Schnockered Moms

Poundage

2012-01-12T08:36:00.000-08:00

Math quiz. What do you get when you add next to no exercise and constant eating? Give up? The answer is 18 pounds in as many weeks, that's what. Oh. My. God. I caught my reflection in the glass of my office building yesterday and didn't like what I saw. My backside looked like a pair of cantaloupes alternately pumping underneath my skirt like a 2-cylinder. If I don't watch it I'm going to have an ass you can rest your beer can on at parties.

As a first step, I've started to track what I eat in a food journal. It will help me be more mindful about my habits and avoid eating like a hobbit* (i.e. breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, scavenging the work kitchen, dinner, supper, before bedtime snack). No wonder stretchy clothing was at the top of my Christmas list this year.

Most importantly, I've injected some much-needed exercise into my routine - billable hours be damned. I still attend my Sunday morning service with Ditas (on the tennis court). I've also started to walk in the mornings once Kate and Jon are off to school. Since Kate has started swimming again I'll also cram my "baby got back" into suit and add some pool work with Kate on the weekends. I realize my new outlook may not last beyond the second trimester honeymoon period (since when did a honeymoon involve excessive belching and constipation?), but hopefully it will fend off this pound-a-week progression.

And here I am at 20 weeks.

In other news, my nails are looking fabulous!

[*ED - decided to look up the real hobbit meal terminology after first posting]

New Year's Quiz 2011

2012-01-03T11:02:00.000-08:00

2011 for me centered on my work and my family. I held down two jobs. There was the one spent at home with my kid and the other one spent away from home in front of a computer screen. I have a hard time remembering much detail from the year, which is sad. I remember a conversation I had with my friend, Becca, about the most surprising thing to me about adulthood is how incredibly routine it is. One day after another doing mostly the same exact thing. Her retort was that it doesn't have to be that way and it's up to me to make it exciting and different. That was nearly 3 years ago. I've allowed the routine to suck me in once again this year with not a whole lot to show for myself.

That said, what I most remember about the year 2011 is that I slowed down and relished the little things. I spent a lot of time with my daughter, my husband and my friends. The time we spent wasn't about taking big adventures around the country or filling each weekend with new and different ways to excite our lives. We spent our days together enjoying the simple things in life. Kudos to us.

So here goes the yearly quiz:

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Not a lot personally. Although I did send my girl off to kindergarten and found it wasn't at all sad.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't make resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My high school friend, Whitney.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, thankfully. Although I found out today my parents gave it a pretty good go on their drive home from San Diego.

5. What countries did you visit?
None. I barely left San Diego. Again.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
More patience and rosier glasses.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
My week 12 OB appointment. I wrote about it here.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Taking the patent bar was a pretty huge monkey off my back. Also, I was undefeated in singles for the spring season of WTT.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Okay, I'm going to out myself with the hopes that it will result in a change for the better. My biggest failure is that I have not seen the dentist yet again. In fact, I have not been to see the dentist since 1999, which is the year I moved to San Diego. I know this is not what healthy, normal people do. I know that it will eventually lead to some serious dental issues for which I will pay dearly. I know this.

But I HATE, HATE, HATE all dentists. I've never found one I like. They are smug, condescending, and judgmental. Or at least that is how I feel when I'm reclined there in the chair listening to them scrape away the plaque and investigating any sticky, soft spots on my teeth. Ugh! Just typing about it makes me cringe.

What I need is someone to find me a great dentist that caters to chickens, won't give me grief about the state of my dental health, and won't screw me over with unnecessary procedures. That someone will also need to make the appointment for me. Oh and drive me there too.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Thankfully nothing again this year. I did throw up quite a bit during my first trimester, which probably counts.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
The Flip and the iPad were pretty cool, but they were both gifts. I suppose my Ray-Bans were a cool purchase, which I weirdly bought for myself on Father's Day (sorry, Jon). I look smashingly hip and sporty in them. They also proved to me that I actually can take care of an expensive pair of sunglasses. All it takes is a hard case in which they may be religiously stowed when not in use. So, maybe the hard case should be considered my best purchase of 2011. Except it was a gift too.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My boss. He continues to be the best boss on the planet.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
All those involved in the Penn State child molestation scandal including the Penn State students blindly defending their beloved football coach, Joe Paterno.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Same as last year and the year before – house payment and health insurance.

15. What did you get really excited about?
Seeing Kate read a book on her own.

Also, the day Kate performed simple algebra in her head. (If 15 + x = 20, then x = 5). That was pretty cool.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
I can't remember many since September, but it has to be either Baby by Justin Bieber or Crayola Doesn't Make the Color For Your Eyes by Kristin Andreassen.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you?
happier or sadder? Same
thinner or fatter? Fatter (I'm sure it's all baby weight; HA!)
richer or poorer? Richer

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Traveling to new places.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Checking the website Get off My Internets. The snarkiness was contagious enough to spoil my opinion of one of the blogs I had been following.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
It was a Sun Diego Christmas this year with my parents and my brother enjoying a meal ordered out from DZ Akins.

21. Did you fall in love in 2011?
Nope.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
I don't watch much TV and can hardly name a television show. The Colbert Report is probably my favorite when I'm feeling sleepless and can stay up that late.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
"Hate" is a strong word I reserve only for dentists.

24. What was the best book you read?
I didn't read too many books this year. My favorite book was not so much because of the book itself, but rather who I spent reading it with - Kate. I read The Secret Garden to Kate this year. It was so fun to watch her get absorbed into the story. After each chapter she begged for me to read another anxious to find out what would happen next. One of my favorite things to do now is read with Kate. I find out so much about her personality, sense of humor and interests that way. She's now starting to read on her own. I believe I have instilled a love of reading that will last.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Spotify although I'm still trying to figure out how it isn't stealing.

26. What did you want and get?
A light fixture hanging over my dining room table.

27. What did you want and not get?
A smaller waistline before taking the plunge into the second child.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Breaking Dawn. Absolutely hilarious.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 39 this year. My parents, Jon and Kate met me for lunch in Del Mar at Poseidon for a front row ocean view and sea food on a gloriously warm, winter day.

That evening, Jon surprised me with early drinks and appetizers at The Prado followed by theater at the Old Globe to see Some Lovers. It was memorable not only for the fun evening he planned, but because we had really great adult conversation that didn't center on Kate or our role as parents.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Let go of all guilt and worry.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
Stretchy clothes that hide my growing middle and that feel as if I'm wearing nothing at all.

32. What kept you sane?
A satisfying work life that allows me to fully enjoy my home life.

33. What is your favorite opening line of a Christmas letter you received this year?
I honestly didn't read any of the Christmas letters this year. Probably because I didn't get one from Peggy whose letter is the only one that makes me laugh.

Someone should come up with software so people can plug in a few details about their year and out pops a witty Christmas letter that is actually fun to read.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Arab Spring (duh!)

35. Who did you miss?
No one, really. But I do feel a little sad about friends that have drifted away and aren't likely to come back. They probably know who they are, but won't be reading this to know that.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
There is a new patent agent, Julie, that we hired who has already made my job a lot easier and more fun. I also met an awesome hitting partner in tennis earlier this year named Zabrina. Unfortunately, my days of competitive play are numbered.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011
My husband can pull off being a gay man quite believably.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I can never quite answer this question. Mostly because I don't have many lyrics memorized. But it would be a song about nothing much in particular happening, which is the way I felt trying to generate our Christmas card yearly timeline. And I'm sure it sounds like Radiohead's No Surprises.

From the depths of first trimester hell

2011-12-01T21:13:00.000-08:00

I have arisen. At least somewhat.

For Jon's birthday this year, I gave him a positive pregnancy test. It was something he had been wanting for a long time. I was a little shocked by it although not surprised. If the two things are even simultaneously possible.

By week 6 I had achieved a superhuman sense of smell. The smell of the coffee maker in the morning was as if Pepe Le Pew himself had prepared it. Coffee maker coffee literally smelled like skunks to me. A latte safely ordered and brought home from Starbucks was okay. Jon cleaned out the coffee maker and stowed it away for safe keeping.

Next, was the 10 day period where everything smelled of dust. One night on the couch I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to figure out where the smell was coming from. I shoved my nose into the cushions, the blanket, my own armpits to sniff out the dust. As soon as I inhaled a big whiff, only the smell of the item remained. I carried on watching TV that night with my forefinger stuck under my nose in fake mustache style because I'd rather smell my own finger than the mysterious dust smell originating from somewhere deep inside the olfactory bulb of my brain.

week 8 - isn't that little blueberry the cutest?

In the midst of this two-week dust storm, the nausea hit me hard. That was around week 8. I felt on the verge of puking at most times throughout the day, but evenings - actually 6:45 pm to be exact - were the worst. Like being offered a shot of tequila the morning after a bender. Erp. One night after flushing the toilet and catching Kate peeking in through the bathroom door I decided it was time to tell her why momma can't get off the couch except for the nightly sprint to the toilet. Jon broke the news that night in the kitchen while I watched in anticipation of Kate's reaction. She whipped her head around to stare at me in her best "whachootalkinboutwillis" impression and said, "Where's your belly?" as if she didn't really believe us. But then she smiled the widest, most excited smile. I think she's going to be an awesome big sister. We tried to wait until she was old enough to drive the new kid around, but...well mommy is getting old. Oh, I'm sorry. She's of "advanced maternal age." At least they no longer call it "elderly."

By week 12 I was no longer throwing up. Instead, I was left with general malaise, lack of energy and no sense of humor. This sucked. All I could think about was that the second trimester honeymoon period was days away. I was going to make it. Things would get better. At my 12 week checkup I did the usual pee in a cup, have my blood pressure checked, and waited for the doc to listen to the baby's heartbeat before going on my merry way. Except there was no heartbeat on the doppler. My skin tingled a bit as I strained to listen for it, but I remembered from the first time around not being able to hear a heartbeat in the early weeks using that type of monitor.

The doc whisked me across the hallway to an exam room with the sonogram. I stared at the acoustic ceiling tiles while she smeared ice cold gel on my abdomen. My mind raced a bit remembering all the miscarriage stories I'd heard. Despite my eyes drilling holes through the ceiling, I could tell the doc was straining to see anything on the monitor. There was lots of sighing and clicking and leaning towards the screen. By then my ears had started to buzz and throb as the blood coursed through them. She ultimately gave a big sigh and said, "I'm so sorry, but there's no heartbeat." What?! She started in on the statistics of how 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage...it's very common...it's nothing I did. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but all I could think about was how I couldn't endure two more months of feeling like shit. Did I even want to do this all over again? Not really. That was when the feelings of loss hit me. To confirm her suspicions she performed another sonogram - this time with the probe. I had started to calm down a little then, "Hey, there it is! There's the heartbeat!" The baby was stretching and moving and turning around. Heartbeat looked strong.

week 14 - no Roxy string bikini shots this time.

I'm now at week 14. I feel pretty good except for the gas and bloating and the fact my clothes don’t fit, oh and the tiredness at night. I could go on. But at least I have started to enjoy life again. The unfortunate thing is the week 12 doctor visit and my "advanced maternal age" have left me with a sense of anxiety and dread that bad news is lurking at every corner. It may be one reason why I haven't wanted to share my news with many people. Should I even mention anything in the Christmas card this year? Will I jinx us? Our friends once wrote in their Christmas cards that they purchased a new property only to have the sale fall through during escrow after mailing them out. See?!

This is the first I’ve written about my experience and certainly the first I’ve dared to photograph my hugely flabby mid-section (at least that’s what it feels like to me). I bought a journal several weeks ago as I did when I was pregnant with Kate. The journal sits next to my bed waiting for even a tiny scratch of the pen on its pages. I already feel the guilt. Am I doing (or can I ever do) all I can for the second child as I did for the first? Unlikely. But I’m willing to give it a go and see what happens.

Cultivating Confidence

2011-08-30T09:43:00.000-07:00

City Tree is closed for the week and Kate's first day of Kindergarten is still a week away. So we're taking turns with another family watching each other's kids. It works out well because Renee and Andrew are two of Kate's favorites. And aside from Kate and Andrew's occasional Bickerson moments the three of them get along well.

Kate was dressed and raring to go over to Renee and Andrew's house this morning before I could even squint one eye open. On our way to the car, she grabbed a notepad and pen to make a couple doodles for her friends. She drew for Renee a cat decorated with stickers. For Andrew, she sketched a Batman with big, strong muscles on each arm and a heart next to her name. She was quite proud of those sketches as she joined me in the car. Upon arriving at the house, Kate proudly handed Andrew the Batman doodle she made. I noticed Kate's confidence in her artwork slowly drain away from her slumping shoulders as Andrew looked at her drawing. She quickly added, "It's Batman, but I sort of messed it up." It was such a classic defense mechanism and made me sad to witness it.

As a parent I do all I can to cultivate confidence in my child. I acknowledge Kate's accomplishments without gushing. I recognize her special talents and things she does well without making a big deal of srew-ups. I try to encourage her during her struggles without jumping in to save her from them. I emphasize trying new things and the value of practice. I listen to her opinions and give her responsibilities so she can contribute to the family on a daily basis. I try to be a good example for her as a happy, self-confident woman myself. But. None of this compares to what her peers think.

Today's scene is just a glimmer of what is to come once Kate starts school. She has a set of strong values and a good foundation for high self-esteem. We'll continue to support her as we've done all along, but her opinion of herself will ultimately be on her shoulders. I just hope those shoulders don't slump over at the first sign of peer scrutiny.

Call it a "reproduction" not a knock-off

2011-08-25T19:33:00.000-07:00

Last week, inspired by Kate's love for Ramona the Pest, we walked the two convenient blocks down to our local branch library to pick up a few more Ramona stories. All stocked up on Beverly Cleary, we turned towards the exit when I noticed these awesome low-slung wooden lounge chairs. I flipped one over to see if there was an Ikea label stuck to the bottom of the seat board. Instead, I read "Herman Miller Eames." Assured they wouldn't check one out to me, I researched where I might purchase one of these modern beauties for my own house. That was when I discovered they retail for around 800 bucks a pop! Considering the City of San Diego is basically broke, I assume these 8 chairs and their two matching tables must have been donated.

So...where should this modern-aesthetic gal find one of these for her own office? Enter Google Shopping. A few keywords and a few clicks later I'm staring at (ahem) a reproduction of the very same Eames lounge chair I had discovered that afternoon projected on my screen. A few days and a few customer service issues later I'm now sitting in said reproduction. It's not quite Herman Miller, but it's oh-so-comfy-and-stylish.

I bought the chair from EZMod Furniture, although considering the sloppy service, I wouldn't exactly recommend them for your next modern classic purchase.

Tonight around 9:14pm

2011-08-22T21:35:00.000-07:00

Kate: "J" says juh, juh, juh and stands for "Jennifer"

Me: Who's Jennifer?

Kate: You know Jennifer. She wrote the Bible.

Me: ?

As time goes by

2011-08-18T21:07:00.000-07:00

All the first-day-of-kindergarten and back-to-school posts flooding Facebook recently have got me reminiscing about pencil boxes and new backpacks. I can remember the nervous excitement of entering a new grade. I can almost smell the paste and hear the drone of industrial-sized fans blowing hot air down the school hallways as the remaining days of Summer scorched down on the poor Midwest elementary students in the days before centralized air conditioning. If I wouldn't have to do high school over again I would most certainly go back to kindergarten.

But I don't actually recall any first day of school, let alone my first day of kindergarten. Maybe it's because I stayed at the same school for the transition from Miss Bennett's preschool class to Mrs. Carlysle's kindergarten class. Or maybe because there were no photos taken to memorialize the day (The photos, I believe, are often the actual source of most "memories" I possess of my early childhood). After giving my mother a slight guilt complex by pointing this out, I got to thinking - should the first day of school really be all that big a deal? Is it worthy of both parents accompanying their daughter to her new school to take in the scene and snap photos without her noticing, which I'm sure will happen in our case. I guess the answer is, why not? The kilobytes are cheap and Kate is growing up so fast. Why not relish each transition with gusto. Take photos. Write blog posts. You can be assured I will.

There are no first-day-of-school photos yet. We're relishing that last gasp of summer. But in the meantime, here's a striking reminder just how much Kate has grown in the short time after we moved to our cute little Cape Cod in Prettycita.

8 inches in nearly 2.5 years!

Twin Lakes

2011-07-13T08:31:00.000-07:00

Kate and I are visiting Kansas City in the summer again. July and December are our most frequent travel times. You know, when the weather is most pleasant and conducive to outdoor adventures. At least 2 of the 7 days we’ve been here I’ve avoided going outside at all. All I can seem to do is sit around indoors snacking and drinking making me wonder whether average body weights trend higher in industrialized cities having higher summer temperatures.

Today, I decided I must get some exercise and left my parents’ dog, Spero, to fend for himself in the big scary house while I attempted a mid-morning walk. My inner clock is still set on California time meaning I can’t rise any earlier than 9 am completely missing my window of opportunity to get outside in reasonably moderate temperatures. Leaving the comfort of the central air and enveloped in the steaminess of the morning, I walked over to Lakewood Lake (actually a pair of twin lakes) to take a brisk turn around the path built there ten plus years ago. The Canada geese have taken over parts of the path on the West side. As beautiful as they appear swimming across the water they are actually somewhat disgusting birds. One of them played a game of chicken with me as I clicked my tongue at the flock resting on the path to make way for me. I wished I could have hosed them and all their Tootsie Roll-sized olive green turds out of my way with a power washer.

I started toward the South side of the lakes and found an Asian family fishing with their young son. Grandpa stood quietly with a pole in his hands gazing across the water while grandson chirped to his dad leaning over a bucket of worms about what sort of hook he needed. It was an endearing scene except for the lime green muck of algae that covered the water at the shore where they were fishing. When I was a kid it was only the forgettable East swamp of the twin lakes that was covered in algae. If you looked at it with new eyes the lake resembled a bright green meadow of lush grass shining in the sun between a clearing of large oak trees (just ask Kate who was fooled and nearly had the shock of her life one year). It seems the algae bloom is taking over its prettier twin.

I made my way down the path between the lakes thankful for the shade as sweat dripped slowly down my back pooling into the divot at the base of my spine. I spent so much time in these woods as a child. The central main trail that rose up above the lake was the main thoroughfare on which I rode my bike to visit friends, Shelly or Jennifer, who lived in the neighborhood on the other side. The smaller dirt paths branching off and trailing this way and that through the woods were the gateways to the less traveled sections this outdoor world. Some of the more overgrown paths were simply off-limits in my mind. Fears of snakes, poison ivy, demented creatures with large fangs. Who knows. My imagination sometimes got the best of me down there. My favorite off-shoot led to Deadman’s Ditch, a deep canyon with a fallen tree extending across it from rim to rim. The Ditch got its name when a motorcyclist died after driving off the cliff edge. This story likely originated to freak out the younger kids, but now has become part of Northland history for my generation.

The most fun was racing my bike down two steep hills along the main trail. The first hill was easy-peasy. The second of the two was steeper and far more treacherous. It required you to pedal crazily on the way down to get enough speed to pedal back up without standing to pump or, God forbid, walking your bike to the top. I would have preferred falling over from the lack of speed than resort to the dismount and push option. What made that second hill particularly challenging was that it narrowed at the bottom. From my vantage point at the top of the hill the narrowing looked to be only a single Huffy tire’s width. On one side was a drop off and on the other was a thick stand of who knows what. Making that hill was a balancing act of reaching the necessary speed going down to make it up the other side without pushing your bike while still maintaining control at the bottom to maneuver the narrow strip of land. My friends and I must have raced those hills a thousand times each summer.

The two hills are only vaguely present under the concrete of the new path. It seems they filled them in somewhat before paving them over. Or is it that I’m older and bigger? Were the hills as steep as I remember? Was Deadman’s Ditch as great of an expanse? Was Lakewood Lake actually as beautiful as I remember it or did it always have that scuzz of green algae near its shores? Am I now looking at my old playground through adult eyes?

Mermadia Sex Ed

2011-06-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

We watched Mermadia tonight. It's a Barbie movie Kate received as a birthday present this year. It is a movie I secretly hoped she'd forget about, which she did until tonight. We watched together. It's not Pixar, but Kate thoroughly enjoyed the adventure and the humor. I have to admit that Barbie seemed much more self-sufficient and adventurous. Hats off to Barbie.

There was a scene, however, that totally cracked me up. In an attempt to rescue Prince Naloo, the two mermaids struggled through the “Depths of Despair” until finally, they came out the other end. They shot through what looked strikingly like a fallopian tube. They then flagellated through the water to get to the “Mirror of the Mist,” located in, I kid you not, an ovum!

Finally, I have a relevant visual to answer Kate’s recent questions about where babies come from!

Interesting parenting day

2011-06-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today posed some interesting challenges in parenting.

First, I heard from a friend and mom of Kate's preschool buddies. The story goes my friend's daughter participated last week in the age-old game of playing doctor. But this game was played at school with another classmate who performed "surgery" by poking a fork in her nether-regions. Never a good thing. But the reason for the call was that according to her daughter Kate played the same game with the same child and she thought I'd want to know about. Definitely.

Kate has been going through a naked-in-inappropriate-places phase the past several months. She has also been going through a playing doctor phase that started even earlier than the naked phase. Each has forced me to set some ground-rules about when it is and when it isn't okay to be naked. It also provided me with the opportunity to explain that it is never okay for anyone besides herself, the doctor (when mom and dad say it is okay), and mom or dad (when she says it is okay) to touch her privates. I was very careful not to make her feel there was anything inherently dirty or naughty about herself, but that there needed to be boundaries.

I broached the subject with Kate tonight while driving in the car. I kept a tone of concern and avoided sounding accusatory. I explained that it isn’t safe to stick sharp tools into her body and that I just wanted her to be safe while at school. My take-home message for Kate was she should: 1) trust her instincts, stick up for herself and say no; 2) invite the girl to play another fun game that they both enjoy like Superheroes, Duck-Duck-Goose or Princesses; and 3) if she felt like she couldn't do either of the first two things to just call out to a nearby teacher. Not sure how well I dealt with this situation. If you have other ideas I'd love to hear about them.

The day ended with the following line of questioning:
Kate: How did Jesus get to Earth?
Me: (deciding to just go with what they are likely teaching her in school) God gave Jesus to Mary as a baby. He was born on the Earth as a baby.
Kate: How do babies get in our bellies?
Me: (duh, how did I not see that follow-up question coming?) Well, it's a little complicated. If you want I'll take you to the library tomorrow to show you in a book about how it all happens to help you understand.
Kate: What does complicated mean?
Me: sigh...okay...so, you remember how the Doves made a nest outside our bathroom window? The mommy Dove laid an egg in the nest. The egg had a chick inside that was growing, growing, growing until finally it was big enough to peck its way through the shell. Well, that's sort of what happens with us, but instead of a nest built of sticks and leaves, we have a place in our bellies for the egg to be comfortable and grow. The egg grows and grows and grows until it's a baby in our bellies and is ready to come out. All animals have babies in similar ways, it's just that some animals like birds, snakes, lizards, dinosaurs lay their eggs outside their bellies to grow and other animals like us keep the eggs on the inside to grow. (whew!)
Kate: So Pterodactyls lay eggs while they are flying in the sky and the eggs go down, down, down to a hole in the ground where they grow and become baby Pterodactyls?
Me: Sort of. Well, I mean when they were actually still in existence.
Kate: What about crocodiles?
Me: They are reptiles like dinosaurs and lay their eggs outside their bellies.
Kate: What about snakes?
Me: They are reptiles. They lay their eggs outside their bellies.
Kate: What about lizards?
Me: They are reptiles.
Kate: What about dinosaurs?
Me: They are reptiles.
Kate: What about lions?
Me: They are like us. They lay eggs inside.
Me: Okay, I think you are starting to get it. It's time for bed now.

Prior Art Tees

2011-06-01T21:44:00.000-07:00

Did you know this past April the world's very last manual typewriter factory ended production? That's it. The very last one. And I think it was in Arabic (sorry NYPD).

It got me thinking about how the next generation will never know the sounds of typing on a typewriter. They will never know the heft of a metal telephone receiver or the sound of a rotary dial as it slowly, painfully, travels back to its starting place. Our kids will never have memories of winding and unwinding the telephone cord coils while they chat with a friend standing next to the dishwasher. Never will they feel the warmth of a fresh ditto in their hands as they inhale the smells of purple, aniline dye. sniff.

Prior Art Tees is all about the technologies from our past. Okay, from my past. Mix tapes, film cameras, perforated printer paper, VHS and rabbit ears. Now you can wear a slice of recently obsolete history on your chest.

Typewriter by SchnockeredMom
Browse more Rotary telephone T-Shirts

Rabbit Ears by SchnockeredMom
Browse Rabbit ears T-Shirts

Leggy

2011-05-05T10:21:00.000-07:00

I recently purchased these beautiful platform sandals on Zappos. I'd never before bought shoes for myself online, but considering Zappos' great return policy I thought it was worth a try. My favorite style blogger frequently wears these neutral-colored Coach platforms that make her legs look a mile long. I wanted to find a pair of my own (not Coach, obviously. duh) to add inches to my already tall frame and elongate my legs.

This morning I picked out a girly ensemble to pair with my new sandals. I slipped the straps over my worn down nail polish and hoisted myself to my feet. Holy crap! My head disappeared from the top of the mirror. I toddled around for a few minutes wondering if maybe it was the thick carpet sending me off balance. When I wasn't wobbling they certainly did my legs look lovely. And since I sit behind a computer for most of the day I decided to press on and wear my new ankle breakers. I shoved a pair of flats in my purse for good measure in case I needed to chase after robbers or race out of a burning building.

The lesson learned here is read and also understand the specs of items you purchase online. I now know that 5 inch platforms will make me walk like a giraffe. A very long-legged, awkward giraffe...with fabulous shoes. No, I won't be sending these back.

It all clicked!

2011-05-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

Driving to tonight's tennis match I felt different. I actually wanted to play. I didn't even need to call Jon to get a "word for the night" from Kate to keep me focused. I felt loose, light on my feet and ready to play in pristine San Diego conditions (as opposed to the 40mph winds we battled in the desert during the Vegas tournament last weekend). The sun was setting at the beach, I had a yummy Rubio's steak taco in my belly and I could smell the Night Blooming Jasmine from the baseline.

I recognized their singles player when she walked out on the court as someone I saw playing several weeks ago during my "Sunday morning service" with Ditas. This gal caught my eye at the time because she was whacking the hell out of the ball. I warned my teammate, Jamae, as she walked towards the court to play the singles match that this girl hits hard. I was right. Two games later Jamae called me in to take her place because as she put it even on her best day she'd never beat her.

I happily took over and appreciated the fact she only left me with a two-game deficit this time. I felt surprisingly calm. Maybe it was the smell of Jasmine. Maybe it was the steak taco. Whatever it was I hit the hell out of that ball tonight. It was one of those nights where I felt I couldn't miss. Everything just clicked. After a run of winning 5 games straight, I came from behind to win 8-4.

The Fix

2011-04-27T11:54:00.001-07:00

Until inspiration knocks me in the head and won't let go of my throat (does it do that?), I've figured out a temporary fix for my writing dry spell. Short, simple entries from Kate's point of view that memorialize the moments and require little to no creative writing effort. Please visit the new blog at Splash.com

Stream of Consciousness

2011-04-20T09:07:00.000-07:00

I am not feeling inspired to write….still. I have lots of ideas floating in my brain and scribbled on scraps of paper which I leave in the car, near the computer, in my purse, on backs of grocery lists. I keep a Word document list called “Blog ideas” that is so old now that the first entry is about potty training Kate, who will be turning 5 next month and has not worn a diaper in 2 ½ years.

Maybe if I shared some of the code phrases from list I could delete them and move on. Here we go.

I’m done, I’m done! Poop on the toilet story

Kate’s habit of “warming her hands” by shoving them down my shirt

Night at Tokyo Sushi with Kate; ordered a large Sapporo and two glasses

Kate dancing to pan pipes while I chatted with man from Peru

Kate insulting a big-gutted guy by asking me loudly, “Who did that guy eat?”

I know, I know. Riveting stuff. Actually they all could be developed into something really great if only I would have put pen to paper (finger to keyboard) and memorialized the details when I could remember them. But I didn’t. And I’m pretty sure I never will.

Not every blog entry need be about Kate. And not every blog entry need be about anything of any significance. I could save myself some effort and just post pictures of my bangs as they grow out from a botched trim job. I know of three, count ‘em 1-2-3, accounts where well-known bloggers documented their hair growth. Only one was truly funny. I guess even the best have dry spells.

My issue is more than a dry spell. My sex drive, yeah, well that’s a dry spell. This is more of a change in mindset. A para-digg-em shift, if you will. As I mentioned, Kate is turning 5 next month. Should I publicly discuss her every quip, misstep, or poop story now that she is older and developing into her own person? Should I post all the details of her recent naked romps in closets and playing doctor at school? Maybe. She likes to joke around, be silly and make people laugh, but she hates to be laughed at.

The other issue is I’m not a skilled enough writer to effectively express the intricacies of her personality as she gets older. I know everyone thinks their kid is the most awesome of kids, but she really is and I can’t quite capture it in the time it ought to take to write one blog entry. Oops, time is up. See, even this random stream-of-consciousness entry has taken me nearly an hour.

As frustrating as it is to capture the elusive words to tell the stories, I shouldn't let that keep me from trying. Memorializing these moments as they happen is enough. In 10 years, these simple stories will summon my memory of her as a child that a photograph may not do.

Jeans Day for Japan

2011-03-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

I'm truly horrified by what is happening in Japan. Kate and I read the headlines that first morning not quite appreciating the sheer size of this catastrophe. No one did, at first. We chatted about plate tectonics (again), what happens to the ocean when the earth moves under it. We also talked about the volume of water that would be needed to move an entire house and what would happen to everything inside that house. Remembering we live by an ocean I then reassured her we live too high on a hillside for a tsunami to affect us. Kate pondered all this heavy stuff for a moment. And then with eyes popping out of her head, "What about all the people inside the houses!?" That's my girl. A gentle (albeit sometimes rambunctious) soul who honestly cares about other people. To raise money for the people in need in Japan and the enormous clean-up and recovery effort (what does clean-up for a nuclear melt-down cost?), we are paying to wear jeans at work today. The firm is going to match the amount raised. It will be a drop in the bucket, but if everyone does a little think what it can amount to. Here's my homage to What I Wore: Getting more comfortable in my skinny jeans tucked in boots look (ignore the clover, people!) And those shiny things you see on my ears, they are my new favorite earrings that I purchased here:

Delegating the tough stuff

2011-03-16T15:23:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I came home to that wonderful antiseptic smell informing me that my throw rugs had been laundered, my tea kettle scoured and my toilet bowls scrubbed to remove the splattered well...I think you get the point. It was what we call around these parts "Adela Day." The bonus was that not only was my house spotless and Kate's stuffed animals arranged on her bed in an amusing display, my front garden was well weeded and looking rather perky beyond anything I'd seen in the past 5 months.

We have a huge yard (by SoCal standards) that we've neglected these many months. The clover has grown to almost knee level, which means for Kate....well, she better not fall down because we'll never find her out there. I decided it might be time to hire someone to tame the weeds back into submission. We called Adela to find out whether her husband might be interested in the job and available to take the jungle down a couple notches. Not only was he available, he arrived unannounced the following day to start work. 4 trash bags full of work to be exact. As pleased as I was to see my garden looking so beautiful, it made me feel a tinge lazy that I couldn't be bothered to weed my own garden.

The number of chores I delegate to others for a fee has sharply risen in the past few years. I've never been one to change the oil in my car or stitch my own clothes, so hiring a mechanic and a tailor are a given. When Kate was born and my maternity leave came to an end, I hired a nanny. I must work. And so childcare is a must. It's the duties that I could actually do for myself and don't that have begun to stick in my craw.

For example, hiring Adela as our housekeeper. It was sort of a desperate "Christmas present" idea for Jon last year. Although it is money well spent, I do feel a little strange about never having to clean the tub, shower or toilet in my own house. Last year I finally resorted to hiring a computer specialist to rid my computer of a rather nasty virus. I spent a month attempting what took the self-ascribed geek just two hours. It was the best $90 I'd ever spent. I only wished I had called him sooner. We also hired a carpenter to bail Jon out of a tricky woodwork situation in the naked lady bathroom re-do. This month we hired an accountant to help us navigate another tricky situation. This time with our taxes. I've even ordered take-out for Christmas dinner.

But what kind of example am I setting for Kate? When the going gets tough, hire someone else to handle it. It reminds me of one winter many, many years ago growing up in Kansas City. A big ice storm knocked out our power for several days. We bundled up and slept those evenings by the fireplace. One night, my mom attempted to make vegetable soup in the fire at the hearth. The soup was apparently too close to the fire, boiled over and the vegetables became permanently scorched to the bottom of the pot. I remember quite vividly my mother's rendition to her friends of how she dealt with the ruined meal situation. She confessed, "Like any pioneer woman would do, I ordered out for pizza!"

I look back on that cold, icy night now and think, "Of course you should order pizza! Why even attempt a home-cooked meal on a crazy night like that?" Knowing when to ask for help in a situation where the problem exceeds one's abilities is just as good a lesson as any. Technically, I do know how to clean my own toilets and weed my own garden. So how do I explain to Kate my lack of work ethic when it comes to taking care of my own home? Ideas?

A photo a day...maybe not

2011-03-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

For over a week now (I know, I know...not exactly intense exertion), I've tried to capture a photo a day. I'm finding, however, that mid-week photo shoots are just not going to happen with any regularity. The light is the best in the morning, but mornings in our house are somewhat mundane. They are primarily about getting up, getting dressed and getting to work. Not nearly enough interesting moments happen during the routine to make me stop and snap, much less post them here. Eating breakfast and then brushing one's teeth do not a good photostream make.

See?!

And so, I've changed the rules of the game. I'm allowing myself to post a photo a day, although they may have been captured in a single session on a previous day. I feel a little like I am cheating. Then again, I got this idea from a stay-at-home-mom-semi-professional-blogger. Documenting and photographing moments is essentially this woman's job once her kids are off at school. She need not bill an additional 7 hours a day writing patent applications or performing due diligence of start-up company patent portfolios. I'm cutting myself some slack.

What to tell children about war

2011-03-09T09:17:00.000-08:00

Our family has a morning routine that goes something like this. Jon gets up first, brings in the paper, makes coffee and does his kitchen elf duties of putting away the dishes from the night before. Then he quietly works the sudoku waiting for the sack hounds (Kate and me) to eventually rise and stumble down to the kitchen.

We each eat our breakfasts while flipping through the newspaper headlines until something catches our eye. Usually, for Kate it is a cat food advertisement or one of those cosmetic dentistry ads showing the disturbing "before" mouth gaping open next to the dentured "after" smile.

Kate has begun pointing to other equally disturbing photos. Last week she pointed to a Libyan rebel with his face half-concealed behind a dusty handkerchief and holding up a rocket propelled grenade. What's he doing, she asked me. Well... I paused before replying. My philosophy is never to ignore or deflect Kate's queries even when the subject matter may not be so benign. But how much is too much when providing information to young kids about the uglier side of life?

I finally explained in the most simple of terms that in some parts of the world people are prevented from living the life they want to lead. They may even be hurt by other people. And so they sometimes have to fight against those people who want to hurt them. I pointed to the photograph and explained it was taken in a part of the world called, Libya, and the people in Libya are on the verge of what we call "civil war." She followed up with a question about why in another photo a man was crying. I told her that there are a lot of people that get hurt in wars and that might be why the man was crying.

This morning several days after that conversation, Kate relayed the story to Jon. "Me and Mom (it's Mom and I, Kate..). Yeah so Mom and I were reading about the other side of the world. They are in a war and it's sad. I don't want to go to the other side of the world. I want to stay in San Diego." Great. Now I've made her believe that except in San Diego and maybe Kansas City every distant place is bad and people shoot grenades at each other. We explained that there are lots of places just as great as San Diego that happen to be on the other side of the world. Oh yeah, like China! She replied. Exactly. I decided now was not the time to try and explain a socialist state headed by a democratic dictatorship that also prevents people from living the kind of life they want to lead. Let's let her believe China is just as it is portrayed in Ni Hao, Kai Lan.

365 Days of Photos

2011-03-07T10:22:00.000-08:00

The author of one of the blogs I follow just completed and started anew a project where she took one photograph a day for an entire year.

Several months ago I purchased a new camera. But more often than not I find myself leaving it at home. Partly, it was a conscious decision to enjoy things as they happen and with full appreciation and attention without fussing with and watching said events through the lens of a camera. But the thrill of capturing a special moment in time is hard to ignore. I want to learn to be a better photographer. To learn to use my camera to its fullest potential. To learn to anticipate a great expression or a perfect angle of the sun.

Jennifer's project has inspired me to attempt a similar feat. Here's the first of the series. We'll see where this inspiration takes me. Hopefully I won't end up with 365 new images of Kate.

What goes up must come down

2011-03-04T22:21:00.000-08:00

As we prepare Kate for kindergarten this Fall (yes, sweetie, all kids speak Spanish in Kindergarten), I’ve begun to wonder whether she’ll linger another year with a mediocre, place-holder sort of teacher like we’ve endured this year or toggle back to someone more special. I understand that even in the “best” schools there can be years when the teacher is far from ideal. During those inevitable years I’m prepared to take up the slack because the pendulum will swing back eventually, right? The year-to-year cycle of teacher competency isn’t anything new.

When I was in grade school, I had the most amazing 1st grade teacher, Ms. Almen. Or at least my memory of her is most amazing. It could be because she drove a VW Bug or had a dog she named "Alice the Circus Dog" who could do flips and often wore a clown outfit. Ms. Almen even gave me her pet parakeet, Axel. Whether or not she was a special teacher I don't know, but you can’t argue she was a special lady.

But what goes up must come down. The very next year I had the absolute worst of all worsts, Miss Ricketts. Miss Ricketts was a rookie teacher who was also disabled. She "controlled" us by balancing on her crutches with one hand while using her free hand to vice grip our pre-pubescent toothpick arms. Spittle would fly off her bottom lip as she screeched at us to sit down and listen. Her control tactics fostered rampant playground fighting and mean tricks like thumbtacks left on chairs. There was even an instance of a child climbing out the classroom window (we were on the ground floor). Even I squished a child between two desks, and I was one of the "good" ones. The bullying of one child in particular remains ingrained in my mind. She would on a weekly basis sink into a sobbing heap in a corner of the room, underpants in full view under her plaid skirt while strands of snot hung down to her navel. I often wonder whatever happened to Julie. I want to give her a big hug and apologize for all she had to endure during those times simply because she wore glasses and orthopedic shoes with braces on her legs.

We were awful and most of us were actually pretty good kids. We realized our teacher had no control and went Lord of the Flies on her. By the following year, all the students matriculated together to the same third grade class. This time we had a veteran teacher who was in control and able to teach us our multiplication tables while preventing us from killing each other.

Because of this experience I’ve never forgotten how bad bad can be. I often wonder what it will be like for Kate in elementary school. Her preschool years have been positive so far with maybe the exception of this year. It’s been nothing like Miss Ricketts' class of Jack Merridews. My main complaint is that Kate’s teacher is a spacey underachiever. She has difficulty carrying a thought to completion. She struggles to answer questions when put on the spot. I skipped Spring teacher evaluations entirely because she made a sign-up sheet without enough spaces for the number of children in her class. At the Christmas recital instead of Jingle Bells or Away in a Manger, she had the kids sing some random jazzy number A cappella; a tune that not even the parents would have been able to carry. No wonder Kate didn’t want to wear the Santa hat on stage. She knew they were all doomed! My favorite from the year by far was a memo she wrote to parents about the weekly homework assignment. The kids have an alphabet notebook they fill with pictures of things starting with the letter of the week. It seems some parents (ahem…) didn’t realize the image needed to start with that letter. The memo read as follows:

Parents, please make sure your child finds a word that begins with the letter of the week, such as “Apple” for the letter A or “Banana” for the letter B, as opposed to a word including the letter in the middle such as, well I can’t think of an example of a word right now, but anyway, please make sure the letter is at the start of the word.

Really? You’re taking the time to type, print and distribute this memo and can’t complete that one thought? It’s only gotten worse since the pipes burst and flooded the school a few months ago. I’m not even sure she looks at the homework books anymore. This makes it particularly hard for me to fight the good fight when Thursday night rolls around and Kate would rather play than find pictures of short O words like "octopus" or long O words like "opossum" (wait, Miss Johnson, isn't the O in opossum silent?). But don’t worry. On my own time I help Kate with spelling and reading and grammar and math. Just not on this particular Thursday night when we’d rather make chocolate chip cookies bigger than the size of our heads!

I can see clearly now

2011-03-03T20:23:00.001-08:00

It's no secret that I'm far from a wizard in the kitchen. I have issues choosing the proper cookware and inevitably require multiple trips to the store to complete a single recipe. So why on Earth would I invite 6 friends to my house for a dinner party to...you know...cook for them. Why, to show off my new dining room light, that's why.

Backstory with this shade is long-winded and too boring to relate here. (Trust me. I just tried and fell asleep across my keyboardjfkdksjd*%&#....damn, I did it again.) The shortened saga is as follows: bought shade online half-price, arrived scrunched and obviously drop-kicked by UPS man, replaced no questions asked, sat in garage for a year, called electrician to install, electrician spared tearing apart living room walls by ordering wireless switch, invited dinner party guests prior to completed installation, light switch installed and working in the nick of time.

I chose a menu I'd actually made before, which is a step up from the spontaneous and somewhat idiotic experimenting I usually do when cooking for guests. I shopped early and prepped one of the side dishes hours ahead of time. I even made a smug observation that neither a second, let alone a third, grocery store trip would be necessary this time around. Ha! Take that you kitchen gods! That was just about the time the power went zzzzzzzzzpp. Was it hubris?

It was a strange, semi-power failure. There was enough power making its way through the wires to maintain the strangled alarm noise coming from our fridge and a low, orange glow from the freezer light. I'd never seen anything like it. After an hour in this electrical state, I received an update from SDG&E estimating a return of full power sometime around 7:00 pm. My mild annoyance erupted into a full-fledged, sweaty anxiousness.

I called all my friends with sort of a confused, I-really-don't-know-what-plan-B-is-but-stay-tuned sort of explanation. I fumed about having bought a huge pork tenderloin for folks who would probably never get to eat it and that I'd spent my morning slicing mounds of potatoes that we would have to finish off ourselves. Should I have everyone over anyway and just light candles? Move the dinner party elsewhere? Eating out was looking better and better. Oh, the irony of celebrating a new dining room light during a power failure.

After another hour the power returned and the dinner party was a go. It was nothing fancy really. No centerpieces or place tags. No napkins folded into fancy tee-pees ala Martha. Simply my favorite people gathered together for an evening of conversation and laughter under a beautiful dining room light that allowed us to actually see our somewhat tasty meal. Sans children. Joyous.

Given the amount of wine and sangria flowing, I was feeling particularly joyous. I joyously dominated the conversation as evidenced by my plate full of food when most other dinner guests were ready for Andrea's freshly fried, cinnamon donut balls. I just couldn't SHUT UP! I couldn't shut up even after all our guests had left. The next morning I continued to chat and chat and chat using the exact same words as I had that night before to describe the exact same stories. It's a wonder I even shut up long enough to enjoy my delectable evening of pleasure in my delectably empty (read: childless) house. Or else I think I did. All I know is I woke up the next morning buck naked with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth burning for a drink of water.

Here's to you, my friends. It was a lovely evening.

Vegas, baby! (Part II)

2011-02-21T18:08:00.000-08:00

Vegas appeared on the horizon about the time I exhausted all my road trip tricks. All the CDs had been played and crayons duly lost between the cushions. Kate’s Barbies were without so much as a shred of clothing nor did Kate have any remaining interest in them to care. Just outside Prim, Nevada I resorted to rolling all the windows down for the full-on, wind-in-the-face excitement of sticking a princess wand out the sun roof.

There it is, I shrieked! The Luxor pyramid stood guard over the gleaming gold panels of the Mandalay Bay. The green behemoth of MGM, a tip of the Chrysler building at New York, New York and the turrets of Excalibur came into view. As we approached our exit for the Tropicana Kate asked me, “Do real princesses live there?” pointing to Excalibur. Hummm, maybe we’ll have to hop on over for a visit to find out.

I truly had no idea what Excalibur had to behold. Maybe there is something sort of magical about it. A wooden draw bridge, princesses, princes, maybe an elaborate castle scene? Mostly, Excalibur offered oily, fingerprinted glass doors, shirtless male models passing out Mardi gras beads and a strange aroma of pot pourri masking old cigarette smoke. One thing useful that Excalibur did offer was a kid-friendly arcade in the basement.

The arcade was a combination of your average county fair carnival games like milk bottle ring toss and water gun horse racing along with midway video games. The old ladies working there assured us the fishing game and the balloon game were guaranteed winners. Good to know, but let’s try our hand at something slightly more fun than a moat of plastic duckies waiting to be drawn out with a fishing pole. We made our way into the depths of the arcade, which I started to realize was just about as dangerous as entering a casino with an ATM card, no budget and a buzz.

I hustled Kate past the robotic claw machines to try her hand at air hockey. I smacked the puck towards her side of the table without actually aiming. The puck ricocheted back and forth in front of her goal to fits of laughter until she could barely send it back to my end. Next, was ski ball. This was a tad more challenging for her and scarier for me. She couldn’t quite roll the ball up the ramp. And I started to fear the replacement cost of ski ball score board and electronics.

After the disappointment of ski ball, she saw a purple Care Bear in one of the robotic claw machines and went crazy. Pleeeeease?!? she pleaded. The sign read, “one attempt for 50 cents and two attempts for a dollar.” What a deal. Oh, what the hell. We’re on vacation. I knew Kate’s expectations were pretty high because she had just seen Toy Story 2 where the crazy, toy-abusing neighbor used a similar claw machine to grab both Buzz and Woody in a single try. Of course, Woody actually grabbed onto Buzz’s foot in a heroic show of selfless friendship only to be lifted out along with Buzz and trapped in crazy’s backpack. But really, how hard can this be? Some of these machines must actually work, right.

I moved the joy stick to line up the claw with the Care Bear in question. Meticulously, tediously, I advanced the claw into perfect alignment with a meaty portion of the bear…nudge, nudge, nudge. I lowered the claw as Kate coached me….a little lower, a little lower, a little lower, stop. Okay, grab it, mommy! But I couldn’t bring myself to push the red button atop the joy stick to activate the claw jaws. The LED glared at me with mocking judgment. Don’t even think you’re going home with that. You’ll need to insert way more coins into the slot before I let a Care Bear out of this glass cage. With a solemnity appropriate for activating a weapon of mass destruction, I pushed the button. The deadly jaws of metal impotently swiped at the stuffed toy with its chintzy metallic toothpicks before retreating back to the raised starting position. Fu**er! “Okay, Kate, this is what we call a “rip off.” Let’s go back to the fishing game. It’s a sure thing.”

We headed back to the duckie moat. Kate grabbed a pole and jumped onto the counter while I handed over my 2 bucks. She dropped her line in the water and immediately pulled out a red duck from the sea of yellow ones. Big winner! Kate received what the lady marketed as the "bigger" prize (see photo below of what I like to refer to as "Lotso" - yeah, I know, another Toy Story reference. But those movies are actually really, really good). The moat lady and I were actually quite impressed with Kate's fishing prowress. Most kids' only fish out a swarm of yellows, but not this kid. "Again! Again!" my little acade glutton demanded. “Okay, Kate, here’s your next lesson. It’s called quitting while you’re ahead.” We walked right out of the casino onto the Las Vegas strip to find another adventure in the setting sun of the desert.

Vegas, Baby (Part I)

2011-02-15T22:39:00.000-08:00

Kate and I made the annual road trip to Vegas this past weekend for the IRB Sevens tournament. We hit the road Friday morning one cup holder grasping a Grande latte/two sugars and the other a box of chocolate milk. Books, Barbies and blanket all tidy and within reach of little arms. Crayons and markers neatly stowed in easy-to-access containers next to all the coloring books. CD player filled with Kate’s favorite audio books and children’s music. Woo-hoo! Let’s go! The girls are going on a road trip! All three of us. Yeah, Little Red (my car) is most definitely a girl and she likes to have fun! Have you not noticed her sunroof?

I opted to take my car instead of Jon’s larger one because had I left her in San Diego for four days without so much as a spin around the block, her battery surely would have died. I knew it was a risk hitting the long road to Vegas without Jon’s XM Radio (you thought I was going to say something about my car battery being a risk, didn’t you?). One of the stations called Kids Place Live is Kate’s favorite and she always gripes when she has to ride in my car without Caspar Babypants. I even considered letting my car go dead in exchange for the continuous line-up of kids’ music that might help keep the car whine-free even when she’s running low on patience, which could end up being somewhere around Riverside (God help me). Little Red has new tires, a timing belt and a sun roof that really wanted to see the open road of the desert. And what a bonus to have a car that can make it to Vegas and back in just over a tank of gas. That’s nearly 600 miles people and no, it’s not a hybrid.

Another essential feature (not at first appreciated by me) is that the back seat floorboards of a VW Golf are safely within the driver’s reach. “Essential” due to the insane number of requests made by my car companion in that single 5-hour period for retrieval of once-neatly organized items that somehow trapped themselves under the floor mats. When the container of 50 crayons that I had tediously gathered together one by one and returned to their rightful place before lunch somehow had once again freed themselves and spread across the back seat only to wedge between each cushion after lunch, I nearly lost my shit.

Speaking of lunch, who knew there are 2, count ‘em, one-two, Bob’s Big Boy restaurants in the middle of the Mohave desert? There are. And when the first Big Boy comes up just a little too early in the morning to enjoy a greasy burger and fries, the next one rolls around just about the time your tummy starts rumbling. Genius! We passed up the Barstow Big Boy to dine at the Baker Big Boy. But even on a mini-vacation, I can’t quite allow myself a major, junk food pig out. I made sure Kate’s burger came with the fruit instead of fries and I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, which was about the healthiest thing I could find on the menu. At least I thought it was until it arrived covered by a pound of bacon with Jack cheese melted over the top. The gummy, cheese glue made for an easy, one-step removal of said bacon.

Heading East out of Baker is when the beauty and expanse of the desert comes into view and the smog of the inland empire disappears in the rear-view mirror. It’s easier to appreciate this beauty when you see those signs warning you to turn off your AC to avoid overheating and remember it’s only February. I find the desert beautiful. And I learned on this trip that Kate too sees its beauty.

Then, we arrived in Vegas.

Date Night at Wong's Golden Palace

2011-02-08T19:35:00.000-08:00

When Jon is out of town, the girls go out on the town.

It's not a conscious thing, but I end up doing less cooking when it's just Kate and me. This trend was most apparent last year during Jon's extended, on site stint in Vegas for the Sevens tournament. All Kate had to do on the ride home from school was mention the word "restaurant" and we'd be pulling into DZ Akins for some hot matzo ball soup and a grilled cheese. Or one night when she mentioned "marshmallows" and we ended up on the couch watching Toy Story through our dinner of popcorn, apples, and hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows. What can I say, I'm a sucker for indulgences especially in pairs.

I've done well this year since Jon left a week and a half ago. I've made nutritious, home-made meals most nights even when I felt like collapsing on the couch with a Coors Light. Tonight, however, I had to run a couple errands after picking Kate up from school. That meant the nightly routine was getting shifted later and later until it seemed almost silly not to go out somewhere. This was about the time I thought of Wong's Golden Palace.

Wong's is a Chinese dive restaurant straight out of the 50s that we discovered after moving to the College area, or shall I say "Prettycita." The exterior looks like a Chinese shrine lit up in neon. Jon and I finally had the nerve to give it a try one date night last summer. The flaming rum drinks with 2 foot straws sealed the deal that this would be one on our list.

Kate was less than enthused about my Chinese food suggestion until I told her the restaurant looked like an actual palace and there were all kinds of toys inside. After squeezing li'l red (my car) between two monster trucks bulging beyond their compact car parking spaces (this is East county after all), we came to Wong's big red front door. The door divides the entrance between the seedy cocktail lounge to one side and the dining room to the other. Swinging open the door, we were greeted by a Bali Hai volcano/waterfall scene and a cloud of cigarette smoke. Left turn, Kate.

We walked past the kitchsy trinkets and figurines displayed in a cabinet of smudged glass into the dining room. See, I wasn't lying when I told her there were toys. The dining room is filled with red Naugahyde booths and gold leaf marble table tops. Chinese lanterns hang from the ceiling every three feet and a golden dragon is perched on the wall at one end of the room. Kate was in awe.

We sat down at our booth and realized we were the only people dining in that night. In fact, the hostess seemed almost surprised that we weren't there for carry-out. The cloud of cigarette smoke that I thought was due to our proximity to the lounge was actually just as strong in the dining room. Seems they hadn't heard about California's 15 year old ban on smoking indoors. I checked the booth where the hostess had been sitting for an ash tray. Nope, just a newspaper and a drink.

Wong's doesn't bother with paper place mats showing the Chinese zodiac. We had nothing to read about the redeeming qualities of one born in the Year of the Rabbit. So obviously, there were also no crayons and no children's menu. No chopsticks either. Whatever. Useless frills is what they are. Bring on the Tsing Tao and the shrimp and broccoli.

Getting our wench on

2011-02-04T15:40:00.000-08:00

Tonight is wench night although it isn't the third Wednesday of the month. It isn't a Wednesday at all, actually. But we found some time to ditch our families tonight. It's gotten harder and harder lately to find a night when we can all get together (not counting our Wench of the North, Sarah). Demanding work schedules, school board meetings, travel obligations, and other activities have taken their toll on our monthly habit. But despite all this, we still manage to eke a quorum at least once a month.

Wench night is high on my priority list. My friendships with these smart, successful and fun women have been crucial in keeping me balanced. Thank you, ladies. You're the best!

*photo collage made using Picasa collage tool
Larger image taken December 2007

Catalog Living

2011-02-03T20:38:00.000-08:00

I'm just so glad to find someone else out there who likes to poke fun of Pottery Barn and everything they represent.

Check out Catalog Living

"Gary’s irrational attachment to our sofa, rug, and pool cues is starting to put a damper on our weekend excursions."

It could have been the jeggings

2011-02-03T20:20:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday was our firm’s holiday party. They shouldn’t even include the word “holiday” in there because there was nothing holiday about it. It was a bowling party. A bowling party with lots of booze and free hotel rooms offered to the staff. Luckily, I was included in the definition of “staff” and could take advantage of the free room for the night (although I’m not staff when it comes to 401(k) benefits, but that’s a discussion for another blog).

The plan was to bowl at East Street Tavern while Kate and some of the other kids stayed with babysitters at the hotel across the street and then we'd all stay the night. We packed our bags and checked in early to goof off downtown before the party. The hotel was The Indigo, a new boutique hotel in the Gaslamp downtown. The room had an amazing view of downtown and was furnished in the most trendy décor. I was especially digging the beds outfitted in fluffy duvet covers and piles of pillows. Yeah, baby! I knew my 4 year old would be in the bed next to ours, but those pillows would be useful in muffling the sounds, right. (Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up old, married people sex)

I pulled on my bowling shirt, jeggings and vintage leopard print coat to get my Laverne & Shirley on for a night at the bowling alley. Jon pulled on a bowling shirt and a pair of pants that can only be described as clown pants. I’ve grown accustomed to living with a clown so it wasn’t as much of a turn-off as you might expect. And since he showed up at my firm dressed as DJ Lance Rock from Yo Gabba Gabba! last October, I’ve gotten over my sensitivity of being made a fool of by my spouse in front of co-workers.

We bowled a few frames to warm up. My first throw – strike! Nice start. My second throw – strike! Well now. I was on fire. Maybe the idea of sex in a schmancy hotel room was doing me well. But the game wore on and my desire to chit-chat with co-workers lessened. I got bored. The food sucked. The drinks flowed. I took a break to visit the ladies room just for a change of scenery. That’s when I caught site of something in the mirror that gave me pause. Holy shit! Why did Jon let me leave the hotel room wearing only jeggings and a bowling shirt entirely too short to cover that double-chin on my butt cheeks? Eventually, I was forced to leave the bathroom, but not before I mentally sorted through each and every person that had been sitting in the booth behind my lane for the last 7 frames. Oh sweet Jesus. I still managed to bowl a 165 despite looking like I forgot my pants.

We headed back to the hotel bar for a nightcap. Once I remembered I was paying $10/hour for a babysitter, my desire to chit-chat with co-workers all but fizzled. I retrieved Kate, went back to the room and put her to sleep. I probably should have set an appointment with Jon before leaving the bar regarding when he should return to the room. Actually, I should have set a drink limit. By the time he and his grandma quilt clown pants showed up at room 618, he was three sheets to the wind and I was dreaming. At least I had been dreaming until the snoreworks ensued.

Mere seconds upon his head hitting the fluffy and abundant pillow collection decorating our luscious bedding, he started inhaling in a way that made me fear my pajama drawstrings might inadvertently take a ride down his trachea. I gave him a sharp kick to the thigh. The snoring stopped. Four seconds later,

sssSSSSNOOOOAAACCCGHHHHAAAAAAaaaa…..sssSSSSNOOOOAAACCCGHHHH AAAAAAaaaa…..

That’s about the time I gathered that pile of beautiful pillows - the pillows I thought would be muffling sounds of passion - to build a snore fort around my darling life of the party.

And by the way, what the hell is a "nudge"

2011-02-03T19:05:00.000-08:00

I’m a late adopter (or is it adapter). See, even that phrase illustrates my innate lameness when it comes to accepting new technologies in my life. The last time I was actually current in my use of technology was probably in 1982 when my grandparents bought me a Sony Walkman for Christmas. Yes, I was hip for the times that winter. But I hung with tapes so long that you can still find an old Primal Scream tape in the backseat pocket of my car. Yes, the one I’m currently driving. It wasn’t until 1995 that I finally broke down and bought a CD player. I slowly added to my CD collection in a most lame way using a BMG music subscription that I joined, cancelled and rejoined in order to take advantage of the introductory offers of 10 free CDs. I still have those CDs. No MP3s and no iPod. But what does it matter now that there’s streaming music?

Technology is changing so fast that my inaction is almost a good thing. It takes me years to finally buy something that had been “hot” so the cost ends up being a fraction of what my otherwise tech-savvy friends paid. Take, for example, my cell phone. Or rather that very small paper weight that usually lies dead in the bottom of my purse. Don’t text me and certainly don’t expect me to answer that thing. I loathe the phone generally. Just ask Jon who has resorted to calling my friends when he needs to hear the sound of a friendly voice. Because mostly what he gets from me is, “uh huh…mmm…that’s cool. Really? Neat.” A friend recently told me she had the same attitude towards cell phones until she got her smart phone. And now she loves it. Just like the rest of the world loves their smart phone. They’re the new norm and they're sucking up everybody else’s bandwidth. The airports and the coffee shops. You can't even drive through a crosswalk without seeing someone tapping away on their very beautiful iPhone to watch the latest viral video. Yeah, it’s cool. Yeah, it allows you to be oh so efficient and oh so in touch and Tweet non-stop. But I’ve decided I’m not going to drink the Kool-Aid. I’m going to be so out that I’m actually in. I’m going to resist until the bitter end. Check back in with me in three years when I’ve finally bought my new phone so I can text you back.

2010 New Year's Quiz

2010-12-31T09:56:00.000-08:00

I came across this new year's quiz last year and followed suit. Me, and probably 100 other bloggers. Oh well. I never said Schnockered Moms was trailblazing or unique.

So here goes the 2010 Quiz. It might be more accurate to call this the 4Q 2010 quiz because it was all I could do to stretch my brain any earlier than Thanksgiving. But the mountain of photos I took guided me through this flashback of the year that was 2010.

1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?
Hired a maid. Lost my child in a store. Swung on a flying trapeze. Ate escargot at Thanksgiving dinner. Wore knee-highs with a skirt and heels. Nude photo shoot and a sex marathon (yes, really!).

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't make resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Fred Hernandez delivered his daughter in the shower of his own house! Laura Burnett. Pam Peterson. Becky Lyle (hey, she was on the list last year!).

4. Did anyone close to you die?
My co-worker lost her battle with cancer on Christmas Day. She wasn’t a personal friend, but she was someone I saw on a regular basis and occasionally worked with.

It was particularly hard to witness someone struggling to maintain normalcy when her entire life became anything but normal. Towards the end, she continued to show up to work wearing her new wig and toddling around on her frail legs offering to help just as she always did. She would walk behind a file cart using it as a walker. She kept coming to work despite looking (and probably feeling) haggard, tired, broken down and nearly 30 years older. I experienced selfish thoughts wishing she would stop coming to work. Her presence reminded me that she was going to die and it made me feel sad and uncomfortable and clueless about what to say. I'm not proud to admit this. I knew she was braver than me. I also knew she needed to work. She needed to feel like she had a purpose beyond lying in a bed at home recovering from the unrecoverable. And she probably needed the medical insurance.

Karen’s mother and sister died from breast cancer this past year as well. An entire family of women wiped out in a single year. My heart goes out to the surviving family members. I hope that they can find solace in the fact that Karen was an incredible example of human spirit and gumption. I will never forget her nor will I forget her catch phrase heard in the halls time and again - "We're rockin’ and rollin’!"

5. What countries did you visit?
None. I barely left San Diego.

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?
Still waiting for that smaller waist line, lower resting heart rate and more overall energy. Also, more gumption, stick-to-it-tive-ness, and patience would be nice.

7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
I will likely always remember the phone call from the school on November 15th telling me that Kate fell from the top of the slide hurting her arm. Turned out it was broken. I don't think I need to explain why this would be etched in my memory. I think every parent has experienced that stomach sinking feeling when the school calls with this kind of news.

Also, the Easter day earthquake will never be forgotten. Kate was in the shower cleaning up after “beachster” with the KellyBeans when the shaking started. What made it so memorable was that it carried on for another minute and a half. Incredible experience!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finally registering for and scheduling the patent bar exam. I've never had such difficulty forcing myself to do something. Returning to competitive tennis after an extended hiatus was another achievement worthy of notice.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Speaking of tennis, I suppose my biggest failure was that last match at our WTT regional tournament in Irvine. It was so bizarre, but I lost all ability to play. I’m chalking it up to being tired and out of shape.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nope.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My new and improved Canon Powershot camera after the screen on my old Canon Powershot camera suffered a slow death by spoon poke while horseback riding this summer.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
The wenches as a whole. And in particular, Esther. She is the truest of all friends in every sense. I’m thankful she’s in my life.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I’m sure all I’d need to do is review the local news. Ah yes, that horrible man who murdered Chelsea King and Amber Dubois.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Same as last year – house payment and health insurance.

15. What did you get really excited about?
see number 8

16. What song will always remind you of 2010?
The Mysterious Fox of Fox Hollow and any other Tom T. Hall song. I introduced Kate to his music this year. It also reminds me of the year 1977.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you?
happier or sadder? Same
thinner or fatter? Same
richer or poorer? Richer

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Exercising, stretching and connecting with Jon.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Browsing Facebook and checking e-mails.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
We flew to Kansas City the week of Christmas to spend it with my parents and my brother.

21. Did you fall in love in 2010?
Nope.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
I only get to watch TV late at night. So, some of my late night guilty pleasures have included Fashion Police, Talk Soup and Project Runway.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Aside from using the word to describe what I think of mornings, I never use the word "hate." And I most definitely don't actively hate another person.

24. What was the best book you read?
see this

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
One of the blogs I follow, Girl’s Gone Child, has weekly posts of musicians I most likely wouldn’t otherwise know.

26. What did you want and get?
A new light fixture for the dining room.

27. What did you want and not get?
The new light fixture for the dining room actually hanging up and wired.

28. What was your favorite film of this year? Movies that don’t involve animation have taken a back-seat for awhile. I took Kate to see Toy Story 3 and Tangled, which were both really good.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 38 this year. I spent a good chunk of my birthday lost in Olathe, Kansas trying to find the house where my friend from college with staying. The rest was catching up with Laura and her beautiful girls, Payton and “Girl.” Then, dinner with my family.

Maybe my resolution should be to make my birthdays more memorable. It's the age-old problem having a birthday stuck between Christmas and New Year's.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Less guilt and more time.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?
I attempted more layered looks and adding funky, eclectic pieces that you wouldn’t necessarily find on the racks at The Limited. I also started following this blog to give me inspiration.

32. What kept you sane?
My husband, Jon. He is the most understanding and patient man. He supports me in all things and is forever my cheerleader, confidant, and reality check when I start going off the deep end. Thank you Jon for loving me and being the most incredible man I could ever choose to spend the rest of my life with (er, I mean the next 54 years).

I should also mention my office husband, Fred. He is by far the best person I've ever worked for and makes coming to work a joy.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Lindsey Lohan. Just kidding. I really hate this question and have decided to replace it with question 33b.

33b. What is your favorite opening line of a Christmas letter you received this year?
“This was the first year in our new house. We kicked it off with lots of friends and family filling our home, celebrating with food and wine last Holiday season. Then Pam got pregnant again.” Classic!

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Wikileaks and the internet hacker retaliation to Julian Assange’s arrest.

35. Who did you miss?
I miss my grandparents. At the most unexpected moments I’ll think of something they used to say or do, something they wore, a snack we’d share together, randomly unimportant yet oh-so-important defining minutiae. Or I’ll catch in my memory something that is so fleeting that the more I think about it, the more I fear I’ll forget. I really wish I had done a better job learning from them before they were gone.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
Probably Parrish Shope, who is someone I met on my tennis team and an awesome hitting partner. That is…until she moved away!

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010
Don’t let your kid swing on a tree swing while holding a beach umbrella.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I can’t think of any song lyrics, but I can give you a list of all my Facebook status updates over the year. If someone could write a song incorporating these, that would be the song lyric that sums up my year.‎

Sharpie snake tattoo is smeared and not about to come off by Monday morning
“Why are the nerds always just a pain" - message in a greeting card I found from my grandmother sent to me back in 1995.
This is how I feel after playing my first tennis match in over 11 years.
This is how I feel after playing my second match in 11 years. 8-0, baby!
Thanks for all your birthday wishes. I actually didn't turn 40 today nor was I even born in February. I was just trying out a different birth date for size. February is kinda nice, but I suppose I should go back to my god-given one - the one stuck smack in the middle between Christmas and New Year's.
Back in SD after a rockin' girls' weekend in Vegas. And by "girls" I mean me and my three year old!
Sausage fest followed by Cirque du Soleil - what a great 1.5 year anniversary!
is working from home and can't stop checking the fridge!
is no longer dreaming of a new chandelier to hang over the dining room table - she's now shopping! Can't wait to strike another one off the New House Never-Ending To-Do List.
me to Kate: So, how do you think we should get rid of the gophers tearing up our yard? Kate to me: We'll need a long, sharp sword. Looks like Kill Bill, Vol. 3 is about ensue
Easter on the beach followed by a 7.2 earthquake. Total SoCal style.
The swarm of earwigs I uprooted doing yardwork gave me a serious case of heeby jeebies I'm not soon to recover from
Kate to me: I wish I was with Lily's family today because I just love them. Me to Kate: Hey, what about me? You love me too, right? Kate to me (completely avoiding the question): You can have Lily. She loves you. Happy Mother's Day to me.
Any suggestions on how we might pick up teeny-tiny, snowflake-sized particles of styrofoam that exploded in our yard during last night's party? I had no idea the Snow White party would be taken quite so literally.
It took climbing a 30 foot ladder and leaning from a platform to grab the just-out-of-reach trapeze to discover I have a fear of heights. Who knew?!
You mknow it was a tgood weekend wheny ou forgetr how to type by th firstd ay back to wrk
enjoyed watching that great summer comedy called Eclipse
Another virus has hijacked my computer. This one is completely beyond my expertise to fix. Any recommendations for Geek Squad type of assistance for home PC repairs?
I will be making my way through the list of Man Booker prize winners. I'm done wasting my time with Chelsea Handler playground masturbation stories and those Twilight series books
I too want to wish all my friends love and broccoli (or the vegetable of their choice)
a garden bandit stole two of my plants right out of the front yard! I'd like to believe the plants were rescued from their deathbed and placed in a better home. But those two were actually going to survive, I just know it!
I think I poisoned our fish, the dog threw up twice on the carpet and two doves were having bird sex outside our bathroom window. How's that for a Sunday morning.
Longing once again for cool mountain breezes, a cold beer and a dip in icy lake water. Funny how the snow melt water temperatures seem much more enticing when one's house is a sweltering 86 degrees! Huntington Lake, I miss you!
Midwest bound
Tip for the Day: If things aren't turning out exactly as you had planned....laugh maniacally. It will piss them off at the very least
Finishing off the bladder of red wine from the camping trip. mmnth...aaahhh
We started out strong at the Irvine national qualifiers, but just couldn't hang on. It's like Meatloaf once said, two out of three ain't bad
(federal holiday + day off from work) - child's private school still in session = bliss. Thank you, Columbus
Jury duty + a rainy day = fun: Lunch with friend downtown before narrowly escaping jury selection. Brisk walk (with umbrella, thankfully) to Kate's preschool for early pick-up. Slow, meandering walk in rain (still with umbrella) with Kate jumping in puddles to Little Italy. Gelato and cappucino at Cafe Zucchero (dinner? who cares!). Trolley ride past line of cars stacked up on highway back to the house
I thought of the perfect come-back to the whining jackass that indirectly accused our team of cheating tonight. Unfortunately, it came to me about an hour too late. Oh to be good (and quick) with witty replies... sigh
It was a throw-back day. Relieved the nanny after work and then walked the dog and kid in the 'hood
He'll rue the day
Played one of my best mixed doubles match last night! So much fun. Even better....No Love Crew goes undefeated for the season. Way to go Crew!
Kate really does have some good ideas for breakfast sometimes
If you're going to offer on your cubicle a candy jar of irresistible, chocolately treats for people to enjoy, don't expect me to put any change in your collection jar. If you can't spare the treats, hoard them in your drawer like any other sane and rational person would do. Sheesh!
I inadvertently dressed like my 4 year old today. All for except the leopard print jacket
I’m curious...does all chorizo include salivary glands, lymph nodes and fat. Yuck! Why, oh why, did I read the ingredient list?
I had to open the front door today to warm up the house. Ahhhh....December in San Diego!
Be kind. It may be the only nice thing that happens to someone today
Light fixture at the Music Hall in downtown Kansas City, MO - A great example of art deco style
Is taping shut every single Christmas card...damn self-sealing envelopes!
The cast is off and the Christmas wish came true!

2010 Reading List

2010-12-15T16:35:00.001-08:00

At Swim Two Boys
by Jamie O'Neill
B
This was the first love story between two men that I’ve ever read. I got this confused with At-Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O’Brien, which is on my Top 100 Novels list, but it ended up being worth the read. Very dense and full of references I didn’t fully understand – growing up as a poor gay catholic boy in Ireland around the turn of the century.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
A
Reminded me of what e-mail and texting is doing to the fine art of letter writing.

The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner
by Stephenie Meyer
C
More vampires. Whatever.

A Reliable Wife
by Robert Goolrick
B+
Predictable, but still enjoyable.

Little Bee
by Chris Cleave
A
Subject matter was at times hard to read (refugees from Nigeria), but the voice he achieved was incredible.

Never Let me Go
by Kazuo Ishiguro
A
Beautifully written and loved the pace. Check one off the Top 100 novels list.

Possession
by A.S. Byatt
C
I gave up on this. I couldn’t finish because it was incredibly slow and the literary references and poetry were boring me. Maybe because I was never an English Lit grad student? Guess I can't check one off the Top 100 Novels list.

The Gathering
by Anne Enright
A
Sad subject matter. And the descriptions of a marriage in trouble sort of stung, but well worth the read. Check one off the Mann Booker Price list.

Lolita
by Vladimir Nabokov
A
Never realized how humorous and beautifully sad this love affair was. Check another off the Top 100 list.

Pride and Prejudice
by Jane Austen
A
She’s always a fun read.

The Girl Who Played with Fire
by Stieg Larsson
B+
The gratuitous violence against women was distracting.

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
by Stieg Larsson
A-
Slow in the beginning, but really sucked me in to the story.

Edgar Sawtelle
by David Wroblewski
A
A must-read for anyone who has ever loved a dog.

Water for Elephants
by Sara Gruen
A-
I had a hard time going to the circus after reading this one.

Pillars of the Earth
by Ken Follett
B+
Lots of gratuitous violence and sex that seemed somewhat out of place.

Love

2010-12-15T10:24:00.001-08:00

I have a new favorite blog.

It's simple. Uncluttered. To the point.

And it makes me wish I had a larger selection of brightly-colored tights.

Check it! What I wore

Paging Doctor Tong

2010-12-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was hanging our Christmas lights - a lovely mono-chromatic blue, which Kate claims is quite boooring and not nearly as beautiful as our neighbor’s display, which to me resembles a Christmas hairball of multi-colored lights coughed up by some demented elf - while Kate played with a neighbor buddy in the yard. They took turns on the tree swing before disappearing out back. After 20 glorious minutes of solitude and quiet, I decided it might be best to check in. Because no news is never good news when it comes to 4 year olds.

I walked into the kitchen and could see the tops of their heads outside the breakfast nook window. I stole a quick peek to make sure no one was unconscious or bleeding. No, Aidan was pulling her pants out from her belly to let Kate take a look. Hum. I’ll just see where this goes before making my presence known. Two seconds later, Aidan shed her bottoms as Kate grabbed the plastic tongs from her play grill. Whoa! I gave the window a little knock to interrupt the procedure. They both looked up at me with a hint of embarrassment and annoyance on their faces. I walked outside and asked in my most innocent of tones, Hiya, whattcha guys doin’? Kate ran over, tongs in hand, to explain they were playing doctor. Well, I don’t mind you playing doctor, but you really shouldn’t be sticking those toys where they don’t belong. They’re yucky and have spent the last 6 months under the house covered in scum that drained off the roof. Why don’t you play doctor on a doll instead? This suggestion didn’t go over well. And I could honestly understand why. Dolls lack the anatomically correct parts that make sticking toys in them fun. Kate made the compromise that they would play doctor on top of their clothes. I agreed that this was a good idea, emphasized we never should stick anything like that into our bodies and returned to hanging lights.

I think my interruption sort of soured the fun because soon thereafter they came back to the front to swing on the tree swing again. That is, until Kate decided it would be fun to DIG UP THE GOPHER TRAP! The doctor game with the tongs was looking pretty good at that point. At least tongs up the hoo-ha wouldn’t require a trip to the hospital and tetanus shots.

And here is what I wore

2010-12-10T08:50:00.000-08:00

This is my favorite Friday outfit. Even though I work at a law firm, we can wear jeans any old day. But I usually save mine for Friday.

Blouse: INC Macy's
body suit: some London underwear store from many, many years ago
Jeans: Joe's
belt: no idea
cuff: thrifted
handbag: emilie m
shoes: Mia
socks: (didn't photograph well, I think I should have left them off)

sweater (ah...December in Southern California): Susina

Christmas program reprise

2010-12-10T08:33:00.000-08:00

Today is the preschool Christms program. Jingle jingle jingle bop bop shoo wah has been a common refrain heard about the house recently. But this morning Kate threatened to sit with the parents. Could it be my extroverted child suddenly has stage fright? We'll see how that plays out sometime today around 3pm.

My favorite part about today, however, is that she's wearing the exact same dress she has worn the previous two Christmas programs. Our crazy neighbor in UH gave us this dress when Kate was an infant. Four years later it's still one of her favs. And I let her wear it any time she pleases. I wouldn't have paired it with the hot pink cast, but check out the awesome brown buckle boots!

Setting our priorities straight

2010-11-11T09:18:00.000-08:00

It's school choice time for San Diego Unified School District. It's basically an opportunity to choose a school outside of your sucky neighborhood school, which ours is. After talking to parents and reviewing school accountability report cards of the various elementary schools in the area, we've finally prioritized what's important to us when it comes to Kate's elementary education. Start time.

I'm being a little flippant here, but it turns out start time is rather important for me aside from just not being a morning person. If I were to send Kate to a school that started at 7:30, I would basically see her for about an hour or two each day. And that time would be hurried, harried and basically full of stress. Our mornings of reading the newspaper together over breakfast, goofing and dancing around to music while getting dressed, and the occasional morning book-reading session would be shot. Instead, mornings would be a mad rush to...wake - check, dress - check, eat - check, lunch - check, car - check....crap, we forgot shoes. Turn around, turn around...we don't want another tardy, do we...shoes - check. And evenings would feel much the same way. I don't usually get home until after 6pm meaning we'd need to jump right into...dinner - check, homework - check, bath - check, stories - check, sleep - check...all by 8pm in order to get her out of bed in time the following morning to get to school by 7:30.

So we put the Language Academy first on our school choice application this morning. Yeah, she'll finish 8th grade completely fluent in Spanish. That's great. But you know what's even better? Class won't start until 8:45!

ED: I realized after making my choices online that there's no way to edit them! And then I realized I made an error on the application. I selected "Language Academy - Spanish" which was the choice for Spanish-speaking students wanting to attend the Language Academy. So, I f***ed up the elementary school application. Guess she'll never get into Harvard now.

This So Cal transplant is anxiously awaiting the end of super porno chic

2010-11-10T10:34:00.000-08:00

There was a segment I heard on NPR’s Morning Edition with Barney’s creative director Simon Doonan last September just as New York Fashion Week got underway. The piece was about the resurgence of prep. Doonan made the suggestion that this renewed interest in preppy clothing may have been brought on by the slutty trashiness that has dominated pop culture of the past few years. Could it be that America is tiring of super porno chic? For Kate’s sake as a young girl growing up in Southern California (a hot bed for trashy looks), I certainly hope so.

Doonan pointed out that we’ve seen this reversal before. Historically, the super sleaziness of the 70s was followed by the Ralph Lauren preppy, country club look of the 80s. I’m hoping that the prep looks shown on the runways this year will trickle down to juniors departments in time to spare Kate from The Real Housewives Jersey Shore brand of slut fashion. But not just yet as evidenced by these mile-high, platform stilettos Kohl’s marketed to Juniors in the paper this morning. Super cute shoes, but…for a 13 year old? Really?

Longest Wench Rant in History

2010-11-10T08:59:00.000-08:00

From: Esther
Sent: Saturday, October 30, 2010 1:12 PM
To: Sarah; Jamie; Becca; Natalie
Subject: Mother's of girls --

I have a question for you. A 4th grader in August's class was dressed as Victoria from "Twilight" for the Halloween parade. Admittedly, I am out-of-touch with raising the modern American girl, but isn't this too young to have read or watched "Twilight"?

From Jamie: I thought so and didn't initially let Celia see it last year but then she was among the few in her class that hadn't seen it - I even verified with their mothers! As movies go Twilight is pretty lame - except for all the longing - which Celia doesn't "get" by her own admission. It's a run away train, Esther - just hold on.

From Natalie: Did she actually know the character or was she just a kid dressed as a vampire that happens to be from a recent movie?

I also feel the movie is pretty lame and doesn’t have too many inappropriate scenes for a 9 year old, which arguably it might I was too busy laughing, but…why are we in such a hurry to have our kids grow up? Let’s at least attempt to allow them to relish the simpler times of playing tag at recess and watching Pixar films.

I guess I’m sort of old-fashioned and out of touch too. But I feel sort of bummed sometimes when I see younger kids having a sophistication (or whatever you might call it) that shouldn’t come for a few more years. For example, there was this boy at the pumpkin patch last week. Probably somewhere between 10-12 because I really can’t tell. He was trying so hard to look like he wasn’t having fun and to be soooo cool. Hat on sideways and that seen-this-all before attitude. Occasionally, I’d see him sort of smile and start to have fun before he’d gather himself back up again to be cool. I know that all kids will go through this self-consciousness and some never let go of it. But I also know that sometimes these concepts might not enter a kid’s mind until they see it first-hand from someone else doing it (like a broody teen-ager worrying about the size of her boobs or looking silly by being seen with the wrong dorky kid in class or in the case of Twilight pondering a life of eternity as a vampire).

Why not shelter them just a little bit longer from certain things? Will it stigmatize Kate when she’s the only kid in her class that hasn’t seen…I can’t think of what it will be. But there will be something. And how many of those parent let their kids watch because they thought all the other parents’ let their kids watch….

From: Esther I totally agree with you, but I think the challenge is knowing when it is time to expose them to the more sophisticated side. The real problem is that they are usually exposed before we are ready for it (I think Jamie's point).

For instance, I was shocked today when August say "dog shit" and used it correctly and with authority. I know he knows what those words are, and he used it in the proper context. But hearing him say it in this way just blew me away. For some reason, this represents the magnitude of my responsibilities - - yes, dog shit. When he was a toddler and used "naughty" words, he didn't know what he was saying. He was repeating funny words that mommy and daddy said (okay, those had 4 letters). But the way he said it today was like a reality check that he is growing up, and adopting "adult" ways.

Between dog shit and the "Victoria" in his class (who seemed to know who the character was), I'm a little freaked out about what lies ahead and the fact that I'm in charge.

BTW -- Just ate at Crazee Burger for dinner and it was awesome. I had a brie and mushroom burger. Super yummy.

From Natalie: Maybe it’s not our job to expose them to adult themes as much as it is to prepare them for when they are exposed. We can provide a supportive and informed environment where they feel they can ask us questions and get more information that they wouldn’t otherwise get on the playground. And I think we can do this without making them suffer through any awful Twilight movies. I jest, of course, they are entertaining movies in some ways but wouldn’t they be a tad scary? Obviously, I’m a wimp and always have been when it comes to suspense. But what they hell do I know about all this stuff anyway. All I’m dealing with right now is yet another game of dance party ballerina and let’s scare August by taking off all my clothes during the dinner party.

I guess no one can really say when is the “right” time. We’ll just have to follow our gut.

From: Jamie My only qualification to weigh in is that Celia is the oldest (by very little over August and Retta). My reality is that you get very little opportunity to set the exposure schedule. If you want to be the first to explain something - anything - to your child you had better DON'T WAIT. They will hear about it elsewhere and inevitably get it wrong. If they are not ready to hear it from you - imagine how unprepared they are to "learn" it from their peers. Dat's all I got to say bout dat. :-)

From Natalie: Yeah, but is letting your 8 year old watch the Twilight movies really setting the exposure schedule? I think not. But if you’re talking about them learning about sex, then yes you should be the one to explain it first.

From: Sarah Wow when did this gigantic thread appear?? I have tons of thoughts on this but can't do it justice by iPhone. Ella went to a b-day party where the movie was twilight - no permission asked - I would NOT have said yes. The whole undertext is sexual (why the books are a rollicking good read). I HATE it when other parents do that. To Nat's point - when we were in Ireland Ella was a completely different kid - not trying to be all grown up and knowing- no peers lots less 'tude

From Sarah: Check out this article about the Glee GQ photo shoot which fits into this topic pretty snugly... Glee Hits a Sour Note

From: Becca ...of when and what to "expose" your kids to, it seems to me such a personal decision, and one so dependent on your child, that there's no one-size answer. The one thing I do feel strongly about is, as a parent, it's my job to help my children process and contextualize what they are seeing. We're reading Harry Potter 5 now, which I'm sure many people would feel is completely inappropriate for a 5-year-old, but it's working in our family. But as I read, I throw in, "This is starting to be scary for me, but then I remind myself that there isn't such a thing as werewolves," or "Wow! That was a mean thing for Draco to do! How do you think Hermione feels about that?" So besides being a good story, it's an opportunity to talk about friendship and bullying and bravery and rule-breaking and all kinds of good parent topics. Just like I torment my kids when they are watching commercials with: "Does that make you want to buy it? Do you *really* want that thing, or do you just want to have as much fun as the kid int he ad is having? How could you have that much fun without spending your allowance?"

If a parent thinks their child is ready for Twilight, by all means let them watch, but, to me, the parent's job is to watch at least part of it with the child and help them see the messages the movie/book/article/photo is sending and whether they agree with it or not. So that's how I choose what my kids can watch: what I can stand watching -- albeit briefly -- with them so I can annoy them with these conversations.

Yes, my kids probably hate me, but that's my job.

B

From: Jamie Becca - I couldn't agree more. It is incredibly kid specific. Celia can handle twilight but not team sports - go figure! To annoying our children into independent thinking!

From Natalie: I didn’t mean to imply that exposing our kids to things is one-size fits all. And yes, I agree that being there to provide commentary and probe them for what they think about what they’re seeing is a good thing and to be encouraged. It’s just that I think as parents there’s this urge to encourage behaviors or experiences in our kids that are beyond their age. I don’t know why. But I do know that childhood is fleeting. There will be so much time for that stuff when they’re older and no longer want us around and will barely look up from their smart phones to say hello after a long day of who-knows-what because they will no longer talk to us.

I think this is sort of where I stand:
http://www.jessicagottlieb.com/2010/09/a-letter-to-my-daughter/

From Natalie: All this has made me wonder what was I watching at the movies when I was 9. Here are the top movies released that year:
ET
Tootsie
An Officer and a Gentleman
Rocky III
Porky’s
Star Trek
48 hours
Poltergeist
Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
Annie.

Of these movies, I only saw in the theater (meaning when they were released and not later) Annie and ET. Poltergeist I didn’t see until it was on TV years later. Interestingly, and germane to this discussion maybe, Poltergeist is the reason why the PG-13 movie rating is now in existence.

From: Esther I'm ready to go back to Thomas the Tank Engine and why Gordon is not as nice as James. Ug.

Did any of you have to deal with voting yes on Prop 19, but still supporting "say no to drugs"????????

From: Sarah Actually I voted no only because I'm a parent. Never would have done so otherwise. Concerned by studies that pot causes long term neural changes and by increased lung cancer risks of smoking - pretty sure I don't want my kids to get the message by legalizing that it's a fine idea to toke up. Without kids I would have said - fire away! With kids - not so much. Pained me though. I do like a nice doobie and its been a long time...

From Natalie: Yeah, I know what you mean. In my mind (and actually on the ballot too) I voted yes. But I have sort of an irrational fear about it when it comes to pot and Kate. We have a pot dispensary just around the corner from us and I’m not a huge fan of it being so close.

I was also trying to fast-forward 10 years after pot was legal and what would the world look like for Kate as a teen-ager? Maybe not much different than it is currently. Because whether or not it is legalized, it will still be a forbidden fruit for our kids.

I hear you, Sarah, regarding the lung cancer issues. Ugh

From Becca: I for one, hope my children choose pot over alcohol as a recreational drug because it will make them too lazy to get off the couch and smash their car on the way somewhere, and too lazy to take their clothes off and end up pregnant/causing pregnancy, both significant dangers with alcohol :)

But given the personalities that my children are developing, I'm guessing I should worry about ecstasy and maybe heroin. Alas...

Don't forget that alcohol is legal but kids aren't allowed to drink it (causing, in my mind, all kinds of problems because if they were allowed to drink and had been drinking moderately and with supervision throughout their childhood -- a splash of wine mixed with water -- it would be neither taboo nor mysterious, meaning that most teenagers would pay no attention to it.) So legal pot, to me, just generates revenue for a state sorely in need of it.

It has been empirically proven that I am in the minority in that opinion, however.

B

From Jamie: Celia sees us drink (routinely) and - as far as I know - alcohol is every bit as bad for me as weed. However, I have beaten into her that we don't put smoke in our lungs if we can help it. But warm, yummy brownies? Hmmmm...

On that topic - if pot is legalized, is there a minimum age?

Maybe Ed and I will rent Breakfast Club this weekend and light up with Celia so we can ensure that pot is de-mystified in a safe environment.

Nat - I'm just yanking your chain. :-)

From Natalie: Prop 19 set an age minimum of 21. Oh and up to one ounce in case you need to know this for your next batch of yummy brownies.

From Jamie: I'll need to look up the nutritional information on 28g of cannabis. :-) I suppose I will have to account for the 4000 empty calories that I will binge on 2 hours after eating the brownies too, huh?

From Esther: Before you embark on Smoking in 3D, you should know Prop 19 failed so it's still illegal to smoke or posses pot. You may not want to blog about cannabis consumption using your real name. Use Sarah's instead!!

From Sarah: Hey!

From Jamie: Yes - but let's not forget that on Oct 1 a bill (SB 1449) downgrading the possession of an ounce or less of marijuana from a misdemeanor to an infraction has been signed into law by California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. The bill treats petty cannabis possession like a traffic ticket, punishable by a simple $100 fine and no arrest record.
In this picture, Arnold is clearly thinking about how much pot he can afford at $100 per ticket.

From Natalie: Esther, dude, you sound paranoid

From Esther: Huh? Oh, um, no way man.I wonder if there will be online "pot" school akin to traffic school when you get a speeding ticket.

From Jamie: If there is - it probably looks a lot like Breakfast Club.

Where did we come from?

2010-11-07T22:26:00.000-08:00

Tonight after lights-out, Kate asked me, "Where did I come from?" I replied with a safe, "Mommy and Daddy made you just like our parents made us," before it dawned on me she might just probe me for details of how we might do this. I started wracking my brain for an "egg in a nest" analogy in preparation for her follow-up question. But then she hit me with this one instead, "No, how did God make me?" ...pause... Man, are you sure you don't want to hear about the nest? I can do biology. So my answer was, for better or worse, "Well, no one really knows for sure. That's sort of a mystery."

I could tell she considered this a somewhat unsatisfactory answer. So in a most Socratic way, I posed the same question to Kate. "How do you think God made you?" It would be hard to adequately relay her explanation here, but suffice it to say God required lots of glue. "So, Kate, you think God put us together with glue?" She then resorted to an intricate series of hand motions and clicking noises (was it Legos?) Her mimed explanation then segued into a rendition of "the head bone is connected to the neck bone" which she ultimately summed up with, "And that's how God made me!"

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Listening and dancing to music is awesome!

2010-10-30T12:39:00.000-07:00

I invited Jon and Kate to my work Halloween party. As the clock approached 3:30, I began to feel heart palpitations. I texted Jon: "My heart is racing thinking of you in that costume...and not in a good way. God, what have I done?"

DJ Lance Rock performs for one of the firm's partners

And here's the real DJ: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbsSOBcIJWs

Girl's got her own style

2010-10-25T22:05:00.000-07:00

What? Doesn't everyone go apple picking in Mickey Mouse ears and their best leopard print jacket?

Apple picking in Julian at Raven Hill Orchard

Halloween time again

2010-10-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

First, she wanted to wear the EXACT same costume as last year - butterfly.

Kate as butterfly in 2009

Until she decided to create the EXACT costume as the neighbor girl – princess kitty. I buried my feelings regarding the costume mediocrity to which Kate was striving and escorted her to the costume shop to buy some princess kitty accessories. It was there she latched onto some Minnie Mouse ears, a pink cat tail and an overpriced princess scepter that I could easily have made myself. You realize those are mouse ears and not cat ears, right? Yes. So now you are a…what? A mouse kitty princess! Well, at least it’s original.

Last night we pulled out a leotard and tights from her dress-up closet (because every costume should start with a leotard and tights) to test out various combinations with her new costume accessories. A great Halloween costume somehow materialized. She looked like Angelina Ballerina as she waved her wand and danced around to her ballerina music box. It was so cute and surprisingly perfect…until….she somehow picked up on the self-satisfied aura I must have been projecting. Meaning, she began to pout before she pulled off the tail, shed the tutu and whittled the costume down until she arrived at something completely ordinary and plain and mediocre. {sigh}

I really long for those days when I could dress her up how I pleased and she had no opinion on the matter.

Kate as circus strongman in 2007

Lo siento

2010-10-07T08:58:00.001-07:00

Sorry, Schnockered Mom followers (Hi, mom!). I've neglected you, I know. I'm currently working on other projects, which I may share and I may not. Just depends on how it goes. Apologies also for being cryptic. I'm such a tease, mwaah!

Real Simple, really?

2010-07-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

For the past couple years my mother has given me a subscription to Real Simple magazine. At first I thought maybe her gift had more to do with trying to instill in me an urge to be more domestic and perhaps cook dinner with slightly more regularity. My mom used to always end our mid-evening commute telephone chats with “So, what are you cooking your family for dinner tonight?” A seemingly innocent question. Except that I took it as a hint regarding my lack of planning for what my family might actually eat that evening. I usually quashed any further inquiries with ‘I don’t know. Jon is cooking tonight’ and because of which my mother now believes I absolutely never, ever cook and without Jon’s culinary prowess we’d all go hungry.

This is not true. I do actually cook now and again. And sometimes I’m not half-bad. The Real Simple Real Easy recipe section is usually what I turn to when trying to figure out what the heck to eat each night besides spaghetti or peanut butter sandwiches. This magazine is a far cry from the Martha Stewart ridiculous how-tos, however it occasionally digresses into the Martha madness.

Case in point. This weekend, I sipped a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and flipped through my new Real Simple to enjoy the 23-minute reprieve provided by the Backyardigans from a bustling 12 hour day of Saturday activities. I came to a section called “your words” where readers write in their answers to various questions like, "How do you keep your main living space tidy?" or "What's your worst travel mishap?" This month's question was “What is your favorite pantry staple?” I started down the column of responses wondering whether anyone would answer peanut butter, which I believe to be my own pantry staple and something that could probably keep me sustained for at least 10 days or more if I had broken my leg in a freak kitchen accident with just a spoon and a Costco-size jar by my side.

The first reader’s response was s’mores supplies. Interesting. I can’t say that I keep bars of chocolate at the ready, but I do have a half-bag of rainbow mini marshmallows fading in the back of the cabinet since last year. After this the list went completely pretentious, phony even. Steel-cut oats (as opposed to the rolled variety that everyone else on earth eats), Boscoli Italian olive salad, Bird’s custard and sweet sherry for that age-old favorite staple of trifle, blue cheese-stuffed olives, hoisin sauce, Casina Rossa truffle & salt, homemade canned peaches, Ancient Harvest quinoa pasta...who are these people? Do they really think these are pantry staples? A pantry staple is like an old bag of white rice or pasta, not saffron strands. Were they being ironic? Before I could feel too betrayed by the editors of a magazine who touts on the front cover “life made simple” the winner of the month’s reply caught my eye. Her answer was simply “vodka” because food can be delivered. Amen sistah!

The other issue I have with some of the Real Simple recipes is that they can also be Real Expensive. For example, I can’t tell you how many recipes I’ve thought about making only to realize it called for pine nuts. An ounce bag of these little suckers costs $5.95! They should call them nickel bags because it definitely felt like I was paying black market prices for what is essentially a garnish. Saturday night, I measured out the precious pine nuts to toast them in the oven while batting Kate’s hand away and a couple fell to the floor. Like a crack addict looking for lost crystal in shag carpet, I sought to retrieve the pine nut duo. During each transfer from baking sheet to sauce pan to plate I scooped and picked and brushed them so as not to lose a single nut.

Kate and I finally sat down to enjoy our meal of rigatoni peperonata out in the courtyard. She picked through the rigatoni and yellow peppers to feast on the toasted pine nuts. Once the pine nuts on her plate were exhausted, she started in on the Kalamata olives and capers. This looks like a roly poly she laughed while sucking down a caper. Indeed it does. I’m relieved that Kate’s palate is more sophisticated than hot dogs and chicken nuggets, but I don’t believe I’ll be serving a nickel bag of pine nuts with every meal.

Superman Grace

2010-07-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

Kate and I were invited to attend San Diego Symphony Summer Pops last Saturday night. The sun made a special guest appearance after its 60 day hiatus, which provided us with a glorious sunset on the lawn by the San Diego Bay to enjoy our wine and cheese and chocolate-covered strawberries (thank you, Andrea).

Kool & the Gang was the headliner for the night, but the first half of the program was the San Diego Symphony playing theme songs to all the popular TV shows and movies from the 70s. Rocky, Charlie’s Angels, Dallas, and the Love Boat just to name a few. But the Symphony opened with the theme to Superman. The beat of the first few bars of the fanfare led into that unforgettable John Williams tune - da da ta da da daaaa…da da ti da di daaa… Kate lept up from the blanket and spewed out a few crumbles from the last of her leftover 4th of July cupcakes and screeched, “I KNOW THIS ONE!!!” She started pantomiming the moves of the conductor and sang these lyrics to the beat of the theme at the top of her 4 year old lungs:

We thank you Lord, for giving us food
We thank you Lord, for giving us food
For our daily brain
That we eat
For our friends that we meet
We thank you Lord!

You gotta love that Christian education at City Tree.

(In case you are getting the theme mixed up with some other superhero movie, listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9vrfEoc8_g )

Once in a lifetime

2010-06-01T13:03:00.000-07:00

"...While I had been tempted to skip this little parade, not knowing what it really was and what, if any, role Kate would play, a co-worker cautioned me to NEVER MISS THESE EVENTS. They only come around once… Especially with an only child."
Lastintheratrace.com

Oh man, I hadn't thought about this before. I missed Multicultural Day at Kate's school last week along with the chance to witness her explanation of why Filipinos stare with raised eyebrows while shaking their pinched fingers (or was this something she just made up?). I'll think twice the next time I have an urge to skip another school event.

Top 10 Things I learned from my dad

2010-05-29T18:55:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

1. Cars – How to drive a stick shift quickly followed by the hand-break start, tapping the breaks to avoid being rear-ended, turn left to go right in a skid, change a flat tire and check the fluids. The motto: “It’s not about how fast you go, it’s how quickly you get to the speed limit.”

2. Movies/Theater/Music/Radio– Monty Python, Casablanca and anything with Humphrey Bogart and/or Lauren Bacall, Singin' in the Rain, Young Frankenstein, Prairie Home Companion, The Bobbs, Mummenschantz, Rachmaninoff, Gershwin, Emmy Lou Harris, Heart, The Eagles, John Coltrane, Buddy Guy, The Fish Fry, Hearts of Space and the joy of listening to music wearing headphones while lying on the floor.

3. Art – Jewelry making and soldering (sorry wenches, I can already check that one off my list); pinch pots, coil pots, and working at the wheel; a love for the smell of clay dust and the sounds of wedging (thoing, thwap, bump…thoing, thwap, bump); how to say kiln properly (the “n” is silent, people!); the color wheel; 3D shading; block lettering; if you like it then it’s “good” art; an appreciation for art shows, galleries, and museums; Halloween costumes only and always are made from scratch.

4. Sports – How to dribble a basketball without looking at it; shoot a jump shot (actually, I think my brother was the one who first taught me this); throw like a boy; the infield fly rule; pitch it over the plate; how to lose graciously (ha!); how to be a good winner (ha!).

5. Home improvement – Lefty loosy-righty tighty, a poor craftsman always blames his tools (or her husband).

6. Food – Microwaving ice cream removes that bitter cold hardness from the freezer; how to dunk cookies in milk to the point of saturation without losing any in the bottom of the glass; the secret to making a mean pot of baked beans; breakfast - it's what's for dinner; mustard can turn bread into an abstract work of art; an egg sandwich is way better with ketchup and grilled cheese is way better with peach jelly.

7. Fashion – Tucking sweaters into jeans; leaving the top button open; using a sharpie on worn cuffs. “But all the girls in high school wear them...” (his attempt at convincing me to wear hand-me-down bell bottoms and hiking boots - it was the 70s). Actually, maybe I didn't learn much in the way of fashion from my dad. Strike number 7.

8. Dancing – The quick step shuffle. It’s a short list.

9. Love/Family – “They hit you because they like you”; “You don’t get asked out on dates because the guys all think you are too beautiful and smart to talk to you.” “When you think of marriage think of one word, ‘elope’” Rufflehousing is a great way to spend a Saturday morning at home. Snookieboots and Snicklefritz are the best pet names – ever! Laughter brings a family closer together.

10. Money – Never buy retail

Happy 70th Birthday, Dad. You’re the greatest!

30 year fixed

2010-05-27T09:58:00.000-07:00

Yeah for us!!!

Holy shmoly, say it isn't so!

Wenches & Friends Hep to it!

2010-05-24T11:03:00.000-07:00

We crossed one off the Wench Camp list this weekend.

The video and the photos tell the story.

What's next on the list? I vote for something less adrenaline-charged. Diva Surf camp, anyone?

What tha?

2010-05-07T07:01:00.000-07:00

On your first day, you can expect to do 3 things: hang upside down by your knees from the fly bar, back flip dismount into the net and attempt a catch.

The wenches will be flying through the air with the greatest of ease in two weeks. For Jamie's sake, we pray there won't be anyone in face make-up or clown attire.

On Children

2010-05-07T06:23:00.000-07:00

I thought this poem was incredibly beautiful and thought-provoking.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and he bends you with his might
that his arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies,
so he loves also the bow that is stable.

Taken from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet and also from here

I read the news today oh, boy

2010-05-03T17:43:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

The news today was filled with headlines of shocking and sad events:

So, here's a news flash of something slightly more light-hearted, "Mickey Mouse balloon crashes in young family's courtyard"

Where did it come from? How on earth did it manage to evade the numerous fences, trees and walls. Inquiring minds want to know!

Should Happy Meal toys be banned?

2010-04-28T10:16:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Have you heard? Santa Clara County is trying to fight childhood obesity by banning the restaurant practice of pairing high calorie children’s meals with toys and other promotions. It looks like unless the fast-food industry voluntarily improves the nutritional value of children’s meals in the next 90 days, Happy Meals won’t be nearly as happy.

Our fast-food restaurant of choice doesn’t even have a children’s menu much less offer toys to bribe Kate to eat. Regardless, Kate has become increasingly aware of the existence of the children’s menu offering at most restaurants. I usually try to ignore her request for such culinary staples as chicken nuggets and Kraft macaroni and cheese. Instead, I suggest items off the appetizer menu. Kate wouldn’t you rather have rock shrimp and mushroom flatbread or pork empanadas? These choices may not be much healthier, but at least she can appreciate the concept of dining out for the eclectic tastes of various foods.

Back to the Happy Meal toy ban. I understand the lawmakers point in putting pressure on the fast-food industry to offer healthier choices for children. Remember Super Size Me? It wasn’t until after the bad press following the documentary’s release that McDonald’s began offering “healthy” choices on their menus such as apple slices with caramel sauce and more salads with enough cheese, dressing and croutons to compete with the Quarter Pounder.

I agree with the intent of the ban to put pressure on an industry that otherwise would maintain the status quo. However, I think the ban will have little impact on actually improving childhood nutrition. Some parents may decide not to purchase a Happy Meal or other high-calorie meal for their child if the latest Star Wars collector item was no longer available. But the families most at risk of raising obese children will continue to eat at McDonald's (or Jack in the Box or Burger King or Taco Hell) regardless of the promotions.

The government requirement of nutritional labeling on all foods I think has been one of the best ways to help people make healthy food choices. Still, reading the labels can be tricky and confusing. Does anyone even read the % recommended daily value column or notice that it's meant for a 2000 calorie daily diet? The calorie count feels a bit like a no brainer, but occasionally I’m left wondering whether 300 mg sodium in a serving of food is a lot or not.

Maybe the government should spend more time “dumbing down” nutrition labels. For example, the labels could include a quick-reference color code or other symbol to provide guidance regarding fat, sodium and sugar for a particular serving of food. The code could be a scale of good to bad per serving as opposed to per day. For example, if a food has an amount of sodium per serving that is outside a recommended range, it could be labeled with a red dot or some other symbol on the sodium row. A yellow dot could be used when the food is within the recommended range per serving, but on the high end. A green dot or checkmark could be used when the food is well within the recommended range per serving for sodium, fat or sugar.

I’ll let the experts mull over this half-baked idea that popped into my head on the way to work.

All work and no play makes Nat a dull girl

2010-04-27T09:45:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I'm a busy person. But I'm not so busy that I don't enjoy my life - often to the detriment of some other "important" activity like paying bills, grocery shopping, or finishing that bathroom project we began nearly a year ago. This article validated my tendencies towards ignoring the calls of duty. And here's a quote that struck me.

One significant cause of increased unhappiness among mothers is that we are so damn busy. Everyone asks: How are you? And everyone answers: I am so busy. “We say this to one another with no small degree of pride,” writes Wayne Muller in his treatise on rest, “as if our exhaustion were a trophy, our ability to withstand stress a real mark of character. The busier we are, the more important we seem to ourselves and, we imagine, to others.” Busy-ness does not make us happy. Muller reminds us that the Chinese symbol for busy is composed of two characters: heart and killing.

Now, I did a little research regarding that last bit about the Chinese character for "busy" meaning heart-killing. This is a bit of an over-statement. No fluent Chinese speaker would make the claim that busyness (or máng) is the same as heart-killing. Regardless, the point is that sometimes we wear our busyness as some kind of badge of honor.

So far I've resisted joining the club of busy over-achievers although sometimes I feel a little sheepish about it. I feel as if I'm not trying hard enough or I'm lazy. But why? Why should spending time doing the things I love or that make me happy be a source of guilt? So, I hereby vow not to feel embarrassed when I choose to paint a tiara with my daughter while the fridge remains a barren wasteland of half-empty condiment jars and wilted lettuce stuck to the bottom of the vegetable drawer. I will delay dinner time to go on a meandering exploration of the neighborhood sidewalks with my family. I will flaunt how I've learned ignore heaping piles of laundry to catch up on celebreality gossip on Talk Soup. I will relish the moments I stay up way past my bedtime to post random thoughts and undeveloped ideas on Schnockered Moms. I vow to continue my "lazy" ways so that I can fill my life with fun and happiness.

DIY at The Turquoise Room

2010-03-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

Last night was wench night. ¾ of us ventured out of the comfy womb we call Nunu’s to try on a new cocktail lounge for size. A cocktail lounge that is…gasp… East of the 15 in La Mesa! (I can’t believe I actually convinced the wenches to leave Hillcrest). It’s called The Turquoise Room at the Riviera Supper Club.

The shtick at the Riviera Supper Club is that it is a DIY steakhouse. The owners of the Riviera ran the only other DIY grill I know about called the Turf Club in Golden Hill. That is, before their landlord screwed them after their lease expired (boo...hisss...). The way DIY grilling works is that each person upon ordering receives at their table a raw hunk of meat on a plate and grills it to their own liking at a large steaming communal grill in the center of the dining room. Last night, when the pink square of meat that was our hamburger arrived at the table we all stared at it for a moment before busting up in laughter. Becca said to hell with that! But Jamie volunteered to grill up the burger to perfection - only slightly less pink than before. The Riviera also serves yummy sides and desserts such as their famous bacon chocolate cake. Because, you know, everything tastes better with bacon. I passed on the cake, but enjoyed a plate of onion rings and some grilled veggies to go with my share of the burger.

We enjoyed our food while sitting in The Turquoise Room, which is a dimly lit, retro-style lounge. It is the perfect place to huddle together in a Naugahyde booth, listen to live music and sip signature drinks such as the Art Snob, Pimms Cup and The Esquire. It’s full of hipster vibe with none of the attitude. The bartenders were incredibly friendly and knew how to pour very strong and very tall drinks. My Pimms Cup was more like a Pimms Pint.

The Turquoise Room is very wenchworthy and we will definitely be going back for a future wench night.

A Parents' Guide to Avoiding Schnockered Moments

2010-03-24T19:10:00.000-07:00

This past week was full of schnockered moments and bullets dodged (or not). I want to share my new-found knowledge so that you won't make the same stupid mistakes as I made.

Schnockered Moment #1
As I drove down the highway at 75 mph, Kate opened her car door. It happened on the 94 East as I was merging onto the 15 North. So, I was in the far left lane and unable to pull over safely for another quarter mile. Jon was in the passenger seat and was able to grab onto her door to keep the G forces from pulling it wide open as I made the turn on the exit ramp. Thankfully, Kate was strapped in. But seat belts like car doors (as I now know) can come loose at the click of a button! A button that since moving out of her toddler seat into a booster she proudly knows how to use. Humm...speaking of buttons...this must be why my car has that child-safety button. Apparently, it has a purpose other than annoying my passengers when they can't open their own windows.

What I learned: Child-safety locks only work to keep your kid from flying out the passenger door if they are actually engaged.

Schnockered Moment #2
Kate was nearly impaled on her tree swing. Thanks to a bone-head game that I made up myself. The game was why don't you swing and see if you can kick this thing that I will place...oh...right... about...here! Okay, go. Well, this would have been a generally innocuous game except that the "thing" I placed for her to kick was a small beach umbrella with a very pointy handle. I'm not a complete idiot. I did at least put the pointy handle facing away from her. As she swung going towards the umbrella, she missed. But here's where it got tricky in an instant. As she swung back down away from the umbrella, she clipped it with her heel. The umbrella flipped around so that now the pointy handle was pointing straight into her face as she...you guessed it...swung going towards the umbrella again. The umbrella became a medieval castle defense mechanism that she was now hurling her body towards. My lightening fast reactions to save Kate from the catastrophe felt more like the Super Slo-mo cam from Mythbusters. You know, the one that catches a bullet as it pierces through the dummy sculpted from forensics jelly. I missed her. She hit the pointy handle. The umbrella jammed into the ground. And the whole contraption turned into a one-person joust event. I scrambled to get her swing to stop before she hurled back towards the umbrella for another chance to poke out an eye or create a pointy handle-inflicted tracheotomy. Whew! Bullet dodged. She was full of hysterical laughter as I headed to the garage to stash the umbrella out of sight. She's probably made mental notes to include this as a party game for her birthday. Come on everyone! It's the rope swing joust!

What I learned: Mixing rope swings and beach umbrellas can lead to child impalement.

Schnockered Moment #3
The last moment is the only one that I can truly laugh about because it was so blatantly stupid (on my part) and although somewhat painful, was relatively safe for Kate. A few minutes after the rope swing incident, I continued my chores of cleaning up the yard. There are a few pots of old plants sitting around that I decided I was going to get rid of once and for all. One was an ancient cactus type plant that I had unearthed after its stint under some yard waste left over from the 70s. The thing was mostly brown with a few remaining pieces that were fleshy green. Not a single portion of the cactus had any spines left. So, I pulled off one of the fleshy green pads and brought it over to Kate to have a look. Look at this cactus, Kate. No, don't worry it won't hurt you. See, all the spines are missing. Isn't it soft and smooth? I handed her the cactus for a closer look and then walked away.

A few minutes later I felt a burning sensation on my right hand. My hand had tiny, hair-like spines covering it. Where did all these prickles come from? About the time I put it all together and realized my mistake, I heard Kate screaming out in the yard. I spent the next 30 minutes pulling each of the microscopic spines from our hands. Do you think she'll ever trust me enough to help in the garden again?

What I learned: Just because you can't see any spines, doesn't mean you should hold a cactus in your bare hands. (Or am I the only one that didn't know this?)

Opuntia compressa: Notice that the person in the picture is wearing leather gloves.

The tennis momma and the pint-sized, red-headed heckler

2010-03-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

For a many years during my youth tennis was part of what defined me. My parents introduced me to the sport when I was 12. I should say they re-introduced me. They had tried years before when I was about 6. After a fainting episode during a mid-day lesson in the heat of a Kansas City summer, I decided my place was in the swimming pool. As I continued to slip further back in the standings each summer because unlike me, my swim team mates trained year-round, I decided to give tennis another try.

I remember my first JTL (Junior Tennis League) match that summer of 1985. Neither my opponent nor I even knew how to keep score. I also remember the heat and humidity of those matches. The country club powers-that-be relegated all JTL matches to high noon so the adults could avoid burning hell on earth, er...I mean have the more reasonable time slots for their own matches. Despite the heat exhaustion, moments of tunnel vision and numerous sunburns, I kept at it. And I began to get better (and not just because I got glasses after discovering it wasn't normal to see the ball as a big, yellow fuzzy bunny flying over the net). JTL led to high school tennis, USTA tournaments and eventually a spot on my college tennis team. For years I continued to play tennis nearly every day. Then there was that skiing mishap. Followed my my move, new job, new friends, new life. And the tennis eventually stopped.

The year Jon and I were married I started to play again. In fact, his wedding present to me was a membership to Balboa Tennis Club. My knees (and my confidence in them) were fixed. I played for a couple years before Kate came along and then, life changed again. It was hard to find time, energy or partners to play. Once again my racket was left to gather dust.

Jon recently intervened again. His Draconian method to get me back into the sport I love was to sign me up for a World Team Tennis league. Holy shit! I had about 2 weeks to dust off the racket and try to find my strokes before my first competitive singles match in 11 years! Needless to say that first match did not go well. But since then our team, No Love Crew, is ranked 3rd in the league and I personally have a winning record in singles. The strokes are coming back and my competitive spirit has resurfaced as well. Maybe too well.

WTT league rules are different from what I'm used to. For example, the scoring is no-ad and you play service lets so long as the ball falls in. Pain in the ass, but not the worst. The rule that I truly loathe, however, is that players can substitute for one another. Substitutions in Pro8 matches seems ridiculous to me. There’s hardly time to get in the groove before you get yanked out to allow the another person play. It's even more aggravating when you are the one who gets called in during a match with a deficit. This happened to me during last week's match. Twice. The first instance was in women’s doubles when one of my teammates threw in the towel at 1-6. Did I mention we only play to 8? "We" lost that match 1-8. The second instance was when the same gal tried to "redeem" herself in singles only to bail again. This time only with a 2 game deficit of 1-3.

So, I’m not warmed up, I’m a slow starter and I'm down two games. To make matters worse, Kate was in attendance. I've tried to include her in my renewed interest in tennis by having her attend some of the matches. It is good for her to see me competing and working hard. It is a good opportunity to show Kate that I can have interests outside work, home and family. And maybe she will quit making comments like, "Girls don't play sports!" Anyway, it wasn't so much that Kate was in attendance as it was her courtside babysitter du jour, Murray, couldn't keep her from yelling stuff at me from the corner of my court. Jon was out of town that night, so I invited our Scottish Squatter to help me wrangle Kate during the match. He's not much of a kid person, nor does he understand tennnis etiquette. What did I expect?!

With the odds against me I managed to hang in the match for awhile. I just couldn't fight back after loosing a key game because Kate (who was by that time sitting behind me with said Scottish babysitter in the corner of my court) started yelling "mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy..." each time I tossed the ball in the air to serve. The score could have been 6-6, but instead I lost my serve for 5-7.

During the switch, I tried to evict her from my court. But she became so upset about being told to leave that I thought she would have a courtside crying-screaming fit about how mommy doesn't love her anymore. Why isn’t Murray doing anything?! I can’t deal with a sobbing child on my court when I’m now losing the f***ing match 5-7. Did I mention we only play to 8?! I decided this was not the time for good parenting stick-to-it-tiveness and so I let her stay on the court. In my rage I blasted winners to win the next game.

But I just couldn’t hold on and ended up losing the match 6-8. A match I most certainly could have won on another day. On a day when I didn’t have to start the match with a two-game deficit. On a day when I didn’t have a pint-sized, red-headed heckler on my court.

It's time for a puppy

2010-03-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Recently, I've been noticing all these cute, pregnant women and chubby babies in baby strollers around me. For example, last night Kate and I were at Trolley Barn park when I recognized a couple of the moms I met in the University Heights playgroup. One was very, very pregnant. But not in the lumbering, awkward, fat pregnant way. Rather, in the rail-thin, basketball-belly under a cute dress pregnant way. She was playing with her two other toddler boys (God, is she a glutton for punishment or what?) who were on the swings. Just before one of them kicked her in her big basketball belly, I started feeling nostalgic for the days when Kate was a baby. And I actually had the thought that maybe having another kid wouldn't actually turn me into a nagging, screaming, fat hag of a wife as I've always believed it would.

WTF!!!

So, today I wrote to Schnockered Mom of the Year 2009 to help remind me why I have just the one kid. While I waited for Kelly's reply I repeated the mantra, "...no more diapers, no more sleepless nights, no more baby gear, no more nannies, no more expanding waistlines, more time for me, more time for work, more time for travel, more time for tennis, more money for me, more money for the house, more money for travel, more freedom..." to try and get back to that place. Here was her reply:

INTERVENTION ALERT!!!

Yes, they're cute - both the pregnant women and the chubby babies.
No doubt.
But remember the 10 MONTHS of pregnancy.
The limited diet, limited movement and limited sleep.
Now, add a 4 year old to that mix.

Remember the times of endless crying. Not b/c she didn't get her way, but because she was just a newborn and couldn't let off steam any other way. Remember the endless cycle of eat, sleep, play, poop, eat, sleep, play, poop, cycling every HOUR?

Reasons to have a child: There's only ONE. You both sincerely want to raise another child.

Shaky reasons to have a child:
You think it would be fun.
You think you might lose weight chasing two.
You think you'll be sweeter to your husband.

I shared a cab with another mother of a 4 year old last week. At the end of the day, we agreed that the joy of having one child is that you get to experience the joy of that child, the joy of being a mother, and the joy of living your life in somewhat the same fashion you did prior to having children. Number two would throw that last one totally out of the mix.

At the end of the day, though, it's not about money, weight, impulse conceiving or providing your daughter with a sibling on which to rely in later years (that's been a bit of my hang-up, but frankly my husband is more of a support system for me with my folks than my brother is). It's about wanting to have another human being in your family.

It's time for a puppy.

Amen. Sista. I shall be visiting the SPCA.

Uninspired

2010-02-24T09:28:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

One of my followers recently alerted me to the fact I have yet to blog anything in quite some time. Maybe "follower" is a tad strong. It was my husband, but he did notice my lack of new posts recently.

I've noticed my absence as well and can't put my finger on exactly why I'm feeling so uninspired. It isn't for lack of funny or blog-worthy events. Why just last night I was informed by Kate that she's having "boy troubles" because her usual male lunch partner, Luke, has sought female companionship elsewhere. And the "girl's" trip to Vegas with Kate was full of enough funny moments to provide at least a week's worth of entries. Like when I broke down in tears in front of Kate after regretting the decision to bring her to a smoky, skanky casino (sorry, Hooters, but you suck and your waitresses are total skank whore bitches) hosting a very adult, poolside rugby party. Or when we ate dinner at Mr. Lucky's in the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino within prime viewing distance of the stripper pole dancing competition. Both of which were far better alternatives to sitting next to the guy at the rugby sevens tournament who taught Kate to yell, "Number 8, you SUCK!" I heard her practicing it under her breath. Most likely it will surface to be used against me at a future date (e.g. "Mom, you SUCK!"). Good times!

But I'm barely able to keep Post It note reminders of these occurrences let alone a fully elaborated entries. So this is it, Jon. My public apology for being uninspired. I will get back into it.

Eventually.

Bold Face Cards

2010-01-28T19:39:00.000-08:00

An old friend (or maybe I should be more accurate to say the daughter of one of my mom's yayas) started a new company that is pretty groovy. Welcome Bold Face Cards. Take a flip through Lindsay and Michele's irreverent, unexpected and hilarious greeting card selection. Each short message rings of Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy, for those of you who remember them from the old SNL days.

This one is my favorite.

Very wenchworthy

Happy wife, happy life

2010-01-21T22:46:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

For Christmas this year I was really, really out of ideas for Jon. My only remotely creative gift idea was to surprise him by replacing his beloved Polish festival t-shirt that mysteriously went missing after our move. I even sent an e-mail directly to the Father at the Saint Maximilian Kolbe Polish Mission in Pacific Beach, but was unable to secure one. As the consolation prize I ended up buying him a long-sleeved, white t-shirt (boring, I know, but at least it was Under Armor), some wiffle golf balls for practicing shots in the yard, and what every person in San Diego requires: an umbrella. An umbrella that was meant to replace the umbrella that also mysteriously went missing after our move. The umbrella that re-appeared Christmas morning in the hall closet where we keep our coats and our…wait for it…umbrellas. Oh well.

But there was one Christmas gift that wasn't such a flop. I got Jon a housekeeper. No, not a young, sexy, live-in maid that wears one of those outfits you see girls wearing on Halloween. That would have been the Christmas gift of the century. Just someone to come to our house every other week to keep things neat and tidy and, well, clean. My parents, who were visiting for the holidays and there during my gift-giving epiphany, asked, “How is this gift specifically for Jon?” Because his name is on the envelope, duh! I guess it’s arguable that the gift is as much for me as it is for him. But Jon appreciates a clean house as much as I do and it’s all in how you spin it. Less work for me leads to happy wife leads to happy life for Jon.

The night before Adela’s first day I was so nervous and fidgety. I must have spent nearly an hour de-cluttering, collecting garbage, and basically removing any and all evidence of what a slob I normally am. I practically cleaned my house as I would have any other Saturday morning. I even considered cleaning the toilet, just a little, before I stopped and reminded myself that I was paying her money to do just these sorts of tasks. Enough with the ego already. She’ll learn soon enough what the family skid marks look like.

That first Wednesday night, Kate and I entered a house that looked and smelled scrubbed and sanitized. We each walked around admiring Adela’s hard work pointing out all the tidy and freshly dusted surfaces we found. I excitedly pointed to Kate ‘Look at the floors! Look at the table! Oh my god, the trash can in the kitchen has been scrubbed! My tea kettle! She actually scoured the stains off the outside of the tea kettle!’ Kate, who had already climbed up on the counter to grab the jar of peanut butter and a spoon for an afternoon snack chimed in, “Look at the peanut butter jar! It’s so shiny! Adela cleaned the peanut butter jar!” Okay, maybe Adela’s not that awesome, but she did find a favorite earring behind the bed that I’ve been missing for three months. And she actually cleaned out the melted bar of Lifeboy congealed in the recessed soap dish in the shower since before we bought the house. Even after a year of living here, I still haven’t been able to bring myself to scoop out that gooey mess. And now I won’t have to because it’s gone, gone, gone!!

Sorry for all the exclamation points, but this is truly a new and exciting experience for me. I have someone that comes to my house every other week and tackles all those nasty chores that I refuse to do or haven't even thought to do (did I mention the tea kettle and the trash can?). An added bonus is that somehow Kate feels she shouldn’t get the house dirty after Adela worked to make it clean. “Adela won’t like that” she told me last night when I brought a cup of tea into the living room and started to sit down on the couch. Maybe I should tell Kate that Adela owns the entire house and everything in it.

So, back to the question of whether or not this is a gift for Jon. I’m afraid so far it hasn’t. Jon has been in Vegas the past two Adela days and will be in Vegas the next two Adela days. By the time Jon returns entropy (aka Kate and I) has taken hold and unraveled the order Adela has temporarily instilled in our lives.

New Initiate

2010-01-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I lost my kid yesterday.

After Kate’s Saturday morning ballet class I stopped by JC Penney optical to pick up my new glasses. At one point Kate spotted something sparkly and irresistible in the center aisle: a mannequin wearing a tarty pair of panties with matching bra. It’s nearing Valentine’s Day, so you can imagine what the lingerie department looked like. Although this was JC Penney and not Fredericks of Hollywood, there was a high-traffic corner of the department prominently displaying every frilly and trampy creation imaginable to entice men desperate for gifts ideas. And, inadvertently, to entice three-year olds.

How could she resist? Every teddy looked like the ultimate pink princess dress. She squealed with delight upon seeing a frilly, hot pink tutu with matching bra top. I actually considered buying the tutu and bra combo thinking it might kill two bird’s with one stone – a gift for Jon and a gift for Kate. But then I imagined my daughter raiding my underwear drawer and romping around in something that I had just worn to...well, you get the idea. Ultimately, I decided I shouldn’t mix those two worlds anymore than I had to.

So back to how I lost my kid. We perused the lingerie department for at least 20 minutes. Followed by shoes. Then handbags. >sigh< I was getting a little tired of the smell of pleather and gawd awful knock-off purse styles. I managed to coerce her back to lingerie and one step closer to the exit. But the lacy polyester pulled her back in. When I tried grabbing her hand to lead her away she flopped down on the carpet in ultimate defense. I had a half-full latte in my hands. Otherwise I think I could have wrestled her all the way to the car. But since I wasn’t willing to give up my coffee for this I tried a different tactic. ‘Okay, I’ll see you later. I’m leaving,’ and I walked away about 10 paces. I stood out of sight for a few moments before I realized this wasn’t working either. But when I arrived back to where I had left her, she was gone.

I casually called her name and walked the racks a bit. Nothing. I went back to the shoe department and called her name. Nothing. Back to handbags. Nothing. I am guessing that only a minute went by before the fear and doubt settled in. Geez, I just walked away and said see ya later to my child. What kind of mother does that? Coffee was more important? Would she leave the store to find me? Would some creep just walk away with her? It was at this point I informed the staff she was missing.

Nearly the entire store went into action - a Code Adam they called it. I had a sympathetic crowd. The entire store was filled with women over retirement age or women pushing strollers. There must have been four of us walking around calling her name. A worker came over the loud speaker and informed everyone that a three-year old wearing a hot pink dress and tights was lost. “Her name is Katie,” the woman said. Hearing this was when the experience became surreal. In my head I knew that she was probably just standing in front of a mirror with a pair of panties on her head or playing in a fort of clothes hanging from racks in Woman’s World. But in my heart I felt the rising panic that she was gone.

Another few minutes went by before I heard someone say, “We found her!” My relief was quickly over-powered by my fury, which quickly dissipated into the desire to help her understand what had just transpired. When I finally saw her she was just standing there holding the hand of a sales associate. No tears or crying. I walked up calmly with a smile on my face and heard the announcement that the Code Adam was cancelled. The first thing I asked was whether she knew she was lost. She said she had been looking for me, but couldn’t find me. At least she didn’t out me to everyone about leaving her lying there on the carpet to teach her a lesson. I congratulated her on staying calm, gave her a big kiss and asked her to thank the nice people for helping.

We had a nice long chat on the ride home about what to do when she thinks she might be lost. Here was my advice to Kate. A three-point plan, if you will. First, stop where you are as soon as you think you might be lost because a moving target is much more difficult to find. Second, yell out my name as loud as you can. Third, find a lady walking by and tell her you can’t find your mommy. I’m not expecting her to remember all three things, but if she remembers just one of them the risk of really losing her is minimal. I've explained this three-point plan to her in the past, but she's never actually been lost before. Maybe now it has some context.

So welcome me. Congratulate me. I'm the new initiate in the worldwide club of moms who have lost their children shopping in cheap department stores.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

2010-01-11T13:35:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Same kid, same day. This is what I'm up against.

The 3-Point Plan

2010-01-08T08:20:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

As the twenty tens kick-off, so has my official plan to get back to my former self and button that top button without effort. To find out the damage of my non-exercising-eat-whatever-the-hell-you-want habit this past year I bought a scale. I finally weighed myself since the battery in my old one went kaput over a year ago. The result - 10 pounds heavier. Yowza.

Friends suggest that I can't compare numbers between scales with any sense of accuracy. Agreed. This 10 pounds could actually be 12 pounds. Or it could be 8 pounds. Regardless, there is a reason why I was forced to buy pants a size larger than I normally would. Not that there's anything wrong with being a size 8. It's just that for years I've been a size 6. Creeping into a new, larger dress size is a bad sign. And I don't buy into that whole "Marilyn Monroe was a size 16" thing to feel better about my size. This suggestion that the quintessential sex symbol for half a century would have been considered "chunky" by modern standards because she wore a size 16 dress is ludicrous. She may have been a size 16, but a size 16 has changed drastically in 50 years.

Marilyn aside for a moment and back to me. Whether the poundage is 12 or 10 or 8 pounds and whether a size 8 is really a size 8...I've still added poundage that is forcing me to go up a size. So, I introduce to you my 3-point plan. Maybe it will make me feel more accountable and obliged to stick to it if I outline it publicly. Here it is:

1. Stop grazing and take notice of my eating habits by keeping a food journal. For example, I occasionally finish Kate's plate of food while I clean up the kitchen. I don't know if it's because she came from my womb or that my food standards have slipped drastically since becoming a mother, but I've been known to finish off a bagel that has had the jelly licked off. Ignoring the ick factor for a minute, this probably adds a few hundred pounds to my diet each day that I'm not even noticing because I do it while standing in front of the sink and in about 3 seconds flat.

2. Make exercise part of the daily routine again. A couple years ago I would run or walk for 2-3 miles every day. Now, I count my brisk skip up to the third floor of my office building each morning "exercise." It's been a real struggle for me to take the time to exercise this past year. I've been getting home later making an evening jog an impossibility. So, back to the morning jog routine it is. Add in some strength training on the off-days and a tennis league on Monday nights to mix it up. Getting my ass handed to me on the tennis court ought to be motivation enough to keep exercising throughout the week.

3. Cut back on the daily drink. This schnockered mom has been making her way through way too many bottles of wine each week. I'll imbibe on the weekend nights only to cut back. This might be even harder than the morning jog. We will see.

So, there you have it. Slight adjustments to my habits will help me get back to feeling myself and hopefully keep that top button from shooting off my pants.

The Mamablogs

2010-01-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Damn, threre are a lot of mommy bloggers out there! Babble.com just recently published the Top 50 mommy bloggers. I say this as if I knew about babble.com or even that so many blogs existed before stumbling upon this list. I didn't. On both counts.

I'm a late adopter. CDs were nearly on their way out before I finally gave up tapes in 1994. I endured the beeps and honks and hisses of my modem until late 2001. I've sent maybe three texts in my entire life (all just last year) and am still stunned that they cost me $1.50 a piece. So it should come as no surprise that I only recently started blogging right when Twitter is taking over. Maybe sometime in 2015 I'll send a tweet. Anyway, I began writing on Schnockered Moms just 2 years ago when the chaos and absurdity of being a new parent made me want to memorialize this messy thing they call motherhood. Aside from re-reading my own posts occasionally, I never read or subscribed to anyone else's blog. But now I subscribe to so many that I'm not sure how I'm going to keep up.

Most of the blogs I subscribe to are "mommy blogs." I get e-mails from Motherhood Uncensored, Sundry and Free Range Kids. I subscribe to the Motherlode, which babble.com ranked as being best in the well-written category. I subscribe to Dooce, Girl's Gone Child, and Baby on Bored, which were ranked top three funniest mommy blogs. But as I stare at all those inviting blue links on my iGoogle home page just waiting to be clicked, I think that probably what I really need is to NOT think about motherhood.

But for those of you curious, here's the list of Top 50 Mommy Bloggers according to babble.com: (the names alone are worth the read)

The Pioneer Woman
Dooce
Nie Nie Dialogues
Amalah
Mighty Girl
Woulda Coulda Shoulda
Finslippy
Sweet Juniper
Her Bad Mother
Parent Hacks
Design Mom
Girl's Gone Child
The Motherlode
The Three-MartiniComplaint Department
Baby On Bored
Jessica Gottlieb
Rugrat Reprieve
Free Range Kids
a little pregnant
Rookie Moms
MotherhoodUncensored/Mominatrix
Mom 101
Inside Out
Ask Moxie
Alpha Mom
CityMama
Play Groups Are NoPlace For Children
Notes From the Trenches
Fussy
Busy Mom
Sarcastic Mom
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2009 Quiz

2010-01-02T13:04:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?
Cut my hair really, really short. Joined Facebook. Instituted Schnockered Mom of the Year. Camping in Yosemite. Hosted a Monty Python-a-thon. Ordered out for Christmas dinner.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I usually don’t make resolutions. Maybe it was to not go into any more debt after buying and fixing up our first house. I think we managed to do that despite Jon losing a summer paycheck.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
There were a number of births by friends of varying degrees of closeness: The Lyles. The Barachs. The Connollys. The Currens.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
My dog, Kodi.

5. What countries did you visit?
None. I don’t see this answer changing until the 2016 Olympics.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
A smaller waistline, a lower resting heart rate and more overall energy for myself, my daughter and my husband.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
The days between when Kodi got sick and when I had to put him down (May 26-28). I’ve not written about the event because it was so painful, but the absurdity of the car ride must be relayed here and now. I’m not going to write it other than a series of events and facts because I don’t have the energy at the moment.

Kodi was unable to get up one morning. I went to work trying to make myself believe he was just sore and would eventually get up and moving. I went home early because I knew in my heart that it wasn’t true. On the way home I realized I had some kind of stomach flu. I managed to drag myself off the couch to call the animal hospital and let them know we were on our way. Jon put Kodi in the car and I grabbed a bucket for the car ride. One the way we picked up Kate from school because I didn’t want Kodi to die without her seeing him for the last time. We found out she had just puked at school. She seemed okay on the ride to the vet, but just as we stepped inside the lobby doors she let her rip again and puked all over the entry way. Kate and I stayed outside while Jon carried our poor dog in to see the vet. We left Kodi for testing and headed back home. I puked in my bucket on the ride home. We got home and called Kate’s doctor. We drove back to Hillcrest and Jon took her to her doctor while I stayed in fetal position in the back of the truck. We drove back to the vet to pick up Kodi. I puked several more times in the bucket on the way over. The vet didn’t really know what was wrong with Kodi, but suspected an infection and sent us home with antibiotics. Kate puked one more time in her car seat before we left.

That night Kate and I recovered, but Kodi stayed in his bed and didn’t get up. The next morning, I finally forced him to go outside. He made it down the brick steps, peed on the ground, walked all the way around to the back door and maneuvered the back steps to come inside. He flopped down and didn’t get up again. We took him to the vet the following morning and had him put down.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Fighting for what I deserved at work and getting it plus more.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Losing my exercise habit

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
This year was probably the worst health year for me in recent history, but still I suffered from nothing too severe. Just several colds and a couple stomach flus.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Two new, sexy bras with the perfect fit. They did wonders for my self-esteem.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My husband for enduring a shitty work situation with hardly a complaint. And for putting up with my Nattitude.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Kate in the couple days following Christmas who decided that worrying about the naughty/nice list was for pussies.

14. Where did most of your money go?
House payment and health insurance

15. What did you get really excited about?
I’m embarrassed to admit it…but successfully designing a fabulous birthday party game for a wide age range of kids without spending more than $10

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
Good Morning Baltimore

17. Compared to this time last year, are you?
– happier or sadder? Same
– thinner or fatter? Fatter
– richer or poorer? Richer

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Connecting with Jon.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Planting my child in front of the TV to get “me” time to check e-mails and write silly lists like this.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
Not traveling! My family came to San Diego for a glorious holiday at our house.

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
Maybe all over again with another season of So You Think You Can Dance

22. What was your favorite TV program?
See number 21

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
I don’t believe I actively “hate” anyone. I think my disdain for asshole drivers has grown.

24. What was the best book you read?
I can’t remember them all I’m happy to report so choosing the title of “best” would be impossible. But Wicked was probably the most memorable.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Pandora

26. What did you want and get?
A raise

27. What did you want and not get?
Overhead lighting in the dining room

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
I hardly saw a single movie this year, but the most memorable was definitely “Up” because it was the first movie we took Kate to see in the theater.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 37 this year. I left work early for an eye exam, bought a pair of glasses, drank champagne while my mom and my daughter baked a “surprise” lemon cake for me, shared left-overs for dinner with my family, and went out on a date with my husband to watch George Clooney for a couple hours.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Less guilt

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Flowy tops over too tight bottoms

32. What kept you sane?
Wench night, Schnockered Moms blog, playing with Kate on one of her good days.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Obama

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Iranian protests

35. Who did you miss?
Kodi

36. Who was the best new person you met?
This is kind of depressing, but I don’t believe I met any notable new people this year. It could possibly be Ditas from Kate’s ballet class or Alison who is the mother of Kate’s friend from school (although technically I met her in 2008). Either of these ladies could be someone I would enjoy getting to know better.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009
Being myself and doing what comes naturally often is a source of my guilt.

Having a RAID volume is a life-saver.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

“Tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition
Yawnin, stretchin try to come to life”

“I say yes, you say no”

“Cause when hard work
Don't pay off
And I'm tired there aint no room in my bed
As far as I'm concerned so
Wipe that dirty smile off…”

(Credit for this yearly quiz goes to http://www.sundrymourning.com/)

Stick it!

2009-12-16T23:24:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Driving home tonight I must have passed at least 10 minivans with those stupid stick figure family stickers on the back window. Yeah, I get it. You're damn proud of your ever-expanding family. Good thing you started from the left because after you add each kid playing soccer, baseball, tennis, snowboarding or excelling in whatever their particular obsession is you only have so much room to add the cat, dog, fish and hamster. I started me thinking about what my version of this decal would look like.

Something like this perhaps?

Or maybe something more like this:

Or this:

They each sum up my feelings quite nicely. But I still wouldn't stick it to my car.

Because I know that Santa checks Schnockered Moms regularly

2009-12-15T23:14:00.001-08:00

Dear Santa Claus,
I want a bike, American girl doll, Barbie hair salon, Barbie mariposa, tinkerbell, pony (or riding horse) and princess phone. My sissy is already getting me the princess tent I want, momma and I picked it out yesterday so you don’t have to worry about that.

I’ve been very good, but I accidentally stepped on brother, but it was an accident and I said sorry so it’s okay. I love brother very much. I’m very nice and helpful, and most of all I love you very much santa claus. I’ve been very good so plz send me lots of big girl presents. Coming out of me is a big heart. I’m wishing you a merry Christmas santa, I hope you send me lots of the goodest presents cuz you make them. I will be so surprised on Christmas morning. I will run down the steps to see what you brought for me. Thanks for sending me the elf Cutie. he’s wonderful. I like that he can’t talk to me and that he leaves me gifts. I love him so much . I hope you don’t forget, it’s a very important list. I do believe that your very nice and most of all I love you very much and I wish you a merry Christmas. And max is a very good boy too, get him lots of good stuff, he wants a ball pit. Or maybe a riding toy, one time he tried to ride on my Barbie toys and it was very silly. He’s a very good boy too!! Sometimes he’s crabby, but he’s a baby so it’s not his fault so bring him gifts anyway, okay santa claus? I really want to know if you live in a gingerbread house. I hope you like what I’m saying to you santa claus. I know you very well, I will miss cutie when he leaves on Christmas eve. I love him very much and I haven’t touched him one bit so he hasn’t lost his powers. He likes the winter wonderland I made him and he feels right at home.

Love,
Marli

(in Kansas City)

Boob Tube Babysitter Reprise

2009-12-10T19:17:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

The boob tube babysitter is now a live-in nanny.

One evening Kate was beat boxing to Biz’s Beat of the Day on Yo Gabba Gabba! when I came in to tell her I would be outside watering the plants for awhile. I snapped my fingers a couple times and did a jig so she’d at least turn my way before telling her where I would be if she needed me. After 20 minutes of watering my sad-looking, parched landscaping, I returned to the living room where I’d previously performed the look-at-me jig. But my girl was no longer the resident lump on the couch. It was then I heard sounds of crying from upstairs. I called up to her. Finally, she peered down from the top of the stairs literally in hysterics because she hadn’t been able to find me.

I’ve never seen Kate wail like this before. Not even when she whacked her head on the bookcase after falling over backwards off the couch. And that was serious crying. No, this was pure terror I was witnessing. It took a while for the tearful gasping to subside, but she eventually calmed down. For several weeks I couldn’t leave a room without her yelling after me to know where I was going. My temporary unexplained absence had obviously touched some primordial dependency nerve that set her back several years in emotional development with one quick watering.

Kate has never really watched much TV. Recently, however, we’ve been using it as a way for her to relax after a long, hard day at…wait for it…preschool. It also gives Jon and me a little adult time together while fixing dinner. It wasn’t until this incident, however, that I realized quite the effect TV could have on a child. That day she was off to boob-tube lala land with no return ticket. This TV habit of hers is starting to get out of hand and fast.

I believe she could literally spend the entire day watching Noggin. Like the "perfect pump" in that Seinfeld American Express ad, I’ve had to hone my skills at flipping the power switch off of Noggin at just the right moment before the preview of the next show appears on the screen. Hit the power switch too soon, you trigger an eruption of whining and griping over not getting to see the remaining shenanigans of the last show. Hit the power switch too late, you trigger an eruption of whining and griping over not getting to see the beginning shenanigans of the next show.

Some friends of ours realized early on their son had couch potato tendencies. They took the draconian measure of putting their TV in permanent time-out in the garage. I’ve occasionally wished there was no TV in our house, but realize that my husband’s dependency ESPN and Fox Soccer Channel wouldn’t allow it. Instead, we instituted the TV chart. It’s essentially a colorful calendar we hung inside the TV cabinet with an array of stickers to apply. Each sticker represents a single TV show. Kate is allotted two TV shows per day plus a weekly bonus show she can earn if she is particularly helpful or sweet.

Amazingly, it has worked. The chart is a higher power with which she can’t argue. All we have to do is remind her that she just watched show #2 and she’ll jump off the couch, shut off the TV, and apply the stickers to the correct day of the week. We close the door to the cabinet and the night continues without the acutely grating, high-energy voices of Wubbzy or Dora.

I love this article

2009-12-06T20:54:00.000-08:00

The Backlash Against Overparenting

Tonight I left my child in the bathtub alone so that I could take the time to read this article on helicopter parents and the slow parenting movement (backlash?). But after reading the first three pages, I suddenly realized I hadn't heard any splashing or chatter coming from the tub. I hesitated a moment before quickly sprinting up the stairs to make sure Kate hadn't whacked her head on the tile and floating face-down in Mr. Bubble.
It's really, really hard for me not to worry about Kate becoming a statistic.
Trying to find the balance,
Natalie

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

2009-12-02T19:32:00.000-08:00

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

Last week while packing for our trip to the Bay area for Thanksgiving, Kate jumped up and down on the bed and announced joyfully, “I’m not afraid of Santa anymore!” I guess it’s time to start spreading the lie…er…I mean the cheer of the Christmas season.

Last year we had an early Christmas in Kansas City followed by yet another Christmas in our new house. Somehow Santa knew where to find her to drop off the new doll and stroller in KC. Somehow Santa also knew that he needed to bring these toys to her 6 days ahead of schedule. Somehow Santa also knew where our stockings were hung in San Diego. Lucky for us, Kate didn’t ask any tricky logistical questions.

Even more fortunate was that she was a little freaked out by the idea of an old man with a big belly and long beard creeping into our house in the middle of the night. The very mention of his name upset her enough to make a request that he not come to our house. Not a problem! I ensured her that she needn’t worry about him coming to our house because we haven’t invited him and he only comes to houses where he’s invited. So this year we’re not even going to broach that whole he-sees-you-when-you’re-sleeping bit. I don’t want to go all big brother on her now that she’s just starting to trust the jolly old elf. Besides, this part of the Santa lie goes beyond my tolerance.

This year, thankfully, we’ll be celebrating a single Christmas holiday in a single household. Kate is really sharp and it would have proven a challenge to lie my way out of how Santa would know where she is at any given moment to deliver a particular toy. Recently, she took the aforementioned doll for a walk around the block in the aforementioned stroller. I reminded her that the stroller came from Santa last year. She looked at me doubtfully before insisting that Grandma had actually bought the stroller and gave it to Santa to give to her. So, although she believes Santa is a real player in the supply and distribution chain, she understands that Grandma played a critical role as well. Like I said, she’s sharp and won’t be easily fooled for long. And given she is the youngest of the wenchkins, many of whom pride themselves on being just a little bit older and wiser than she is, I’d say her beliefs in Santa will be prematurely dashed.

But for now the Christmas fantasy has begun. On the way home from Los Gatos we traditionally listen to Christmas music in the car to kind of kick off the season. Pumpkin spice lattes in the cup holders, snacks from Casa de Fruta and a bit of The Little Drummer Boy makes us able to withstand the crowded highways and rest stops for the next 8 hours (10.5 hours, this year!). At one point near the top of the Grapevine Kate who had been sleeping awoke to see the dusting of snow on the mountaintops. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, focused on the snow and yelled out, “Is it Christmas?!” No, baby, we’re just in the mountains. I wonder to myself why a child of San Diego would equate snow with Christmas. Are we closer to Santa Claus? Every minute we get a little bit closer.

The carols in the car also provide a much-needed refresher course on the lyrics. Kate struck up her rendition of Frosty the Snowman last night in the tub and something just didn’t sound quite right. Frosty the Snowman had a very shiny nose… When she started singing about reindeer games, I realized why it seemed odd. I tried out a few other tunes, but kept getting stuck. Away in the manger, no crib for a bed. The little lord Jesus asleep on his bed. Wait, didn’t I just sing that he didn’t have a bed? Up on the housetop reindeer paws… It’s rooftop, mommy.

I look forward to introducing Kate to the joys of the Christmas season. The spicy smells of cookies and pies baking (they make scented candles for that, right?), the singing of cheesy songs at the top of your lungs, the holiday pageants and recitals, seeing The Nutcracker downtown, the sleeplessness of the night before Christmas, and the frenzied run down the stairs in the morning to see what is under the tree. This all might sound a bit commercial and consumerist for some of you. But she goes to a Christian school. She’ll hear the rest of the story eventually. Until then, Kate will continue to think that Christmas is Santa’s birthday.

And the winner is...

2009-12-01T15:42:00.000-08:00

Kelly is Schnockered Mom of the Year 2009. Congratulations! Wear your t-shirt with pride.

If only there was an actual photo capturing this classic moment.

Schnockered Mom of the Year 2009

2009-11-30T09:25:00.000-08:00

Voting begins Dec 1st for the winner of the 2009 Schmommy! Today is the last day to submit your entries. Here's what we have so far:

Submitted by Schnockered Mom Kelly:
Kate and I are biking to school/work fairly regularly now. At major intersections, the kind with stop lights, I’m careful to cross only when we have the WALK sign… An even more important lesson as we’re generally on the sidewalk at these intersections. (I know, I know… Share the Road and all that rot, but it’s my KID! I’m not risking her life to make a point to the countless careless STL drivers who DON’T Share the Road!)

We have a bit of a system at the intersection. I get us lined up to cross, stop and hold the bike steady. More often than not, we’ll have time for Kate to get off her bike and push the button requesting the WALK signal. It works great – she LOVES to push buttons and I’m saved the hassle of getting off the bike and pushing it myself.

This morning was no different. At Big Bend and Forest Park Parkway, she hopped off and pushed the button.

At Lindel and Skinker, we pulled up and I was right at the button, so I pushed it. The light was ready to turn anyway, so I tried to convince Kate that she didn’t need to push the button. “I already pushed it and the light is about the change! Ready? Here we go!” She’s chatting away, it’s loud with the morning rush, and I push off to cross the street.

As I’m crossing – riding – I hear a cacophony of horns. (If ever there was a time to use the word “cacophony” this was it!) Blaring, blasting and rapidly tooting. As we were on the sidewalk, I wasn’t too worried, but still I wondered who the poor driver was that caused the ruckus. Didn’t see anything, and just as I’m getting ready to cross the next part of the intersection, a car blows by, still honking, with a woman leaning out the window.

“YOUR KID IS BACK THERE!” she yells, pointing back the way I’d come.

Holy shit.

I stop, turn around, and see Kate.

She’s right there, at the light, pushing the button.

Submitted by Schnockered Mom Laura:
Today has been one of those days... it started off with the 2 kids trashing their room and closet, then escalated to kids fighting and hitting and shutting each other in closet, and trying to get their squirmy bodies covered with sunscreen to go to the fountain play park with a friend. Only to find that my car wouldn't start (dead battery), and then I broke a glass bowl getting a juice cup out of the fridge. Waited on AAA to send a tow truck to the house to jump start the car, then drove to Sam's to wait 3 HOURS to get a new battery installed!! We spent the time watching the movie Toy Story with the kids in a shopping cart at a TV display, then walking across the parking lot to Walmart for "healthy" lunch, walking back to Sams, eating lunch (the kids pretended they were puppies and crawled around on the floor, by this time I didn't care anymore...), and since there were no empty tables, we shared one with a nice, unsuspecting man. He told me he had forgotten how kids are in nonstop motion (is there any other kind??), and said he would laugh about today for a long time.

We are now finally, mercifully, home and the kids are napping...."
Submitted 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.

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.
Submitted By Schnockered Mom Natalie
I feel we may have entered a new phase now that Kate has turned 3. For the past several weeks she has started testing me and invariably will do the opposite of what I ask. All with a gleam in her eye and a smirk on her face. If year two was “terrible” (which it wasn’t) what will this year be? The year of “let’s push mommy’s buttons until she screams like a crazy person”

Last week Jon had a meeting after work down at the Bahia on Mission Bay. To save him some time I met him at the hotel for the Kate hand-off. It would be a fun, impromptu adventure for Kate and me down by the water. We could frolic in the sand, find a playground, maybe even have a ham b’ger (this is her pronunciation) al fresco to watch the sunset over the water.

First thing after saying good-bye to Jon was that Kate demanded chocolate from yet another birthday goody bag brought home from school. She negotiated like mad to convince me she should eat the chocolate “right now” instead of for dessert. Then, she argued she only wanted to hold the chocolate in her hand to save it for daddy. "It’s going to melt, Kate." No, it won’t she replied as its rectangular shape began to resemble more of a half-empty tube of toothpaste. I was feeling a little hungry myself so made a deal with her that if she gave me half she could eat the chocolate. Okay, but I am going to open it was her way of getting the last word. She locked the wrapper in a death grip and put the top edge of the wrapper between her teeth and pulled. Sticky, brown goo squished out the holes she made in the wrapper. I quickly grabbed it away from her and carefully opened the rest of the wrapper to let her suck out the chocolate. She handed me the remains of the chocolate toothpaste. “Here's your half, mommy!” Thanks and tossed it in the nearest garbage can.

She’s a mess. As she headed for the water I realized she’s only going to get messier. It’s low tide. The mushy sand was kicking up behind her as she raced around. She plopped down on her knees and started digging a hole in the blackish-brown muck. She looked up at me. Her face was now covered with chocolate and black sand. Ugh. I really wish we had gone to the beach instead of the bay. I started thinking about last year’s sewage spills and noticing random trash left behind by the receding water. I didn’t have a single towel to wipe her down before climbing back into my car. Double ugh.

What happened next was purely my issue, not hers. I changed the game-plan. I decided I didn’t want her in the water and would like to go back to the playground where she would avoid getting muddy. Her response was no, I want to play here. Understandable. But then I lay down the “law” that she must start walking and follow me, right now. Instead, she ran the other direction. We weren’t anywhere near the road so I wasn’t exactly concerned for her safety. But she blatantly acted out by doing the exact opposite of what I had just asked her to do. I started walking towards her and realized it’s the chase she’s after. So, I planted my feet and started yelling things down the beach at her.

"Kate, get over here right now! If you aren’t standing next to me by the time I count down from five we’re going home!"

Geez, did I really just say that? I sound like such a mom.

"Five, four…did you hear me?"

Ugh, I hate the way I sound right now. Can’t I just forget all this and let her be a kid and get messy? Do I really have to keep with this countdown?.

"Kate, when I get to the number one, you’re finished! Three…two... "

Man, I really don’t want to leave. The sun is just starting to set. Why didn’t I say she’d get a time-out instead?

"One."

So, I ran towards her as she made a last dash for the water. I finally snatched hold of her arm while avoiding a tumble into the sand myself. She flopped down in the sand and flattened. I extracted her from the sand risking back injury while picking her up by her waist and tucked her under my left arm. She has this way of putting her arms over her head so there is no armpit under which I can wedge my fingers. So the under-the-arm carrying technique was the only available method. She started flailing with her entire being to get down. I trudged through the sand with my crazy three-year old in tow and saw a few of Jon’s colleagues heading for the meeting at the hotel. Maybe they won’t recognize me with my short hair. We advanced about thirty more feet before I gave up and plopped her down again on the sand. I was so frustrated and upset that I was forced to stand by my threat of taking her home. We’d been there for 7 minutes max. She, on the other hand, didn’t appear upset at all. She was not crying or pitching a fit. Just wiggling and arguing and still smiling.

I got her into the car and complained about what a drag it was that she forced me to leave the beach early. "Great job, Kate. We were going to have a great time, but you wouldn’t listen to mommy and now we must go home. Why won’t you listen to me?" I turned around at this point to give her my most disappointed look. She replied, “What’s wrong?” as if this was the first she heard of my frustration." I’m upset because you were misbehaving and now we both have to leave the beach early." She smirked at me. I turned around because then I was really pissed and afraid I'd go apeshit and yell something inappropriate back at her. Instead I just put the car in drive and drove out of the parking lot towards our house.

I opted for the silent treatment on the way home. About three miles into it she started singing in the backseat to a tune resembling a combination of Here We Go ‘round the Mulberry Bush and Down by the Station, “Mommy is mad, mommy is mad, la la la la la la…the mommy song, the mommy song, this is the mommy song…mommy is maaaaaad…(repeat)” I kept staring straight ahead. I suppressed the urge to laugh. I hear laughter from the backseat. Maybe she saw my face in the rear view mirror. It seems that laying down the law at the beach only hurt me in the end and did nothing to teach her a lesson.

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.