Schnockered Moms

Day Two

2009-11-11T08:29:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Day Two: I’m still at home with Kate. Normally, finding two days’ worth of activities to do with Kate isn’t challenging (go to the beach; go for a ride on the bike to the park; visit the zoo or Balboa park, etc., etc). Yesterday, however, she didn’t want to go anywhere. She didn’t even want to be outside. And considering she was still running a fever that was probably the best thing for her.

The day crawled by. Not just because we got up at 6am, but because by mid-morning I had already grown really, really bored with Kate’s toys. We played with her colored blocks, her Lego blocks, and her dollhouse. We read books, went through the number flashcards, and put together puzzles. We played checkers, we played Shake and we played Old Maid. We wrote letters to Grandma and Papa, drew our portraits, and painted rocks from the garden into little insects. We played tea party, took the babies around the “block” and danced with the stuffed animals. Finally, I turned to the boob-tube babysitter to give myself a break and check some work e-mails.

After awhile she called out to me to join her on the couch. I grabbed the remote and flipped around to see if there was anything besides the same old Noggin shows she always watches. I was literally praying for a Disney princess movie on Pay Per View, but no luck (our DVD player is kaput otherwise I’d just rent a movie). I settled on some random Disney kids’ show and sat down to watch a bit with her in between sneaking a few sentences of my Dan Brown novel.

The problem with the Disney channel versus Noggin is that it has commercials. I’ve never paid much attention to commercials on TV, especially those aimed at kids. But I found myself yearning and as excited for the toy being unwrapped on Christmas morning as much as the kid in the TV commercial Wow, a Fashionista Barbie with her own Coach dog purse! A Handy Manny repair shop? Awesome! Anything would be a welcome change after today's marathon of play time with the same old toys.

After Kate finished watching her allotted two shows and the stickers on her TV viewing chart were duly applied, it was back to the play room for more games. Books, blocks, dollhouse, tea party, books, blocks, dollhouse, tea party, books, blocks… Okay maybe just another two shows would be alright.

Feverish Joy

2009-11-10T07:47:00.001-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Yesterday afternoon I got a call at work. I checked the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. It wasn't a Bay area caller, which is where a client's office is located, the client whose patent application is due Wednesday. It wasn't any of Jon's new numbers (of which there are so many now that I could be fooled). Not an internal number or one of the cell phone numbers of the various partners I work with. No, the caller was a (619) number. I thought briefly about letting it go to voicemail before realizing it was Kate's school. My stomach sank and I felt a physical punch reverberate through my viscera.

I always include Jon's contact information on the sign-in sheet at Kate's school. I don't think I could handle receiving bad news at work and then attempt to drive the 20 odd miles South before I could do something about it. Jon is usually closer to downtown anyway. But this week he's in New York.

When I heard Kate's teacher begin to speak I analyzed every nuance of her voice. I searched her voice for any hints of urgency, fearful hesitation, breathlessness, or fleeting anxiety to assess the situation before she finished her sentence. Turned out that Kate had a fever. Okay, I can deal with that. It's the head injuries after falling from the top bar on the jungle gym that I fear most.

I drove to pick her up from school and thankfully there was no traffic. Because even though it was just a fever, this H1N1 thing has started to get me a little freaked out. I must admit I was thinking about the San Diego kindergartner who recently succumbed to the virus. When I found her in the office she wasn't lying listless on a cot. She was sitting nicely playing with blocks and sipping on a juice box. She was so matter-of-fact about not feeling well I started to suspect she somehow rigged the thermometer just so she could have a juice box and play with the toys by herself. But I knew something was wrong with her because she was just so darned agreeable and insisted on putting her toys away. Even when the principal, Ms. Kennedy, gave her a free pass saying that little girls who are running fevers don't have to clean up.

Because we had next to nothing in the fridge aside from some left-over cous-cous and some shredded cheese, I tempted fate by going to the grocery store with my feverish and, most likely, hungry kid. First, Kate insisted in sitting in the cart! Then, she suggested sensible items to buy for dinner like applesauce and salad instead of Cheetos or rainbow marshmallows. She helped put things on the conveyor belt. She didn't whine about not getting a balloon-lollipop. And the agreeableness continued on into the evening. Wow, my virus-infected gal is a joy to be around.

So, today I'm buzzing back and forth between the playroom to build Lego dragons and the computer to check whether my client has returned the draft application for filing by tomorrow's deadline. Kate's fever is still hovering around 101 in between doses of Tylenol. But her agreeable behavior continues to be a pure joy.

Body Image

2009-11-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

On the Friday before Halloween to be festive I donned my Halloween colored stripped thigh-highs. Kate watched as I pulled them on. They reached mid-thigh and I let them snap into place - my upper thighs kind of bulging around the elastic. Then she happily tells me, "See, you have chubby cheeks too!"

Body Image, Part Deux

2009-11-09T09:24:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

This morning, Kate and I were lounging in my bed and procrastinating about getting up for the day. She finally pushes against my chest to look out the window at the sunny warm day, stops suddenly and looks down at me to say, "You need to put air in your naps [read: boobs]."

Nice.

You say tomato, I say tomahto

2009-10-15T21:04:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I recently watched a YouTube video of two 6 year olds from what I believe was the Ukraine version of America's Got Talent. These freaks of nature were capable of some amazing feats of strength and balance. But all I kept thinking was I can’t even get my kid to put shoes on in the morning. How did their mother possibly get them to practice enough to get to this point? Were physical torture and psychological warfare part of the training routine? Or do some kids automatically do as they are asked?

Kate automatically does the opposite as she is asked. The following scenario plays out every few days in the grocery store. I’ll ask that she please not run her hand along each and every shampoo bottle or salad dressing bottle or champagne bottle (enter in whatever bottle you’d like here) while walking down the aisle to avoid knocking them off the shelf. She’ll look back at me with a knowing smirk and do, with even more vigor, exactly what I asked her not to do. Does she want me to go apeshit in public? Because I can. And I will. But I don’t. Because going apeshit doesn’t help the situation and usually makes her smirk lines deepen.

Not only does she automatically do the opposite of what I ask, she also automatically says the opposite of what I say even if it defies logic. I can say, “Wow, it’s foggy today!” and she’ll say “No, it’s not” even if she can’t see past the front picket fence. Or I’ll say, “Those shoes seem too small for you now.” She’ll say, “No, they aren’t” while hobbling around half-in, half-out at the heel. Is this how it’s going to be from now on?

Probably. I still disagree with my mom on a regular basis. Just last week, I must have argued for 20 minutes about that old story of kids locking themselves in refrigerators and suffocating (there's another kid-friendly Mythbuster idea for you, Jamie). I argued that the design of all post-1980 refrigerators prevent children from being trapped. When really I had no idea what I was talking about and was arguing just to be right about something. Oh god, it’s going to be a long 30 years to come.

I’ve tried various tactics to get Kate to do what I want. I've tried “redirection” - Kate, how do you use a couch? Do you use it like a trampoline? YES!! I've tried reverse-psychology - Kate, you should definitely leave the shampoo bubbles in your hair before getting out of the bath. Okay, she says and climbs out. I've even tried the "big girl" guilt trip approach - Kate, did you know that big girls can get into their car seats and buckle themselves? No, momma, big girls don't need car seats. Damn, foiled again!

With Kate right now it’s all about the power struggle. My goal is to manipulate her without her noticing. Provide her with the feeling that she is in charge of her own destiny and doing things of her own free will. Just the routine of getting her clothed and fed each morning is a serious exercise in child psychology. I pull out three or four outfit "choices" and she gets to pick and choose between them. Of course I've completely stacked the deck with what I know she won't wear. But hey it's all part of the game. If I want her to eat a healthy breakfast, I make one for myself first and then complain when she tries to take it from me. Oh, okay, I concede and hand her the peanut butter toast with banana while feeling victorious that her demand for a mustard sandwich with rainbow sprinkles has been forgotten. We'll work on manners another day.

My Achilles heel in the morning routine is that last step of getting her in the car. I can’t say “If you don’t get into this car in 5 seconds you won’t get to go to school.” Big deal. She’d rather play at home with me. Threatening to take something away that won't happen for hours and hours, like TV watching or going to the park after school, just doesn’t have much bite. My approach has been instead to start the routine earlier and remember it's preschool. There's no point in ruining my mornings with her just for the sake of circle time. Slowly, slowly, slowly, said the Sloth by Eric Carle is now my new favorite book for exactly this reason. Slow down and enjoy these moments together. They are fleeting in the bigger picture.

There are those situations where I must get her to stop whatever she’s doing on my own time-frame, i.e. step away from the $50 bottles of Veuve Clicquot. That's when I resort to physical restraint. But the days when I can just pick her up and grab on with a death grip are numbered. She’s always had a knack for “going boneless”. Now, she’s just big and heavy and awkward and basically uncontrollable in the height of a “don’t wanna” moment. Guess I’ll have to come up with a new bag of tricks and fast.

Can't start a fire without a spark

2009-10-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I recently had a doctor appointment where I filled out a new patient medical history form. I quickly zipped through the form checking the "no" box next to the various ailments and whether or not I suffered from them. Are you on any medications? No. Do you have any allergies? No. Have you ever had: scarlet fever, meningitis, infectious mononucleosis, tuberculosis, malaria, bronchitis, pneumonia, pleurisy, hepatitis, kidney disease, asthma, emphysema, arthritis, high blood pressure, heart disease, ulcer, hemorrhoids, cancer, diabetes….No, no and no. Then I got to this question: “Do you exercise?” -gulp- I checked the “no” box.

How is this possible? I actually had to check no, that I do not exercise. I never thought I would be one of those people whose hearts never beat above resting. This is not me. Nearly every day of my entire life I have exercised. I jogged, swam, played tennis and basketball, lifted weights...you name it. I wasn't afraid to break a sweat. It wasn’t too long ago that each evening as soon as I hit the front door I would keep on walking to my room, pull on work-out clothes and pair of sneakers to go jogging with Kodi. But not anymore.

I remember a conversation I had with my orthopedic surgeon after rupturing both ACLs in a skiing accident 10 years ago. During the initial consult, he said that surgery wasn’t necessary because I would only become more sedentary as I got older. I looked at him incredulously and thanked him for his time. I immediately sought a second opinion and found a surgeon who would repair my knees for a lifetime of tennis playing and pick-up basketball games.

But that first surgeon was right. My life has gone through lots of changes over the past 10 years. It shouldn't have been a shock that I would become more sedentary and my motivation to exercise might dwindle a bit. Longer workdays, an older jogging partner (Kodi, not Jon) and a child who refuses to ride in the jogging stroller can put a damper on any exercise routine. But what is shocking to me is that I haven't just become more sedentary - I am sedentary. And my motivation to exercise hasn’t just dwindled - it’s been zapped.

I experienced a resurgence of exercise grit this summer. Three mornings a week I would rise with the sun to run a couple miles and stretch and feel like my old self again. I kept this up for several months, but it wasn’t easy. It required help from Jon for me to actually wake up. He would nudge my shoulder and when I’d peer at him with a look of hate through the slits between my eyelids, he’d then give me the silent “running fingers” signal that it was my morning to run. I would groan and set my face into the perma-grimace before I'd grudgingly shuffle into the bathroom to pull on my shoes. Poor guy. No one should have to suffer such venom from their spouse so early in the morning. He finally stopped waking me because, in his words, he got tired of being rejected. Ouch.

So my morning running habit has been extinguished along with my motivation to exercise. Extinguished by near darkness at 6 am. By my loathing of the sound of shoes slapping the pavement. By the need to sleep. Kate recently slapped my belly as we were reading bedtime stories. Look at that belly! She squealed. It’s so big because it’s so full of FOOD!! I could feel a flicker deep down. Maybe ridicule from my daughter will be the spark I need to light the fire under my flabby self to start hitting the pavement again.

Friday in Pictures

2009-09-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

"I'm gonna brush your hair, mommy. There, you look so handsome! Just like daddy. You look handsome 'cause you've got crazy short hair."

Simply Play

2009-09-25T11:14:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I occasionally experience pangs of guilt about "wasted" weekend days. These are those days when I look at the clock and discover it's nearly 6:00. I quickly take stock and make a mental list of what Kate and I did (or didn't) do that day. Okay, I spent an hour or so typing a blog while she played by herself on the front porch with her Fisher Price farm. Oh yeah, I folded a load of laundry while she finished building a block castle for the princess. We read a book right after lunch, right? That's it. Why does this make me feel guilty?

I read an article recently, entitled "Let Kids Just Play" that reminded me of the importance of unstructured playtime. The blog reads, "...studies show that child-led, unstructured play (with or without adults) promotes intellectual, physical, social, and emotional well-being. Unstructured play helps children learn how to work in groups, to share, to negotiate, to resolve conflicts, to regulate their emotions and behavior, and to speak-up for themselves..." So, why do I feel like a slacker for not coming up with clever crafts for her to do, or taking her to the beach to romp in the waves, or visiting the gorillas at the zoo, or going to our local children's museum. All those things are great too. But these lazy days spent playing simple games by herself are not only okay, they're good for her.

Kate does struggle with playing on her own. She generally requires me to be involved in one way or another and I usually oblige. But there are those days when I feel I'm spending too much time playing with her. Again, doubt creeps in and I start to wonder if all this time spent playing with me is not good for her either. So, that's when the perfect compromise is in order. The playground.

I hopped on my cruiser and Kate assumed "battle stations" in her new WeeRide [thanks, Karpos!] for a trip down to our local park for some simple, unstructured playtime. After learning why Rolando was given the Spanglish name for "rolling land," I arrived at Clay park huffing and puffing. I used to be one of those hoverers at the playground, I admit it. But then up until several months ago Kate still got herself stuck in precarious positions on the various contraptions. She'd walk in front of swings mere inches from getting smacked in the temple. There was still a medium- to high- probability of bodily harm for a kid her size to use much of the equipment. But now I can step back a bit.

Kate heard the call of the wild as soon as she was free of her bike seat and sought new friends. I side-lined myself and turned to read my book. But my eyes continually strayed from the pages to take a peek at the social structure developing between the kids swinging from the jungle gyms and sending matchbox cars down the slides. It really was fascinating to watch children play... together... harmoniously... imaginatively... without any adult intervention. And what made it even more interesting to me was the kids were all of diverse ethnic backgrounds and most definitely a wide range of income categories and yet it didn't appear to make much of a difference. The kids came up with imaginative games, they shared toys, negotiated taking turns on equipment, they spoke-up for themselves when they thought something wasn't quite right. They were polite and helpful to one another. (As an aside, the only kid on the playground that was universally avoided by all the kids and left to play alone was the fat girl. But this is a topic for a future blog.)

The kids started leaving one by one. I convinced Kate to jump back on the bike to head back to home too. We enjoyed the beautiful twilight ride together back to Prettycita [and I only had to push the cruiser back up one hill] and I finally let go of those guilty feelings about not doing enough or doing too much.

Date Night Birthday

2009-09-23T22:11:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Jon had a birthday this week. He turned 43 on Monday. Huh. 43. Not that I’m not happy he made it another year, but there’s just something about this particular birthday that was underwhelming. I feel the same way about my upcoming birthday this December. I’ll turn 37. Huh. 37. Maybe it’s a prime number thing. There’s just nothing interesting about these birthdays (except maybe that they're prime numbers). But then again 13 was a pretty good birthday - my introduction to the teenage years, for pete’s sake - and 13 is a prime number.

My mom and her friends now only celebrate birthdays if they end in a zero or a five. Makes sense, I suppose. Maybe we should have started this after Jon turned 40. Because, really, having a birthday every year after 40 through say 90 could become a tad bit tedious. But after 90, we can go back to celebrating once a year. That’s when each year really counts anyway. Wow! 91 years! Congratulations! 92! That’s amazing….

But then I don’t think Jon would buy into this philosophy of once every 5 years. You see, because to Jon a birthday isn’t just a day to celebrate being born. Birthdays involve celebrating yourself the entire week! Maybe it’s because he’s had to share a birthday his entire life with his twin. That would make me a bit more demanding when it comes to celebrating my birth. I’d be sick and tired of having to share too. Even this year when his family called to wish him happy birthday he was put on hold so that they could use the other cell phone in the room to do the same for his twin. He asked his dad, “Are you talking to me now?” several times before he finally just hung up.

Because this was only birthday number 43, I decided to take a different tack with celebrating the birthweek of Jon. I went old school on him. Our big night out involved nothing more than some good bar food, a couple pints and a few games of pool at his old haunt, Cass Street Bar and Grill. Simplicity, sentiment and a small price tag. Truly the perfect birthday.

To make it even more special we didn’t have to pay a babysitter. The KellyBeans stepped up and provided a “sleep-over” for Kate with Celia. I think since having children the idea of paying a babysitter upwards of $12/hour has been a big reason we enjoy no more casual nights out on the town. [not being capable of staying up past 10pm is another] Maybe it’s not logical, but for some reason I feel the need to really make it count if I’m going to shell out $50 in babysitting fees. Shooting the shit with my husband while I sip a pint and play darts at a local pub just doesn’t seem worthy.

After a great dinner (can’t really call Cass Street food “bar food”) and finally giving up embarrassing ourselves on the pool table, we called it a night. Simple fun. And we didn’t talk about Kate the entire night! At least not until we picked her up at the KellyBeans, albeit completely wired and not at all drowsy [yes, Jamie, it could have been the piece of tres leches chocolate cake before bedtime]. She demanded I hand over my left-overs all the way home.

Happy Birthday, Hinkin!

Awkward Family Photos.com

2009-09-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

Becca introduced me yesterday to the awkwardness of Awkward Family Photos. This website is just too good not to share.

Check out the Hall of Fame.

I think I graduated from Tonka with these people...weird...

Monday Morning Purse Log

2009-09-21T08:27:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

We had a great weekend. One with the perfect combination of relaxation, time with friends, good food and simple fun. I thought just for fun I might make a log of my overflowing purse this Monday morning.

Here it is (in order from top to bottom):

cell phone - down to one bar
sunglasses - smudged, scratched
sunscreen
baseball cap - pink
ballet slippers, leotard and snagged tights – all pale pink
wallet - no cash
baggie of cherry tomatoes - slightly bruised
work access card
checkbook
four lipsticks
chapstick
one tube of lip gloss - well licked and missing its cap
compact mirror
hair gel can - empty
1 pencil - broken
pencil sharpener
five pens
memory chip - 512 Mb
AA battery - dead
flash drive
hair band
4 loose business cards
picture hanger
two Ralphs receipts
Trident gum - two pieces, embedded with sand grains
Hello Kitty bandaid
$ .53

Tutu Trouble

2009-09-20T11:52:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Last week was the first day of Fall in my mind. The back to school frenzy had just occurred, college football was being broadcast on Saturday afternoons and a slight crispness could be felt in the air, if only temporarily. The other occurrence was that Halloween paraphernalia and pumpkin patches had started popping up on the shopping aisles. Wow, already? Didn’t I just spend the weekend splashing in the waves of the Pacific whose temperatures had finally reached a level where I’d actually go in over my ankles?

Although I’m always caught off-guard when orange and black items begin showing up on the shelves the end of August, I’m not averse to it. Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. And usually by this time I’ve given up the idea of having a tanned, stellar bikini body frolicking in the sand on a warm summer day. I’m ready for Fall. I’m also ready to create this year’s Halloween costume.

Now that Kate is part of the family, I’m prone to creating not just random costumes but a line of costumes that follow a certain theme. The first year of Kate’s life she was a bumblebee and I was the field of sunflowers with blooms strategically placed at each breast. It was where she spent most of her time buzzing so it was a fun joke. The second year, Jon was a clown (big stretch, I know), I was a clownerina and Kate went as a circus strongman. Last year’s theme was inspired by Kate’s favorite bedtime story, Peter Pan, and the fact we still had in storage Jon’s brother’s professional-grade Captain Morgan costume. Kate was Tinkerbelle, I was Peter Pan and Jon, obviously, went as Captain Hook.

Kate told me that she wanted to be a pumpkin for Halloween this year. An answer that surprised me, to say the least. But I knew how this would play out. After creating an amazing orange gourd for her to wear, she’d hate it. It wouldn’t fly out like a “circle dress” when she spun around. It wouldn’t have the colors pink or purple in it. She’d refuse to wear it no matter how much time I spent creating it. Given Kate’s propensity towards princesses and ballerinas I knew if I made her a pumpkin costume it should include a tutu. She could be a pumpkin princess! The perfect combination of Halloween and princess froufiness.

But I needed guidance on how to make an incredibly fluffy and sturdy tutu. The tutu I made for my clownerina costume just didn’t have the staying power needed to withstand three year old abuse. I consulted YouTube and found a wonderful video of a no-sew tutu. So simple, so easy, so cute.

I would need to build a prototype tutu. One that could incorporate Kate’s favorite colors and that she could use for play time. That night after a two-hour struggle putting Kate to sleep (there’s a side-story to this that I’ll retell in a future blog), I traipsed back downstairs to start cutting the 8 yards of tulle into strips. I then tied each of the 100+ strips of tulle onto the satin ribbon. The project was incredibly easy, but incredibly tedious! Another two hours and one bottle of wine later my masterpiece was complete. I hung it up downstairs to surprise her in the morning before school. I knew that there was a chance she’d demand to wear it to school, but I was just so excited to see my little Degas girl I decided to take that risk.

The next morning I woke up and nudged Kate (again, this is part of the side-story I mentioned previously). Her squinty eyes expanded to saucer shapes when I told her there was a surprise waiting for her downstairs. A purrize! For me?! She bolted out of bed and I raced to catch her on the way down the stairs. I wanted to see her face when she found the fluffy delicacy awaiting her. She slowly approached it as a grin spread across her face. What’s that? she asked. It’s a tutu, I replied, do you want me to tie it on you? She gave me the 6 seconds needed to tie it around her waist before she pulled it back down to her ankles and flicked it from her big toe across the dining room. “Yuck! I don’t want that!” And I thought I'd have to fight to get it OFF her before going to school.

Welcome to motherhood, was my mom’s reply.

Favorite Schnockered Mom Quote

2009-09-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

"August, come look at this cake! It looks like a girl's open vagina!"

- Ben yelling across the Albertson's bakery to August in the fruit aisle to Esther's horror

[How could I forget that one!]

Just Curious

2009-09-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

We live three blocks from the Rolando library and finally made the short walk to get Kate a library card of her very own. What a great thing to have so close by! The shelves are filled with children’s books that we can borrow whenever I get sick of reading her others over and over and over.

I browsed the shelves of children’s books while Kate played around with Jon and discovered the wonders of her local library – the metal detector thingy that knows when you are stealing books, the pre-teens playing War Craft against each other on the computers, the Lego table, the reading room with window seats perfect for launching herself off onto the floor. Oh and there were books too, but it took her some time before she noticed those.

I first snagged a book by one of my favorite children’s book authors, Mo Willems, called Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. I then added to my stack one of Jon’s favorite books growing up entitled, Tikki Tikki Tembo. I randomly pulled books from the shelves that looked evenly slightly appealing before coming across a classic, Curious George. I hadn’t read this one since I was probably Kate’s age.

That night, I pushed Curious George to the front of her reading choices. By the second page the WWII era plot line started coming back to me. A man on a safari to Africa sees a cute monkey and decides he’d like to take the monkey home. He lures the monkey with his big yellow hat before shoving the animal into a sack tied tightly around the neck. This is just a week after we returned from Yosemite where we drilled into Kate’s head that nature is best to be enjoyed in its natural state. We take nothing and leave only footprints. Now, I have to explain to Kate why this man is taking a monkey out of his tree in Africa and they all look so blasted happy about it.

On the next page, the man with the big yellow hat lets George out of the sack and announces, “George, I am going to take you to a big zoo in a big city. You will like it there.” There was no mention of what kind of payment the man in the big yellow hat might receive from such a transaction. Why is it that so many of these “classic” books describe animals yearning to be in a zoo or circus? Put Me In The Zoo, for example, which is another well-loved classic. That big, spotted ambiguous bear-dog-cat animal couldn’t get himself locked into a cage at the zoo fast enough. Or the Golden Book series classic called Baby Animals. On the very first page of this book is a description of a baby bear cub that just loves to entertain children so much that “he wants to join the circus when he grows up.” Yeah, right.

So, on with George. The next phase of the story involves George being taken away and put into prison all because he inadvertently called the fire department when playing with the telephone. “You fooled the fire department. We will have to shut you up where you can’t do any more harm.” Did they actually do that back then? Of course George was able to break free. And this is the part where my absolute favorite quote appears, “Down in the street outside the prison wall, stood a balloon man.” A balloon man outside the prison wall, seriously?! Is there big business selling balloons to all the good little girls and boys waiting for their mothers to return from their conjugal visit with daddy in the big house?

These subtleties fly right by Kate, of course. Although I am amazed at some of the nuances she does get. In Tikki Tikki Tembo, for example, the first and most-honored son for whom the book is named wears shoes and his younger brother, Chang, does not. Kate noticed this right away and asked why. We talked a bit about the hierarchy of ancient Chinese families and a bit about not having enough money to buy more than one pair of shoes before moving on to the next page. There we sang in unison yet again the unforgettably catchy name -Tikki tikki tembo – no sa rembo – chari bari ruchi – pip peri pembo! Jon, you were right, this one’s a keeper. At least until it’s due back at the library.

More Favorite Schnockered Quotes

2009-09-17T22:34:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

“I think our next family vacation should include panhandling.”
Esther planning for future outdoor adventures while picking through rocks in the river at Yosemite - umm, that’s “panning”, Esther.

“So we have prayer, wailing walls, voodoo dolls, therapy and interior decorating. You're an eclectic bunch, ladies.”
Becca after receiving wench advice in how to soothe Retta’s nighttime worries

“We now have the Astroturf covering up the dirt pile in the front yard.”
Jamie announcing that she’s almost ready for Maria’s good-bye party

“It was kind of like the second donut – one is a pleasant treat but two bites into the second, I feel kind of gross.”
Becca after reading the second book in the Twilight series

"Momma, I want to be a doctor when I grow up so I can stick things in people's bottoms."
Kate after accompanying Natalie to the gynecologist

"Please do not show your back privates at work today Momma."
Ben to Esther who saw she was wearing a thong that day

“I was voted homecoming queen and also senior class pessimist.”
Jamie on her teenage self

“It hates me!”
Kate giggling and pounding on the piano keys after learning a new word that she doesn’t know exactly how to use

"Why didn't you tell me about Amazon.com?!"
Celia to Jamie with hand on hips and accusing tone

“Momma, why are you using Letti’s vacuum?”
Retta confused by Becca cleaning the house instead of their housekeeper

“It’s all about my mom”
Celia’s to Jamie suggesting a catch phrase to put on the back of the wenchkin t-shirt

In a nutshell

2009-09-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

Schnockered Mom Natalie

Age: 36

Number of children: 1

Years as mom: 3

Birthplace: Kansas City, Missouri

Occupation: Patent agent type person

Preoccupation: All things Photoshop and trying to keep this blog fresh

First car: 1987 Honda Accord liftback
Four things I cannot live without: family, friends, spare time, sunshine
Furthest I’ve been from home: Kyoto, Japan
Guiltiest pleasure: The Soup on E!
If I knew then, what I know now… I would have worn my retainer
Something that no one knows about me: I wish I had trained as a dancer
My life would be simpler if: I stopped creating unnecessary work for myself
What scares me: The thought of losing my daughter. It is something that I think could truly destroy me. Oh and the dentist – that’s pretty scary too.
What surprises me most about adult life: How routine it is and that most days resemble the one that came before it
Craziest fashion trend I’ve ever followed: Wearing an oversized sweater backwards; wearing two pairs of socks, of different colors, simultaneously, slouched down, with a pair of acid washed jeans tucked inside.
The one thing I’ll never understand: Those people on the highway who speed up to prevent others from changing lanes
My mother was right about: Good posture and a smile are the best accessories to any wardrobe
The one thing I would like to reclaim about my younger self: Ending my “work” day at 2:30 to spend the next three hours outside running around and playing games. Man, I miss graduate school!
What makes me laugh: My daughter, every day
When I was little I wanted to be: An elementary school teacher, but my parents (both teachers) said I wouldn’t make any money. So instead I got my Ph.D. and became a research scientist…and didn’t make any money
What superhuman power would I most like to have: Mind control (and no, it’s not because I’m a control freak. so, don’t even think it…)
Word pairing(s) that make me giggle: Pool noodle
Worst job I had in my life: Tube rental girl at Oceans of Fun, KCMO
Switch careers without consequences or financial loss what would I switch to: Graphic designer

Would I rather be a little smarter or a little sexier? A little smarter. A little sexier to the male gender is pretty darned easy

Happy Anniversary, Wenches!

2009-09-17T09:49:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

After a summer hiatus wench night has been reinstated. The wenches are getting back to our roots of meeting the third Wednesday of every month at a local dive (NuNus) to hash out and replay the trials and tribulations of being moms, wives, women and friends.

What a great night it was. And not just because Becca hung with the big girls until well past the midnight hour. All the inappropriate topics were covered and even new ones discovered. We were solicited by men [read: boys] offering their services for a good price (still not sure what they had in mind, but I'm guessing they weren't offering to reinstall the operating system on my new hard drive) and even had some guy ask if we were all gay.

Last night's outing was also special because it was three years ago this week that we wenches started our mom's night out habit. To give you some history, back while was on maternity leave I started to venture out with my new bundle of joy on a weekly basis to meet Jamie and Becca at some courtyard patio luncheon spot. Parkhouse Eatery, Zocolo Grill, Harney Sushi, Andre's, D'Mood... It was lovely to lunch with friends and get out the house for awhile. At first I felt a sense of anxiety about taking my tiny baby out in public. What if she starts crying uncontrollably and I can't get her to stop? What if I'm forced to leave? What if I forget the binkie? What if she has a diaper explosion? But none of these things materialized. These lunches provided me not only with some much-needed social interaction with my friends, but also the confidence to go places baby-in-tow. I learned that it's not a big deal if she cries. Diapers can be changed. Binkies can be forgotten.

Then September came and it was time for me to go back to work. Lunches were now out of the question given our geographic disparity. Our lunch dates morphed into nights out on the town for a drink and some conversation. We had a false start at Lei Lounge when we inadvertently crashed a gay, lesbian and transgender business association event and were embarrassingly ushered out by the bitchy club manager. Chill, man, we'll go to the bar next door. A month later we met again. This time at the Blue Lotus Lounge and our group expanded to include Sarah and Esther. It was that night we decided to make our outings regular and predictable by meeting again the following month on the third Wednesday.

Wenches Went Wild was born.

Percolating musings

2009-09-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

My morning routine upon arriving at work rarely changes. I turn on my computer and immediately head for the kitchen to make myself a K-cup of coffee. As my cup brews, I kill time by browsing the descriptions of the various coffee offerings. Here are some of my favorites.

Breakfast blend - bright, sweet, and engaging.
Dark magic Espresso blend - spellbinding complexity, sweet and intense.
Colombian select - classically balanced, vibrant and complex with a splash of ripe fruit.
French Roast - most intense and pronounced, dark, deep roasted flavor and smokiness. Lots of strong character.
Lake & Lodge - smooth, West Coast style, smoky sweetness.

I picture the marketing guru whose job it is to describe how these brews taste in such alluring fashion. Could the coffee's vignette somehow relate to the person imbibing? My choice is invariably Sumatran Reserve - exotically lush, sweet and heavy-bodied, born in the mountains of Indonesia. Hubba-hubba. Maybe the answer to that question is no.

Teachable Moments

2009-09-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Did any of your kids listen to President Obama's back-to-school address today?

I was relieved to hear San Diego Unified School District showed some cohones amid the controversy and allowed the presidential address to be broadcast in our kids' classrooms. Quite shocking to me is the number of parents who imposed their political beliefs on their children and prevented them from hearing first-hand what the president had to say. Burying our kids' heads in the sand is a disgrace and a waste of a teachable moment.

Letting our kids listen to the presidential address and discuss the controversy surrounding the broadcast is an opportunity for learning. Listening to a presidential address is great practice for our kids' futures as politically-active, voting Americans. This was an opportunity to help our kids develop the skill of critical thinking. Listening to information and understanding the source and perspective from which that information is provided is a skill that takes practice. This was a prime opportunity to arm our kids with an understanding of political propaganda [if indeed you agree that's what the address was].

Presidents have addressed school children for decades. Propaganda or not, I hope they always will.

Camp Carpool Chatter

2009-07-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Esther

August: My lunchbox smells like smushed banana! Oh cool! Tuna fish for lunch.

Retta: My lunch is DEEEE-skus-TING. That's because we have no GOOD food and my mommy had to give me a Dee-skus-ting lunch.

Esther: What did your mommy pack?

Retta: It's Dee-skus-ting things like peanut butter and jelly and a yogurt squirt.

Esther: What would you prefer?

Retta: Well, maybe celery or something like that. And my peanut butter. But nothing really GOOD like gummy worms.

August & Ben: We have gummy worms.

Esther: You can share with Retta at lunch boys.

Retta: My mommy needs to pack me a good lunch.

Esther: What would a good lunch be?

Retta: Gummy worms. Or maybe a gummy worm sandwich. Yes, that would be great.

August: How about gummy worms on gummy bread.

Retta: Yeah! A whole gummy lunch.

Ben: I LOVE IT!

Esther: Maybe your mom could crush up oreo cookies and put the gummy worm in it and then you could have a worm crawling out of the dirt pile for lunch.

R, A, & B: EWWWWWWWWW. That would be great!

The Hoedown Throwdown

2009-07-07T17:22:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Jamie

If you are at all versed in the lives of pre-tweens, you are acquainted with Miley Cyrus and her alter ego, Hannah Montana. In her recent major motion picture, which I was blessed to see on opening day, there is a feel-good dance number that looks something like the electric slide on crack. It’s a hip-hop spiced line dance delivered at the clip of a semi-automatic weapon. Knowing this in advance, I really should have been more leery when Celia suggested that we spend the evening learning to do the dance via YouTube tutorial (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fRiT05TWwE).

75 minutes later…Celia is face down in the bed sobbing. My pouring a tequila elixir to sooth my frayed nerves. Let me break it down, step by step to show you how we got here.

To begin, position yourself within inches of each other to both stare into the 17-inch monitor on which a hip-hop choreographer and a spunky Miley Cyrus demonstrate their moves. Attempt the first move combination known as “Pop-it/Lock-it/Poka-dot-it”. Do this in such a way that you try to understand the move while explaining the inverse orientation of the people on the screen – thus we must do the opposite, and remain within touching distance of the pause button.

Repeat three times. No, with the other right foot. To your other right – remember, do the opposite.

Next, beam with pride as you master the “countrify-it” move with thumbs in your belt loops and heels tapping on the floor. Celia gets it easily. This isn’t so bad.

The first sign of trouble comes with a three part moved called “hip-hop-it” immediately followed by an impossible “Hawk-in-the-sky” step that involves Egyptian-esque arms and a flirty little kick. In six beats we are supposed to accomplish something like 15 motor skills. And each of these must be performed in the opposite direction as our rhythm-endowed instructors.
Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play.

“But I can’t remember which foot to start with,” Celia whines with an exaggerated frown on her face. “It’s tooooooo haaaaard. Is it like this? Wait. No. Like this. Hold on… hip….hop…no, wait. Can you back it up?”

“Celia, try just watching for a minute. See? You can do that,” I say feeling my neck tightening with each mini-scowl she emits. “If you are too tired, let’s not do this now. It is supposed to be fun.”

“I’m noooooot tired. I just can’t dooooooo it” she scratches out like a rusty old screen door.

Then I conceive my very own stellar move! I’ll put the computer in front of the large windows. It’s dark outside so the instructors are miraculous visible and transposed.

“Look Celia! Now stand here and watch in the window. Just do what they do – exactly like they do,” I say feeling superior to MacGyver and Arthur Murry. With the help of reflective light we conquer “hip-hop -it” and “hawk-in-the-sky” and breeze through “side-to-side.” Watch out Paula Abdul.

A bi-directional kick move proves less “jump-to–the-left” than “convulse-to –and-fro” but we get past it with just a few whimpers and another two dozen rewind maneuvers. By this point I’ve taken to a chair next to the computer to execute the non-stop rewinding. The harder the moves become the more Celia is tempted to look at the monitor directly sending each step in the wrong direction. I in-turn am tempted to remind her to look at the window. Tension is mounting.

“Zig-zag-touch”, a move clearly designed for us dance-challenged, gives us a moment of victorious revelry but it is short lived. “Cross-the-floor” followed by “Shuffle-in-diagonal” strains my last nerve. Why the hell is it on the diagonal? They know that millions of 6-12 year old girls are going to try this – what the hell? Celia is nearly in tears as I tell her too curtly, “Stop looking at the monitor! Look in the window. See? Try the “hit-the-Drum” move. That looks easy. No – right hand with the left foot. That’s not your left foot. Watch me.”

Here’s a step to avoid when in this situation: Right about this time, you may be tempted to demonstrate the “180-twist”. I recommend you stay seated. Eyes darting from monitor to window, Celia attempts the swivel-hopping move in utter confusion. Helpfully, I get up and demonstrate.

“But that iiiiiis what I am doing!” she moans in exasperation.

“No, you did this (demonstration of tornado). I did this (correct procedure)” I bark. Yes, I’m barking now.

“That is not what I did!” Celia counters with her own take on the previous five minutes of equally mangled dance steps. We are deep in our “Yes you did, no I didn’t” debate when I threaten to turn off the computer inciting the first tears to form.

“Let’s just watch them finish the dance” I snap.

“Okay” Celia whimpers.

A “zig-zag-touch,” “lean-it-left,” “clap-three-times,” “shake-it-out,” and “Throw-it-all-together” later the dance is finally complete. Just 3 minutes and 19 seconds of dance instruction has cost us more than an hour and instigated a throwdown of our own.

Disgruntled Celia breaks into tears over my “tone”. I make her feel bad when I tell her she’s using the wrong feet and other muffled accusations rise from snotty sobs. She cries. I stew (in tequila). Miley smiles incessantly, frozen in the throes of “hip-hop-it”.

Celia has fallen asleep and the Disney-inspired disaster is over. Whether she picks up with “Zig-zag-touch” tomorrow is between Celia and YouTube. I’m sitting the next one out.

Once upon a toothbrush

2009-07-06T21:44:00.001-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

The Toothbrush Wars have been raging in our bathroom since Kate cut her first tooth. Battles are fought nightly. As soon as Kate sees me reaching for her dental instrument du jour she assumes battle stations. Her teeth clinch, her jaw tightens, her lips purse and her arms tighten against her rib cage. I see the body language and ask the rhetorical question, 'Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?' The hard way she retorts - the end of each syllable dripping with petulance. For those who may not know, the easy way means she simply opens her mouth and lets me scrub off the last bit of dinner. The hard way, in sharp contrast, means I perform an iron cross maneuver on the bed with her head braced between my legs and her arms tucked under my knees. One hand I use to brush her teeth now readily accessible in her screaming mouth. The other hand I use to block the kicks she aims at my face.

The Toothbrush Wars haven't always been waged using such harsh battle tactics as the iron cross maneuver. I've attempted you-brush-mine-while-I-brush-yours diplomacy with minimal success and often bleeding gums on my part. One recent skirmish was won with the help of an electric Dora the Explorer toothbrush resulting in a three-night armistice of pleasant brushing. Esther's battle tactic of naming all the teeth after different cartoon characters put me ahead in the war by about a week. But Kate still held her ground.

But last night was my Antietam. My Omaha Beach. My Battle of the Bulge. The tide has turned in my favor in the Toothbrush Wars. Here's how it went.

Hey Kate, have you ever heard about the wicked witches in the Land of Oz and how the Wizard banned them from using toothpaste? She notices I'm reaching for Dora by the sink and looks at me skeptically. I then launch into my best Wicked Witch of the East voice and relay the story about how a long, long time ago the Wizard banned witches from using toothpaste. We were never polite, never said please or thank you and thus, the Wizard didn't think we deserved healthy enamel. Our teeth rotted and turned green. Our breath became unbearable. Then, we noticed the beautiful princesses in Oz always had gleaming, bright white smiles. We were jealous of their lovely white teeth. How come princesses got toothpaste and witches weren't allowed? It's not fair, not fair!! We confronted the princesses who replied (imagine a sickeningly sweet princess voice) if you want toothpaste you need to ask the Wizard nicely. Say you're sorry for the years of rude behavior. Say please and thank you and I'm sure you too can have toothpaste for your toothbrushes.

And the story goes on and on....about two minutes to be precise....while Kate stares at me with wide eyes as she listens to my every word. Her mouth hangs agape in perfect form for even the baby teeth way in the back to get some brush time. She spits, rinses, wipes. She smiles her best princess smile in the mirror seeing her white teeth reflecting back at her. Aside from vocal chord strain during a particularly high-pitched cackle, this was the easiest session ever.

Tonight's battle began with another question. Kate, do frogs have teeth? No was her answer. Okay, but do you know whyyyyy? Her eyes widen in anticipation of another elaborate story about toothbrushing. Her mouth hangs agape ready to receive Dora. The jealous and evil king wanted teeth as beautiful as the bullfrog in his moat I tell her. I wasn't sure where this one would go. It turns out that in the end the king pulled the frog's teeth right out of his big, bullfrog mouth mid-croak and shoved them back into his own regal and jealous mouth. Although the king had a beautiful set of chompers he was forced to croak like a bullfrog to the end of his days. He also lost his throne due to his inability to communicate with his people. Really quite a sad tale and by the look on Kate's face not exactly a satisfying ending. I'll have to work on my dialog, melodrama, and morals so they aren't too Grimm.

I'm not so cocky to call myself the victor in the Toothbrush Wars. It's more of a long-term occupation with no exit strategy. I'll have to start thinking of the coming nights' tall tales. Maybe a sequel called The Wizard of Cavities in the Land of Oz. Or Snow White and the Seven Toothbrushes. Or maybe she'll enjoy hearing about Cinderella and the Glass Incisor. Momma - 2; Kate - well...who's really counting anyway.

Too fast

2009-06-19T13:18:00.001-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Life has never moved as fast as it does now that I have a child. Another school year has passed by and summer is here already. What used to feel like eternity now flashes past before I've even catalogued the year in my brain.

This is true with how I see my friends' kids too. I've finally logged in my mind that Celia is 7 and she is in second grade. But wait she will be 8 in just a few months and just finished second grade to head off to the blissful Mexican Summer retreat with Jamie. How is this possible? Wasn't it just last summer that she was this exuberant three year old with ringlets yelling down to me from her front porch hardly able to contain her giggles from the excitement of my arrival. Now when I see Celia, I get a smile, a shrug and a self-consious "hello" before she runs off to play with Kate, my own exuberant three year old.

I also see Kate maturing too quickly. She's already shown the signs of the "Oh, mom...you're so embarrassing" attitude. This morning she was watching TV waiting for me to get dressed for work. I came around the corner in that sneaky-monster-fingers-menacingly-poised mode of the I'm-gonna-get-you-you-better-run-away game that usually gets her shrieking in excitement. Instead she looked up in the most bored and slightly annoyed expression she could muster and just stared at me. She might as well have given me that teenager tongue cluck before returning her attention to the TV. Ouch. This is the attitude change my kitten experienced in about a week after her first birthday. She went from playing along with my silly antics to scratching the shit out of me to get me to stop. Double ouch.

I'd say Kate has about 1 cat year left before she feels like showing me her claws.

Pink Tulle and Rose Petals From Now On

2009-06-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

We decided to sign Kate up for Ballet classes this summer. She's expressed some interest in dance ever since seeing the "big" girls at her school perform their tap routines. I finally found a pre-ballet class at City Ballet for 3 year olds that meets on Saturday mornings. The school is in Pacific Beach so these mornings will be a great way for Jon and me to get some exercise running at the beach while Kate tip-toes around for 45 minutes.

Last Saturday we drove down to the school for her to just watch so we could gauge Kate's interest. The moment she saw hangers full of pink tulle she was hooked. The studio was filled with adorable prima ballerinas strutting and flounced their long ponytails about. The little girls started class by running in a circle on their tip-toes with their hands on their hips. They pretended to pick up beautiful flowers with delicate "ballerina fingers." They practiced pretty toes (pointed) and ugly toes (flexed). The added bonus was that the teacher spoke Spanish as much as she spoke English. Ballet and Spanish class in one. Awesome!

After 15 minutes of watching these exercises, Kate started inching her way towards the line of girls wanting to give it a try. That's when I decided to sign her up and get out of dodge before she threw a fit because she couldn't join in.

We went straight out to buy her the required uniform - pastel pink leotard, pastel pink tights and pastel pink ballet slippers - at the Capezio store in the mall. Kate was in girlie heaven with all the frills and tutus and pink stuff hanging about. I was shocked to see that these little leotards ran for $40 plus! We found a few that were 40% off and headed for the fitting room. Her round belly made finding the right leotard a challenge. The proportions were all off. They pulled around the middle while gaping at the leg. I guess they don't outfit many pot-bellied ballerinas in this store.

We finally found one that fit her well, which of course she asked to wear home. I remember what that was like when I was a kid so the obvious answer was yes. We worked our way past the frilly skirts of tulle and rose petals towards the door before she latched onto anything else. She finally bounded out of the store with her unbridled energy. Her arms were extended over her head and she jumped around erratically. A passerby said, "Oh, look at the princess." She yelled back at the top of her lungs as if insulted, "No, I'm a ballerina!" I was inwardly pleased. Ballerinas are lauded for their talent and athleticism, not for being born of the right family or married into it.

Kate then raced ahead of us emulating the tip-toe run she saw hours before. She occasionally jumped and threw her arms above her head before breaking into a sprint. Tip-toe running was a little too slow for her, I think. Everyone we passed, literally everyone, stared and laughed at our round little girl in her pink leotard with red and white striped underwear hanging out the leg. It was a sight to be seen.

I hope she's still excited to go to class tomorrow. Something tells me as soon as I pull the ballet shoes and pink leotard out from my closet (I had to confiscate them so they wouldn't get thrashed before her first class) her inner ballerina will be released once again and it won't be hard to convince her to go.

Someday when I'm older

2009-06-18T09:32:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Getting older sucks. Sitting on the floor for too long causes that creaking, aching feeling upon standing. My body has started sagging in places I’d rather it wouldn’t. People have started calling me Ma'am and I no longer get carded. Weekend yardwork has become something to recover from.

But getting older has its advantages too. I’m more comfortable in my own skin (albeit slightly more creased and less elastic skin). I can attend social events alone without anxiety welling up and revealing itself in the red splotches on my chest. Talking to new people is no longer a problem. And eating dinner alone in restaurants doesn’t pose the challenge it once did.

Twenty years ago the thought of dinner alone at a restaurant sent waves of fear rushing over me revealing all my introverted tendencies. I think a person’s view of dining alone divides the introverts from the extroverts. True extroverts would think, ‘what’s the big deal about eating alone?’ True extroverts wouldn’t even consider this an accomplishment. Although spending an entire meal alone not speaking to anyone might be just as challenging to an extrovert. So maybe extroverts and introverts alike feel somewhat uncomfortable about dining in a restaurant alone.

I remember the first time I ate alone at a restaurant just to prove to myself I could. I was 17. I chose a Mexican restaurant near my house in Kansas City (no, Jon, not the one with the powdered day-glo orange cheese). This sit-down joint was also a hot-spot for young, beautiful people to swig margaritas and cold imported beer. I was seated at a two-top facing the bar a mere body length away. Paralyzed from drawing unwanted attention to myself I didn’t ask for a quieter table or even switch to the chair opposite me so I’d have my back to the bar. To make matters slightly more uncomfortable I didn’t think to bring a diversion like reading material. Instead I read the drink menu over and over and over until my food arrived. After shoveling the food into my mouth as fast as humanly possible I hightailed it out the door to the introvert freedom of the car. Whew!

Now that I’m older and more comfortable in my own skin, I’ve gotten much better at dining alone. Recently, I was in DC on business. I stayed in old town Alexandria, which has a cute shopping and restaurant district with ankle-breaking cobblestone sidewalks and that Americana charm. The first night in town I went exploring to find a nice meal to enjoy. Sushi bars are always a good choice for dining solo. The sushi chef can be entertaining to watch and you aren’t segregated to your own table for two in the corner of the room. But I was interested in tasting some local fare. What is typical DC fare anyway? My guess was seafood, which is why I ended up at a Spanish restaurant. Oh well.

La Tasca was a lively tapas bar and restaurant. The hostess ushered me to the back near a young couple with an obnoxious three year old. Looks like two-tops and parties with children are banished to the back together. But I had an incredible view of the Raphael Nadal look-alike tending bar and was pleased to see Antonio Banderas would be my server. Things were looking up.

I sat for a moment observing my fellow diners. Besides the young couple with the child, there was a 20-something with what looked to be her parents sharing dessert (birthday celebration, maybe), a group of three women sipping Sangria. Two doughy college girls serving themselves sangria from a pitcher for what might be their third round. Can’t wait to see one of these gals stumble to the bathroom. There was another group of four people - a round and homely white woman in her 30s, an intellectual black man with suede patches at the elbows of his sportcoat, probably in his 40s and two young Indian girls. What brought the four of them together? A scientific conference in town? I didn’t see any name badges hanging from their necks or the give-away bag emblazoned with the latest wonder drug. Then I overheard statements like “…in the Boston office…” and “…expense report…” when they were calculating how to split the bill. Most definitely work acquaintances.

After this quick survey of the room, I pulled out my still much-needed diversion for dining alone. A pen and a notebook. Maybe my waiter will think I’m a food critic and amp up the service or throw in dessert or a glass of wine for free. I worked on maintaining relaxed body language. Open hands, uncrossed arms and legs. Slow, controlled movements. No fidgety feet under the table. Someday maybe I won’t have to consciously adjust my behavior to maintain a look of relaxed comfort. Someday when I’m older I’ll actually be comfortable.