photo left on my camera by a renegade child photographer--wonder who learned how to leave hints while i was out of town...

wordless wednesday...

i wanna dance with you...

I apologize in advance about the fact that you'll have to rotate your head sideways in order to watch this, since I wasn't able to rotate the clip. It's so cute, though, it's worth it.

super nature girl strikes again...

So when I said life got back to normal amazingly quickly, did I mention that twelve hours after getting home from my trip to California, I packed up my car with equipment and kids and headed to Whidbey Island to camp with our good friends Josh and Kim, their kids, and their two pugs? Did I mention that I packed up the car with all our camping equipment and our stuff all by myself in about an hour? Did I mention that because he'd spent the first half of the week playing single dad, that Boaz wasn't going to join us until Friday?
Yeah.


I figured that since three adults+six kids+two pugs=2 kids and .666 pugs per adult we'd be fine.

I was feeling all smug and nature girl with myself as we drove behind our friends and the tent trailer they'd borrowed for the trip. We'd sleep in our tent and watch the stars as we lay in our sleeping bags. It'd be a relaxing re-bonding experience with the kids, who were happily sucking on the Sees suckers I'd picked up from the airport.

"Mommy," Tali nudges me from my nature-girl daydream with her mouth covered with butterscotch lollipop. "How come you packed the sukkah?"

Gulp.

I knew that brown nylon bag didn't look right when I packed it. And after I pulled over to double check, I can't believe I missed the big white label, in Hebrew, plainly stating that what I'd packed was in fact our sukkah.

No tent.

I call B from the freeway, who is laughing so hard, I can barely make out the fact that he's asking if we'd brought the bamboo roof. Which, of course we didn't. Because who brings a sukkah with them to camp?

We are already in the ferry line so it's too late to turn back and after handing me a large diet Coke and trying to contain her own hysterical laughter, Kim says that of course there is room for four extra people in their tent trailer. But we'll have to sleep with these guys:

Which is obviously not a great option to offer the kids since

1.) Samuel is allergic to dogs

2.) All three kids are terrified of these cute, but ferocious pugs

3.) Have I mentioned that my kids are terrified of these dogs?

But because our only other option is to sleep in the roofless sukkah, and because Kim promises to keep the puggles in her car, we continue on.

The tent trailer turns out to be the world's best camping invention, despite the fact that it is impossible to steer and it has to be disconnected from the truck and pushed into the camp site. It's spacious and comfortable and it even has it's own cookstove attached to it. And by the time B arrived the next day, it took everything I had not to let him sleep in that tent all by himself while we slumbered on in the almost luxury suite.

But the surprise of the weekend (well, besides the theiving chipmunks who stole Sam I's candle holders in broad daylight!) was that somehow, the kids decided they loved the pugs. Kim offered Tali a dollar a day to walk them and from that moment on, the kids decided they were in love. Even Naomi snuggled up to Izzy. And Samuel experienced nothing even remotely resembling an allergic reaction.

Why do I feel like there's a dog in our near future?

Traveling the So Cal freeways...

I'm finally back.

California was intense. It was so incredibly and amazingly good to see my family, and to spend time with my parents, siblings, cousins, nieces, aunts, and uncles, and especially, to spend a little time with my cousin Ellen and my Uncle Fred. And I'm determined to never again have to have that horrible pit in the belly guilty feeling about not spending enough time with people I love. (Talk to me in three months and we'll see where I am with that one... Hopefully it won't be piled on top of my seriously neglected New Year's Resolutions.) I pretty much spent most of my trip in tears of some sort. There has already been talk about a big reunion that is not the result of sad news.

That said, the roadtrip with my brother Dan was truly fun. I'm not sure there is anyone else on this planet I'd rather hang out with for about 20 hours of California freeway driving because as annoyed as Dan got with the traffic, he never gets very grumpy whilst behind the wheel. It's really an amazing thing.

And somehow travelling sans kids was a big hurdle to get over. I left the house with less baggage than I usually bring to work and did not even check any baggage. Nope. I didn't even have to bring a carseat of any kind.


Here's a photo of Dan at the airport with all of our baggage. Note that Dan is talking on the phone and nobody is tugging at him.
Also, you should note that he brought two bags and my only bag was my shiny new from Target carryon. It was small. And the drink was his, too.

Despite the fact that we both wanted cocktails on the plane, the fact that it was 10am sort of ruined those plans for us. Also, somehow we ended up on the smallest jet ever and I was a bit worried about consuming alcoholic beverages lest the pilot got in trouble and needed my help. Did I mention it was the smallest plane ever and only my stupid pride kept me from having a total fit about getting on the plane.

It was a good thing we didn't drink anything on the plane, though, because we needed to save our bellies for the best. Mexican. food. ever. EVER.

I even took a photo of the meal because I can't even describe how happy it made me.

Sensing our ridiculous over-enthusiasm ("There is Mexican food in Seattle, isn't there?" he asked in disbelief) the owner of La Taquieza even sent us over a massively large order of guacamole and chips. In addition to that, we had fish mulitas, which they describe as quesadillas on hormones and asada tacos, and everything was made with homemade corn tortillas. I think I would just fly back to LA for dinner if I could. If you're ever by the USC campus, you should definitely check out La Taquieza on Figuroa.

And then after that meal, we got into our kick-ass Mustang rental (which had such a high dash, I could've used one of those booster seats I left at home) and listened to 80s music for the four hours it took us to drive to the desert. Where we of course ate again. But not before in order to stave off a headache Dan drank the bottle of infant Tylenol I keep in my purse for emergencies. Funny that they didn't include his weight limit on the back of the bottle.

The trip involved a ton more driving on huge freeways I can barely remember. All I can say is that anyone who complains about Seattle traffic has never traveled recently on Southern California highways. The weather and beaches almost made up for the fact that everytime we got into the car, we'd spend at least an hour in it.

Boaz did amazingly with the kids on his own. And it was good to come home to all my little peops. And though Naomi refused to talk to me at first when I got back (wow, talk about heart break!), she got over it fairly quickly and life was back to normal fairly quickly. Amazingly quickly. Because that's the way it seems to go.

naomi has a message for you...

wordless wednesday...

more of what it takes...

Tomorrow morning I'm off to California for my Aunt Liz's funeral. As I said less than two weeks ago, it just plainly sucks that it takes a funeral for family to get together. I will be seeing relatives I haven't seen for five years or more, family that I love but don't call enough, people that I enjoy spending time with, but don't make enough time to see them. The fact that we're all busy is now clearly a lame excuse. I just feel sad.

And on top of sadness, I definitely feel anxious about getting on a plane and leaving my three kids at home with their busy dad. I realized after making the reservations that I have never left for more than a night and it feels odd to pack up my own stuff without including diapers and extra kid clothes and drive to my brother's house so that we can take this trip together. But it is probably a good thing for all not to drag three kids to a funeral.

So that's where I am tonight--sad and anxious. On the bright side, a road trip to the desert with my brother once we land in LA involving some good music and conversation sounds like a good time (we really do enjoy road trips) and I've definitely had some very vivid daydreams featuring me devouring some true Mexican food.

And even though I wish I were going for another reason, it'll be good to get back to Southern California for a few days, where oddly, I feel grounded.

self-help is sometimes not so helpful...

Last night I went out and met some friends for drinks and we began talking about what we always end up talking about--our kids. And namely, our daughters.

Before I had kids, when I thought of having daughters, I always thought of slumber parties and shopping, and cute dresses and dolls... Somehow, I blocked out the torture I endured and doled out to my "friends" during my school years. I'd forgotten that whole social cruelty thing that appears to be a common experience for girls. Maybe because it was so horrible, or maybe because I thought it was just me.

But talking to other parents last night about some of the social and behavior issues our daughters are having scared the bejeezus out of me. These girls are five and just entering school, yet they're already experiencing the drama of cliques. They gang up on each other, call each other names, intentionally leave each other out, and in one instance, a group of them (including my daughter) drew an ugly picture, wrote "U AR A MEEEEEENY" and left it on a friend's cubby. Luckily, she didn't know how to read.

Granted, many of them have been together through preschool for years, but as they get ready to enter kindergarten with many of the same friends, I felt driven to do something.

I put down my beer and headed toward the Barnes and Noble parenting section (which, thank goodness, is probably the only business in Seattle besides a bar that is open past 10pm).

I didn't have to look for more than two seconds (seriously) before seeing all of the books written about raising girls. Books about creating strong girls, books about dealing with everything girl, books about dealing with girl bullies, twelve billion books about adolescent girls, books about creating positive self-images in girls and so on and so on and so on.

I actually had to sit down for a second. What could've gone so wrong that we have so many books written about raising our daughters? It made it feel like raising a strong girl without serious emotional issues would be a next to impossible feat.

And then I looked further.

There were almost just as many books about boys. And also about potty training, sleep training, gifted children, children with special needs, single parenting, and even a book called "Are You a Normal Parent?" which I restrained myself from opening lest I develop yet another complex. What role does gut instinct play in a realm of parenting information this in-depth?

Overwhelmed, I quickly chose two books about raising girls, neither of which ended up having much to do with complex social issues of the five year old, but will probably be interesting (because I have so much time to just read for interest).

But I will definitely rethink my next trip to the self-help sections of the bookstore--I have never felt so inadequate.

I'm not going to Blogher and this is why...

There about a million bad reasons why I'm not going to Blogher, and I'd thought I'd come to terms with the big ones:

1. 1. It was logistically too hard to hand off the kids to B while he's against a deadline.


2. 2. The tix and airfare are too expensive.


3. 3. San Francisco is such a boring city to be in.


4. 4. I didn't really want to go, anyway.

Actually, #s 3 & 4 are blatant lies (unless, of course, you happen to have an extra ticket for me since San Francisco is too boring for you), so really only #s 1 & 2 are true. Still, if I'd planned better, I could've gotten it together. I am lame that way.

Because now I'm sort of feeling like that girl who didn't get a date to Homecoming, but plays it off like she's too cool to even want to go, anyway. But really, you know she totally and seriously wants to go. She's pining to go. And not just because everyone she knows is going and she's going to sit home alone in her old sweats and watch reruns of 90210 all night while digging into a couple of different flavored pints of Ben and Jerry's. No, she wants to go because it's HOMECOMING! It's a milestone. You've got to do it. It could be one of the highlights of your life!

Um, no, this totally did not happen to me at homecoming. And I didn't end up going with my brother, either (fingers crossed).

So since I've decided that all my excuses were lame, I've been futilely looking for tickets to go. Next year, no more excuses. I'll see you there with my corsage on! (I'll leave the poufy Gunne Sax dress at home, though.)

eat your hearts out, fred and ginger...

wordless wednesday...

nibbles and bits--wisdom from the third row...

We are driving home from art camp when Talia points out the window and shrieks.

"Mommy, don't look! That guy is running with his shirt off! That is sooooo inappropriate!" My kids are obviously from a place where people rarely have an opportunity to take their shirts off.

"That's not really inappropriate." I say, getting ready to introduce my daughter to the world of numerous male/female inequalities. "Why do you think that's inappropriate?"

"You can see his man boobs," she says, disgusted.

"Guys don't have boobs, Silly," Samuel says from the third row. "They just have nibbles."

how much home delivery is enough?

One of my first learnings of the summer, besides not forcing your child to eat foods he despises, is that taking three unwilling children to the grocery store is pretty much a form of torture that should not be inflicted on even your most heinous enemies. (Okay, maybe them...)

While working, I'd usually stop by the store to pick up stuff for dinner either at lunch or on my way home before picking up kids. I knew this was easier and faster, but I had no idea how much easier.
-------------------------------
Samuel: Can I ride in the back of the cart?
Tali: No, can I ride in the back of the cart?
Naomi: I ride in back cart?
Me: Naomi, you get in the front, Tali in the back. Samuel, you walk because you weigh more than the cart.
Samuel: That's not fair! My legs get tired, too. Can I stand on the back?
(He gets on and the cart starts tipping and perilously close to falling over. I catch it in time.)
Samuel: Okay, can I get on the side?
Me: NO! Why don't you go to the cereal aisle and pick out a cereal with less than 6 grams of sugar and then bring it back to me. (He runs off)
Tali: Can I go?
Naomi: I go?

I pull a bag of Veggie Booty off the shelves and open it and hand it to them. They are quiet for exactly 30 seconds, which is how long it takes me to get to the produce aisle.

Naomi: Booopberries!!! (She stands up in her cart having unbuckled her belt and as I catch her from tipping, she grabs onto some oranges on a display that falls down.)
Tali: Can we get some oranges?
Samuel: I got Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's only got 20 grams of sugar. Is that okay?
----------------------
I don't really need to go on... You get the picture.
And in order to get everything I need to accomodate our various food allergies and diet restrictions, I have to go to three stores. So picture this scene at least three times a week. Also, once they've finished the first bag of booty, picture me opening other unnecessary snack items to keep the kids occupied.

So recently I signed up with spud! organic grocery delivery. We got our first order of fresh produce and it was really good, but when I visited their website, I realized that I could order fresh baked goods, dairy, and prepared meals, as well. (Seriously, this is not a paid ad--I'm just a satisfied customer. Really.) So this week I ordered all my groceries on spud! and I get them on Tuesday. I'm so excited. My goal is to appear in person at any grocery market at all this week.

But then that got me thinking... I wonder what else you could have delivered at home.

I mean, there's online shopping, which for some things is just not worth it. I like clothes shopping in stores for the most part. And shoe shopping, too. But I started thinking about all of the places I hate taking my kids on errands. And then I searched.

There are a ton of food and meal delivery services. That makes sense.

Some libraries will deliver books to you if you can't get there--even if the reason you can't get there is not because of a disability, but also because you don't have transportation. That's pretty cool, though I like going to the library.

There are a lot of pharmacies doing home deliveries.

In some cities, you can have your dry cleaning picked up and dropped off. (I want that, Seattle!)

And how come the range for restaurants that deliver in smaller cities don't vary from pizza and Chinese food?


Over dinner tonight, I told Boaz that I was going to experiment with how much I could have home delivered and ordered in and see if it would save me money and time.

"Seriously? You're going to pretty much test how long you can stay in the house with three kids and not lose your mind?"

Um, yeah. I didn't think about that. I guess it's good to get out sometimes. Maybe we'll take a trip to the dry cleaners and the post office tomorrow...

slurp your free slurpee--it's national slurpee day!

Okay, I don't really know if it's officially National Slurpee Day today, but every year on July 11th, the chain market 7/11 gives out free slurpees (because it's 7/11! Get it? It's very, very clever...)

I love slurpees, but usually need a very good excuse to stop at a 7/11 to buy one because, um, that's a lot of sugar even for me! So it's been awhile. But I'd say being able to have a free slurpee on 7/11 is as good an excuse as I'll ever need.

And do you know that there are a great number of sites dedicated to the ohso chilly concoction that is the Slurpee? Who would've thought... There are people out there who truly love them their Slurpees.

Happy Slurping!

what it takes...

Last night I went to memorial service for my great aunt Bernice who died this week. It was a small affair held at her daughter Deb's house and it was really quite lovely. I have such wonderful memories of Bernice and her late husband, Willy, including my brother and me in their adventures with their grandchildren to Disneyland, numerous pizza parlors (does anyone ever call them that anymore?), and parks, and though I didn't see much of her in recent years, I'll miss her.

But the thing about memorials that is really nice, and it feels sort of shitty to say this, but it is true, is that we get to see family we haven't seen for a long time. I saw relatives I haven't seen since I was about Samuel's age, and it makes me so terribly sad that we all get so busy, so caught up in our lives, that it's too hard to get together. And it's true about being busy... We are all so legitimately overwhelmed. And there are a significant numbers of miles between us. But somehow it feels important, and somewhat grounding, to be around people you grew up with--to be around family in whatever configuration that looks like.

I'm determined to make the effort and not wait for bad news to bring about a reunion.

Hey, I'm going to visit Princess Mikkimoto! (Does it count toward the resolution if I made the reservations before the goal?) Wow, I'm good.

unruly kids get family booted off flight...

Okay, this is pretty much my worst nightmare ever. You're travelling with the kids and by the time you meet your connection, the airline basically says, 'There is no way you're bringing those crazy monsters back onto one of our flights.'

I have really no idea what happened except for what I saw on the Kiro news clip, but aside from the fact that getting kicked off would be a major drag (No! not 24 more hours of travel with the kids!) and expensive (especially if you really can't afford it), how embarrassing would it be to have your children's bad behavior publicized to the world?! Shudder...

Seriously, though... One of my first instincts is to maim my fellow passengers on a flight when they:

a.) take one look at me and my three children embarking on a plane with all of our crap and either roll their eyes in disgust or immediately try to get the flight attendant to change their seats.

or

b.) overreact to one of the kids' restless, but accidental, kicks to the back of the seat.

But at the same time, I am also very careful to make sure that my kids are as well-behaved as possible. I know that kids get a bad rap on airplanes and mine have been responsible for a few not so pleasant flights for people.

For example, the time that Samuel as a baby knocked over a very grumpy man's G&T onto his laptop because he was a lapbaby (Samuel, not the man), and we were squeezed into the middle seat. I'll bet that guy regretted not giving us his aisle seat for more room.

Or there were the flights when the kids as young babies cried for long periods of time because they couldn't get to sleep or get comfortable.

Or there were the flights when they've had to get up numerous times, squeezing past the unfortunate person in the aisle seat, to go back to the cute little bathroom with all the buttons that you can reach from the potty.

And when I travel without kids, I do seriously appreciate parents who help their kids understand how to behave in public. And I know it's not all that easy.

Next month I'm flying solo with the kids to go visit my cousin sister, Becky, and while it seemed like an effortless feat in April when I made my reservation, now I'm a little concerned (read terrified) about being publicly called out for possessing unruly child passengers. I know the case in the news must have been an extreme case, and my kids are generally good, but they do love those little lavatories.

So if you have any good ideas for keeping three kids between the ages of two and eight occupied for about four hours (aside from drugging them), let me know. Right now I'm planning on cheapy new little toys to parcel out, the Nintendo DS, and a video for Tali, but my toddler is my challenge.

And if you do end up hearing about me in the news, take pity. You know I tried.

enjoying while it lasts...

wordless wednesday...

sometimes a bluff is just not a bluff...

Today's learnings:
Sometimes when your kid says he doesn't like your taboule salad, even after he has taken two adventure bites, he might really enjoy the third.

And sometimes when your kid says he really doesn't like your taboule salad after his two adventure bites, you should just absolutely believe him. Especially after he retches and then vomits (albeit neatly--I've gotta hand it to him for that) his entire dinner directly onto his plate, and then looks up and says, "Whoa, I really didn't like that."

That sort of mealtime event pretty much slaughters any desire I might have had left to find more creative things to eat for summer dinners.

Tomorrow's dinner:
Mac and cheese

i heart indiana jones...

Because things have been crazy in our household this summer so far (okay, it's only been a week, but it already feels like months), I thought that maybe taking the kids out each Sunday for some alone time would be something special and maybe help them feel like things weren't so totally chaotic. Samuel would go first and next week would be Tali's week. Then Boaz would take the next two weeks with them. Naomi, that crafty toddler, manages to get her 1:1 time no matter what.

So when I told Samuel that we were going to go off for an afternoon by ourselves, he was excited. And then I told him we were going to the Seattle Art Museum. And he was much less excited. I've been down this road before when we were in Rome, but obviously, I haven't caught on that even though the kid loves art, he needs to be dragged and taken by force to an indoor art museum. (For some reason, outdoor sculpture gardens are much different.)

So in order to keep this a positive event, I gave in this time. We really never get time alone together and I wanted it to be fun. And after putting my foot down to going to see The Incredible Hulk (come on, could someone other than Lou Ferrigno really do the Hulk?!) we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie.

Here's my official spoiler warning. Don't read if you care about knowing what happens in the movie.

I've had a crush on Harrison Ford since I was ten and the first Indiana Jones movie came out and because I absolutely reverted to my ten year old self while watching this movie, this one was no disappointment. Indy and Marian were reuinited, it was action-packed, the KGB were scary, Cate Blanchet was scary and beautiful, the ants were disgusting and Indy was lovely, lovely, lovely. Sigh... (Am I officially old if I still think Harrison Ford is hot?)

But every so often, I would look over at Samuel and wonder if this was too scary a movie for him. There were times when I was curled up in my seat with my hands over my eyes, and then I'd look over at him and he would be munching his buttered popcorn happily and totally engaged in the movie. Every once in a while he'd absentmindedly wipe popcorn grease on his pants, or the seat, or my arm.

"Are you sure this isn't too scary?" I asked. "Just a little?"
"Mom! Shhhhhh! It's not!"
"Kind of sort of scary? Just the tiniest? Not even at all?"
"Shhhhhh!"

So when the movie ended, we both left the theatre feeling totally satisfied and excited. And then Samuel turned to me and said, "There's something I just didn't believe in that movie."

"What?" I asked, ready to tell him that in real life, or at least not in Seattle, red ants don't devour entire KGB agents.

"How could Mutt be Indiana Jones' son? He and Marian weren't even married." Samuel shook his head, obviously irritated. "That's not even possible."

I looked at him, freaked that I would have to delve back into our birds and bees coversation. And then I took a breath and said, "Yeah, wow. How could they mess up that fact so badly?"

Next time, we are so going to the art museum.

let freedom ring... (and let's eat, too)

Happy July 4th!
I loved this holiday as a kid in Southern California. It was all about spending the day at the beach, eating sandwiches and watermelon sprinkled with sand, drinking warm lemonade, catching waves until you're completely exhausted from both water and sun, and then finally coming home for a shower and BBQ. Then back to the beach for fireworks. And one of the coolest things about it was that even though we really didn't know our neighbors very well, this was the one day where people poured out of their houses and paraded down to the beaches together. Everyone felt a part of something bigger.

The holiday feels different as an adult.
Since it doesn't get dark until about 10pm in the summer in Seattle, my kids have yet to experience a real fireworks display since they're usually in bed long before the show begins on top of the Space Needle. Also, since it's illegal to light your own fireworks (probably a very good thing), they have never experienced the thrill of holding a sparkler and dancing with it in the street. (I suppose it goes without saying that they've also missed all of the horror stories about kids getting burned or blowing their fingers off, but I digress...). And as much as we tried to pull it together to get to the lake today, we just couldn't do it because after our week of heat, it is now overcast and in the 60s again and nobody really feels like sitting in cold sand. (The photo is from last week's heat.)

But despite the differences, there's a feeling of excitement around. Everyone is getting BBQs together and wearing their shorts (with sweatshirts) in anticipation of the warm weather that always arrives just after July 4th. We're getting together with friends tonight and we're letting the kids stay up (if they can) to watch fireworks over the water.

And the kids are as excited for tonight as we ever were when we were kids. They're on vacation and beginning to relax (as am I, thank goodness!), they're thrilled about stayng up late for the show, and all of our neighbors are out in their yards chatting about plans for tonight, their gardens, their vacations. There is a genuine holiday feel to the day.

So I think the key to this holiday is to spend it like a kid. Eat good food, play in whatever sun you can find, and spend time with friends and family. And despite all of our country's problems, and there are many, we've got it pretty good and it's good to have a day to remember that.

Happy 4th!

summertime living is not easy... yet.

Okay, so day two of my summer vacation and things are not mellow in vacation land. I think there are few reasons for this:

1. I've mentioned before that I'm not great with change, and well, it's true. For as long as I can remember, the first few days of vacation is spent with me thinking, "This is great, I'm going to be so relaxed, I'm going to relax, I'm going to relax, why don't I feel relaxed, DAMNIT, WHY AM I NOT RELAXED YET? (Oh right... I'm also quite impatient.) So I knew I wouldn't feel too relaxed just yet, but...

2. Too much going on. Yesterday I took Naomi to her two year well-baby visit where her doctor proclaimed her incredibly healthy and she did not cry when she received her vaccination in her well-endowed chubby.

Then I picked up my two lovely nephews, and then picked up Samuel from the camp bus where he actually expressed excitment over seeing us, then we went to lunch where I promptly lost my nephew, Asher (Naomi noticed first), found him quickly, then as a group, we managed to spill two large drinks twice and fall out of our chairs (not me, the kids) at least three times. I ate my lunch in the car on the way home where my children proceeded to fight with each other, with their cousins, and with me.

3. I'm crabby. I think it's because I'm on vacation. And because I haven't run all week. Because I'm on vacation. I'm not doing this right.

So today I sat down with Tali and Samuel and we made a list of all the things we should do this summer. Included were things like:

1. Teach Tali to swim.
2. Read ten books
3. Redecorate the kids' bedrooms
4. Clean out garage
5. Rebuild and paint the front porch
6. Paint the hallway
7. Paint the girls' room (have the kids do it)
8. End world hunger, too, if we have time.

Obviously, most of these things won't happen. I think the kids' really knew it when we were writing the list. But it made me feel more productive and organized. And really, who doesn't want their vacation to be productive and organized?

Sigh... I will try again tomorrow.

summertime in the 1930s--my beach lust comes honestly

wordless wednesday...

goodbye circles make us all happy...

Yesterday was my last day on my project and the beginning of the first real summer vacation I've had since I was in school. Having just experienced her last day of preschool, Tali was super excited for me.

"Mommy, are you so excited that it's your last day of work today?" she asks, practically jumping up and down. "The last day is the best."

"I am excited," I tell her. "Why do you think the last day is the best?"

"Because you get treats and then everyone does a goodbye circle for you. Remember we had cupcakes for my goodbye circle?" She looks at me expectantly. "So, are your friends going to have a goodbye circle for you?"

"Um," I smile. "I don't think so."

Talia is shocked. "What? How can you leave without a goodbye circle?"

"Grown-ups don't really have goodbye circles at work."

"Even for their friends?" she practically whispers. And then, "So that means they probably won't sing the goodbye song for you either, right?"

"Probably not, Sweetie. It's okay, though. I'm not sad about it." I tell her. She doesn't look satisfied.

"I'm going to sing the goodbye song for you then. You can't have a last day without a goodbye song." And then she belts out, very proudly:

Goodbye Mommy
Goodbye Mommy
Goodbye Mommy, we hope to see you again.

She has made my day. Maybe everyone should have a goodbye song. Because my full day of meetings went much, much better when every once in a while I pictured my colleagues seated criss-cross-applesauce in a circle and singing me the Goodbye Song.

payback is a b@%*&ch...

I owe my parents a formal apology.

I knew that when I entered parenthood that I would experience childhood from the other side. And I know that my mother sometimes revels in the fact that with two girls, I will experience much of the torture I inflicted on her during my own teen years. (Come on, Mom... Admit it.) But I had no idea how crazy you can feel when you've been out of touch with your kid for longer than you're used to.

I have not had any communication with Samuel for more than 60 hours now. That is a long time when you consider that the absolute longest I've been away from him is about 24 hours and that is with communication. And the thing is, when he's at a sleepover, I know there's a mom taking care of him. If he's sad or cold or it's sunny, I know that someone will cheer him up, give him a coat, or slather sunscreen on him. But at camp? The counselors are teenagers. What are they going to do?

Last night I couldn't sleep. I went to bed at midnight, after checking the camp photo site just one more time before I went to bed to see if any photos of Samuel's session had been posted. Nothing. I knew they wouldn't post on Shabbat, but thought for sure someone would post on Saturday night. I went to bed and watched the clock hit 1am and then at 2am, Boaz, who had been out playing poker came home.

"Hey, how many postcards have you sent Samuel?" I asked him.

"He's only gone for five days. You signed my name to the package, right?" he said.

"Uh huh," I said. "Totally. The package."

B looked at me funny and asked, "How many cards and packages did you send him?"

"Do you think four is too many?"

"Um, no. That's only two for everyday he's been gone so far."

"Okay, then. I've actually sent him five."

At 3am, I checked the photo site again to see if by chance, whoever it is who posts the photos had the same case of insomnia I did and had decided to post photos of my child's session online. In the middle of the night.

Nope.

So then at 3:15 I started going down the list of horrible ways he could've gone missing between watching him walk onto the bus and arriving at camp.

Rationally, I know he's fine. It's a great camp, we know the director, and Samuel knew a third of the kids even before he left. It's the hysterical part of me that is, well, sort of hysterical.

At 8:30am, the phone rings and I lunge for it. It's Kim, who has also sent her oldest son to camp for the first time.

"What's up with the site?" she asks. "Why aren't they posting the photos?!"

Together we go over how it is impossible (right?) for the kids to have gotten lost between the bus and camp. We consider how bad it would be to call the camp and ask them what could possibly be more important than posting those photos on the site. NOW!

And then we realize that really, this five day session is seriously a growing experience for us, too. This is only the very, very beginning of the episodes where we wonder where are kids are, what they're doing, and what kinds of decisions they're making. Granted, these guys are eight, but it hit me hard that these little kids are not going to be little forever.

They're going to move on and have lives of their own. And I'm going to have to deal with it and let them grow up.

Maybe with practice, I can aspire to be the mom who jumps up and down happily and spa-bound as the camp bus pulls away. Or even just not be a total basket case.

But in the meantime, I am going to apologize to my parents. I'm sorry, Dad, for the time I drove cross-country and went days without calling you to tell you where I was without even thinking about how you felt. And I'm sorry, Mom, for going out in high school and lying to you about where I went. And I'm sorry I thought you both overreacted terribly and dramatically and totally unnecessarily in each one of those situations.

Payback sucks. Think I'll go check the site again for photos...

and he's off... (and his momma wore her sunglasses)

Samuel is officially off to camp and it seems we've hit a new milestone in more ways than one. While getting his stuff together last night, I asked him how he was feeling and he looked at me and said, "I'm good. I'm going to be okay."

"Oh, okay," I said. "But if you need to bring a stuffy or something, we could sneak it into the bottom of your sleeping bag and nobody would know the difference."

"Mom," he said sternly. "I am fine. I don't need to sleep with a stuffy."

(And then of course, I checked on him before I went to bed and he was sleeping with a huge bear in his arms, but I guess that's beside the point.)

This morning on the way to the bus, he was excited. And nervous. But mostly excited. And though he swore I'd have to drive him all the way to camp because we were going to miss the bus, we made it and he happily joined his three friends from school in the parking lot.

Not a lot of crying. At all.

I held it together while we gathered up his stuff and even managed not to let a cry escape as he climbed on the bus.

Notice how many of the moms are wearing dark glasses.

Notice their smiles... Comforting, no? Except for the parents yelling, "Woohoo! Resort spa here we come!" most of us looked like we were having a much harder time sending our small children on a bus to a camp hours away, not to be heard from for five days. Though, if I had just sent three children to camp and was going home to an empty house, would I be the excited parent in the parking lot? I might not admit that now. Hmmm...

Thank goodness for modern technology. Everyday the camp posts photos of the day's activities on their site.
I have a feeling I will know why their traffic gets a huge spike this week!

summer camp 101

This is a big summer for us. Samuel is going away to summer camp... Sleepaway summer camp. Tomorrow. For five days.

He was so ridiculously excited when we signed him up last Fall. And though he was a bit disappointed when I told him that no, it wasn't going to be the kid-lead-lord-of-the-flies-anarchy he envisioned, but it would still be amazingly fun.

And then a couple of weeks ago, he began to get a little anxious about it.

Every night when I tuck him in he tells me he's very excited, but is nervous, too. And I respond with the very responsible and maternal, "Oh Sweetie, it's so normal to be nervous about being away from home for the first time, but you're going to love camp."

And it is as if this responsible, maternal demon has taken over my mouth because what I really feel like saying is:

"Oh Sweetie, I am soooo glad you said that because I feel like maybe it was a little too Martha Stewart of me to sign you up to go away for that many days when you're only eight, and I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind wondering how you're doing everyday and what if you get scared and are too embarrassed to cry or what if you have an asthma attack or have an allergic reaction to a dog, or something happens and your kayak turns over..."

Yesterday I printed out the checklist of things he needed to bring and he began packing and checking off the list. He took it very seriously and because Wendy Mogul says that a kid who can pack his own bag does better on his own, I didn't even butt in when he picked five outfits that seriously did not match.

Today I sent Samuel a care package with comic books and Pokemon cards so that it is either there when he gets there or arrives the day after he gets there. I addressed it to "Sam" and signed it "Love, Mom and Dad" instead of Mommy and Daddy because I knew he'd be mortified if there was any evidence of him being little.

It felt odd.

Because I am not Mom. I am Mommy. Or Mama. or Mamadoo (as Samuel calls me, and I like it even though it sounds a little more like Marmaduke than I'd like).

I sort of dread the silence that will invade our house next week. Tali will have nobody to pester, I won't have anyone to watch Japanese gameshows with (um, not the best parenting moment, but a weakness S and I both share), and I'll miss my guy who always surprises me with really interesting questions like "When you were a kid, did you really think you could ever think like a grownup?"

How much can a kid grow up in a week?

But my memories of summer camp are some of the best of my childhood. I loved feeling independent and grown-up, yet safe with my counselors. I loved playing all day and staying up late at night. I loved the friends I met. And as a parent, I appreciate the fact that my parents made it a priority that I went.

And so I can't promise I won't embarrass Samuel by not crying on Friday as he gets on the bus to go to camp. But, I will wear sunglasses.

don't look--it's too scary...

wordless wednesday...

fantastic or obscene? you decide...

This is what I found in the bag of cherries I was snacking on at work. Somehow, I can't bring myself to eat them...

103 things about me...

In the spirit of finally hitting my 100th post, I decided (rather unoriginally) to post 100 things about me. Except that I've actually missed my one hundredth post, so now I'm going to have to post 103 things.

I dare you to get through the entire list. Here goes:

1. I am a Taurus.
2. Even though I'm not sure I believe in horoscopes, I like that I'm a Taurus.
3. I have three brothers and two sisters.
4. Of the six of us, only two of us live in the same city.
5. My middle name is Pamela. It's not actually Procrastination, as I disclosed before.
6. When asked what I'd like to eat, I'll most often reply "sushi."
7. Paul's teriyaki burgers are a next best as far as favorite foods go.
8. I obviously love my children, but I also really like them.
9. I think I wanted a Wii as much as Samuel did.
10. I also liked that he thought I was cool for wanting one.
11. He does not think I'm cool for wanting the American Idol game or the High School Musical Singalong game.
12. I still want to buy those games, even if it makes me very uncool and parental.
13. I also want to have a party where I invite my friends over to play those games.
14. I'd ask Kim to bring her disco ball.
15. I like that I'm old enough to not give a shit whether or not I'm cool.
16. Okay, that isn't exactly true.
17. I do care a little about being cool.
18. But I secretly enjoy torturing my kids a little by having them think I'm not cool.
19. It makes them think they're cool.
20. Making my kids feel cool boosts their confidence. That's a good parental move most of the time.
21. I knew I would marry Boaz as soon as I met him.
22. I don't think he knew that.
23. I met him at a Halloween Party in the Castro.
24. He was dressed as Mr. Brown from The Resevoir Dogs.
25. I was dressed as Dorothy from Wizard of Oz.
26. He proposed on my birthday and I was completely surprised.
27. We've been together for twelve years.
28. We've been married for ten years.
29. We both have grandparents who were married to each other named Albert and Fannie.
30. I loved the name Fannie, but wasn't brave enough to give it to my daughter as her name.
31. I've wanted to name a daughter Talia since I was 16.
32. When I was little, I would draw pictures of all the kids I'd have and name them.
33. I would usually have at least six children in each picture.
34. I feel very, very fulfilled with three children.
35. This makes Boaz feel very, very relieved.
36. He is also very fulfilled with three children.
37. I always prefer beer over wine.
38. ...and gin over beer.
39. Especially Bombay Saphire...
40. A good margarita will trump all.
41. And a good margarita with a halibut taco and a sunny day is perfection.
42. I really love warm weather.
43. Even though Seattle is surrounded by water, I miss the Pacific Ocean beaches terribly.
44. I am happiest on the beach.
45. I started running this year.
46. I love the high I get when the adrenaline kicks in.
47. I love that it makes me feel strong.
48. I love that it makes me feel powerful.
49. I love that it makes me feel like an athlete.
50. I don't love that since I've started running, I've gained five pounds.
51. I know it isn't all muscle.
52. You should not even try to convince me of this.
53. Since I've started running, I haven't been able to stop eating.
54. I have this irrational fear that if I keep running, I will be fifty pounds overweight by the time I can finish a marathon.
55. I know this seems irrational.
56. That's why it's an irrational fear.
57. I ran my first race this year--Beat the Bridge.
58. I beat the bridge--it made me ridiculously happy.
59. I want to run a half marathon this year.
60. I really like working.
61. I love to plot and plan new business ideas.
62. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty about loving my work because it meant I wasn't a stay at home mom.
63. I'm over it.
64. I'm terrified of weakness.
65. I'm stronger than I seem.
66. I am a horrible gardener.
67. I have watched plants slowly die and have done nothing about it.
68. There are worse things to be.
69. I have never had a cavity.
70. But I hate going to the dentist.
71. I have trouble with close talkers.
72. I've even been known to avoid close talkers, despite the fact they are usually very friendly.
73. I really enjoy my friends.
74. There isn't much I wouldn't do for the people I love.
75. After re-reading a journal from my teen years, I'm eternally grateful that I made it through those years (somewhat) mentally, physically, and socially intact.
76. Re-reading my journal made me physically ill.
77. Yet, I can't seem to throw it away.
78. I have nightmares about my kids' impending teenage years.
79. I really love shoes.
80. I own more shoes than I need and spend more time thinking about shoes than I should.
81. When I was little, I would sleep with a new pair of shoes.
82. I loved the smell of new tennis shoes.
83. I also have a thing for kid shoes.
84. My daughters have owned way too many pairs of red shoes.
85. I hate that it's a cliche for a woman to love shoes and shopping.
86. Right. I also enjoy shopping.
87. And I have expensive taste.
88. But I hate to admit those things.
89. And I am actually fairly cheap and do not part with money easily.
90. I'd rather read than watch television.
91. My favorite writer is William Trevor.
92. And Jhumpa Lahiri.
93. And Carson McCullers.
94. But my favorite book is probably Absalom, Absalom, by William Faulkner.
95. I always stay up much too late.
96. I don't get enough sleep.
97. It isn't just because of the kids.
98. Or because I wake up to run.
99. It's because I'm afraid of missing out on something.
100. It's because there is always so much more to read and write.
101. I'm a slacker when it comes to housework.
102. Even though I like a clean house.
103. I make it a point to remember my blessings.
     
     

putting a lid on the crib

Naomi did something the other night that her older siblings have never done.

After waking up at 3am and refusing to go back to sleep, making futile demands for more lullabyes (her fave is Dayenu still), and generally waking up the entire family with her screams, she climbed out of her crib, padded over to our room and shouted "I fell outta my crib!"

Because she is my third, I know there is little exciting about the transition to big kid bed, especially since I haven't really slept well for at least eight years. And because the little girl is just two, I know keeping her to a bed would be close to impossible.

But seriously, knowing that she can climb out of bed is really infringing on my sleep. I can't relax knowing that she might try again and then fall and hurt herself getting out.

A friend recommended a crib tent, but I checked out a few stores and people looked at me like I was insane. You'd think I'd asked for a toddler-sized cage.

But I know if I put her in a bed, she'll be out of it about a trillion times a night.

So here's where I ask for your help... What would you do?

(And if you have a crib tent you're not using, please send it my way!)

a good summer day begins with poop and ends with poop...

My friend Kim and I have a tendency to choose activities with our children that most sane people avoid. We thought nothing of hauling six kids to Ikea to shop for desks and as chaos broke loose, we were fairly good-natured as we fed the children junk and watched our crowd accidentally knock over displays (that we picked up, mind you). We did not laugh, though, as Kim was overcharged about one thousand dollars and we were so harried we didn't even notice. At first.

We also instigated a random trip to Chuck E. F*&%$L@ Cheese, which we enjoyed immensely for about an hour and a half and then quickly rounded up the kids, drunk on video games, and drove them home as they talked about what good moms we were. (Seriously, they really did do that. Who knew there was an upside to the loudest place on earth featuring robots dressed as rats?)

So when Boaz and I thought going to the Fremont Solstice Parade was a fun idea and our friends asked us what we were up to, we thought them perfect candidates to join us on a crazy day. And we basically knew it would be when, about 30 seconds after arriving at our house, Josh had to go home and change because Sophie suffered a serious diaper blow-out.

After clothes were changed, we all went to wait for the bus since that way we wouldn't have to wait for parking. The kids were thrilled with the idea of bussing it--it's funny how kids seriously love buses. And adults, well... I know I should love riding the bus, and I definitely love the idea of the bus, and I like not looking for parking, and I suppose there is some interesting people watching on it, and you get to be a part of the community, and blah blah blah, but there are also lots of big bumps and odd smells to help accelerate motion sickness, and it's worse when you're responsible for those smells, but I'll get to that part later.

There were 12 of us in all, including Bo's parents, Myra and Moty, visiting from California, so it actually gave us an amazing ratio of 1:1 adults to children, so things were very calm. The kids loved the two bus ride to the parade as much as the cool bus stops with painted murals and etched glass.




The parade was so packed that we couldn't see much, but the three boys squeezed their way into the front for a better view. There were dancers, people on stilts, colorful costumes, cool floats (my fave was the monkeys on the bed), and nude bicyclists. Yup, nude bicyclists. But they're painted. The boys' faces were a sight to behold. They went from confused to shocked to amused, but really, after the initial shock, you barely noticed the nudity. Not really.



After the parade, we walked with the crowds to Gasworks Park where we sat and ate lunch and hung out watching the people and enjoying the first day of Summer. And it really, really felt like Summer.


We all felt like we were on vacation--I don't know if it was so much sun after being holed up all Fall, Winter, and Spring, or if it was such a nice change to be out of our own neighborhood and regular daily ruts and routes, but it was lovely to be out and about with good friends and family.

And then came the bus ride home... The regular routes were changed because of the festivals and we ended up trekking six very tired kids under eight about twenty blocks to catch the bus. Luckily, a tuckered Sophie fell asleep after the first bus.

And it seemed fitting that just as we were getting on the second bus, Naomi announced to the world very loudly that she had a poopy diaper. And then once we were on the bus, she continued to inform us and everyone on the bus of her status. But by then, nobody really needed to be told anymore. We did not make any new friends on the bus ride home, but we all did get our own seats! :)

Happy Summer! Seattle is so glad to see the sun!

wii are family...

Last night, Boaz and I gave Samuel a Wii for his birthday. He's been pretty much drooling over them since he played one for the first time nearly a year ago and has been dutifully saving up his money. And Boaz and I have been pretty much smitten by them, as well. They're so sleek and cool looking, and so ridiculously fun to play.

So when I searched on them on craiglist and found one in good condition for a good price, we got it. Our boy was so surprised because not only was he not expecting it, but he knew that there weren't any in the stores, and the look on his face was priceless.

(It is really such a good thing that he doesn't know that seeing his expression of pure joy turns his parents into silly putty.)

The whole family made their Miis (your own Wii avatar, for those of you not in the know, and which we not so cleverly named Amii, Talii, Sammii, Boazii, and Boa (Cousin Noah)), and and then played round after round of Wii Sports, which was actually very fun for everyone--the players and the spectators. How novel!

Afterwards, Noah and Samuel found the Smash Brothers game that the guy we bought the console from threw in. It's rated T for crude humour and graphic violence, which it absolutely involves, as well as cute Mario figures to entice young children into participating in bloodsports and cartoon murder. WTF, Nintendo? Why is it necessary to include familiar cartoon figures in games not appropriate for children?

Samuel: Noah, you are so dead! I slayed you!
Me: (APPALLED) Samuel! Is there any reason why you think it's okay to say that? Also, don't you think that a game where you're just killing isn't appropriate?
Noah: It's okay, Aunt Amy... Look, my guy is applauding Samuel's guy, and I'm not actually dead. See? This game is teaching us about good sportsmanship and stuff like that.
Samuel: (laughing) No, it's not, Noah!
Noah: (now laughing, too) I was just kidding.

Needless to say, we switched back to Wii Sports immediately and I'm posting Smash Brothers back on craiglist. Maybe we can trade it for some other rated E game (though, somehow I don't think he's going to want the American Idol Karaoke game I thought looked like fun)...

That said, as soon as the kids went to bed, Boaz and I had a pretty good time bowling on Wii. (Watch out, Tacoma and Bellingham!)

happy #8, samuel!

wordless wednesday

what time is it? it's party time--we're on vacation...

Yes, it's true... I just quoted HSM2, but it seemed appropriate since I've only seen it three times over the last week (well, parts of it at least three times--my kids sometimes do other things besides watch tv. Sometimes.) since it's the kids' new obsession. Don't even get me started on how weird it is that my five year old is totally into High School Musical since she doesn't even really know what high school is, but that's another story for another post...

School is just about out for the kids and my current project ends in less than two weeks, and for the first time since I was probably about the same age as those wacky HSM2 kids, I'm taking a summer vacation (maternity leaves don't count, though since I've taken three, some might be tempted to make them count).

When I tell people that I'm taking the summer off and not taking on any new projects until the Fall, the reaction I get mostly is, "Wow, that is so great. How amazing to do that." And my kids are thrilled. Tali is writing out lists and lists of things we'll do together (she's planning weeks of Barbies for us, and she's especially excited about the grand reopening of the Barbie Shoe Store in our playroom--"We should have balloons, Mommy!"). And Samuel wants me to help him make stop gap animation movies of his Lego adventures (very cool, but very, very, very, very p a i n f u l l y slow work). And I'm ready to put in some good quality time with these guys. I'm excited about having a lot of time to just hang out and move slowly from one activity to another. I purposely made few plans and even scheduled very few summer camps so that we can really experience a break from our usual manic routine.

And then every once in awhile, I freak out and cannot believe what I've done.

Weeks and weeks without plans? Alone with three kids who are terrified of boredom, but all with completely different interests? With no ad campaigns or content strategies to develop? No time to think about stuff other than potty training, educational development and (somewhat) well-balanced meals?

I like working. I really do. And despite the fact that lately I often feel that I'm riding the slowest track ever to career fulfillment because I make it a priority to pick up my kids from school a few days a week and spend a day a week with the baby alone, I truly love that feeling when I'm on my way to work and I know that I'll get a good chunk of time to focus on projects that are interesting and challenging and I'm only myself--not just somebody's mother.

Now, this is only a summer and I know that I'll be taking on another project or another job in a few months and that I should enjoy this time with my family. And I will. I will make that my priority for the summer. And I love that Tali's last summer before she begins school will be a fun and mellow one.

But I'm not the kind of girl who is naturally easygoing about changes, even self-inflicted changes, so I'm also preparing myself for a rocky start and taking notes about where the closest oxygen mask is stored. I've been making my own lists and plans and schedules so that I feel like we're getting somewhere, even if it ends up being how to figure out good methods of creating Lego movies. And since running keeps me sane, I will be scheduling my runs religiously.

And then I will work hard at making this a summer for us all to remember--by not working much at all.

another edition of child photography...

Well, the kids managed to get a hold of the camera again.

Ah, the beloved broken baby swing... Nobody rides in it anymore because it's forever wet and dirty from the rain. But at least it's being appreciated here.

Cool hardware, huh? I'll bet that's never been properly appreciated. Until now...

Portrait of the Artist

A child's view of the artist's mother... Boy, is that how I look from down there?

A foothold from the playset... Cool.

A path to nowhere... (or the driveway)
Close-up of the artist's friend, Sam--her partner in crime

Hey, if you have any child photography of your own, send it to me. I'll share it. Really.

happy father's day...

Happy Father's Day to all of the dads out there!

I'm happy to report that it was sunny here in Siberia, I mean Seattle, and we spent the day at the beach playing and splashing and building sand castles. The water was arctic, and the temps probably didn't hit even 70 degrees, but it was sunny out and that made us all very, very happy and oddly cheerful.

And I think Boaz had a nice Father's Day, though we were up at 6am, not with kid-made breakfast in bed, but to watch the Meet the Press tribute to Tim Russert, which was very sad. After that, B didn't feel like sleeping in, so we all got up and made breakfast together. The kids were sweet and cute with their homemade cards and B was so happy with them and obviously so touched by how sweet their cards were--it was one of those moments that makes you remember how good things are.

Father's Day is a funny day for our family, too, because Samuel was born on Father's Day. It always makes us remember the day we became parents and Samuel loves to hear the story over and over about how he was his dad's best Father's Day present ever.

This Father's Day I also dodged Samuel's birds and bees bullet for the last time. He came down after I tucked him in and practically begged me for the truth. So I gave him the preliminary rules--strict instructions to not talk about it with his friends ever (yeah right) and that what I was about to explain isn't allowed until you're at least 30 and married (uh huh). And then I gave him the truth, in a very vague and G-rated way, to which he replied:

"Ewwwwwwwwww! I don't believe it!"

I'm hoping it wasn't a mistake to tell him, but he's a persistent kid and Father's Day seems to be a day of milestones for our family. Though, I wish he could've asked his father. I wonder if he would've gotten the same response.

Happy Father's Day!

birds and bees, fried eggs and spurns--spring is in the air

Boaz worked late tonight and dinner got off kilter pretty quickly. I made my specialty--scrambled eggs--which I get away with because the kids love them and Samuel really has a thing for eggs--especially fried eggs. Everyone was hungry, tired, and whiny and then Samuel brought up the question I've been seriously putting off for years. (You'd think that since I knew this was evenutally going to get me, I'd have come up with an answer. But no, my middle initial is P for Procrastination.) Sensing something was about to happen,Tali and Naomi's ears perked up quickly.

Samuel: So Mommy, how do babies get born?
Me: They grow in the mommy's belly.
Samuel: I know that. How do the babies get in the belly?
Me: Um, well, Mommys have eggs in them, and Daddys have...
Samuel: Wait... Moms have eggs in them? Like chicken eggs?
Me: Um, no, not exactly. They're a lot smaller. All girls are born with eggs.
Samuel: So Tali and Naomi have them?
Tali: I have eggs?
Me: Um, yeah.
Samuel: Can you fry them?
Me: No! Samuel, you can't fry your sister's eggs... I mean... No... People eggs aren't like chicken eggs.
Tali (knowingly): Right. They're very different. Girl eggs like spurns.

for those of you trapped in siberia...

I am having trouble working on work tonight because I'm dreaming of warm beaches and Googling cheap air fares (there are none) to warm places. Tickets to anywhere are so expensive that I'm about to take a friend's advice and head to Spokane (I hear they have good corn tortillas there), but since I'm desperate for warmth now, I've taken to Googling photos of warm places.

Now, I generally like Google, but if this result in response to my search of "photos of warm beaches" is a joke, it's a very, very cruel one.

Here's a little warmth to you Seattle-ite Siberians...

Yeah, it's not working for me, either. But, I know those two blob figures are supposed to be people--warm people. And while we're waiting for some blistering 60 degree weather, I'm begging you... No turtlenecks in June. Please. (It's just so sad.)

NEWSFLASH! SEATTLE IS COLDER THAN SIBERIA!

Yeah, yeah, I know it's Wordless Wednesday and all but this is big news. I feel justified in yelling to the world that the Seattle Times has announced to all that Seattle, is in fact, colder than Siberia--the best known most miserable place in the world.

And not to beat a dead horse to death, but driving to work the temp outside was 48 degrees. In June.

Siberia is warmer than Seattle, huh? Wonder what their housing market is like...

asher at the park--remembering the sun just a month ago...

wordless wednesday

a mother's mind is like a sieve...

I spent the other morning at my friend Julie's house where we'd planned to put up these cool Blik decals on the walls of her daughter's room (they are so cool and I'm drooling over the Anise design), but gave up trying to get anything done because it was too hard with the kids, so we sat with them and ate their snacks and watched them play.

"Is Tali going to gymnastics today?" Julie's oldest asked and we both realized that we'd totally forgotten about gymnastics. How it's possible that we forgot, I'm not sure. Gymnastics is a weekly event that four of our six children go to. It's at the same time each week and it's not unexpensive. Yet, it totally fell off my radar. And I have to say, I'm so relieved that Julie forgot, too, because 1.) I've always figured she was so together and 2.) now I'm a little less convinced that I'm experiencing early onset Alzheimers.

Here are some of the other things I've forgotten this week:

1.) Samuel's sleepover--I actually called Samuel's friend's mom and said, "Hey, Samuel would love to have a sleepover this weekend--what do you think?" And after a long pause, she said, "Amy, we planned one for tonight." Oh, right. Yeah... I was just testing her!

2.) Not only did I get one call from a summer camp this week, but THREE telling me that I'm late in sending back the medical forms.

3.) Father's Day (By the way, if you are my father and you are reading this, I have not forgotten Father's Day--See? I'm reminding myself right now!)

4.) I forgot to go to my dentist appointment last week... Just totally forgot. But I did remember this week that I was supposed to go... last week.

5.) On Sunday, Boaz and I both forgot that we've been keeping Tali off of dairy because she's been having stomach aches. So he took her to a birthday party in the afternoon where she ate pizza, cake, and ice cream, and then later on when we celebrated Naomi's birthday, she continued to eat more pizza, cake, and ice cream. And then spent the evening in bed with us curled up in pain with a stomach ache. Sigh...

6.) I'm about three weeks overdue in giving another parent my contribution for the teacher's gift. Luckily, she's got my number and knows where I live. :)

7.) And finally, a few days ago, I was driving a friend home, and even though I'd been to her house probably about two dozen times, I could not remember what street she lived on. Seriously. And though I have always been very admittedly and severely geographically disabled, this friend does not live very far from me. I explained to her how I've done this to other friends--forgotten where they lived--and one friend took it personally and how it was just my complete spaciness, but I'm not sure she didn't think something was a bit off with me.

So why am I forgetting everything? Is it because I'm not careful enough? Maybe, but I have lists in twelve billion places and have resorted to writing the most important information on my hands (which I have to say, is actually not the greatest look. But it does work--at least until you've washed your hands a couple of times.) I would write it on my face if it'd help, but lately, I haven't had time to look in the mirror often enough to believe that seeing something there would help me remember anything.

I'm going to attribute the forgetfulness to simply being way overwhelmed. Three kids, five schedules to create and follow, twelve tons of laundry, committees to serve on, miles to run, meals to cook, lunches to make, carpools, baseball, t-ball, gymnastics, doctor's appointments, phonecalls to return, bills to pay, and a career to grow, and oddly, thankfully, or unfortunately, I rarely forget things at work, so maybe my brain isn't strong enough to hold it all? And why are we, why am I, trying to do so much? Maybe there are just times when our family motto of "Everyone in bed and alive at the end of the day makes for a good day" is a good enough goal to live by.

So this is just to say that if I've forgotten to call you back or can't remember where you live, it's nothing personal. It's just that my brain is leaking a little.

a little song and dance--more meal time entertainment

Mealtime at our house is often entertaining...

how a two year old eats her lunch...

For those of you who haven't experienced it, or who have long forgotten (or blocked it out of their memories), this is how a two year old eats her lunch.