You Know It's Monday When. . . .

You know it's Monday when a peanut butter chip falls from your granola bar and melts in the crotch of your black dress pants.

Pissing In The Wind

Yesterday while sitting on the freeway off-ramp on the way back from our bi-monthly trip to Costco, trips which have only slightly slowed since our end of diapers and baby wipes, we got to witness a bum taking a piss on the side of the road. Right there along a line of waiting motorists in broad daylight, the urge hit him and he decided to relieve himself. I screeched at Damonn to take a picture - Quick! - because, seriously, would this story not have been even better if you actually got to see the same dirty bum ass I did peeking out below his shirtails?? But alas, the traffic started to move before we had the chance so you will just have to imagine your own dirty bum ass. I suppose I should be horrified that my children were witness to such indecency, but you know me better than that. I pointed and laughed and considered yelling compliments out the window. And this, this part about a man's bare butt outside my car window, this isn't even the best part of the story because about a mile down the road, when all talk and laughter about the him had stopped, out of the blue Jamie added, "I shink dat man was trying to kill a cow. He had a stick." This is why I had children.

To Choose or Not To Choose

I've been trying to write a post regarding my feelings on the whole public health care debate. I've been gathering information and listening to opinions, wading through the foul swamps of rants and deliberate distractions and I keep coming back to the same spot: We need reform and we need options.

When my sister was 18 she needed surgery to remove some cysts. We were out of the house and sharing an apartment and she was too old for my parent’s job-provided health care coverage. She was going to community college and only working part-time for minimum wage at a pizza restaurant but still made $100 too much per month to qualify for the Oregon Health Plan. If only she had gotten knocked up in high school so she had a dependent or two she would have then qualified and been covered completely. Instead, she was left to pay for the entire surgery herself, making payments to the doctor and the hospital for the next seven years - all because she was one year too old and a $100 too rich.

When I was pregnant with Adam we were fortunate enough to be covered by the health insurance through my employer. It was very good insurance that covered all but 10% (which still amounted to around $2000 for us for a very normal, easy pregnancy) of doctor and delivery fees. I wanted more than anything to quit work and stay home with Adam. We looked at every possible angle, even talking to a financial counselor on how to make it work, but it just didn’t pencil out. The biggest hang up was insurance. I had great insurance but it meant that I had to keep working. Damonn’s employer paid for his insurance, but it would cost us $700 a month to add me and Adam onto the policy. We might have managed without my salary, but just couldn’t swing the extra cost of insurance on top of it. Instead of paying an additional $700 a month we contemplated just paying the bills ourselves as they came up. That’s a great idea until you get a $800 bill for a single middle-of-the-night visit to the ER for an ear infection. A visit that included only the use of a thermometer, a look in the ear and a dose of Tylenol. You suddenly understand the actual size of the financial cliff you could be confronted with should something catastrophic happen. So I went back to work and the kids went to daycare. We seem no worse for the wear, but how many other families are faced with the same dilemma of a dad that provides the better salary and the mom that provides the better insurance? How many other moms or dads would be home with their kids if they had a choice?

And what about the man at my work who has an epileptic daughter? What will happen if he is laid off and has to purchase independent insurance (if he can afford it) that won’t cover her pre-existing condition? Or the lady at my work with Lupus? The usual drugs used to keep this disease in check make her sick, but her insurance won’t cover the other drug because it is too experimental.

And as the debate rages on I hear people screaming about freedom and choice, about death panels and denied coverage and I think, are these people independently wealthy or just clueless? Do we have any real choice now? Is a choice between what your employer provides (if anything) and paying for the bills yourself really a choice? Or maybe it is the choice between choosing medical treatment and choosing groceries that they are so adamantly refusing to give up. Which, by the way, is a very real decision for some families. Do they not realize that the insurance companies already tell us what doctor we can see and what medicines they will pay for all the while raking in enough cash to pay for box seats and bonuses?

I am under no illusions that a public option (emphasis on the option) provided by the government will be perfect. What is? But how can your argument against a public option be based on freedom and choice when that is exactly what you will be getting. . . . another choice and the freedom to choose. There are no easy answers here and I’m sure we won’t get it right the first time around, but doesn’t it deserve a fair and rational conversation? A conversation without shrieking and insults and threats of secession? We need reform and we need options and those are most likely not going to come from those with the loudest voices. So let’s turn off the Pelosi’s and the Limbaugh’s, put down our picket signs and and get to work. This is important.

Search And Seizure

I write this post, the third post in a row about the tales of Adam with the fear that this may be turning into a blog only about him or that readers may forget that, yes, I do have another child. But as much as I sometimes try, the antics of Adam simply cannot be ignored.

Yesterday we celebrated Adam's 6th birthday at the park with friends and family. It was a Star Wars birthday celebration complete with inflatable light saber party favors and a Darth Vader cake featuring a Darth Vader mask surrounded by red

sparkly "force". Adam received several fantastic gifts including Lego sets and a bone digging paleontology project. But his favorite gift was the Darth Maul Lego character that Jamie gave him. It's just a little guy built out of Lego's, but fits into his Lego Star Wars ships and planes and comes with his trademark double light saber. The last of which should not be taken lightly should you happen to stop by that galaxy far, far away - or Adam's bedroom. A double light saber is serious business.

It was the fascination of this double light saber that persuaded Adam to secretly take Darth Maul to school on a very non-Friday, non-toy-bringing day. It was also the item that caught the attention of his teacher, Miss Camille and led to the eventual discovery of Darth Maul himself. I'm not sure how the actual conversation between Adam and his teacher went down, but when Damonn arrived this afternoon, Darth Maul was safely secured in a Ziploc baggy, double light saber in hand. Miss Camille dangled him from her fingertips within his plastic lair as she explained the reason that the evil sith was secure behind germ proof plastic. Apparently, in an effort to avert parental detection Darth Maul had made the trip to school as a stowaway in Adam's underwear.

Damonn told this story over dinner tonight and I tried my best to keep a straight face. I really did. For at least 30 seconds I hid my face behind my napkin as my eyes watered and my mind whirled with unanswered questions. And then I lost it. The thought of a small plastic Lego character riding safely between Adam's buns all the way to school is just more than a parent can take with straight face.

Thank you, Thank you, I'll Be Here All Week!

You know those cartoons where the Sylvester the Cat sits down on something hot but doesn't realize it until after he smells his tail burning? That's kinda what I felt like as Adam snuck up on me with his first ever joke. Really, I should have seen this coming, but considering I was explaining a Knock Knock joke earlier this week, it really came out of the blue. And speaking of blue, I present to you Adam's maiden voyage into rehearsed comedy:

Hey Mom, what's your name?

Tiffany.

What color is the sky?

Blue.

What's the opposite of down?

Up.

Tiffany blew up! Hahahahahahah!!!

And because every good comedian knows when to keep it clean and when to go blue (no pun intended), he waited to whisper the "other way to say the joke" in my ear. (whispering) You take out the part about the sky and ask them what's the opposite of open. Shut! Tiffany shut up! Hehehehehhe!

The sinister giggle that followed was as priceless as the joke.

Dreams Do Come True

Adam, do you have any homework tonight?

No, I only had two worksheets today.

Really, only two?

Well, I had more but when I got back from recess the rest were gone. It was like some kind of miracle or something!

Happy Mother's Day!

Thanks to my good friend, Sybil for the nomination and Happy Mother's Day to all of my fellow mothers. We all deserve to be honored as Mother of the Year 2009!

Follow link to watch video coverage. . . .

http://news.cnnbcvideo.com/?nid=A8Ki9rbnAfu5TCvmv6lXqjQxODg1NTA-&referred_by=15848124-9Uzw9lx&p=moveon

A New Rendition

"Sing the baby song, Daddy, sing the baby song!", squealed Jamie. Of course he obliged and they both started in on one of Jamie's new favorites. . . . . .

Hush little baby don't say word
Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring don't shine
Daddy's gonna buy you a new behind
And if that behind does not toot
Daddy's gonna buy you a bowl of fruit.

Damonn's explaination to my look of WTF?. . . . . "I couldn't remember the real words."

Big Red

When I walked into my hair salon last week, I had no intentions of making such a big change in my life. And when I told my hair dresser I was tired of my usual blonde highlights and was looking for something with a little more red in it, I never imagined just how red she would take it. And when she removed the towel from head and revealed a color that would make Orphan Annie jealous I wasn't sure how I was going to walk into work the next day much less walk back into my house and face Damonn with a straight face. But after a week with the color I no longer startle myself everytime I pass a mirror and I have to say it is actually growing on me. So with out further ado, I present to you, the new me. . . . . .

Longing To Be Toothless

By the grace of God and the strength of spit Adam's front tooth is still hanging on. And one of those two things is apparently pretty strong because even though it is hanging at such an angle that people actually think he has already lost it, this little baby tooth has held on through all kinds of tugs and twists.

Adam is anxious to get it out. In part, simply for the monetary reward that the tooth holds, but also for the status it holds at school, He longs to be the latest kid with the nerve to rip another piece of babyhood from their body, tossing it to the side as if to say, "Yeah, that's right (spit), I pulled my own tooth (spit). You should have seen me last week when when a third grader tried to take my lunch and I removed his spleen with a spoon (spit)."

Just don't tell anybody he cries when his little sister pinches him.

Pretty, Pretty Please. . .

I've heard about them, even seen them on the internets, but I spotted my first, real live Palin 2012 presidential bumper sticker on a car today. I can imagine nothing better than to have Gov. Palin run for president in 2012. Just the possiblity of the sheer, raw comedic value of her participation makes me giddy with anticipation.

Help Us Make A Powerful Noise

Facts Of Life

After months of doing our best to paint the simple act of using the toilet as something only slightly less rewarding than bathing in chocolate syrup, Jamie finally decided that using the big open hole of a toilet was better than crouching in the corner and shitting your own pants. But it wasn't stickers or pennies or star charts that finally convinced her of the benefits of basic human hygiene. In the end, it was just a simple conversation about some undeniable facts of life.


Jamie, you have to sit down to go potty, like mommy does.


No, I don't. I can stand up.


No, sweetie you can't, girls have to sit down.


Yes, I caaaaan! I can stand up like Adam.


I'm sorry, honey but you can't.


Yes, I CAAAAAN! I HAVE A PENIS!!!


No, honey you don't. You're on the girls team. You're on the girls team with Mommy and Grandma and Kim and Lindi and Kayla and Brooklyn and Nana. We're all girls and we all have to sit down to go potty.


Oh. Okay. I need to go potty now.

Flying High

Last weekend Damonn and I were treated to a few days in San Diego for a manager's retreat with his company. We stayed at the Hotel Del Coronado on beautiful Coronado island which is rich with both Hollywood and military history. The island is filled with turn-of-the-century homes with fantastic architecture. Damonn and I laughed about how we'd love to retire there. . . you know, like if we won the lottery or Jamie married into royalty or something.

We had delicious dinners and relaxing evenings of drinks with friends and even had a chance to check out the USS Midway. The Midway is an aircraft carrier used up through the 70's or 80's which has now been turned into a floating museum. It is a self-guided "headset" tour but there are plenty of veteran volunteers and patrons willing to share with you their first-hand experiences aboard this ship or flying the aircraft used on it. It was very interesting seeing the inner workings of a ship this size and to get a peek into the daily life of a mid-century sailor. I wish we could have stayed longer but we had to catch our flight. No, not our flight home. . .




THIS FLIGHT:




Yep, I flew in an authentic 1920's bi-plane and it was amazing! I now understand how those first flights must have captured the hearts of our early aviators. There is nothing like the feeling of freedom and adventure when the wheels first lift off the ground. And seeing the world at 1500 feet with the fresh sea air in your face. . . well, you don't get a feeling like that in the daily grind of the suburbs. But best of all was when Drew, my friendly and apparently fearless pilot, turned over the controls and gave me a shot at flying that bird. It was easier than I thought it would be, mostly just moving a big joystick to keep the plane flying evenly. But like they say, flying a plane is easy, the hard part is landing it. And Drew wasn't that fearless.




I absolutely recommend this and the rest of our trip to anyone visiting the San Diego area. The guys at Fun Flights (www.barnstorming.com) are fantastic and are willing to accommodate special requests within their flying range (they let me fly past the Hotel Del). They also offer Warbird and AirCombat flights for those looking for a little more adventure than "riding in a convertible at 1500ft."!

Carpe Diem!

The International Language of Cartoon

The other night, after a particularly grumpy day by all involved I called an impromptu Family Movie Night. So while I threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave Damonn started the movie and got the kids settled into the big bed in our room. When I came in a few minutes later everyone was planted quietly in their preferred spot, the kids intent on the featured attraction and Damonn flipping through a magazine (how many times can you pretend to be interested in The Sword and the Stone?). I quickly settled into my spot between the kids and started watching the movie. Something immediately caught my attention and I started looking around to see if anyone else was noticing. Nope, kids were still enthralled in the antics of Merlin the Wizard onscreen and Damonn was still casually scanning his magazine pages. I couldn't help myself and started giggling. This of course caught every one's attention and I was suddenly surround by three faces with expressions of, "What?"

"I dunno know", I shrugged pointing towards the T.V., "I was just wondering if it might be more enjoyable if we didn't watch the entire movie in Chinese."

WANTED: Three Pieces of I.D. And Your Right Kidney

You know what I love about the DMV? I mean, besides the way their camera makes a completely normal law-abiding citizen look like a career felon. I like the way they put everyone on a level playing field. A business man in a three-piece suit, a gangly first-time teenage driver, a middle-aged mom that can't find her driver's license anywhere even though she's checked every coat pocket, every purse, under every car seat, and the dryer after every load for weeks on end. We are all at the hands of a few individuals armed with the power of rules we had no hand in making and have no ability to alter. Rules that require us to dig through dark corners of the closet and sift through years of memorabilia looking for long-lost, crumpled documents. Like, your birth certificate to prove you're a legal citizen, your social security card to cross-check that you don't have outstanding child support payments, and your marriage license to prove that your name legally changed. No, your social security card doesn't do that, at least not according to the DMV. My favorite is needing a bill in your name with your home residence on it, but without a P.O. Box listed. Somehow having a P.O. Box on the envelope along with your home address voids the place you actually live. That is, unless your homeless. In which case, as the Oregon DMV website puts it, you can use a desciptive address such as, (and I quote) "under the west end of the Burnside Bridge".

Yep. The rest of us must dig through boxes and bills to find something that comes directly to our house and not to a P.O. Box, but if you mention that you're homeless, well, just a vague corner of the city will work just fine too. So much for that even playing field, huh? I bet their pictures turn out looking like glamour shots, too.

Wonder Wheel

You'll have to excuse the tardiness of our well wishes. I've been trying to get this video posted for the last two weeks, but the first time I finished it I realized it was way too big to post on blogger and had to start over using a different format. So finally, here it is. . . . The Year 2008: A Review in Pictures. The song I used is Wonder Wheel by Dan Zanes from the For The Kids album. The first time I heard it I knew it was the perfect anthem to the crazy ups and downs of our life.

so begins another day
crazy stops along the way
think of funny things to say
and ride the wonder wheel

going round and around,
it takes us up and it takes us down
i love the sights and i love the sounds
riding on the wonder wheel

So here's to another year, folks. May it be even better than the last and may it always be filled with wonder.

The Winds of Change

Okay, so I didn't get around to writing the same night - I spent it skipping through the eight hours of inauguration footage I had recorded on the DVR and basking in the glow of the new First Family. And rest assured that that glow has kept me walking on air the entire week. Watching and celebrating as Barack Obama was sworn in as President of the United States has been the perfect cure to my winter blues. Its like opening the windows on a brilliantly sunny winter day and letting a crisp, cool breeze blow all that old stagnant air out of the house. I imagine the Obamas doing the same thing in the White House. Letting that energy that always seems to surround their family flow through and recharge that place like it has recharged the country.

I read somewhere this week that the curtains are usually changed along with a change in the administration. At first I thought this seemed like an unecessary extravagance given the current economic situation, but then I thought about it some more and realized that a light dusting and a spray of Febreeze just isn't gonna cut the smell of Bush. The curtains had to go. . . . . . and maybe the carpet too. And anyone know a good exterminator? Actually, we might be okay there. I heard all the rats and roaches were headed off somewhere towards Texas.

A Moment In History

I'm currently holed up in the server room at my office listening online to CNNradio.com to hear as Barack Obama becomes our 44th president. I'm visibly jittering in my chair. At least I think that's why the letters on my laptop screen won't sit still. I can't remember the last time I've been this excited. I want to write more, but I have to listen now. . . . only 15 more minutes. More later tonight after Adam and I watch it together on TV!

I Made It Through December. . .

A Continuation. . . . .

I have so much to tell you about, like all the details of my "hen party" in Seattle with two of my best friends where we shopped at our leisure for silly magnets, cheap sunglasses and the perfect pair of jeans. Where we slept in beds with down matresses and ate Italian food so good I completely forgot that Kraft existed (If you're ever in Seattle you must stop at Tulio's downtown and order anything with their homemade ricotta cheese. It was lighter and fluffier than the down mattress at the W hotel. An absolute taste of heaven). And when we awoke from our peaceful childless slumber late the next morning a light dusting of snow had the city looking Christmas-card perfect. But that bit of snow was just the beginning of what was about to hit our usually rain-soaked Northwest. Just the beginning of two weeks of clausterphobic, snow-falling, car-spinning, ice-crunching hell.


A further continuation. . . . .

As my train from Seattle got further and further south the snow got heavier and heavier and by the time we reached the station the temperature had dropped considerably and there were several inches of snow on the ground. Chains (put on expertly and graciously by my friend's husband as I sat in their warm truck and watched the the wind blow snow in his face. I still owe you one Dan!) got me home that night. The next week (as most of you know) was like a game of Russian roulette on whether or not work/school would be open or if you'd even be able to get out of your driveway. Through it all my little Mazda sedan was a champ. And with the help of those chains, which didn't leave our tires for almost two weeks, it got us where we needed to go. . . until the day I absolutely, positively, no questions asked, HAD to be at work. That is the day our chains decided to give out.

Almost 18" of snow creates some casualties and the roof on the warehouse of the company I work for was one of them. A conference call on Christmas Eve sent a group of us into action and my boss's boss on a flight up here on Christmas Day. And when your boss's boss flys on Christmas Day to help you out (the next day) it really doesn't matter if there is still 8" of snow and ice on your street, your chains are lying broken in the driveway and two tow truck companies refuse you their services, you MUST still get to work. And so with this gumption, this fear of the unemployment line and a rusty ol' garden shovel I dug a path through snow and ice for our chainless tires to follow from our driveway to the already available ruts in the middle of our street. And again I dug a few feet down our street. And again at the end our street. With frosty, frustrated, snow-hating tears running down my face and two kids murdering each other in the backseat of an overheated car, I was determined to get to the (finally) plowed highway.

We finally made it, about the same time the sun rose, only to realize the road to the daycare was just as bad as our neighborhood. Now we were a whole new kind of stuck. It was a clear road to work, but we had the kids in the backseat with no way to get to daycare and no way to get back home - at least not without a lot more digging. There was really only one choice. My dear husband took one for the team. I dropped him and our two bundled kids off at the edge of our neighborhood and took off for work - an hour and a half late - and he slipped and tripped his way back to our house with both kids in tow. I'd say I owe him for that but I'm still so far ahead on favors nobody's even counting anymore.


And in conclusion. . . .

And somewhere smashed in between multiple spin-outs on major highways and breaking inch-thick ice in our backyard so our dog could take a crap without breaking a hip, Christmas came and went. I have a vague memory of it, smiling faces digging through stockings and a hideous Christmas dinner at Shari's restaurant (that's a whole other story for a later time), but mostly I just wanted it all to be over. The snow, the ice, the tinsel, the fir needles. . . . . December. I wanted it out the door. And so my shouts of jubilation on New Year's Eve were not so much an expression of joy for the possibilities of the new year, but for the thankful deliverance from the last. . . . and of course that third glass of red wine.