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.

If I Can Make It Through December. . . .

Isn't there a country song that goes something like that? If I can make it through December, everything will be alright. Only three more days. . . . . I think. I'm not really sure at this point. I feel like I have scratched and clawed my way through every day of this month and finally I can see the light of the New Year. I just hope the light isn't an oncoming train.

I know it's been forever since I've written. Or at least it seems like it. Then again, Thanksgiving seems like a holiday that happened about three years ago, so what do I know. Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, Santa Claus was coming to town. Well, he did, but before he got here, Mother Nature, Old Man Winter and Jack Frost all got together and decided to have a pissing contest right in our corner of the continent. I couldn't tell you which of them won. All I know is that it wasn't the residents of the greater Portland metro area.

But still, I'm getting ahead of myself. There are things to tell even before "Arctic Blast '08" decided to roll into town. . . . . .

To Be Continued. . . . .

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town!

Every year part of the Christmas festivities in our community includes Santa flying into town on a helicopter and this year was no exception. We met some friends for donuts and then bundled up and headed to the shopping center where Santa would make this year's Christmas debut. The wind was cold, but the sun was shining and you really can't ask for more than that in Oregon. After landing, Santa made his way around the cordoned off circle of eager boys and girls for hand-shaking and photo ops, then headed inside to get down to the serious business of toy requests.

We bided our time in line for the hour or more it took to reach Santa, but it was all worth it to Adam. There was no way he was passing up the opportunity to ask for the Millennium Falcon. . . and the Bat Cave. As we were walking back to our car, Adam sidled up to me and whispered, "Santa knew about Jaba the Hut and Han Solo. How does he know all that Star Wars stuff?"

Because Santa is magic. . . . . . and apparently a Sci-Fi geek.

What A Girl Wants, What A Girl Needs

The "work" of Christmas is almost over. Except for a couple of stocking stuffers I have all my shopping done and most of it is already wrapped and under the tree. After years of being the primary holiday shopper in this family I've finally gotten smart the last couple of years. Instead of braving the malls on the weekends when the whole damn planet seems to pack themselves into the local Macy's, I take a day off work and hit the stores with latte in hand and absolutely zero children in tow. In about five hours I make a major dent in the Christmas list and my stress level never even hits "anxious".


Part of what I love about getting out there and scouring the stores is finding that one item that makes you stop and say, "What the hell?" Some of you may remember the Santa blow-up doll socks from last year. They still make me shake my head. This year? Well, this year it was the Pink Ouija board by Parker Brothers that made my cart and my head do a 360 in the middle of Toys-R-Us.

Yes, folks your young adolescent girls can now have their very own window to the underworld in a new fashionable color! It comes complete with a box of "questions girls want to know" like, "Who will be the next to call/text me? Will I be famous? Who wants to be me?" and a zippered carrying case for easy travel to their next pajama party!


Now whether you believe Ouija boards can cause any real harm or not, you have to admit Ouija just lost all street cred. In fact, he just had his balls handed to him in a purse. A pink one.

Attack of the Smurfette

One day I'll learn my lesson, but I'm pretty sure today is not that day. Every once in awhile I tell myself how fun it would be to do a holiday craft with the kids. Something simple, something easy. I imagine us painting and smiling while we sip hot cocoa and glue on googly-eyes to the latest feature project in Family Fun magazine. This season, I set my sights on this little gem:

Now this really is a simple craft, especially if you have most items on hand, which I don't so it cost me about $15 dollars just to get started. Then there's this small detail: Adam all but detests art. His idea of a craft is three seconds with a black crayon. So tonight when I announced we were making a terra cotta Nativity scene, he just looked at me blankly and continued playing. Jamie on the other hand loves art and in the future will probably be right there with me making pipe cleaner reindeer, but at the moment she is two. Which means she loves to paint, but would rather paint herself than mini terra cotta pots.

So as I type, my tub is encrusted with a blue ring, my table needs a scrubbing as well and the terra cotta pots are covered in nothing more than fingerprints, but I'm sure I'll give it another try the next time glitter paint catches my eye because even if nothing but a mess is actually made, its all worth it for pictures like this:

Mayhem At The Mall

I just returned from Black Friday shopping. Yes, it only 6am and I am already done. I have survived the onslaught of like-minded holiday shoppers and returned to tell about it. And what do I have to tell? That people care way too much about $5 DVD's. And that I'm grateful that the rental car we have has Maryland plates because there is no way I would have realized that I was trying to get into the wrong tan Sienna if I hadn't been for this small detail. And yes, there was someone waiting for my spot that then watched me move over two spots to the other tan Sienna. The one with the taillights blinking everytime I tried to unsuccessfully unlock the doors of the van I was standing in front of.

Damonn thinks I'm crazy do get up this early to save a few dollars and usually I'd agree, but something was drawing me to that Wal-Mart parking lot this morning that I just couldn't ignore. I thought it was the Blu-ray DVD player for $129, but once I was shoulder to shoulder with the most determined of Roseburg shoppers, I realized what had drawn me here was the social experiment of it all. To watch people levy their carts and manuever their bodies to cut in line for an $8 dollar coat that was normally only $15 all because it was a "Black Friday" special. It is truly corporate marketing at its best.

I have one suggestion for the organizers of Wal-mart black Friday. Ban shopping carts. Make it survival of the fitests. If you can't carry it, you don't buy it. That way I wouldn't have to punch the sweaty post-menapausal woman blocking the aisle with her cart while she digs waist deep in a bin for the pink Mp3 player.

Welcome to the Holiday shopping season everyone!

T-minus 10 Seconds to Turkey Day

After three days of Jamie asking if it is time to go to Roseburger, we are packed and loaded and everyone is whining so yes, Jamie, I believe it is finally time to head to Roseburger. I hope everyone has a happy and hearty Thanksgiving filled with more relatives than you can stand.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Politics, Protest And Power

Saying Adam has a tendency to fly off the handle is a understatement. He can go from helpfully setting the table to a puddle of fury and loathing at the flip of a switch. (I wonder where he gets that from) I just wish I knew where that switch was located. I would find it and layer it in inches of packing tape so that at no time could it be accidentally switched on ever again. And then perhaps our family may be able to consume one dinner in peace - even if (gasp!) pork or pea pods or potatoes or pineapple - or whatever new food he decided he now absolutely detests was being served.

Food, once again, was the catalyst for such dire emotions as we left their daycare last night. Damonn was going to a Blazer's game with a friend so we were on our own for dinner. I announced that we were going to McDonald's and waited for the cheers and confetti. Instead I received a proclamation from Adam that we were going to "Volunteer and have a battle between McDonald's and Shari's". After several clarifying questions into what in the hell he was talking about, I came to the conclusion that he wanted to vote (not volunteer) on where we ate dinner. I hate Shari's. I hate everything about Shari's. From the way that everything is served luke warm, to the apparent pool of grease that everything is cooked in, to the ridiculous price they ask you to pay for such fare. But being the proponent of democracy that I am, and knowing full well that Jamie will always pick McDonald's, I agreed to his suggestion.

So how did Adam take to his democratic loss? Let's just say there was less anger and mayhem after the Rodney King verdict than there was in the back seat of our car last night. And the range of tactics he used to first persuade our votes and then push for a re-vote was quite impressive. But when he ended his tirade in saying that voting Shari's actually meant McDonald's and vice-versa so really Shari's had won, I just had to laugh. Politics is definitely in his future. Or maybe a future in defending such politicians.

But the night didn't end there, folks. Oh no. Because I don't take kindly to a five-year old holding a personal political protest in my back seat, I made the executive decision to have PB&J at home. By the time we pulled into the driveway his "kid power" fist in the air shenanigans had turned to the calmer approach of civil disobedience. He now refused to get out of the car. Again, his tactics were impressive, his stamina. . . . not so much. Within about 90 seconds of Jamie and I leaving him for the warmth of our kitchen he was following behind, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

The Man will always win, Adam. You have to be The Man to beat The Man. Only then will you be able to rule with all the evil that you possess.