How To Get a Migraine in Six Easy Steps

1 - Make sure both of your kids are on spring break, so you have them all week without a break (break seems like such an oxymoron)
2 - Make sure that not only is your husband out of town, but he is also out of the country, so whenever you call him he is unable to talk because he is just running out for drinks
3 - Decide to visit your best pal from college who lives 6 hour drive away
4 - Get the crazy idea that the two of you should drive another 2 hours to take your four kids to an amusement park for the afternoon
5 - Try to deal with the anger & misbehaviour of your completely unmanageable five year old and realize for the millionth time that you are a terrible parent
6 - Get lost in the Central Valley on the way home (there aren't any turns off of 1-5 but somehow you manage not only to find one, but to go at least 30 miles before you realize your mistake)

Sad

So I'm really sad about the whole kindergarten thing. I haven't been this sad since my college boyfriend dumped me. I'm even listening to Jackson Browne again! Ok, so it probably isn't reasonable to be this sad. But here's the deal. We have a perfectly reasonable back up in the local Catholic school, where some of our friends are very happy. But the fact that we worked so hard over the past two years, touring schools, attending events, etc. and that not only did we not get offered any private school spots but we were also assigned to a public kindergarten in the projects knocks the wind out of you. I'm definitely not begrudging my friends who had better news. I'm honestly happy that it worked out for somebody. But I'm also not sure how much I can hear about it.

some funny things my kids said lately

the whole kindergarten search has been such a nightmare, I can't even write about it. so I'm just going to put down some of the funny things that my kids have said lately and try to pretend that the rest of it doesn't exist:

Miles (who is reading the Magic Treehouse book about the Civil War) was talking about the "Connecticut" soldiers (instead of Confederate)

Mia was talking about the "lizard" of oz.

Then today she took a hard look at Miles' Curious George doll and said, "Curious George has a vagina."

Which turned into Miles yelling, "No he has a penis."

"Vagina"

"Penis"

"Vagina"

"Penis"

You get the idea. Even in my fragile emotional state, I had a good laugh!

How To Get Your Husband to the Gym In One Easy Step

I've been trying to get Mike to go to the gym for years. He'll visit on occasion, but I can't seem to get him into any routine more regular than once a month. But Miles seems to have figured it out.

This morning, he and Mike were in the kitchen together. Mike was making toast and Miles was making some valentines for us. He drew our pictures, then showed them to Mike. "This is Mom," he said, "Because she's skinny." (Thanks, son!) And then, "This is you, Dad, because you're..." (Yes, you guessed it.)

Mike told me he was kind of horrified and said "What do you mean?" To which Miles just started patting his stomach.

So my money says Mike will be at the gym tomorrow....

You Know You've Had a Tough Winter When...

you call the pediatrician, and they recognize your voice....

The Final Christmas Miracle

My kids have been out of school for almost three weeks. We've had illness. Pouring rain (while we were taking all of our packages to the post office.) Playdates that resulted in the trashing of my kids rooms. Holiday crowds. Tired, whiny kids. Kids with too much sugar. Holiday traffic. Even a hangover. But after that first wet Monday, I didn't really yell that much. Really. I don't feel all that burned out. The kids had fun. And here's the miracle part - I did too (mostly).

Now lets see if I can get them to school anywhere near on time tomorrow.....

Another Christmas Miracle

It is the first day of winter break. And I actually made it until noon before yelling at my kids....

Our Christmas Miracle

We put up our Christmas tree two weeks ago, and nothing has been broken.

I know it doesn't sound like much, but in my book it is nothing sort of miraculous. There was a sort of frenzy during the trimming, fighting over the ladder and the red balls. And an insistence on having a critical mass of ornaments on just one of the branches. But somehow, afterwards, the kids have been able to keep their hands off of the ornaments. Nothing sort of incredible.

Last year, we had to keep anything breakable up at least five feet. Other years, we didn't even take the breakable ones out of the box. But this year, anything goes. And so far, it stays.

With every painful stage of parenting (remember the blow out poopy diapers, kids running away in the grocery store, the screaming tantrums at the coffee shop) you know it will pass. But still you are kind of mystified when it does.

Ok, and a little sad too. But still, I'm glad to have the ornaments intact.

Hi Kim!

Thanks for reading! This whole Kindergarten search has been such hell that I can't even write about it. But it was so fun running into you. And hearing that even though I'm not really a writer anymore - you're still a reader. Happy belated birthday! I hope we both get kindergartens we like, and can carry on with our lives....

It was a Literary Halloween

Miles was the Man with the Yellow Hat, and Mia was Daisy Head Mayzie, from a Dr. Seuss book that practically no one but my family has ever heard of.... And Mike was Caps for Sale but they were pretty tippy so we don't have a very good photo.

Earthshaking Events

I had two big earth shakers this week.

First, at soccer on Monday, the coach made a point of coming up to me and telling me how much Miles had "matured" since he had him in the spring. Which is pretty amazing given that Miles is coming from a full day of school including a walk over the hill to a dance class... so he's pretty wiped out by the time he gets to soccer. Anyway, this is the first time that anyone has given him a compliment like that. And I have to say, I liked it!

The second one is that we had an actual earthquake. A big one. A long one. Mia was already asleep and I was lying down with Miles in his bed and the room began to rattle, rattle, rattle. Miles asked what it was, and I told him, and it just kept going on and on. I was just starting to wonder if we were going to end up needing to sleep in the play structure out back when it stopped. Phew. And then the questions started....

The Mom Job

There was an article in the New York Times today about The Mom Job - which is a plastic surgery package for women recovering from childbirth and includes "a trifecta: a breast lift with or without breast implants, a tummy tuck and some liposuction."

The rationale, according to a Dr. Stoker is, "The severe physical trauma of pregnancy, childbirth and breast-feeding can have profound negative effects that cause women to lose their hourglass figures. Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it and she covered up with discreet clothing. But now women don’t have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance.”

I couldn't believe what I was reading. Ok, so first off, I've never actually aspired to an hourglass figure, nor I guess have most of my friends. And I'm damn sure I didn't have one prior to children. So I have a bigger stomach now. And lost some of my boobs (which I really couldn't afford to). But what's the big deal? How come we can't all celebrate our motherhood? Aren't these really badges of honor? I'm not saying that I want to see a lot of post-pregancy bellies hanging out of a midriff shirt, but I hardly think we need to opt for discreet clothing. Sure I'd like to be in better shape. But I have better things to feel self-conscious or resentful about. I'm trying to be a parent, not a beauty queen.

Tonight when I was drying my hair after an evening shower, noticed that I had about a thousand grey hairs. Which I've written about before. A couple of years ago I got highlights, then realized I couldn't keep them up and ended up lowlighting it brown and just letting it go. I started thinking that after a three year hiatus that it might be time for some highlights.

So what's the difference then, really? If I truly don't care, then why color my hair. It's a slippery slope....

Sicko

Last night Mike announced that he wasn't feeling well and that he was going to bed at the same time as the kids. Of course we have Miles' birthday presents to wrap, a cake to make, a camping trip to pack for and the usual kitchen clean up and laundry to fold. And today he spent the morning lying in bed.

I should be sympathetic. But I'm not. I'm usually mad. When I'm sick, I still have to keep going. But somehow he has carte blanche to fold up and take his toys and go home. So I usually stalk into the bedroom and ask he needs anything, and if I bring him water or something I stomp all the way up the stairs.

Murphy's Law

So I got some contract work and wouldn't you know it, within seconds Miles was running a fever and has been for three days. And isn't terribly interested in watching TV (although the lure of watching Beauty and the Beast -which is too scary for Mia - was enough to buy me 90 minutes this morning). And insists on playing with legos which means every ten minutes he screams with frustration and I have to go help reattach skyscrapers and vehicles that try to defy the laws of balance and gravity. So I've been working all morning to what probably adds up to about 20 minutes of billable effort.

A million years ago when he was five months old and I was going back to Microsoft from maternity leave, he got an ear infection and kept me up the entire night before.

Of course!

The End of the Affair

We had a special visitor this week -- the Binkie Fairy came to our house. On Tuesday night (the night that Mia had designated) she put all of her binkies into an bowl and told me that "tomorrow I'm going to be a big girl." And then she went to bed. It took FOREVER for her to fall asleep - for 45 minutes I laid down on the trundle bed next to her, until she is finally asleep.

Having been through this drill before - in June - I knew enough to take the binkies and hide them then and there so she couldn't wake up in the middle of the night and dig in. She woke up in the middle of the night - as usual - and got into bed with me. In the morning we were snuggling and as soon as I mentioned her present she was up and running. A Barbie Car! And child-size cooking utensils!

But here's the amazing part - she hasn't asked for them again! Badly timed, we needed a babysitter on Wednesday night and when she arrived Mia told her that she didn't have binkies anymore. And went to sleep without a peep.

Even today, when she had two different crying fits, instead of chanting "Binkie Baa, Binkie Baa" as she has for the past few years, she just asked for Baa.

Could it possibly be this easy?

Helpless

We just found out that our friend has cancer and all we want to do is help, but we're not really sure how. So we're just sending out our most positive thoughts into the universe.

Passions

The past two years have been very intense with schools and stuff (and unfortunately there's no chance of it letting up for the rest of the calendar year) and although I've been lucky enough to get into a slight yoga routine, I'm still feeling like I haven't had enough time for ME.

But here's the problem. I'm still suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Because when I start thinking about what I want to do with the ME time when I get it, I don't really know.

Yoga, that's a given.

Write the book I always wanted to? That's maybe too hard. Although I'm happy to say that after four years I'm up to ELEVEN pages.

Make more jewelry or knit Mia another poncho? Nice, but doesn't feel like much of an achievement.

Volunteer work? Nice, but my last effort, although successful, has completely burned me out.

Cooking? I'll admit that other than yoga and wine it is one of the only things that is keeping me going. But my aspirations aren't really much higher than adding some variety to our life. I'm not really motivated to learn a souffle or fancy sauce. (Although my scrambled eggs did benefit hugely from a quick perusal of Julia Child.)

One of my friends is learning Spanish. Which sounds nice, and I could practice with our babysitters or Miles when he gets to school. It would be even more fun to learn a language I could practice in a destination that I really want to visit. But that would be France or Italy, and none of our babysitters speak those languages.

Several months ago I read an article in the New York Times about a new moth that is preparing to attack California agriculture. It was found for the first time in the state by a retired eptymologist (?) or moth expert, who had a net set up in his backyard for ha-has.

And it made me a little sad. Not so much for the agriculture, I'm sorry to say, but for myself. If only I had devoted myself to a life of moths, I could have been the one in the New York Times. If I had devoted myself to a life of, well, anything, I could be in the NYT for that thing.
Even Mike, who isn't likely to be in the NYT for any of his passions, is at least very good a few things -- skiing, fishing, to name a few. But me, I'm still working on my triangle pose, trying out new recipes from Cooking Light, driving my children to school, and wasting time on my computer.... I can't even say I'm an amazing mother or friend. Oh well. Tomorrow is another day!

Mia's Babyhood

Mia is a little over three now, and she's on the cusp of some pretty big changes. In some ways, she's a very big girl. She knows most of the letters of the alphabet and what sounds they make (many more than her brother who is a year and a half older, I might add). She can sort of write her name (which is cool even if it is only three letters). She's also doing amazingly well at swimming. She's completely settled into preschool, and is generally too busy to even kiss me goodbye.

But in other ways she's still a baby. She still takes a binkie. Basically whenever she can get you to give it to her. And she sleeps with a diaper. Which is pretty full in the morning. (I won't talk about how she fell asleep and peed on the seat of the airplane last week except to say that I felt terrible about the next passenger...). And more often than not, she sleeps with us!

Sometimes, especially when I look at that dirty binkie or go to Walgreens for more diapers, I want to hurry her along into girlhood. Haven't we had babies long enough? But then I realize how fleeting and fragile her babyhood really is, like a soap bubble that is floating off through the air... And I want to pull her into my lap, sniff her hair and hang onto every last moment.

The Elements of Style

You know the woman I'm talking about - you see her in the grocery store and her bag perfectly coordinates with her jacket. And her hair is clean, and her nails are perfect. Or out at the museum and she has on a plain white shirt and a stunning stone necklace. Sometimes she might be your friends, and she has the perfect outfit for every occasion - playdate, wedding, dinner out. She might partake of the current trend, but somehow she rises above it. The trend fits her, she doesn't fit herself into the mold. There's one thing all these women have in common. They don't worry if their sweater matches their shirt, or if their flats look good with a skirt of if they have on the right type of hose. They know that they make it right. The are surrounded by a force field of confidence.

Let's face it. You can't buy style. You are either born with it or not. Unfortunately I was not. Try as I might, I'm always just a little off. And I can't even tell you how many times I've been to a wedding, or preschool event, or book club meeting and wished about half way through that I'd worn something else. It's hard to believe but my first job was at a fashion magazine, and one of my responsbilities was to help write fashion guides. This experience taught me how to spot style, but somehow I didn't acquire it for myself.

My vision for myself was somewhere along the lines of Grace Kelly with Audrey Hepburn's clothes. It would have been great. And for a long time I thought that if I just grew my hair out, or had a shopping spree at Banana Republic or got a makeover, I'd suddenly have it.

So last month it occured to me. I'm over 40. If I don't have it now, I'm never going to get it.

It didn't stop me from getting that shirt at Banana Republic though...

Invisible Mom

Sometimes I feel like I'm invisible. Friends that only talk to you about carpool and playdate logistics. Children that whine about dessert. Potential babysitters who take days to return your call (or don't call back at all). Even worse, potential employers who don't return your call.

But now I have the best one yet. We had part of our house painted back in May. The job is 95% of the way done. And the painter isn't returning my calls. But here's the kicker. I owe him $1,500. And STILL he won't call me!