Jiminy Jones Gets a Haircut

Yes, it's been an incredibly long time since I last posted. Almost a month. I don't think I've ever gone so long without blogging. It's just that I don't blog at work and I'm so exhausted after we put the kids to bed, I don't typically get back on the computer. Excuses, excuses. But here I am. And I'll be updating with more regularity in the near future. So on to the story of Jiminy Jones.

A couple weeks ago I was working and Jason was home with the kids. Late on Saturday night, when plopped myself down in the chair next to Jason, he began to recount his day with the kids. He told me how Casey really wanted this book he'd read in school called Jiminy Jones Gets a Haircut. Jason told me that he'd taken Casey to the book store, and he'd searched for the book. The closest he could come up with, though, was Jimmy Brown Cuts His Hair. It was published some time during or before the 1950s (I don't remember the actual date anymore). Jason didn't buy it, opting instead to wait until Monday when he could ask Casey's teachers for the correct book title.

Proud of my son's love of books, the wheels in my head began to churn a bit. Before I left for work Sunday morning, I asked Casey about the book:

Was it Jimmy Jones, Casey?
No.
Was it Jeremy Jones, Casey?
No.
Is Jiminy a boy or a girl, Casey?
A girl, Mommy! You're silly!

Jiminy Jones - - - hmm. What name could that be? Have you figured it out yet? Well, the title of the book Casey wanted was Junie B. Jones is a Beauty Parlor Guy. It is, in fact, a book about a little girl named Junie B. Jones who gives herself a bad haircut and has to have it repaired at a beauty parlor. So even if he got the title completely wrong, there's no doubt he knew exactly what he was talking about!

He's been sleeping with the book ever since. I'm not exaggerating. He wrote his name on it. Three times. In permanent marker. I've had to tape the cover back on the paperback. And tape together the first 5 pages because they pulled from the binding. It has to be the most well-worn book I have ever seen. And I've seen a lot of well-worn books.

Well, Casey was sent home from school today with a fever. So I picked up the Junie B. Jones Second Box Set Ever! (books 5 through 8). He loves it. He's been practicing taking the books out of the box and putting them away. He's written his name on the cover of each one. He's even made up titles for each book based on the cover art. Really, what' s not to love? The protagonist of the book is a kindergartner named Junie B., and the voice is the voice of your typical five or six-year-old. Poor grammar and all. (As a side note, Casey is already looking forward to starting Keekergarten next year -- I love listening to him say it!)

He's asleep now. But I imagine those books will be getting a lot of love tomorrow when he's home from school again . . .

Near Death Experiences in Suburbia

Poor Jason. This weekend I had to go into work. This left Jason alone with the kids for a pool party Sunday. I thought this meant parents in the pool with the kids. Nope. But I'll get to that.

Jason took the kids to Walmart to pick out a present for the birthday boy. Marcie was sitting in the seat portion of the cart, but she was turned sideways in it. Casey decided to climb up the side Marcie's back was to. This is not an uncommon thing for him to do-- we let him do it while we're pushing the cart in the grocery store all the time. But apparently Walmart carts are much more flimsy because Casey was able to yank on the cart as he climbed up it and pull the cart over on its side. With Marcie in it. Casey managed to get out of the way. But not Marcie.

She landed on her back with the cart on top of her. And when it happened, the clerk screamed just before the cart rolled. Jason reached out to try and stop it, but in super slow motion, his hand just barely missed the edge of the shopping cart as it tipped. And then there was silence. Deafening, ear-splitting silence. And a single thought ran through Jason's mind: "OHMYGOD. Casey may have just killed his sister."

And then out of the deafening silence came the most beautiful and awful sound. Marcie began to scream. And in a flash, the world began moving in fast forward, with three Walmart employees on top of Jason at once, and Jason trying to calm Marcie down. Of course, I wasn't there for any of this-- this has just been relayed to me.

There's quite a knot on her head, but Marcie is fine. No dilated pupils. No sleepiness. No vomiting. And the girl is coherent and chatty as ever.

So off to the birthday party, now late, they went. By the time they arrived, swimming had ended. This didn't stop Casey from dipping his feet in the pool with enough insistence that the birthday boy's mother finally told Casey he could go in. And all the kids in their swimsuits jumped in, too. The pool was set up with sort of a shelf as a shallow section, and then a dramatic and sudden drop-off to the deep end.

Jason watched Casey as he played on the shallow shelf part of the pool. And Casey played contentedly. Until he floated toward the drop-off and, well, dropped off. Initially he began doggy-paddling and flailing. Let's call it a panic, because that's what it was. Jason watched as Casey attempted to get to safety. But went the wrong way. Soon, Casey was in the middle of the deep end, and the birthday boy's dad and Jason were just about to leap in, when in a moment's time, Casey stopped flailing, put his head under the water, and swam. To the shallow end. By himself. Safe.

It was pretty frightening, but I guess those swim lessons sort of paid off. Later, I told Casey how proud of him I was. And I asked him how he felt. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "I was scared, Mommy," he explained. Then he held out his hand and pinched his pointer finger together with his thumb. "Just a little bit scared, I think," he repeated. "Yup, just a little bit."

Whew! What a day. I think Jason deserves a medal just for surviving it.

Wiggles

Last week we endured a Wiggles concert. Actually, it wasn't that bad. Casey and Marcie said they had a good time. And Casey has been watching the Wiggles with a new sense of interest ever since. They played all our favorites. We had amazing seats thanks to our friend Keely who sat on the computer clicking the buttons until she got the ones we wanted.


Here are a couple snap shots:

Casey shouting "WAKE UP, JEFF!" Jeff woke up. Casey was pleased.

This was Marcie's expression during a lot of the show-- you couldn't tell if she was scared out of her mind or just surprised. I'm not sure she knew. As a side note, the school sent her home in underwear that day, and we didn't realize it until we were in our seats. She did a fantastic job staying dry, even though it meant me trekking her up the steep, steep stairs twice to go to the bathroom. I had to carry her part of the way, and boy did I get a work out.

There were these two young women at the concert, on the floor, who caught our attention. They appeared to be at the concert without children. Let me repeat that. Without children. None of their own. No younger siblings. No one they were babysitting. They were actual Wiggles groupies. And the weirder thing? They didn't stick around after the concert to try and hook up with any of the Wiggles. Jason walked near them back to the car, and overheard their conversation about the newest Wiggle, Sam (who replaced Greg at the concert). Weird.

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.

Blue Screens Galore

Last week or the week before I downloaded a This American Life story on my i-tunes at work. I'd planned to sync it to my i-pod and take it with me to the gym or for a walk. Instead, I got this awful error message that asked me to restore my i-pod. Which meant I wiped my little Nano clean. And after I did so, it never synced again. Each time I restored and then followed the instructions, it would recycle back to the message telling me a horrible error had occurred and I needed to restore the i-pod.

So I gave up and decided to wait until I got my precious Dell laptop back. I'd loaned it to my friend, whose own Dell was a little less than reliable, so that she could use it to take the bar exam.

This morning, I decided to boot up my Dell and plug in the i-pod to see if the damage would magically get undone.

Instead, not thirty seconds after booting up, I got a blue screen telling me something was terribly wrong with my laptop and I needed to shut down immediately. I repeated this process three times. Then I went and dragged Jason out of bed. He had the same experience. So he worked his magic for a while and then asked me about a bunch of applications on the computer and whether I'd installed them. I don't really install anything on my computer on purpose. And so we quietly cursed my friend. We talked about un-installing the exam software she used to take the bar, blaming that as blue-screening the computer. Which of course didn't make sense because I'd had the exact same software on this very computer for the past three years.

In the end, it turned out it was our wireless connection. Once we dis-enabled the laptop wireless, the computer began functioning just fine. And so I feel a little badly about blaming my friend. I wasn't even mad at her. Just mad at the not knowing what happened.

But the computer trouble didn't end there. Oh no. Because then I decided to see if I could get my i-pod functioning again. The thing is that I'm not particularly technological. And Jason is. And so I pretty much rely on him to fix anything computer related. And I think that really irritates him. But he's so much better about trouble-shooting. At one point he turned to me and said, "Why is it that you have three degrees and you can't figure this out? Why do you think my one computer science degree means I can fix anything?"

My response? "It doesn't? I think a single degree in the computer science trumps English, Spanish, Education, and Law degrees when it comes to things computer related, don't you?"

He grumbled.

"Well, you could at least tell me how you would approach solving the problem-- tell me where you'd find the solution. How you'd figure out how to fix it."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd google it," he replied.

"Well, you're at the computer now. Can't you fix it?"

A heavy sigh later, and I decided it'd be best if I just left him alone. So I went off to change so I could go for a light job. Jason following not long after and sheepishly admitted: "I turns out it's not you after all. It really is the i-pod. I think it's gone."

And then he disappeared. And when I returned from my jog, my miracle-worker husband had unlocked the key to the i-pod mystery. He fixed it. And I have all my music back. And I have my This American Life story back. And I've vowed never to plug my i-pod in to the i-tunes at work.

So here I sit, typing away on my beloved Dell laptop, i-pod charging next to me. And I'm a happy girl.

Happy Easter

Sorry for the delayed post. I was feeling weird about downloading all the photos to my work computer. I got over it. Then I couldn't find the card reader. But I found an alternative solution (obviously). I wish the light were better in Jason's face, but I think it's a good photo. The kids picked out their own outfits. . .

We started the morning by checking out what the Easter Bunny had done:

As you can see from this photo, the Easter Bunny drank the chocolate soy milk, ate most of the carrots, and even ate the two colored, hard-boiled eggs the kids left for him. He was kind enough to leave his egg peel trash in the bowl for easy clean-up. In return, the Bunny left each kid a basket filled with goodies. Fortunately, as I explained to Casey and Marcie in advance, I wrote the Bunny a letter this year and asked him not to bring too much candy. All that sugar just isn't good for their teeth or their moods. So the kids weren't expecting much candy. What they got was better than candy. They each got a pair of shoes (Casey finally got his beloved N shoes, which I've written about before. They are yellow and black "with no ripping," just like Casey said). They both got a monkey cup with matching tumbler and four dry erase markers. They both got two peanut butter eggs (which I ate because they didn't like them!). Marcie got markers and a pad of paper. And Casey got 101 Dalmations. The Bunny obviously thinks our kids our great because he even left them stuff at Grandma and Grandpa's house, too.

After pulling everything out of their baskets, the kids posed for a photo opportunity:

I must admit, this is probably one of my all-time favorite pictures of the kids. Even though it's out of focus and blurry because of their activity. I mean, they are literally posing. How can you not find that funny? After they posed, they ran off to watch the beginning of 101 Dalmations.

Then, we went to church, where the kids were unusually well-behaved.

Marcie insisted on wearing her new, pearl pink Crocs. The kids mainly entertained themselves with Cheerios, and books, which they read out loud. It wasn't too distracting. I had to laugh, though, when they each held up the books teacher-style, as if showing the pictures to the class. The "class" was the row in front of them, the backs of people. But they didn't seem to mind, and their activities were keeping them quiet enough that I could actually hear the priest speak. Too bad what he had to say wasn't so impressive. But that's another story.

After church, we let the kids get some donuts and juice, and we headed home. I threw our ribeye roast in the oven, while the kids finished decorating our traditional Easter Bunny cake. This year, we decided on chocolate cake for a white bunny with a brown bow tie. The ears are a little lopsided. I think this bunny is just tilting its head:

The jelly beans above the bunny's eyes are hair, according to Casey. And if you're wondering, our kids don't actually eat the jelly beans. In fact, this year, they each got one piece and the remaining bunny went to my office so everyone else could enjoy the sweets.

While our roast was, uh, roasting, the kids convinced us to take them to the park. It's at the end of our street, and Casey asked to ride his bike. So we let him give it a try:

He actually did a great job using his brakes. And the most impressive part is that he actually rode the bike all the way home-- even though we live at the top of a hill! It's time to get him a real bike, and I think Marcie will be pleased when she inherits this one.

After about 40 minutes at the park, we returned home for lunch. Mmm. Ribeye roast, mashed potatoes and broccoli. Plus sparking apple cider (which I refer to as "apple soda"). The kids tried lemonade for the first time, which in retrospect was probably a mistake. But I can't undo it now.

The kids were ready to nap right after lunch. Actually, Casey asked to nap during lunch, then returned to the table saying he couldn't sleep. He didn't end up napping; he just read books to himself in bed (and I use the word "read" loosely, of course). After Marcie was finished napping, we completed our family egg hunt. The backyard is undergoing a renovation of sorts, and it's covered in black tarp instead of grass, which is why we conducted the egg hunt in the front yard:

We don't use actual eggs in our hunt, because I have this fear one will be left behind and will stink up the yard. So this year I filled the plastic eggs with dark chocolate almond MnMs (blech) and stickers. Casey got probably two or three times as many as Marcie, but it doesn't matter because we pool the Easter goods. We dumped all the candy into a quart-sized ziplock, and the kids will get 4-5 for dessert each day this week, and then we'll tell them they're all gone. Even though they will either be hidden on top of the fridge or thrown out (in which case I suppose technically they are all gone). Thankfully, they don't really have a concept of portions and amounts, so they will take us at our word and we won't have to fight with them about why we don't want them having so much candy. But I digress.


After our egg hunt, we headed off to Jason's parents, where his dad prepared a delicious ham meal. Marcie's Godmother "Aunty Tiffy" and her fiance were there, which was fun for me because I had someone to chit chat with. Mostly we talked about weddings and Jessica and Jon's baby (that's Jason's other sister and her husband). We're so excited to add another child to the family.


And that was our Easter. It was lovely. Low key. Beautiful weather. Family. What more could you ask for, really?


I hope your weekend was as relaxing and enjoyable as ours. Whether or not you celebrated Easter.

Oh. And to my friend Alison who I know reads my blog, good luck on the interview. I know you'll rock it. And to the rest of you-- please keep my friend Alison in your happy thoughts. She has a job interview Thursday for a position that she really wants. I know she doesn't need our wishes of good luck, but it always feels nice anyway, doesn't it?

Boy-Licious

So it turns out there's a baby boom going on around me right now. And it's mostly boys.

After hearing my friend Lisa's good news that she'll be arriving in China on April 10th to meet her new little girl, I also got the news that my sister-in-law is having a boy. And that Casey's teacher is having a boy. And that one of the teachers in Marcie's area of the school is having a boy. And now one of my good friends, who was pretty sure she was going to have another girl because that's what she'd mostly planned for, has learned she, too, is having a boy.

I'm so happy for all of them. Parenting Marcie has been very different than parenting Casey. She so communicative. And much less rambunctious. I have this theory that boys are "easier" when they're older (puberty and beyond), and girls make for more stable toddler and preschool years. I know there are exceptions to this, but it's what I think. So when we had Casey first, I thought, "Yay. Let's get all the tough stuff over with while we're young and can move quickly." That's the advantage of boys. We'll see. I've probably just totally jinxed myself.

A Little of This, A Little of That

A few of you have written to me to inquire as to my well-being. Thank you. It's so thoughtful! I am, indeed, alive and kickin'. I don't really have any great excuse for my lack of blogging. A few weeks ago, Jason's computer bit the dust. "Not to worry," I told him. "You can just switch over mine and use it. I can do work on my work laptop."

So that's what he did. And all was right with the world. For about a week. Then one afternoon in the study, there was a POP and the smell of an electric fire. My computer had crashed, too. Jason figured out the problem and resolved it. But I'm still without a home-computer. And I feel weird about using my work computer to blog. Even though I'm not on the work system. I'll be getting my personal laptop back soon. But I'm sure I'll come with another excuse for not blogging.

In the meantime, life's just been plodding along. We sure do manage to keep ourselves busy. We're in the midst of a yard re-landscaping. Sort of. Jason has managed to dig up the weeds from the side yard and the back yard and lay down plastic to make sure everything dies before we dig it all out so we can put in the new stuff.

This means I get to do the really fun stuff with the kids while Jason's out working in the yard. For instance, last weekend after music class I took Marcie to this fancy third birthday party for a little girl in her class. Then, right after I walked in the door, Jason put Marcie down for a nap, and I walked right out the door with Casey. We went to see Horton Hears a Who, during which I fell asleep. I know this because at one point, Casey asked me if I was okay. At least he didn't wander off in the theater while I cat-napped.

On Sunday, we went for a walk to our local Original Pancake House, where Casey proceeded to practically inhale five pancakes. I can't even eat that many pancakes!

Also going on is our toilet training experiment with Marcie. And I think experiment is really the right word for it. Marcie has been trying. But I'm not sure that's good enough. There's really no trying-- there is or there isn't. At least when it comes to toilet training. I mean, she's either going in her pants or she's going in the toilet. There's really no in-between there. And when she's having a good day, she's having a very good day. Like the day we went to the zoo. No accidents. Not even in the car. Not even though she fell asleep on the way home. But if I don't force her to sit on the toilet every hour, well, it can be disastrous. And the thing is, the poor girl tries to clean up after herself! This morning, for instance, after she pooped in her little potty, she tried to pour it into the toilet, but it got on her hands and arms, then she stepped in some. Then she walked all over the house. Anyway, I think you get the idea.

So that's where things are. nothing spectacular. Just another couple regular ole weeks.

But Easter is coming. And the rumor is the Easter Bunny is visiting the kids at our house and at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Talk about spoiled. I'll post pictures. I promise.

Smiles All Around

This has been a week of smileyness. I don't think it's a word. But that's okay.

On Tuesday, good friends of ours who started their adoption paperwork not long after we did finally received their referral after a 27-month wait. They'll be traveling to China to pick up their daughter in April. And their daughter is from Chongqing, just like Marcie! She's also enormous, just like Marcie. And by enormous, I mean 17 pounds at 7 months. Off the Chinese charts.

On Wednesday, our kids visited the dentist. It was Casey's third time, but Marcie's first. Casey did a fantastic job letting them take x-rays and sitting still, mouth wide open for the polishing. The hygienist said he was her best behaved patient of the day! The dentist was impressed by the cleanliness of Casey's teeth, and the receptionist seemed surprised that we were walking out the door with two cavity-free children!

Marcie didn't appreciate the dentist experience as much as Casey did. She pretty much screamed tearfully the whole time he was looking in her mouth. Fortunately, screaming forces her mouth open, and that made his job relatively easy. I mean except for the noise and the wiggliness.

After we got home, I took the kids for a walk. At first I thought it was odd that so many people were smiling and laughing as they drove by. Especially male drivers. Then I remembered what Casey was wearing:

He's been wearing this costume in all his non-school time since it arrived on Tuesday (as a reward for 20 good behavior stickers). Even to bed (sans cape because we have a no-cape-to-bed rule-- too easy to get wrapped up and choked up in it). Glad I could provide the neighborhood some cheer.

And then today, we got word that our newest arrival (coming this July or August) will be a nephew. I already knew this unofficially because Jason has this uncanny knack for guessing a child's gender in utero before the 16-week ultra sound, and last week he offhandedly (and unintentionally) referred to the baby as a he. But today's phone call from Jason's sister confirmed it-- it's a boy. So that leaves Marcie with six male cousins. I think it's high time a family member produces a girl around here! Regardless of gender, we're looking forward to welcoming another S. child into the extended family fold. . .

Supermarket Club Membership

Today I joined a club I'd hoped I'd live to never, ever join. Yet, as I stood in the aisle of our local Albertsons, feeling testy, I heard myself say it: "Casey, I'm going to count to three, and if you don't get over here by the time I get to three, we will just leave. One . . . Two . . . Three. " Then complete panic.

Of course I left. I toted Marcie over to the front end manager, who I am confident recognized me. I explained that one of my kids was being difficult and that I'd left my half filled cart next to the grapes. I failed to mention that I lived less than five minutes away and that I'd be back momentarily to finish the shopping. Fortunately, he read my mind. Because after I deposited Casey into his bedroom in a five minute time out and reminded him that I placed him there, not his dad, I returned to the grocery store. Where my cart was still parked right next to the grapes, where I'd left it.

Today's supermarket meltdown was not entirely Casey's fault, of course. A series of mistakes led to it. But it was mostly his fault. Here's how the day went:

1:00 pm the kids went down for a nap after kissing Aunt Megan, Uncle Timour and Grandma good-bye and thanking them for their visit.

1:05 pm Megan, my mom and I headed to Target to get some shoes. While there, I saw some shoes I knew Marcie wanted, so I picked them off the shelf to purchase for her. But at the check stand, my mom insisted she pay. And who was I to argue.

Fast-forward to 3:00 pm, when I woke up both kids from their naps. In an attempt to give Marcie some special attention because Casey is always getting stuff, I made mistake #1:

Me: Marcie, look at these special shoes Grandma bought for you. Let's try them on and make sure they fit.
Marcie: (cooing)
Casey: What did Grandma get for me? Did she get me shoes?
Me: Uh. . . well, Casey, Grandma knows you have lots of shoes and she didn't want to pick out something you already had or wouldn't like, so she asked me to go get some shoe with you from her. Would you like to do that?

Now what was I thinking? Why did I ever mention my mom paid for them? Why promise Casey shoes anyway? But the damage had been done because Casey knew after his snack that we were going to pick out some more new shoes for him.

Then it happened. Mistake #2:

Me: Okay, Casey, let' s go see what Target has.
Casey: I want N shoes.
Me: What are N shoes?
Casey: N SHOES, MOMMY.
Jason: But what are they, Casey?
Casey: I told you already. They are N shoes.
Me: Do they have them at Target? Can you show us?
Casey nods his head yes.

WHY didn't I insist he show me on the computer or on TV before we headed to Target? Why didn't I insist that he had to pick from the Target selection no matter what before we'd even left the house?

Well, I didn't. So off to Target we went. And they didn't have the N shoes he wanted, whatever those are. And then came Mistake #3-- going to a different shoe store.

And while at the different shoe store, we found shoes with an N on them (New Balance), but I could tell it wasn't what Casey wanted. And as the minutes passed, poor Casey grew more and more desperate to find shoes-- any shoes. He just didn't want to leave empty-handed. Why didn't I see that coming?

[And as a side note, we had a weird interaction with the sales woman in the shoe store-- who first saw me with Marcie, pleasantly let me and the kids know she could help us if we needed anything, and then noticed Jason come up behind me. She commented to us: "Oh, now I see where she gets it. Wow. She looks JUST like her dad, doesn't she? That's amazing! I have four kids and two of mine look just like me and two look just like my husband. It's the same." We didn't say anything. We just smiled. Because we didn't quite know what else to do. I mean, she sounded relieved and that made me feel uncomfortable because what does she care if we all "match" or not.]

And finally came Mistake #4. After we returned home, which we were able to do only because we practically dragged a sobbing Casey out of the shoe store, I told Casey he could stay home with Jason or come grocery shopping with me. Both Casey and Marcie opted for the grocery store. But once we pulled into a parking spot at the store, Casey began to whimper that he'd wanted to go to a different shoe store. I explained that we'd have to wait on the shoes, but that he could help me put stuff in the grocery cart.

Of course the shopping wasn't enough to occupy Casey. He took control of the cart when my back was to him, pulling something off a shelf, and he rammed the cart (and consequently Marcie's hand) into the shelf. I was fuming. Marcie was wailing. And Casey was running. When I finally caught up to him and put him in a time-out near sitting on the shelf beneath all the gift cards, he began pulling cards off their little racks. An elderly man walked by and commented to Casey, "Mind your mother," which caused Casey to spit at me. And things just went down hill from there.

So in the end, the shopping got done, Casey got over his disappointment, and things have calmed down. As I type this, Casey is hanging over the arm of the chair in which I'm sitting. He just leaned in to me and said, "I'm sorry for pushing Marcie and hurting her at the store." And he gave me a kiss. And he just asked me what I'm doing because he's recognized his name twice and Marcie's, too, and he wants to know why I'm typing letters that are their names. It sure is hard to stay mad for long around here. . .

Ah, Stereotypes

Is this funny? I know, sad I have to ask. I kind of think it's funny. But then I remember that shirt adoption is the new black, and I know people who were amused by it, but I didn't think it was amusing at. all. Perhaps I don't have a sense of humor about the right things.

Anyway, I got an e-mail from one of my sisters in law, who happens to be Asian (as in, from the continent of Asia-- it's an intentionally ambiguous ethnic descripter). I think it's hil-ar-i-ous. Jason thought it was funny. And so I'm going to share. . . I was wondering if Marcie would think it was funny, too, because she is Chinese. But then I realized that her interaction with stereotypical Asian families will really be kind of limited to other families because, well, I'm not Asian, and the majority of her extended family isn't either. Then again, I'm not Asian, and I think it's amusing.

Ok, enough of a build-up. Here goes:
Top Ten Reasons Why There Won't Be an Asian President Any Time Soon:

10. White House not big enough for in-laws
9. Engineering, medicine, and law always preferred over politics
8. Oval Office has bad feng shui
7. Can't find decent roast duck inside the beltway
6. Secret service can't handle nagging from mother
5. Dignitaries generally intmidated by chopsticks at state dinners
4. No chance for promotion
3. Lactose intolerance not considered politically correct
2. Senior aides won't take off shoes before coming in
1. Air Force One: No frequent flyer miles

And while we're on the topic of stereotyping, Jason added a number 11 to the list:

11. Job does not require math

Yeah. Even typing it in, I still think it's funny and not offensive. What do you think?

Car Horns

Each Sunday, a group of protesters collects on the corner of our local Target and Albertson's shopping center corner, holding up signs calling for the end of the war and a recall of our troops. They don't shout. They don't even disrupt traffic. They just share their thoughts on giant poster boards.

Each Sunday as we drive by, I comment to Jason that he should join them the following Sunday. He usually acknowledges my suggestion with a nod and a grunt, and that's the end of it. We both know he probably won't. Not because he doesn't feel strongly enough-- he's very well read on the war (and has actually even read the Iraq Report). But more because Sunday at noon is a time for family.

Each Sunday, while passing the group of war protesters, Jason honks the car horn in support.

But it's been a couple weeks since Casey was awake during our drive past the protesters. (And as a side note, I'm pretty impressed this small collection of people protests this way each week because San Diego generally is a very pro-military, and perhaps more significantly a very pro-defense-contractor town.) So this Sunday, as we drove past, Casey participated in our ritual. And made us laugh.

As we drove past, I made my weekly comment, and Jason grunted and nodded at me, and beep-beep-beeped the horn in support of the poster board carriers. And Casey, from the back seat, shouted out: "YOU CRAZY DRIVER! GET OFF THE ROAD! LEARN HOW TO DRIVE!"

And Jason and I burst into laughter. We talked over each other to explain to Casey that the horn was not an admonition (no, we didn't use that word with our five-year-old), but a honking of support for the people standing outside with the signs. Alas, it was lost on him. Casey looked me square in the eye, after I'd finished saying my part, and said, "Yeah, Mom. Crazy drivers," and shook his head in exasperation, as he must have seen us do a million times.

Now I'm not much of a horn-user. And I'm not much of a yeller. So where do you think he got it from? I'm not pointing fingers or anything . . .

DELINDAWATCH 2008

This week I am sponsoring DELINDAWATCH 2008: The February California Bar Exam.

It's simple, really. It's named for a good friend of mine whose name is, if you can imagine, Delinda. You can read about her (and her bar exam plight) at Life After Law School, which is a blog favorite of mine.

You see, Delinda is a good friend of mine who did not pass the July 2007 bar exam, through no fault of her own, I might add. Because she studied like a fiend, I tell you. And I know. Because I was there. And her bar results shocked and stunned me. Not as much as they did to her, but stunning I was nonetheless.

But Delinda is a fighter. And she knew that she'd be able to rock the exam if she took it again. And so began her studying. Which she did while working full time. And part time. Yup. Two jobs. And that doesn't count babysitting gigs, which she did on the side. After all, sans license to practice, the earnings aren't so good. Even with a law degree and a master's degree in tax law.

But like I said, Delinda's a real fighter. I've been having dinner with her every other week. I consider my meals my meager contribution to staving off the starvation-induced studying that often accompanies preparing for the bar exam. I could make sure she had at least one real meal every other week. Not much. But something.

And Delinda's been in good spirits. That's not to say she's not bitter. I don't know how anyone could barely not pass and not be bitter. But she's used her anger and turned it on those bar examiners. Because she's a fighter.

So this week is the February Bar Exam. And Delinda is prepared. Dare I say more prepared than we were this summer. She knows her stuff. And she knows she knows it. But I think some people are worried that contacting her to check in and seeing how she's doing and how the exam is going will stress her out. So I am hosting DELINDAWATCH as the liaison to the outside world from the inside world of the February bar.

This morning was the first day of essays. There were three. I am not indicating the topics here in case there are bar-takers who are on an accommodation of kind and haven't finished all three essays yet. When I saw Delinda for lunch, as I will each day of the bar exam, she sounded good. Like she knew she rocked the exam. Because I'm sure she did. She didn't eat much of her salad, though I did chide her into some Pringles (pizza flavored) and a coupla thin mint cookies (compliments of a co-worker who left them for us all to share). And she looked a little tired. But none of that matters. Because she was in good spirits.

I haven't checked back in with her this evening, but I will on my drive home from work. And I expect a glowing report of how easy the performance test portion of the exam was this afternoon. And a promise of a good night's rest before the six hours of multiple choice questions tomorrow.

If you believe in prayer, say a little one for Delinda tonight. Not that she kicks butt on the test. I think she will anyway. But that she has the grace to handle whatever the exam might throw her way. . .

Midnight Blogging

Okay, so the title of this post is a bit of a misnomer, given that it's 3:15 am as I write. I had planned to post about preschooler sleep issues. But instead I have discovered that it's me. I'm the one who has trouble. At least tonight.

Lately Casey has been waking up in the 5:00 am time range. It's still dark. And it's much too early. We've tried sending him back to bed. He refuses. We've tried letting him just get up and play. But he gets into stuff, especially now that he knows how to open the baby locks in the kitchen. We've tried telling him not to get up before his clock says 6:00. But then he thinks any time he sees the number six, he's complying. I've tried covering the second two digits on the clock, but he's uncovered it.

So what to do? I mean short of locking him in his room, of course. He'd crawl over a gate (or figure out how to open it).

And this begs the question, I think-- will we ever resume any sort of normal sleep pattern? When we decided to become parents, people warned us about all sorts of things. And sleeplessness was one of them. But we thought that would last the first couple years. Not five. And truth be told, Casey has, up until now been a really good sleeper. Still, I can't help but wonder if we could be improving this 5-ish wake-up call time.

Any thoughts?

Arteest

I found this photo when I downloaded them after the wedding trip. I think Casey must have snagged the camera when I was in the bathroom and snapped this shot of Jason and Marcie. The only thing that would have made it better is if their feet were bare. But apparently Casey has an eye for photographic art. That's m'boy.

Road Tripping

I thought our trip up to Oxnard was a fluke because of its length. But it turns out our kids are just not that good in cars. Marcie in particular. She doesn't like to watch movies. Casey prefers movies to music.


We felt a little badly about piling up the van and leaving Sunday morning because the families had invited us to a "Day After" lunch at the beach house. We knew the kids would love the beach house, and we caught a tiny bit of flack from the groom's family when we said we weren't planning to attend. They had made the same drive, and they also had kids (though a bit older). The thing is, their kids are not our kids, and our kids needed to get home before naptime if we were going to get back on routine. And our kids fall apart if their routine does. So as much as we wanted to go to lunch, we knew it would be better for our kids not to.


Thing started out fun. Marcie played with my beautiful boquet. Casey colored. We stopped for gas as we left town, started a movie, and hit the road.


All went well enough for a long stretch. The first 20 minutes seemed to fly by-- mainly because that same stretch of road took us around an hour and a half to complete two days before. And there were bunches of traffic here and there, but we were never completely stopped. About an hour and a half into the ride, Marcie started crying and screaming that she wanted to listen to music. We gave in, promising that if she stopped crying, we'd turn on music. Then begged Casey to agree. And it worked.


We listened to music for a while, then told Marcie it was Casey's turn to watch some of his movie. She was angry. And she let us hear it. Eventually, about 35 minutes from home, we pulled off the freeway into a rest stop. By then, Marcie was arching her back, kicking and screaming that she wanted out. And Casey was echoing her pleas with whines of his own.

Apparently Disneyland is the exact perfect distance from our home if we want to avoid total meltdowns. If ever I thought a long road trip would be a good vacation plan, I have now adjusted my expectations. They seemed better after their nap.


And this morning, they were asking me about Ann. Where she was. Why. What she was doing. And life was back to normal.

Wedding Weekend

Despite having a horrendous road trip on Friday, the troops mainly rallied on Saturday. I got to spend most of the day with Ann, first getting our nails done, then our hair and her make-up. She got ready in the ranch house in which her grandfather was literally born. She was married on the front porch. The reception was in the barn, and it was a huge, festive party.

I was pretty good about taking photos before the ceremony. Here's a glimpse into my afternoon with the bride (and I must say, it was such an honor to be with her on her wedding day):

The dress:





Ann had a bottle of champagne to share with Julie (now her sister-in-law), who was doing her hair and makeup, me, and her mom. But I've never actually opened a bottle of champagne before, and I couldn't get the top to pop off the way I thought it was supposed to. So I handed it over to Ann to figure out:

She's so expressive, it cracks me up. After she finished getting ready, a phone rang in the room. We all looked at each other, each of us insisting it wasn't our phone. It turned out it was Ann's. She recently purchased a new phone, and playing around with the calendar function, she put her wedding as an entry on the calendar. The phone ringing was a reminder that it was fifteen minutes until her wedding was to start. We cracked up at that. If there were any tension, that certainly broke it.

Downstairs, as we waited for the last few guests to be seated (that would be Jason and the kids who had front row seats), I grabbed a shot of Ann and her brother (her dad walked her down the aisle, but I'd already handed off the camera to Jason by then):

I have some other nice pictures, but they all involve minors, and I'm just not comfortable posting their picture to the Web, so you don't get to see a photo of me because I couldn't crop the flower girl out of them. But I looked fabulous. Just ask my kids.


Speaking of kids, right after I got to my spot on the stairs of the porch, Marcie saw me and burst into tears. I was willing Jason to remove her immediately (with my eyes, of course) because I didn't want anything to interrupt Ann's big moment and big day. I know if Marcie had come running up to me and insisted on hanging on to my leg, Ann would have been cool with it. But not me. I wouldn't have been. Fortunately, she calmed down right away, and when she started crying again later in the ceremony, Jason did step away with her. Casey didn't just let Marcie steal the show, though. He managed to announce quite loudly in the middle of the Blessing of the Hands, that he heard a train pass by. I'm hoping no one noticed but me-- that everyone else was too intently focused on what was happening between Ann and Mark to hear my kids. And if anything, the experience has reinforced my love of child-free weddings.


Don't get me wrong. Casey and Marcie feel a special connection to Ann. Ann is Casey's Godmother. She even danced with him at the wedding. And it probably would have felt strange not to have them with us. But when 8:00pm rolled around and our kids really began losing it, I was wishing we'd brought a babysitter with us so we could stay and have fun after sending our kids back to the hotel. Jason and the kids left a little after 8:00pm, and I left about an hour later, feel quite awkward about leaving the reception so early and yet also feeling odd about sticking Jason with them in the hotel. I didn't actually leave until closer to 9:45, but I said my good-byes to Ann around 9. And Casey was still awake when I got back to the room.


As for the rest of the reception, I think my toast went fine. It's been a long time since I spoke in front of 200+ people, and I forgot the one joke I was going to tell. But I think I did okay.


The kids had a blast rolling around the barn. There were a few openings that left me nervous-- behind the bar and behind the band, but for the most part the kids stayed out of trouble. Marcie managed to get a giant splinter in her hand, but Jason was able to remove it. The wine was imported from an exchange student friend of Mark's-- from Italy. And there was even a chocolate fountain to go with the fresh, fresh strawberries from a nearby farm and neighbor. Ann even thought to pack each child a kiddy bag, filled with a kid cup and a pad of paper and markers and a bottle of bubbles. My kids used the paper pads to draw on our way home the following day:

I hope Ann had a day and a night to remember. I know I did. . .

On the Road

I tried blogging from the road yesterday, but neither Jason's i-phone nor my Blackberry would let me.

For all the traveling we've done with the kids, we've never stayed in a hotel with the two of them over night. Until now. One of my very best friends and Casey's Godmother is getting married today. And we left town to participate in the wedding.

Jason and I took the day off work. We picked the kids up from school around noon and headed north toward Oxnard for what should have been a three hour drive. Four in traffic. I feel like we headed off with Gilligan and his friends because almost six hours later, we drove up the driveway of the ranch. Yep. Six hours.

Needless to say, things didn't go terrifically well in the car. Casey told us he wanted to go to Ann's house or asked us where Ann's house was about every 45 minutes. At one point, about 4 1//2 hours in, Marcie began screeching in the bag seat, sobbing and screaming that she wanted us to turn off the movie. That's bad enough when you're traveling at full speed, but we were crawling in the single digits. I don't know how Jason maintained his composure. And if Jason weren't with me, I might have lost mine.

So we missed the Rehearsal. And we were even 10 minutes late to the Rehearsal Dinner. Despite having been cooped up in the car all day, the kids were amazingly well behaved at dinner. Casey hadn't slept all day, and both kids fell asleep at the table. Casey nodded off and woke himself up when his head hit Ann's mom's beautiful suede jacket. So Jason checked out of dinner early and took the kids back to the hotel.

I thought they'd both be asleep for sure when I got back in a little after 9:30pm. But no such luck. They were wiggling in bed. And just as they were about to nod back off to sleep, someone checked in to the room next door. With a small and very loud child.

I would normally feel just terrible that my kids have been up since 6:00am and don't really understand how to use their library voices for more than a few minutes at a time, but since they kept us up until after 10:00pm, I don't feel very badly at all.

In just about an hour or so, I'll head out with the bride to begin our primping for the big event. I'm so happy for her, the thought of her pending nuptials literally brings tears to my eyes.

Pay Back

When I was young, I was quite verbal. And quite direct. And neither of these traits were particularly positive. At least if you believe my mom. Apparently I had a knack for pointing out the obvious in the most inappropriate times and places, and in the rudest manner possible. Of course, when you're young-- really young-- it's not quite fair to say it's rude or inappropriate because little kids just call it as they see it. And I was the poster child for this.

For example, once in the checkout line of a grocery store, I (allegedly) asked the checker something along the lines of: "What happened to your face? You have an ugly line on it." My mom calmly told me it was a scar and it wasn't ugly, and then probably hurried me out of the store. I guess I was the kind of kid that would ask, "Why are you so fat?"

I find this odd for two reasons. First, I was attacked by a dog when I was four years old (maybe I was three, but I think I was four). It was a dog I knew. And I was completely taken by surprise when it bit a chunk out of my cheek and tore at my left eye with its paw. There was no eye damage, but there's a small scar there. And I had a giant scar running the entire height/width of my right cheek where the dog had oh-so-kindly removed a chunk. Reconstructive surgery was out of the question because the scar ran across the soft part of my face. And so I learned to live with it. The scar is pretty small now. Some people don't even know I have a scar. But mostly I think people just are too polite to mention it.

Why does this matter? Well, I was pretty sensitive about the scar, and my looks, all through elementary school. And it seems inconsistent that a child so self-consicous about her own looks would be so inconsiderate in commenting about others' looks. And yet my mom certainly has no reason to be anything but honest about it.

When I got older, she used to tease me that some day I would probably end up with a child who also had a knack for stating the obvious in the most uncomfortable situations.

And here I am. Decades later. And it's pay back time.

Today I took the kids on a walk, and they asked to go to Starbucks. As we waited for my coffee (my caffeine kick before the hike home with two tired kids and one slot in the stroller seat), a Casey noticed a young-ish woman in line. I saw her when I first came in and didn't think much of it. I thought she was with a couple standing directly behind her in line, and she initially appeared to me to have Down's syndrome.

After she ordered her beverage, she moved over to the waiting area, across from where Casey and Marcie were sitting and snacking on their banana bread and drinking their chocolate milk. And then Casey asked me loudly, "Mommy, why her have a funny face?"

Immediately, I felt panicked. "Shh, Casey, I admonished. It's not polite to comment on people's looks."

But Casey didn't get the hint, "But Mama," he insisted-- quite loudly again, "Why her have a funny face?"

"Casey," I replied in a hushed tone, "we are not going to talk about it here. Everyone is pretty in their own way. You can be friends with people who have all different faces. Go ahead and say good bye to her."

And as quickly as I could, I tried to pack up the kids and scoot out, Casey gawking at her the whole time and me trying not to notice the people around staring at us. I did look the woman in the face as we left and say, "Hey there. Have a nice day." And Casey did softly say good bye (it would figure he'd be quiet then.

Outside I asked Casey why he thought the girl looked funny. Mind you, he didn't use the word ugly, and I don't think she was. But there was something different about her. In retrospect, after I said good bye, I realized she didn't have Down's syndrome. The top part of her face was set forward-- significantly forward-- of the bottom part of her face. And that made her nose look big (though it was a sort of a button nose). And she had braces. And freckles. But heck, I had braces and freckles. Baby I had a funny face back then, too.

Casey couldn't give me an answer. I don't think he could articulate it. And I can't really blame him. She struck me as unusual looking too. And I can't really describe why. And I'd like to think my language skills are a little more advanced than my five-year-old son's are. But I was still embarrassed. I have no idea how I'll handle it the next time he says something truthful yet embarrassing about a person. And yet I have no doubt there will be a next time. Because we all know that our kids are all about pay back.

**Addendum**
After reading this post, my mom informed me that the woman in the grocery store didn't have a scar at all. What she had was a mole on her face. And I'd never seen one. And I didn't say anything to the checker; instead, I loudly asked my mom what happened to the lady's face and what was on it. So even more like my situation with Casey this morning than I'd thought. And when I asked my mom for some advice- when I asked what she did, she chuckled. She tried to shush me, and then outside the store told me it was rude to point to people and stare. So pretty much same reaction I had to Casey. But not much help.

Happy (Chinese) New Year!

Last year we made such a big deal out of Chinese New Year. Actually, we didn't, but Jason's mom cooked a big meal, and we dressed Marcie in her "red couch" outfit from China.

This year, the date actually slipped my mind until it was upon us. Somehow I managed to dress both kids in red before sending them off to school (though this was pure luck). But I forgot to send either of them to school with our "China box." This is a plastic container filled with artifacts from China and a couple books. I like to try and send it in a few days before Chinese New Year so that the teachers can let the kids manhandle it.

Last year Jason's mom went into Casey's classroom and even did a presentation. I'm hoping she'll have time to do the same thing this year, but I haven't been very on the ball about arranging these things. Sigh. Maybe we'll do something this weekend.

Anyway, gung hay fat choy (Happy New Year-- phonetically speaking)! And welcome to the year of the rat.

I dragged Jason to a Puget Sound alumni reception. Tonight I met a zoo-keeper and a woman training for triathlons and exchanged information. They are younger alumni and both happen to be originally from Boise, Idaho. It was nice. I plan to totally take advantage of my new zoo-keeper contact. For instance, tonight I learned that invertebrate animals (like spiders) shed their exoskeletons. It's like shedding skin, but it's not skin. It's the exeskeleton. And that means when you find those "dead" spiders and bugs in cracks and crevices of your window and door tracks that seem to blow away, those aren't the animals' decaying bodies. Nope. They've just shed their exoskeletons because they've grown. Which is a cool fact to know on the one hand. On the other hand, that means the spiders are still around. And that's at least a little bit creepy.