yes, these were the blessings.

And still, my heart is left wanting more.

Uncle Onofre's services

2008-12-16T07:45:00.001-08:00

Memorial service -

When: December 29th, 2008
           6 pm - 9pm
           *7 pm mass

Where: Saint Pius X Church
            2821 Lowery Ave, Honolulu, Hi

*Uncle specified that black was not really a color choice. It is a celebration of his life. Dress comfortably (his words) but respectfully (my words).

Burial Service

When: December 30, 2008
           9am - 11am
           * interment at 11am

Where: Mililani Memorial Park
            Makai Chapel
* Same dress as above

Uncle Nofre

2008-12-14T11:55:00.001-08:00

It isn't really right for me to have two posts back to back with the same title. After all, it has only been a week. But this writing is to tell you that my heart is broken. Uncle Nofre passed away this morning.

To say that he was so very well loved, it doesn't really match the magnitude of this man. I have no doubt that he will be mourned by countless hearts. I'm sure he was a celebrity. He certainly was one to us. A few months ago, he told me that he never used to regret never marrying and having children until now in his old age. How he never had kids of his own. I reminded him that every single one of his nieces and nephews believed him to be a father to us. The grandkids always thought of him as Apo.

When Uncle came to visit for Lil' T's baptism, we went shopping. He was holding her in his arms and cooing at her face. A woman came up to him and said, "You sure look like a proud grandpa." And instead of correcting her, he just said, "I do, don't I?" We were all his children.

I'm sorry I can't be eloquent this morning. I'm typing through tears. I thought that maybe it would be easier to tell everybody at once this way. A friend of mine reminded me that he's probably catching up with my dad right now, talking about the kids and how cute the grandbabies are. So I'll find comfort in that.

Bye Uncle. I love you.

Uncle Nofre

2008-12-07T11:03:00.000-08:00

My mother called me last night with the words, "Uncle Nofre is going to the emergency room by ambulance."

Thank God I was sitting down already when I answered the phone. The last time she told me that one of my uncles was going to an emergency room by ambulance, the outcome was not good.

Turns out that Uncle Nofre was feeling some shortness of breath and called Dr. Gaby, his GP. Anyway, Gaby told him to call an ambulance. Uncle protested saying that he could drive to the hospital. Can you believe that??? Oh Uncle! Anyway, she protested and Uncle relented. The ambulance took him to the hospital. My mother was notified and got on the phone to let the family know what was going on.

My cousin Lydia met Uncle at the emergency room. Thanks Lydia. That was really a relief to have you there. I hope that you weren't too inundated with phone calls. I imagine that must have been difficult -- especially with my mother giving everybody your mobile number so we could call you and ask how things were going.

Tests were run and Uncle was discharged into Aunty Snuffy's care. I'm sending out a plea for prayers for Aunty Snuffy because now she'll have the 2 brothers to take care of under one roof. Patience and love, patience and love. And when those fail: beer and poke, beer and poke.

Thankfully it wasn't a heart attack or something more dire. With luck, his condition can be handled with some changes in his medicine regimen and diet.

So please, send healing prayers for Uncle Nofre. And just in case, beer and poke never hurt nobody.

Ding dong, ding dong

2008-12-05T09:35:00.001-08:00

I remember when I was a little kid, I couldn't wait for Christmas. God, there was just so much anticipation and excitement. I used to be able to sing "Silver Bells," to myself and find tingly warmth in my heart all of a sudden -- all those Christmas warm goodness came rushing in all at once.

Now, I feel like Christmas is a major term paper or school project that I just haven't finished. It is all in stages. There's the requirement of bringing the kids to the Christmas in the Country horse rides. Extra credit for bringing apples or carrots for the horses. If you miss the deadline, there is no make-up because there is only one day for that. Then there is the Santa Pictures that is a required component of the assignment. There are only 2 weekends that allow you to get that done. For extra credit you can order pictures and send to the family. I've missed the extra credit for the past couple of years. Then there is the optional project of sending out Christmas cards for which you must write a newsletter. The newsletter can be done in November but the actual mailing tends to fall by the wayside. I've got cards addressed and stamped from 2 years ago. I have to add stamps to them to send them because the postage has gone up twice since I didn't send those cards out. Of course there is the compounded guilt when I get Christmas cards from family and friends. There have been less of those because I've missed sending out cards for the past 2 years. The advent wreath assignment is particularly tricky because I've been foiled in the past by the general unpopularity of pink and purple taper candles. Either everybody else has cleared them out or I'm not looking in the right place. There is also the looming deadline of getting presents and shopping done. Because all family live far from us, we've got to consider shipping times. There are no easy wish lists for our relatives and I hate the guileless present of money (although it is my fall back position) so there is much agonizing over what to get. Plus there is the added bonus of my husband's birthday coming on the 9th of December. This means that I've got to plan some kind of birthday celebration in the middle of all this holiday stuff. There is also the assignment of putting up the trees and decorating. This part of the project must be done the day after Thanksgiving and no sooner. There is the daily task of making sure that the Wise Men are making their way to the Baby Jesus. This goes on for ages because they don't make it to Him until Epiphany. Thankfully we're not terribly popular people so there aren't a plethora of Christmas parties to go to. That would mean I'd have to shop for a Christmas outfit on top of everything else. Who knew this Christmas magic assignment was so hard?

I think I may get a failing grade.

Then there is the part of Christmas that hurts my heart every year. Unpacking the Christmas books and seeing the one that Dad read to Riker right before he went to take his shower. There is the unexpected listening to "O Little Town of Bethlehem" on the radio -- the song Dad was singing when he was walking behind me as we went to receive the Eucharist. There is the memory of my teasing him that there was no way I wanted to leave home for Christmas the following year. He made the plea to the whole family that we all go to his house for the next Christmas. We did, but not the way he wanted. There is unpacking the snowball candle that was a gift from my friend Sharon. When Dad died, we lit that candle every evening while we prayed the rosary for him. He was even in on moving the Wise Men around the living room. That last morning, he was singing "We Three Kings." I flew into a panic because I had forgotten to aid them on their journey. I remember trying to shush Dad, but I didn't know that he had already moved them for me. I remember him getting out his uke and playing every morning. Before, I used to sit with him and learn while he played, but that year, with the busy Christmas season, I missed my opportunity for a good jam session with him. It is funny, I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday but I have absolute clarity of the weeks before Dad died. I know that it would make my father incredibly sad to know that Christmas is forever altered for my family and me. He loved this time of year.

Right now I have just finished reading what I wrote. The part of me that likes each of my essays to have a clear direction and theme can't stand what I've written. It is disjointed -- light in the beginning and sad towards the end. Heck, what do you call this part? But I think this is what Christmas has become for me. I'm still disjointed. I find the joy of the season through my kids -- getting glimpses of their magical anticipation of the day. And then I feel the mourning that Christmas has come to represent for me. I spend the whole season in this emotional ping pong game -- with the abundant busyness of the season to distract me.

And so I'm off to shop today -- get Princess the Magic Bullet blender she saw on TV and just must have. I need to plan the next couple of days -- packing our schedule with horses, pictures and even a birthday party. At least this is better than the assignment from Jan. 1.

Taxes.

The new world order

2008-12-01T13:18:00.001-08:00

I apologize that I have not been able to post for awhile. See, my husband has installed a filtering program for our internet access (don't ask). It has disabled my ability to access the posting tab of Blogspot. So I'm checking to see if this will work. I'm going to be emailing posts directly to my website and then they will hopefully be posted immediately. Sad part is that there will be no editing after I hit that send key. That is okay though. I'm used to that kind of hair trigger email send button.

Haddon Elves

2008-11-30T00:07:00.001-08:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Cousins

2008-11-11T06:59:00.000-08:00

Lil'T and I have just returned from Hawaii. We went to stay with Mom while she recovered from surgery. While it was unfortunate for us to have to go to Hawaii for that reason, it was good to visit with friends & family. My cousin Sham had us over for Halloween. Her 3 kids and Lil'T went trick or treating together. Sham dressed her kids as Santa, Frosty & an Elf. You might think that my cousin got the holiday wrong but I suspect that her Ilocano roots were showing -- why by 2 sets of costumes when you can reuse them for 2 holidays instead? Brilliant! Lil'T was about the same size (actually a little taller) than her 5 year old boy cousin. Eh, that happens when you're 1/2 Filipino and 1/2 Japanese. This past summer we visited my brother and his family in San Francisco. His kids are about 1/4 Filipino and 3/4 Chinese. Despite Lil'T being about 6 months younger than her twin cousins, she towers over them. I wonder where she gets that height? I hope she doesn't develop a complex. She doesn't seem that much bigger than her haole classmates at preschool.

One of Lil'T's favorite things to do with me is read books. I think this is the part where I characterize her as being an exceptional learner, bound for greatness -- heck, she can even aspire to the 2nd highest office in the land if she wants. But only aspire. We girls need to learn our place. *sigh* Only time will tell. And like thousands of other 3 year old kids out there, she loves Dora. We have a book called Dora's World Adventure. I have learned recently that the devious kid programmers who make Dora the Explorer have also made a music cd and dvd of this book. They have made it unsafe to walk through the video aisle at Safeway. Thankfully, Lil'T is still too young to go to any music stores on her own.

In this adventure, Dora and Swiper take us on a magical journey around the world -- visiting France, Tanzania, Russia and China. In each place we see a picture of kids from that area and learn how to say hello to them in their native tongue. Very cute to hear Lil'T say, "bonjour," in her 3-year old toddler accent. But the very best part was turning the page to Dora's journey to China. Pictured were 5 or 6 Chinese kids -- short, brown, dark haired and slanty eyed. To which Lil'T commented, "Look at all the cousins." It took me a beat to figure out what she was saying. But I guess when all the kids you meet on your travels are brown, have dark hair and slanty eyes, and are called cousins by your mom, that must be the word for them.

Ni hao Cousins!