The Fam

Well, I've already written more in the month of January than in some months in 2009! I was reading back on some posts from earlier, wondering what the heck I could possibly have had to say, and laughing at some of the stories I'd documented, so glad I'd done so. So while I'm not calling it a resolution, I'm hopeful I'll remember to continue documenting the kids' lives for posterity. I digress.

This post is about family. In some respect, family is what you make it. And by that I mean family is who you make it. Family does not have to be your blood relatives. Which I guess is pretty obvious. I mean your spouse isn't a blood relative but is probably the most important person in your life. And in my case, the same holds true for my kids.

So we can choose who to surround ourselves with, and in that sense, we can choose our family. But I am really lucky because not only do I have some amazing, supportive friends, who I really do consider to be family, but I also have a wonderful family. I have four really caring, really interesting, really accomplished sisters in law. I have three really caring, really interesting, really accomplished brothers in law. I have nieces and nephews who know me and who I know and love. My point is that were I choosing who to spend my time with, these are exactly the people I'd want to be with. Which makes the holidays all the more fun.

For kicks, and in case you care, here are the members of my side of our family:

These are my parents with Marcie.

My big brother Bob and his wife Karin. He's an accomplished attorney; she's a doctor focusing on psychiatry. They have three boys: Sal, Vince and Leo-- all of whom are pretty much fluent in French (even though their parents are not-- what a great gift!).

I did manage to get one photo of my younger brother and his wife together, but they didn't know I was taking it. So out of respect for them, I'm not posting it. This is Tram (pronounced Chum). Their middle child is in the background with a "cheese" face. Here, she's helping the kids make sugar cookies. Tram is a high school teacher (which is how we met). She and my brother Bryan have three kids: Joey, Ethan and Calliope. I think one reason I don't have any photos of them together is because a 2 1/2 year old and 7-month-old keep you on your toes.

This is Bryan and Megan (my younger sister). I always thought of Megan as the family baker (she is very talented), but it turns out my brother is quite a cook, too. These two moved away from California to Pennsylvania when he was a sophomore and she was in 5th grade. We used to joke that they were the Pennsylvania family because many of the people they grew up around never even met me or Bob. I think they have a special bond because of their time together in the H family of four.

And last but not least are Timour (pronounced Tee-more) and Megan. They are the newlyweds of the group, and they live in San Francisco right downstairs from my older brother, so they are very close to Sal, Vince and Leo. Coincidentally, Timour, like my nephews, is fluent in French.

Missing from these photos, I suppose, is one of me and Jason. I don't have any of just the two of us from the holidays. But if you look to the right, you'll notice that we did snap a new family photo, which I've added to the blog. Boy, we're starting to look our age . . .

Hanging On and Letting Go

I'm a little bit of a pack rat. I like to hold on to things that have sentimental value. Or that I may want or need some day. Even when I can't, for the life of me, think of how I will need that item.

And I don't really like change. I suppose I'm a bit of toddler in that way. I like it when the expectations are clear. When I know what's going to happen next. I don't like taking risks. Or even contemplating changing my life, really. Even though I'm a worst-case-scenario planner. Which is borne of hatred for, or more accurately my fear of, change.

So going to law school wasn't that bad. But becoming a lawyer. Well that's a pretty big change. I was still reeling from my decision to take a "teacher on special assignment" position to work in teacher training at the County Office of Education for a while. Leave education entirely? Never. I don't think I ever really thought it would happen.

But today it did. Because today I had to submit my official resignation as a classroom teacher to my school district. I know, I know-- some of you didn't even know I was a teacher. Or tenured. But I was. And there was this great sense of peace in knowing that I could always just go back to the classroom. Which I absolutely loved. It beat me up. Teaching. I'm not very good at saying no, and I always ended up on a million committees. And every minute I gave to the school and the district and my students was a minute I wasn't giving to my family. And I wasn't really being compensated for it in the traditional sense of compensation.

I know that leaving teaching is right for my family. Right for the bigger picture. My kids will be better off because it means, eventually, that they will have a full-time, at-home parent. And I know they'll benefit from that.

But letting go of the title. And more importantly of the security. Well, it's been hard. And I've waited until the very last day to do it, knowing I would but not feeling ready to let go yet. But as a tenured teacher on a leave of absence this year, I was holding a spot that could be given to another teacher -- a teacher who might otherwise lose their job in this giant pink-slipping mess that the California budget has thrown our public schools into. And so I know it's only fair to resign. To let someone who plans to teacher in the right here and the right now have the job position. But knowing that intellectually and feeling okay with letting go-- well, they just aren't the same thing.

So today I feel a little sad. I know resigning is the right thing to do. If anything, it will push me to be a better attorney-- I can't take the attitude that if things don't work out, I have something else. Because this is it.

And I wonder-- if I have this much trouble letting go of a job, how on earth will I ever let go of my kids? In the best sense of the phrase I mean-- in the sense of letting them be their own people; in the sense of supporting them as they take risks in their own lives. If only I could just freeze this moment in time-- and yet, I know that each passing day, I love them more. I learn from them. And I want for them to be independent, self-sufficient, self-assured people. So let go I must. Little by little. Gradually. I'll never be good at this letting go thing. But in my heart and in my mind I know that one of my most important jobs as a mother is to do just that.

I'm Featured!

Check me out! I was interviewed at Connecting Moms about adoption. You can read my interview here. I was surprised by the invitation. After all, I'm nothing special. But it's still awfully flattering to read my interview their site!

Dichotomy

I'd like to think I present professionally at work. I'd like to think people take me seriously. I'd like to think the work I do is important and helps resolve big conflicts, making the world a tiny bit more peaceful. I'd like to think of myself as a power player, a go-to girl, a one-to-watch, an inspiration, and a force to be reckoned with. In my mind's eye, I'm all these things. Even in my five foot body, in my mind's eye, I see eye-to-eye with the big boys.

But I know it's just in my head. Because the other day, I saw myself for who I really am. There I was, dressed nicely in work clothes, sitting forward on the edge of the couch. My black back, filled with a redwell of papers and a legal pad of notes, lay on the floor next to the couch. The Blackberry peeking out the top of the bag was flashing red, and I was contemplating checking the e-mail messages. All the while, Marcie was perched on my lap, pulling on my nose with one hand and one of my ears with her other hand, giggling. Casey was standing on the couch behind where I sat, pulling up on hair on both sides of my head and waving it up and down like it was feathers instead of hair, laughing uncontrollably. Just at that moment, Jason walked past me toward the kitchen and paused just ever so briefly to glance back at the scene. I looked up at him, half-dazed, half-amused.

That about sums me up. Professional attorney by day. Professional toddler and preschool toy by night.

And for once, I am exactly where I want to be in life. But honestly, it's not because of the job. It's because of the kids. And even though right now is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, I get to experience the love and joy and hope and promise of the Christmas season all year long. That's the best part of being a mom.

Spirit of Christmas Post # 1

Today is the first day of my Twelve Days of Christmas or What the Season's Brought for Me post. As explained to the right, I'll be posting daily for the next 12 days, leading up to Christmas day. I've been saving up tidbits to write about, so you can look forward to hearing about the Gingerbread House Experiment, the Haunted Nativity Set, Casey's Class Show, and What Two-Year-Olds (Don't) Do for a Holiday Show in the coming days.

But today, this first day of my blog-o-thon, I am going to write what this Season's Brought for Me: A Bad, Bad Cold.

It all began innocently enough, Marcie passing along her germs in the middle of the night while I held her, rocking her back to sleep for a couple hours in late November. And after that cold began to pass (it never really subsided), my nose began to stuff back up. Marcie began to sneeze more. And Jason began to complain about a sore throat. Not good. Not good at all.

Yesterday I left work around 2pm to catch some sleep before Marcie's class show. And sleep I did indeed. But I didn't feel any better after the show was over. Or after the kids were tucked in. I went to bed myself around 8:30pm last night and still had trouble dragging myself out of bed this morning to get the kids ready for school at 6:30 am (which was sleeping in for me). And I don't feel any better today. It's the kind of cold that prevents you from tasting anything. The kind that blocks up your nose so badly that you have to just hold a tissue over it constantly. The kind of cold that exhausts you when you're just watching TV.

So this cranky mama isn't much feeling the holiday spirit. Still haven't sent out the Christmas cards (though they have been ordered and are arriving soon). Still haven't even written the thank you notes from Marcie's birthday party almost a month ago. Still haven't purchased the gifts for Casey and Marcie's teachers. Heck, haven't even really shopped much for Casey and Marcie.

I'll get there. Eventually. The Spirit of Christmas will come to me. But right now, I just want to curl up in bed and sleep.

California Bar Exam Results

I wish I could report entirely good news. You see, I'm one of those team players. Although I went into law school with an I-don't-need-any-new-friends attitude, truth be told I never would have survived without my study group, Paul and Delinda. We studied together at least once a week for three years. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without them.

So we had a plan. When results came out, we'd text each other. No matter what. And here's how it all happened:

Around 4:30pm, a bunch of people from the firm took the three of us awaiting our bar results to Karl Strauss for snacks and drinks. We called this the pre-bar-results Novocaine. I had planned to check my results online in the office because of afternoon traffic. But in the end, I didn't. I decided instead to drive home and check them. I figured the website would be all jammed up for the first 15 minutes or so anyway.

On my drive, the first text came in at about 6:04pm. It was Paul. He passed. Then, as I was dialing his number to congratulate him, a second text arrived, from Delinda. It said, "I'm not on the list." When you check your bar results, you get a notification that either says, "This name appears on the list of people passing the July 2007 bar exam" or "No record found" (or something like that).

I called Delinda. I asked her if she double-checked her numbers. If she'd had her husband type it in for her. I told her that it's not final-- the website. That I'd heard of two separate instances where there were glitches and upon checking results later the same evening, people who thought they'd failed really had passed. We talked about what might have gone wrong. I reminded her that this is a blip in her life. It won't matter in the end, even if it doesn't feel that way right now. I said everything I was thinking I'd want to hear if my name weren't on that list. And then we hung up.

On the remainder of the drive, I worried. If Delinda's name wasn't on that list, it was likely mine wasn't either. We studied for that test together. We quizzed each other. We wrote the essays together, took an extra course together. There is nothing I did that she didn't do. And vice versa. She was our team cheerleader. And of all of us, these results mattered-- really mattered to her because she has a job offer dependent on passing the bar exam. Which might explain why she was the most nervous of the three of us-- going into, during, and after the bar. We chatted very briefly following the last day of testing, and she and I seemed to say all the same things on our essays. So her missing name was very worrisome. Particularly because I didn't know my results yet.

When I got home, I didn't even say hello to Jason and the kids. I went straight to the computer. And wouldn't you know it, the Internet was down. I've been having trouble on my computer lately, but I wasn't expecting a glitch while checking bar results! Finally, we got Jason's computer up and running, and I checked my results there.

I passed. Alternately ecstatic and shocked for my friend Delinda, I began texting. By now, the kids were clamoring, and I was writing fast. I could only send the text to half my friends and then had to send a second text message to the other half. On the first half, apparently I wrote that I'd passed the car exam. And once I received a text back from a few people asking what the car exam was, I couldn't even send out a follow up correcting the mistake because I don't know which people I sent that message to and which people got the appropriately typed "bar" exam message. To those who replied to my car message, I responded that the good news was that cars everywhere would be able to receive great legal representation.

All of three of us first year associates at the firm passed. But all that success is slightly overshadowed by knowing Delinda will be taking the test again in February. I personally plan to offer to help her study again. Though I doubt she'll take me up on it since my presence during the summer obviously didn't help. Believe me, I feel such joy and relief that I passed the test. But I'd be much happier if Delinda did, too.

Anyway, I meant what I wrote yesterday-- about perspective. So if you're the praying type, and you feel like saying prayers for my friend, please do. Don't pray that she passes the test. Pray instead for her to have grace. Grace to accept what's happened and move forward. Grace to believe that this is just one test and doesn't define her academic abilities. Grace to focus as she begins studying again. And that she'll have grace during each day of the test. And if you've been praying for me to have grace during the wait-- thanks. I think it helped!

Keeping Things In Perspective

In many ways, the various factions of my life are separate. Like being an adoptive parent. While parenting is integral in every aspect of my life, the fact that we've built our family through adoption is not. The kids are with us now; that I didn't carry them in my uterus doesn't really matter much from one day to the next. But being an adoptive parent is very much a part of who I am. In a way, it's like being part of a club-- you don't really understand what it's like until you've lived it. And I feel connected to other adoptive parents in a way I don't think I otherwise would. But that connection isn't something I think about every moment of every day. So it's odd, in a sense, that being an adoptive parent is helping put the pending bar results in perspective for me.

Yes, today is the magic day the California State Bar results are released electronically to test-takers. The public can't access the information until Sunday or Monday (I'm not sure which). And I suppose it's possible that mis-information could be available online, which is why the Bar cautions all applicants not to rely on their online results and to wait for the mailed results instead. Whatever. No one believes they need to wait. And so, at around 6:00pm tonight I, along with the other nine thousand or so examinees will try to log in at exactly the same time to retrieve our results. I haven't been thinking much about it until the last 48 hours. And I think I'm more nervous now than I felt when I was actually taking the test. It's obviously out of my hands. The results have been compiled. But the not knowing is eating up my stomach. Literally. I slept only a couple hours last night, and I am operating on pure adrenaline.

So what if I don't pass the California bar? I mean, it's not like some giant hook will swoop in to the office and pull me out of my desk. The firm I'm at gives us a second chance-- we can re-take the exam in February. And I have my teaching career as an alternative, as well. I will be embarrassed by my failure. And I will beat myself up. And I will wonder, probably even after my scores arrive in the mail (because you only get your scores if you didn't pass the test), why me? The scariest thing about the potential of failing the bar exam is that I just don't know what more I could have done. I really did give it my best shot. And I know that the failure will eat away at whatever self-confidence I have.

That said, it's a test for crying out loud. Sure, only 78% of the first-time test-takers from my law school passed last July. And the statewide first-time taker pass rate was only 67%. But it's a test nonetheless. We're not talking life and death here. And in the big picture of life, this will-- long from now-- (hopefully) just be one small blip.

Helping me put all this in perspective is the touching story of Hannah, a child who will be returning home from China shortly. Hannah's parents met her for the first time some time in the past few weeks, after traveling to China from Lansing, Michigan. Part way through their trip, after China had finalized the adoption, Hannah's dad, who is diabetic, suffered complications from diabetes and passed away. I can only imagine the shock and grief of meeting my child for the first time, then losing my spouse almost in that same breath. But that's exactly what happened to Hannah's mom, Sandi. And then it go worse. Because the U.S. Consulate initially refused to issue Sandi a visa to return to the United States with Hannah, explaining that her family circumstances had changed and she would need to re-do the paperwork. Yup. Bureaucracy at its finest. Our government was essentially telling Sandi to leave China alone-- no husband, no child.

It didn't end that way, thankfully. Sandi's congressperson was contacted (by over a thousand people who heard about their story through adoption boards and word of mouth), and he sprang into action. It took some string-pulling and wrangling and the involvement of some very important higher-ups, but it looks like Sandi will be able to return home to Michigan with her daughter. Still a family of two instead of three. But a family all the same.

And this got me to thinking about the bar results. It may feel like everything in the world to me in this moment of time. But it's not. I can imagine my world without me being a lawyer. I've been doing it all my adult life. There are so many other, more important parts of my life that define me-- like my family and my friends. In the end, it won't matter how many hours I billed. Or if I passed the bar exam on the first try. Or even if I end up practicing law at all. At the end of my life, what will matter is the relationships I have, the friendships I share, the love of my family.

Now, if I can just keep that in perspective for the next eight hours (and maybe even beyond), I'll be in good shape . . .

Young at Heart

I hope I didn't worry you all with my previous post-- Old Lady. I knew when I decided to change careers after eleven years in education that I'd be behind the curve. Someone even asked me about how that would make me feel in an interview once. Really, though, how can you know? I don't think it's the age thing so much as being at a different place in life. And I don't just mean that I have kids and the only other female first year associate with children (whom I know of) is from my home office. (Come to think of it, though, that makes me pretty lucky.) What I do mean is that we're at completely different stages of life.

By now I'm mostly used to being with people who are proven, responsible adults. That may mean children. But it could just mean holding down a job. Not partying every single night. And yes, you can do both-- hold down a job conscientiously and still party every night. So I don't know what my problem is. I could just sense the lack of life experience in the room. And that brings me back to age.

There are definite advantages of being older. I recognize the benefits of working for a firm like ours, where they've opted to take the long view of an attorney's lifetime in the profession and really invest in training us. Unless you've worked in places where you have to root around for your own paper and writing utensils, where you ask for things like stickers, scissors, and markers for Christmas from your family and friends, and where everyone you know drives a car that's at least 10 years old, it's hard to understand what I mean. I guess it's not fair to make that generalization. I mean, teachers may have to scavenger for supplies, but I don't think most people do. Still, my point is that sometimes you don't know how good you have it unless you have something else to compare it to. Not in a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence comparison, but in a gosh-this-is-a-nice-gig-and-I-know-because-I've-been-around-the-block way. And I haven't even been around a very big block-- I'm. not. that. old. Plus, I'm not too proud. I expect my assistant to train me. I ask her to critique my work. I ask her a million dumb questions. I'm not too full of myself to forget to thank her. And I'm not too insecure to ask for help when I need it. Which is kind of frequently.

And the thing is I know I'm way goofier and sillier and have way more laughter in my life than probably a lot of other first-year associates. Because I'm a mom. Sure, it may be harder for me than for others to take three days off and head to New York-- even for fun--because I have something tethering me to my home. But I can assure you I dance just as much (maybe more), I make funny faces, I laugh openly at myself and my children. I read more books for pleasure, even if many of them only average five words in length. I am more aware of the larger world environment and the way we're leaving things behind because of my kids. Sure, I worry more. And I drink way less-- though I think that getting punch-drunk with the giddiness of the antics of my children is way more fun that stumbling around and forgetting what happened the next day.

Yeah. They're a young crop, the other first year associates. Younger and probably smarter than me. And I bet I can learn a lot from them-- and I'm open to that. But I wouldn't do it over. I wouldn't want to take back the last 10 years as a teacher and instructional designer. They may be young, but I'm young at heart.

Old Lady

This weekend I'm away from my family, in New York City for a first-year associates' training. All the first year associates firmwide are here in Times Square. There are somewhere between 80 and 100 of us. And, well, I'm feeling pretty darn old.

Last night we arrived just in time for the cocktail hour. The food was yummy and the wine was nice. But, well, I pretty much suck at small talk. I suppose not always. I mean, I'm a talker. But I had trouble finding common ground. I'd met a couple really nice, friendly people early on. Then I felt my phone ring, and I saw it was a message from the school district. So I disappeared into the coat closet to listen to the message (over 300 students and 20 staff members lost their homes in the wild fires last week). I scared the heck out of an associate in the San Francisco office who had stepped into the coat closet to hang up her coat. But we got to talking. And she was super cool, so that was nice. I met some other nice San Francisco folks, a couple interesting people from Silicon Valley. And (finally) it was time for dinner.

I was put in a group of 8 to go to Bobby Flay's (is that how you spell his name?) restaurant Bar Americain, where I indulged in some rib eye, some asparagus, and a diet coke. Everyone seemed really . . . well, young. They chatted on and on about the cooking channel (yes, I realize Top Chef has nothing to do with age). Then the subject turned to Saved by the Bell and I knew I was in trouble. I couldn't even remember screeches name. And my childhood shows-- 90210 and Melrose Place-- were apparently popular while the other 7 people in my group were in middle school.

No one else was married or had kids. Everyone else, except my friend from the San Diego office, had essentially gone straight through from undergrad to law school, and most of them were graduates of big-name schools-- Stanford, Yale, Boalt, and Harvard.

At one point I asked a San Francisco associate who had mentioned a couple times that her brothers live in San Francisco if she lived with either of her brothers. I figured this was an innocent enough question. After all, I lived with my older brother when he was a first year associate. And even after I moved out, my younger brother moved in-- and lived with Bob through Bob's marriage and the birth of Bob's first child. Bob was in his early 30s when Bryan got married and moved out.

Anyway, she scrunched up her face and said, "Ew. No. I mean, I couldn't live with my brother. He's old. He's 32."

I laughed heartily and said I didn't think 32 was old-- I'm 33 and will be 34 next month. And besides, I explained, my brother had one of us living with him well into his thirties. Heck, depending on how you look at it, my sister still lives with him (albeit in a separate apartment in his building, but she hangs out in the main house a lot). And then we promptly changed the subject.

But I couldn't shake feeling old. All day long. I called home throughout the day to see how the kids were doing (Marcie was hanging out with Aunt Megan and Casey had a blast at Kaitlyn's birthday party, but baseball and music class were canceled because of the fires). And I missed them terribly. All day long.

Of course I'm not the oldest person here. And I'm not the only first year associate who has kids. And I'm over-reacting and feeling academically insecure. But still. . .

Tonight's event went better. Well, after getting lost finding our way to the dinner location. We went the wrong way down 40th. Then later discovered the place wasn't on West 40th, but West 39th. We found it eventually, grabbed the sparkling wine, then jumped into place chopping herbs, mushrooms, garlic, and onion for the portion of dinner we were making. Next we moved to wine-tasting. Followed by a delicious meal with another 3 wines. Then a tiramisu dessert with a dessert wine. Conversation flowed more easily tonight. I sat next to a New York associate whose wife is from China and has a 5 year old and a one year old. Also at the table was a small group of associates from the D.C. office. Their office sounds pretty entertaining.

After dinner, we walked around a bit, and then my friend Jennie and I bumped into one of those D.C. associates in the lobby of our swank hotel. They were getting ready to head out (and we're off to bed), but Jennie had a little more than half a giant bottle of Saki left from dinner last night, so she gave it to them. They were shocked. And thrilled. And they invited us to go to the village with them (I had to ask if that meant Greenwich Village-- it does). We declined. I told them we're too old and couldn't handle anymore liquor tonight. We all laughed. Then we headed up to our rooms and they headed out.

I'm feeling much better about the people. Still old, though. And still missing my family.

"I Would Gather Children"

Last summer Jason began telling people we plan to have five children. It was news to me. But I wasn't upset by his statements-- more amused than anything. Shocked, people would say to me, "FIVE?!? REALLY?!?" And I'd just laugh it off.

But truthfully, I have never really given any thought to the number of children we'd have in the end. I mean, I knew I wanted three. But I didn't foreclose on the idea of more.

There are plenty of reasons not to have a troupe of children, high among them the costs associated with raising them. I could post about the estimated cost of raising a child today, but it's not actually the point of this post. Children are expensive. It's true. But they are more than money-sucking-machines.

One thing I love about my parents is that they really appreciate me and my three siblings. And they tell us. They tell us how happy they are to see us happy. To see us enjoy our time with our own children. To see how in love we are with our respective spouses (and fiance in Megan's case). My parents know many people who have more expendible cash either because they opted for children-free lifestyles or because they opted to wait (and collect financial resources) before starting a family. And I've heard them comment frequently that they are happy they started their family young, happy to have four children-- they may know others with more cash, my dad recently told me, but they would be hard-pressed to find others as rich as they are. And he's probably right.

It's definitely a life philosophy.

Today I came across this poem, and it made me think of Jason and his announcement last summer that we were going to have five children (which we actually haven't decided, by the way-- all we've decided at this juncture is that we definitely want three kids). So I'll end this post with these words:

I Would Gather Children
-- author unknown

Some would gather money
Along the path of life,
Some would gather roses,
And rest from worldly strife.

But I would gather children
From among the thorns of sin,
I would seek a golden curl,
And a freckled, toothless grin.

For money cannot enter
In that land of endless day,
And roses that are gathered
Soon will wilt along the way.

But oh, the laughing children,
As I cross the sunset sea,
And the gates swing wide to heaven
I can take them in with me!

Addendum to Run Off the Road

Tonight I headed out for another jog through the neighborhood.

Once again, I donned my reflective shoes, shorts, and running vest.

Paranoid that I'd run into that darned CRV driver, I jumped up on the sidewalk pretty much every time a semi-SUV-looking vehicle headed toward me.

Near the end of my run, as I was getting ready to run the big hill back up to my house, a convertible with two male passengers slowed to a stop. I ran toward them and could see the driver was talking to me, but I couldn't hear what he was saying over my i-tunes. Thinking that perhaps they were lost, and keeping my distance, I pulled an earbud out of my right ear to listen:

"I just wanted to compliment you on your vest," he called to me.

"Oh?"

"Yes. It's very good. I could see it from really far away."

"That's the idea," I called back.

"Well, it works," he said. "It took us a long time to reach you-- we could see the vest for such a long time. Just thought you should know how well it works!"

"Thanks," I grinned.

And away he drove, me following slowly behind, trudging up the hill home. Somehow, I felt redeemed. . .

Run Off the Road

I've been pretty good about working out on my lunch hour, but today it didn't happen. I tried to run on the treadmill while Casey was at swim class, but Marcie saw me and she wasn't going to leave me in the "wellness" room. So after only five minutes, I stopped. Later after we got home and got the kids settled in eating dinner, I decided to go for a run through the neighborhood.

Now, when I run at night, I wear running shoes with reflectors, I wear a light colored shirt, and sometimes I wear my visor with reflectors or my lightweight running jacket with reflectors (tonight I wore the jacket). Then, I wear a reflector vest so that I'm easily visible.

Also, when I run, I don't run on sidewalks if I can help it. I run on the side of the road, just outside the gutter on the asphalt. I run facing traffic (not with it). And if I see a car headed toward me and there's a parked car in the road, I jump back on to the sidewalk so I don't freak out the driver.

The reason I run in the street is because it's a softer surface and better for my knees. Also, the up and down of the sidewalk with the driveways make it an uneven surface, more likely I'll lose my footing and also not so great for my knees. The reason I run facing/toward traffic is because I want to make sure drivers see me, and even if they don't I certainly see them, so I can get out of dodge if I have to.

I'm pretty careful and pretty respectful. I don't stay in the street on corners where I know cars take the corner tightly. I run in well-lit places. I run through the neighborhood and never on the main thoroughfare because it's better lit and feels safer. If I were to get injured, at least I could crawl to a nearby house or something. And even though I could run on the dirt track at the park at the end of the street, which is lit and closed to cars, there are a lot of bushes and it just doesn't feel self for a girl alone at night.

But tonight some asshole decided it'd be funny to run me off the run. Or to try to. And I don't know that it was a guy. I just have a hard time calling a woman an asshole-- seems like a term more appropriate for a man.

So I was running on a flat part of the neighborhood (there's only one flat section in my neighborhood, and it's less than half a mile stretch). There were two cars heading in my direction. I was just past a streetlight. There were no parked cars on the road. And as this Honda CRV passed me, it veered directly into me, and the driver leaned on the horn.

I was more startled by the horn than the swerve, and I turned to try to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but it wasn't in a lit frame, so I missed it. Plus, I knew there was another car headed my way.

It happened too quickly for me to get all the way up on the sidewalk. And to be honest, if I had made that leap, I would have landed literally into a set of mailboxes. I muttered a couple of choice words that I won't put in writing here. But they sure wouldn't make my mom proud, and I kept on running. I ran through the scenarios-- what if the car came back for me? Where would I go? Would I be confrontational? Would I run like hell in the opposite direction of the car? Should I try to find where the car went so I could report it?

In the end, I just ran. And ran. And felt super paranoid for the remaining 20 minutes of the run. I never saw the CRV again. And I didn't change the way I ran. So if the asshole was trying to "teach me a lesson," all I learned was to pay closer attention to license plate numbers when running in the dark. I mean, really. Was it supposed to be funny? Was I supposed to scream? Was he trying to teach me a lesson? There's no city ordinance against running in the street. Runners and pedestrians in generally don't have to follow the typical road rules followed by cyclists and drivers.

If I'd gotten the license plate number, I really do think I'd file a report. Who wants an asshole like that speeding through their neighborhood? There are much better ways to express yourself than attempting to scare the heck out of someone. Someone trying to keep stress down and weight off, no less. Someone trying to lead a healthy life.

Come to think of it, isn't there a tort I could sue for? I just had a flash back to Bar Review-- and studying assault. In criminal law it has two meanings: attempted battery or intentionally causing anxiety or fear. In tort it's just the latter. . . Hmm. Well, nothing I can do about it now, except keeping my eyes open for the white- CRV-driving asshole in my neighborhood. Yeah. Good times.

Stuck in an Elevator

No, the elevator didn't break down. And there wasn't an emergency that necessitated stopping the elevator, either. But I somehow still managed to get stuck in the elevator when I left work this evening.

I was working on a project and lost track of time. Suddenly I realized I needed to be at the pool with Jason to pick up Marcie in 15 minutes' time. But the drive is 35 minutes from work. So I packed up my things, and booked out. As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I dug through my bag for my car keys, but I couldn't find them. When I got the bottom floor, I still hadn't found them, so I figured I must have left them in one of my desk drawers.

By the time I came to this conclusion, the elevator door had closed and I was alone. I pushed the button to my floor, but the elevator didn't move. Unconcerned, I realized it must be after hours. So I pulled out my key card and followed the directions on it. There's a slot in the elevator below the floor buttons with an arrow. And the key card says "This side up" and has a directional arrow as well. So I inserted the card, slid it through the slot, and then pushed the button to my floor. Nothing happened.

I tried a couple more times. Then I tried flipping the card around, sticking it in the long way, sliding it the other direction. Nothing worked. Sometime during all this, Jason called and asked where I was. I explained I was stuck and that I'd call him back. I also noted that I had reception in the elevator. From my cell phone provider which has a terrible network. Next thing I knew, the elevator was moving. Up. I had no idea why.

It stopped two floors above my floor, but the doors didn't open. I guess some of the elevators hang out by the higher floors so they come more quickly when they are called. Frustrated, I finally pushed L for lobby, and the elevator took me back down to the bottom floor.

I exited, made my way to the guard area, and explained I needed to get back up to my office where I'd left my keys. I showed the gentlemen by key card and asked if they would show me how to use it. One of the guys sighed but agreed to follow me.

And as luck would have it, just as he was showing me how to use it, someone else actually got on the elevator. And used his card. I felt seriously dumb.

Once I got back up to the office, I discovered that my keys were, in fact, with me the entire time. I'd apparently torn the lining of my purse and the keys had slipped into the space between the purse exterior and the lining.

Needless to say, I didn't make it to Casey's last swim lesson before it ended. And I didn't get there in time to save Marcie from hanging out in the men's locker room while Casey showered. I don't know, though, the thought of my daughter in the men's locker room, even if she's not quite two yet, sounds a little more disturbing than my son in the woman's locker room. I know, it's sexist of me. But what do you want from a law school grad who gets stuck in an elevator her first week on the job?

New Day, New Job

Today I started my new job. I'm not an attorney yet. You have to be admitted to practice to be considered an attorney. I'm just a law school grad being paid to work as, basically, a law clerk. Which means conducting research, writing memos, doing grunt and shadowing real-life attorneys.

Of course, I didn't do any of that today. Today was a luxuriously slow-start to what I hope will be a busy career. Today we attended and participated in computer training. Which consisted of reviewing how to access, edit, and send documents which are all housed in a central computer. We ate lunch and listened to the firm's risk management presentation, which was a reminder of our professional responsibilities. Aside from not being able to call myself a lawyer yet, I am also forbidden from giving any legal advice to friends or family. Ever. About anything. Unless they are clients of the firm. So I can't help you with your divorce, write your will, or review your prenuptial. Sorry. But I can refer you to someone who can. I know. It's not the same thing.

Later we attended more computer training. We tried to access the firm's version of Instant Messenger, but alas we have been deactivated, so we were not able to. We were able to access the firm's legal files and figure out how to request case files. We also viewed a Welcome message from the firm's Managing Partner, which was short and to-the-point (he scores big points for brevity!). And we filled out some paperwork, most of which I was unsure of and took home (like my California withholding form suggests that I withhold seven exemptions-- I must have done it wrong, because I always withhold zero and still end up owing something at the end of each year!). Finally, we were sent off with our keycards and parking passes.

The most important decision I'll likely have to make in the next week is which gym to join. I'm already a member of 24 Hour Fitness, but I can't use the Sport clubs. The firm was offering a deal for something like $24/month with no sign-up fees for all clubs. There's one near the downtown office, but it's about 6 blocks away. Across the street from the firm is the Y, which was supposedly renovated in the winter of 2006. It gets mixed reviews, but it's only $38 for membership and a whole lot more convenient. Plus it has a towel service. For $77/month, my whole family can join and we can go to any YMCA, including the one closer to our home. This is tempting for obvious reasons. Finally is Pure Fitness, which is in the building. It's $59/month, but it has clean facilities, classes and exercise equipment outside (the down side of that being that people in higher-up floors can look out their windows and see you exercising), and an amazing locker room with towel service. Plus every treadmill has a personal DVD player (the ones at the Y do have individual TV screens, or so I hear). But the cardio room is cramped and a little musty. So do I go for the least expensive, least convenient option, or the most expensive and most convenient one? I really don't know. For now, I'm doing nothing. I'm going to try running at night or in the morning at home, like I have been, and see how that goes. But as winter fast approaches, I know that will get harder and harder to motivate myself to do.

Today's trainings were in one of our San Diego offices, but my personal office will be downtown, and tomorrow I get to find out exactly where my personal office space will be. There's some down-time in between training sessions tomorrow, so I'm hopeful I'll be able to hit up one of the senior associates or partners for some good old-fashioned work. I know, I know. There's plenty of time for work-- but geez, I'd like to not fall behind in billables my very first week. Plus tomorrow evening is a big wine and cheese shindig for the Lawyer's Club, which I'll be attending. I'm not a great schmoozer, so these social events with the larger legal community are hard for me to feel excited about. . .

Anyway, that's how things went. I was a little homesick my friends at my old job. I wonder what they did today. I bet they sat in a whole heck of a lot of meetings-- not unlike me, actually. But at least they had each other. Which isn't to say I don't have anybody. The other first year associates are actually fun people. But, you know, change is, well . . . different.

A Little of Everything in a Whole Lotta Words

I have taken a lot of pictures lately. And Casey has, too. Some quite artistic. But I won't be sharing any in this post because I'm afraid to download them to this computer. I've actually used up all the space on the C drive. I've never had that happen before. I didn't even know it was possible. But apparently it is, and I've done it. So this week Jason is helping me transfer everything over to a better computer with more capacity, and then I'll be able to add some photos.

The Bus
Casey started riding the bus. He takes it two mornings a week from the elementary school where he has speech therapy to the preschool he attends. He loves it. They walk him from his class out to the waiting bus, strap him into his seat belt, and then deliver him to his preschool teachers. Jason followed him the first day and took pictures, so I can't wait to upload them when I have more computer memory. I'm just happy he's so happy about taking the bus.

Marcie's Sleeping
I have written about Marcie's sleep issues more times than I care to count. Maybe even as often as I was writing about her bowel movements back during Poop Watch 2006. And the good news is that we appear to have trained her.

I wrote before that the crying was whittling down. Well as of around the 24th (maybe even before that, actually), there were no more tears at bedtime. She puts herself right to sleep. When she asks me to lay down with her, I tell her no very gently and remind her that I love her. She rolls over, sucks on her blanket, and puts herself to sleep. Every once in a while, she does still wake up in the middle of the night crying. Sometimes she wants me. Sometimes she wants Jason. Usually we just need to rub her back and let her know we're still there. We tell her to put herself back to sleep, and she does. Last night I heard her cry once, and then it stopped immediately. So she's definitely getting the routine.

I'm sure it helps some that she's so busy at school all day and so tired by the time we get home. I know I'm in a better mood. I can't believe I didn't suck it up and sleep train her sooner! I mean a girl could get used to sleeping more than 3 or 4 continuous hours of sleep a night!

Marcie and her Preschool
I continue to be impressed with Marcie's preschool teachers. She loved going the first couple days, but then the honeymoon ended. The first morning she told me, "No school," I tried to get her to tell me why (yup, that's me, trying to have a rational conversation with a 22-month-old). She didn't like my approach and went to Jason. He reminded her of all the fun things she gets to do at school, and she stopped fussing.

For a few days, she whined and cried as we pulled into the school parking lot. One morning she cried so hard, I'm sure I made it worse by sitting with her on the playground until she calmed down. When I finally left, she was really unhappy. But her teacher told me she stopped crying less than five minutes later and didn't complain the rest of the day.

I know she's still adjusting. It's been less than two weeks, and they say it takes 4-6 weeks for a two-year-old to adjust to being away from home, regardless of the number of days each week they attend. But she is definitely learning new things. And Casey's preschool teachers take him to visit her some days during lunch or play time. He stops by and gives her a hug and a kiss and says hi. And they play together in the afternoons. So that's all good.

She sure does come home dirty, though. One day I made the mistake of just putting a barrette in her hair, no rubber bands. She wore a white shirt, khaki skirt, and white tights. When I arrived to pick her up at the end of the day, she had dirt smudges and a little bit of juice stained around her mouth. She'd spilled juice and I-don't-know-what-else on the once-white shirt; the tights were no longer a white, but a shade of beige from the sandbox I presume; and the backside of her skirt looked like she'd been rolling around on the ground (and she probably had). Plus, her bangs were hanging down, obscuring the top half of her eyes. She looked like one of those children they feature in the ads where they want you to sponsor a child in a developing country by giving food money each month-- except Marcie, of course, doesn't look like she needs to eat. I wish I'd had my camera that day! Suffice it to say she is now in rubber bands always, and we're moving away from white clothes (what was I thinking?!? Casey hated getting even the littlest bit dirty at Marcie's age, so I guess I just thought all kids were like that. . . what a dummy).

Swimming
Casey's entering his sixth week of swimming lessons, and he's been doing-- well, swimmingly. He's mastered any fear of dunking his face. He knows how to make giant scoops with his arms, and he even tries kicking simultaneously. He does it for as long as he can hold his breath, then he stands up, waves to me, and does it again. He's also been working on his elementary back stroke, which cracks me up because I can hear him doing the motions. They've taught the kids that they should make arms like a chicken, then an airplane, then shoot their harms down against their sides like a rocket. So I can hear Casey going "Bock! Bock! Zoooooom! Kerpow!" over and over again as he makes the motions. He can't quite do anything on his own yet, but he's made definite improvements!

Music
Marcie started music class this week. As part of the class, we get a book and a CD of the music. Which the kids both love. If Casey's Sports of all Sorts (soccer, baseball, and basketball) didn't conflict, I'd enroll him, too! Their favorite song is about a duck. But earlier today I heard Casey singing Mary Had a Little Lamb. Except instead of "little lamb" he was singing, "Mary had a little man, little man, little man . . . and everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went; everywhere that Mary went, the man was sure to go." It brings new meaning to the word stalker. Anyway, I have some great pictures a friend took of Marcie in music class, but alas, they will have to wait until I can download on the new computer.

The Car
I did get my car back. The repair place did a great job. But part of the bumper appears to be coming loose, so we'll be taking it back in this week. I'm hopeful it's a one-day fixer so that we don't have to worry about renting again. But really, who knows.

Oddly, my one of my sisters-in-law had her car broken into the week before last and another sister--in-law was hit by a crazy driver who decided to make a left turn right into the front of her beautiful car. She's uninjured but the car may be totalled. We all have the same insurance company, so they must think the S. family is quite a risk to have on the books these days!

The New Job
And last is that I start my new job tomorrow. I don't really know what to expect. I mean, I interned there last summer, so I kind of know what to expect. But I'm quite certain that it'll be different from the summer experience, too. Check in tomorrow, and I'll try to remember to post how things went. (I've been scattered in posting because I finally went to the doctor and it turns out that the pain in my neck is not psychosomatic; I have had a month-long-muscle spasm. I was prescribed a muscle relaxant, but I can't stay awake on the stuff, so I take it when I put the kids to bed, and then I'm out like a light within the hour. . .)

Charmed Life

Last weekend I went away with a friend of mine to Big Bear to scrapbook Casey's Story and Marcie's Story. The books are an explanation of each my children's beginnings-- not your typical scrapbook. They tell how each of them came to become part of our family, and they share a little bit about the world from whence they came. They're written for Casey and Marcie to understand now, as a toddler and a preschooler. The scrapbooking weekend is a topic for another post in itself, but the road trip portion of it was interesting, and it's what motivates me to write this entry.

I was explaining to my friend (who rode with me) that sometimes I look around and see how other people lead what appear to me to be charmed lives. It's not that I'm ungrateful for the life I lead. I'm actually very happy with my life. But it's work, too. For example, I said, we got a $500 refund check from Marcie's adoption in the mail the same week that I was in the car accident and needed to pay the $500 deductible. I mean, it could be worse-- at least we had the money.

She inquired as to how I was defining charmed life. And that caused me great pause. Because I was thinking that people who live charmed lives are people to whom life seems to happen. They just always seem to be in the right place at the right time. Things work out for them. They never really seem to struggle. And my friend pointed out that my $500 check example could be seen as pretty charmed, then, couldn't it? And, of course, she's right.

So I decided to look up the definition of a charmed life. What I found was that Answers.com defines it as "a life that seems to have been protected by a charm or spell." And Dictionary.net explains it's a life that is protected by or invulnerable because of "spells, charms, or supernatural influences."

Now, I certainly do not believe any spell or charm or supernatural influence is keeping me or my family safe. But I suppose that leading a charmed life is as much about perspective as it is about anything. And perhaps I had the wrong perspective.

I mean, the $500 check is one example. But I can think of plenty of others, too. For instance, if we hadn't struggled with fertility issues, Casey probably wouldn't be our son. That's not to say we wouldn't have adopted children; I think we would have considered it eventually, regardless. But at that point in our lives, at the exact time that Casey was born, we wouldn't have been adopting. I wouldn't have left teaching, probably. I probably wouldn't have gone to law school, or run the Disneyworld marathon. I wouldn't have met some people whom I now consider to be my closest friends. Sure, I would have done other stuff, and I would have made other friends. But the point is that what felt like this horrible thing happening to me was such blessing in so many other ways.

Another example is the car accident. It could have been so much worse. I mean, like I wrote about before, the kids could have been with me. Or I could have totalled the car. Or someone could have really been hurt. This really hit home for me early this week when we learned that one of Casey's classmates lost his 36-year-old mother in a car accident. I mean, there I was talking to her on the playground last week. And this week she's gone. And her two-year-old probably will not have any actual memories of her mother. And her four-year-old's memories will be limited at best. No warning. No good-byes. Just there in the morning when the kids woke up and gone that evening when they were tucked in bed. And here I am irritated because I had to drive a crappy rental car for a month. I mean, if you're going to be in a car accident, one where there are no substantial injuries and no children present is the kind of accident to be involved in. So my point is that leading a charmed life isn't about never having struggles-- it's about how you face those challenges and how you choose to handle them.

So here I sit. My children tucked quietly in bed for the night. And I am ever-so-grateful for the life I lead. I work hard at it. But it doesn't make it any less charmed . . .

The Car and Other News

First, the good news. The car is not totalled. Not even close. It turns out the accident destroyed the radiator, a part of the air conditioning unit, and a fan in the engine. The most expensive pieces to repair are the air conditioning coolant system and the halogen headlights (at almost $250 a piece!). I don't even need new paint (isn't that crazy?!?) because the damage was to the bumper and to the latches holding the hood on (the hood didn't crumple). Anyway, I estimate I'll have our car back in about 3 1/2 weeks (I'm giving them a week of wiggle room there).

Second, the other news. Our preschool has been sold. I write our but I don't personally own it. I feel quite invested in it. This is only Casey's second year there, but we really researched which school would be best for him. And after the disaster of his first year of preschool (which I'd pretty much like to pretend never happened), we were picky. We wanted a place that was a neighborhood school. A real mom and pop kind of place. And Casey's preschool is just that. The owners live in the area. They opened the preschool more than 20 years ago because they couldn't find one they liked for their own daughter when she was 2. The curriculum is really impressive for pre-kindergarten. The teachers are nurturing. They are accommodating (for the most part). It's got diversity. It's just a good place. But the owners want to retire, and they've sold the place to Nobel, the people who own and run Discovery Isle. We got a letter today.

Here's what makes me mad about it all. We got a letter today. When we picked up our kids from school. Dated tomorrow. And they've posted signs that explain there will be an opportunity to meet the new owners and ask questions. Tomorrow. Between 11:45am and 1:00pm and again between 3:00pm and 5:00pm. Tomorrow. During work hours. Seriously? Less than 24 hours' notice? This does not bode well. I mean, I'm all for taking time off to go on field trips or volunteer. But couldn't they have done an evening question and answer? Or given me, oh, say a week's notice?

And I do have questions. They've said they will not change staffing. Will they change the curriculum to match the rest of their corporate-run schools? Will they raise prices to match their other location nearby (how could they not?)? Will they honor deals negotiated (like our discount for having multiple children attend)? Will they open the school to child care in addition to preschool, given that their other facilities in the area are open to 6-week-olds?

My biggest concern is that this will become one of those corporate places. The kind that's a day care with a little bit of preschool thrown in. Instead of preschool with a little bit of day care thrown in. And Casey has thrived at this school the way it is. If they change the curriculum, I think the change will be hard. And if they raise the prices, we'll have to go elsewhere. I don't know. I'm just not pleased with the idea of a "corporate" feel. So I guess we'll just have to wait and see. I mean, I know there are good places that are corporate. And Casey's teachers seem committed to sticking out the current school year. But I just really liked the small town feel of this particular school. Sigh.

So yeah. I'll be taking a long lunch tomorrow (and working a little late to make up for it) so that I can show up and ask my questions. I can't imagine they will be totally straight with us, though, especially when they are put on the spot. Mm Hm. I have great faith in corporate America, don't I? Them and politicians. That's who I always turn to when I want the complete truth of things.

The Car Accident

The lawyer-part-of-my-brain tells me not to write too much on this publicly, so I'm not going to go into any details. But I was in a car accident Friday on my way home from work. I'm fine. My neck was a little sore yesterday, but that's passed. My right ankle muscles feel a little pulled, too. But I imagine I'll be feeling good as new by Wednesday. Physically, anyway.

Thankfully, the kids were not with me. My airbag did not deploy. I was on my way home from work early, so I had time (and the presence of mind) to make sure they were picked up from their respective locations. Also fortunately, the body shop tow truck driver took pity on me to make one last stop, even though they were technically closed by the time he got the call. He dropped me off directly at the car rental place. The body shop owner was so worried about me and my car seats that she personally drove to the location of the accident just to make sure my "stuff" got to the car rental place before it closed. The claims adjuster was actually incredibly helpful (for now, at least). And I was able to pull to the side of the freeway, so I didn't impact the Friday afternoon commuters. Mostly, though, like I said before I'm grateful the kids were not with me. And that our insurance covers a car rental (a lesson I learned about 8 years ago when my car was vandalized).

So the kids understand that the black car is broken. I don't know or understand the extent of the damage yet. The tow truck driver seems to think the company might total the car. If that's the case, I just wish I were driving our 2001 vehicle (the one we own outright) and not our 2004 vehicle (for which we are still paying). Darnit.

Casey has already requested we get a mini van if we have to get a new car. Where do kids get these things?

I feel pretty terrible about it all. Terrible enough that I didn't even complain when our air mattress deflated early in the evening last night and I was stuck sleeping, essentially, on the hard ground. The kids both had inflated mattresses, of course. Oh. Did I mention we went camping in the backyard last night? The kids did great. I'll post pictures later.

So, that's what's been going on. If you feel so inclined to tell about your own personal car accident misery, feel free. Might make me feel better.

Beaten to Bloody Pulp

Ok. So I'm exaggerating, I admit it. But really, I'm thinking that if I were a full-time, permanent stay-at-home-mom, I'd be in pretty poor physical shape. Not for lack of exercise (though that may be true, too), but because I'm insanely accident prone.

In Ohio somehow I landed a monstrous bruise on the underside of my left arm. It didn't hurt right away, so I'm not sure how I got it-- though my guess is that I got kicked on one of the water slides. At least I protected Marcie from that injury, since she was on my lap when it happened (a guess, I realize, but she was on my lap every time I went on a slide, so a pretty reasonable one).

Last week, I was trying to get the kids to stop running in circles around the first floor. As one of them came careening through the dining room, and around a corner of the kitchen, I bent over to stop her before she smashed into the counter top. Once I stopped both the kids, I stood straight up-- and smacked my own head on the corner of the counter top. Yup. Another bruise-- this time on the right side of my head.

Then when we went to Carowinds earlier this week, Marcie started to freak out a little while we were waiting for them to start the carousel moving. My dad was stationed next to Casey who was on a horse that was immobile, but Marcie likes the horses that go up and down. To calm her, I decided to launch myself up onto the horse behind her. In doing so, I managed to swing my right shin directly into the horses tail. Literally. The knot and bruise were immediate. And ugly.

Yesterday we took the kids to Monkey Joe's, which is a giant warehouse full of bouncy houses. I had Marcie on my lap going down a slide. I realized about halfway down that Casey wasn't going to get out of the way despite my yelling, so I shifted my weight over to my left side to avoid kicking him the head. The skin near my left elbow slowed me (and Marcie) down, keeping Casey from harm. My arm on the other hand has some painful rubber burn (which is just like road rash) as a result. Ouch.

Sigh. At least I haven't fallen down the stairs here. Of course, I'm not gone yet . . .

Eaten Alive

At least that's how it feels. Apparently I have delicious skin. Mmmm. Yummm. A couple mornings ago, it was cool enough to go outside and play in the yard. It was shaded. The kids were having a blast. And then I felt a bit itchy on my calf. A minute or so later, I looked at my hand and caught a mosquito biting me. I got rid of it, but not before it bit me, dangit.

The kids didn't seem bothered, so I went inside and used bug repellent wipes and went on my merry way. I smelled like summer camp (apparently I used bug spray a lot at camp growing up) the rest of the day, but the bugs left me alone.

The next morning, I opted not to venture into the yard, leaving my parents and my friend to contend with the four kids on their own. I stood on the screened-in back porch and waved to them. . .

Apparently my absence led to a new victim. Poor Marcie. I don't think they are mosquito bites because she's not really scratching, but she has maybe half a dozen on her legs and arms. And one on her face. Right to the side of her eye. I know not to use Deet on them, and I know Cutter is supposed to be safer for kids. But instead, I'm opting to keep them out of the grass and woodsy areas for the rest of our trip (which is only a couple more days).

I'm just chalking this up to one more good reason to live in Southern California . . .