How to Not Raise A-Holes in 33 Easy Steps

We went on "vacation" in Tahoe last week, which holds a special place in my heart. We drove from San Diego, which, according to Google Maps, is really fucking far. The kids were actually shockingly good. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the nuclear meltdown, for the karmic retribution of an uneventful 600 mile drive with a four- and a five- year old, and it just... never happened. [Insert "Hallelujah, Thank you Jesus" Hands here.] We didn't even have to bust out the iPads in the car, which is something we always SWORE we would never do, but, it turns out, we would totally do. I daresay this trip actually, almost, felt like a real vacation!

Photo courtesy of Daddy Mack

The thing is, this pain-free experience has little to do with my offspring being inherently good children, and mostly to do with the fact that my husband and I go to absurd lengths to assure that the kids' every waking - and sleeping - need is attended to. And to be honest, this isn't even because I love my kids so much that I never ever want them to be unhappy. I mean, I do love them so much but it's mostly because I love MYSELF and I don't want ME to be unhappy, and small children losing their shit in confined spaces with no escape route on the horizon makes me stabby.

Seriously though. Every minute of every day, every eventuality is anticipated and planned for. We have the right pillow and the right blanket and the right lovey and the right PJs and an engaging array of books and art supplies and white noise and night lights and, and, and... It's just crazy. And again, we (mostly I) have created these monsters because I prefer contented silence to the shrieking of rabid banshees. But carried to its natural conclusion, we're gonna have a couple of spoiled little bratwursts on our hands. "A COUPLE IS TWO," as Colby reminds me several times a day. "SEVAWAL IS FWEE OR MORE."

I feel like the tide has been turning for a couple several generations, with each new crop of parents wanting to do more and more for their children. And yes, it's partly selfish, but I think it also stems from a very human desire to see our children do better than us, to give them things our parents didn't give, etc. Not to mention mitigating working-parent guilt. At least, I think it's a sea change. I hope I'm not the only coddling, over-indulgent parent raising entitled, yeller-bellied little a-holes....am I? Beuller? Beuller? ;)

The Tahoe trip really brought this internal struggle into stark relief. Right as you walk into the cabin, there's a framed photo of Stepdad with his mom, dad, and brothers BUILDING this freaking cabin from the ground up.

Meanwhile, I, literally, do not know how to work a DVD player, and my kids, apparently, are incapable of brushing their own teeth or dressing themselves or sleeping without the soothing sound of ocean waves caressing their sweet little seashell ears. These people could navigate Desolation Wilderness like the back of their hand, while I immediately get lost when I lose sight of the Pacific. The Stepdadders could build a fire in the snow and my kids thought this was a television:

I could draw contrasts all day.

When and why and how did we become such a soft species? We eat food we didn't grow or catch, we live in homes we didn't build (I can barely manage to assemble IKEA furniture!), we drive vehicles we have no idea how to repair, we rely on electronics and software that baffle even the FBI. We can, officially, live our lives without ever leaving our homes. And I will be the first person to admit that I find this, mostly, glorious. But at what cost?

Our children are a product of our vulnerable reliance on niche, and diminishing, skill sets. I came away from the trip with this itching need to learn and do real things. DM and I were discussing this whole notion one night (in a hot tub, in the snow!) He said, "I mean, I could probably build a cabin, if I had the time, I just don't understand how they did it before Google and YouTube!" I rolled my eyes. He recently installed his own car stereo and it is the crowning achievement of his life. I think it went to his head. He replied, "Well, maybe I'll start with a shed."

We were laughing about this again last weekend as we drilled NINE HOLES into the wall before we finally succeeded in hanging my new jewelry armoire. Around the fourth try I said, "Ready to build a cabin next?" Ha!

I clearly contribute to our impotence as a family. I would always rather pay a professional to do it than have DM or myself attempt it, screw it up, and then have to call in the experts. But maybe we need to leave a little room to make mistakes. How else are we supposed to learn? A little discomfort is good, sometimes, right? It means we're learning and growing. No pain, no gain.

We went out to dinner this one night in Tahoe. Now, normally, I carry enough art supplies to outfit an entire kindergarten class in my mom-purse, but naturally, the one time I show up empty-handed, the restaurant has nary a broken crayon or dried-out marker to be seen. DM and I looked at each other like, SHIT. It didn't help that Jack was particularly tetchy and was on a hair trigger. Now, back in my day, after walking through 6 feet of snow uphill both ways, if I or one of my siblings pitched a fit at a restaurant, we'd leave, or be taken out to the car. We traveled up and down the coast in the covered bed of a truck, no iPads, or seatbelts! My parents couldn't have heard us even if we had cried! But what did I do in the face of parental adversity? I made a CVS run for emergency STFU supplies. Even while I was doing it I was thinking to myself, this is ridiculous. I did it anyway. And we had an uneventful dining experience. But this whole thing has filled me with a new resolve:

Short term pain for long term gain. Yes, taking away screen time hurts me more than it hurts you. But you're being a pygmy shrew and this shit is not going to fly. No more Mr. Nice Guy! Have you ever noticed that you usually only get called a "Mean Mom" when you're giving a particularly solid showing of mom-awesomeness?

Anyway. Thanks for tuning in for another random assemblage of thoughts tumbling out of my brain. On a not-really-that-related not, a friend posted this really interesting survey the other day, about how insulated you are from the real world. (PBS: Do you live in a bubble? I got a 48, by the way.) It really got me thinking, about the cost of living life in our little fortresses built from Amazon Prime boxes, and made me want to get out more, learn, challenge myself, do "real things," for my kids' sake and my own. Mostly for theirs because there's still hope for them :)

Here's my working list of things I want my kids to do before they graduate college. Alternate title: How to not raise assholes in 33 easy steps.

1. Learn another language.
2. Live in another country.
3. Work through college, including at least one year in food service or retail.
4. Play team sports.
5. Travel alone.
6. Eat at a restaurant alone, with a book instead of a phone. (At Applebee's, apparently ;))
7. Have roommates.
8. Learn how things work, something, anything.
9. Learn to change a flat tire.
10. Learn how to change your battery.
11. Learn how to do laundry.
12. Know how to make a few meals that won't cause acute gastrointestinal distress.
13. Build IKEA furniture with a friend (and remain friends).
14. Build something other than IKEA furniture.
15. Travel somewhere you can't reach by plane, train, or automobile.
16. If you eat meat - catch, kill, and eat an animal. But not a cute one, or I will cry. Preferably a fish or a bird or something.
17. Keep a journal. And lock it so your little sister/big brother doesn't read it.
18. Get a library card, and use it. Read books, lots of them.
19. Get involved with a local cause or organization that means something to you.
20. Go to a drive-in movie (do those even exist anymore?) BUT DO NOT HAVE THE SEX. Or, do. But for the right reasons. And use protection. Okay nevermind we'll talk more about this later.
21. Mow the lawn.
22. Keep a house plant alive (still working on this one, personally).
23. Plan a surprise party.
24. Volunteer for reasons other than your college applications or resume.
25. Learn how the government works.
26. Learn how credit cards (and debt, in general), work. Learn to budget.

This made me laugh.
Source.

27. Do nice things for people who will never know.
28. Keep up the dance parties in your PJs.
29. Write notes and letters - on real, actual paper (or whatever replaces paper once we use up all the trees).
30. Talk less, smile more :)
31. Keep learning new things. Challenge yourself. Do things that are difficult, uncomfortable, even a little bit scary.
32. Surround yourself with people who make you feel better about yourself, and be that person to others. Give people the benefit of the doubt, including yourself.
33. Don't be a dick.

What would you add???

This post from Renegade Mothering is so good and on point:

How to raise an excellent toddler.

And this post! "Are Today's Parents Getting a Raw Deal?" The whole time I was reading it I was nodding vigorously in agreement. This is what I was TRYING to say above, but better!

stuck at the airport

I'm fresh out of witty titles for yet another family "vacation" post. We went to the Outer Banks in North Carolina last week. No one got chewed on by a shark so I'm going to say it was a success.

This gets me every time.

The trip out there was pretty painless. I'm at peak mom performance when flying with my kids in the bulkhead behind a bunch of baby-hating first class bastards. Cultivating exemplary behavior in your children is fucking exhausting. I've never actually defused a bomb but I sort of imagine that being in enclosed public spaces with small children is basically the same thing, every three-to-five minutes, on endless repeat. Except instead of "Shit! Is it the red wire or the blue wire?!" it's "Please, for the love of God and everything holy, choose a snack/game/toy/book/movie/beverage that I have readily available in my handy-dandy backpack."

The kids were amazing but by the end of the day I was about to lose my shit. After twelve hours I was just SO OVER being on high alert, and the noise and being touched and grabbed and sat-on and the sticky hands on my face and having to carry a shit-ton of baggage, human and otherwise.

We finally got to our hotel in lovely Norfolk, Virginia, at about 1 a.m., and DM, sensing my fragile emotional state, went down and paid $40 for a bottle of cheap wine from the hotel bar. That's love.

The next day we started our drive to Duck, North Carolina. The Google told us the drive would only take an hour and a half which was much better than we expected. We stopped for lunch and groceries, and headed on our way. Unfortunately, approximately 2.1 billion other people had the same idea, and the drive that should have taken 1.5 hours took 4.

This should be interesting...

We stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break and snacks. DM is not averse to feeding the children things like Cheetos and Doritos on occasion, but I usually balk at that crap. (Not that I'm against junk food in general or edible items that are a shade of orange that does not occur in nature. It's just that those particular neon orange snacks gross me out.) However, one exception to my Dorito-ban is when Google Maps informs you it is going to take an hour and a half to drive 12 miles. Jack picked Nacho Cheese flavor and Colby chose Cool Ranch, which she aptly refers to as "The Smelly Ones."

Made it.

The actual "vacation" itself was pretty glorious, except for the part where I got food poisoning one day in. At least I had an ocean view while I sat on the toilet with a barf bucket between my knees. I was laid out the next day, which is the day I had ordered a cake for DM's 40th. Poor guy, I made him pick up, and pay for, his own birthday cake. Normally I like to shield him from the pesky little details such as the obscene amount of dollars I spend on themed party goods. Anyway, I let the bakery owner know that I was sending DM for the goodies in my stead because I had food poisoning. She asked, if I didn't mind, where I had eaten. When I told her, she replied, "Oh God. No wonder!" Great.

In addition to the important life lesson of "Listen to Yelp," I had a few other profound revelations:

Nutella + coffee is like a hot steaming cup of heaven.

And, ever notice how other people's drunk husbands are hilarious, but your own is annoying as hell? And how the converse is true of children? Like, nobody thinks your kids are as cute and charming as you do. And vice versa.

Lastly, it's super easy to make DIY exfoliating soap: Step 1: Take kids to sandy beach. Step 2: Put kids in bath. Step 3: Give them a bar of soap. Voila!

Unfortunately, the trip home ran a little less smoothly.

First, we had to make the drive and the cross country flight all in one day, which was ambitious. Then, after (mostly) being on their best behavior for seven days, the littles proceeded to lose their shit (literally and figuratively) approximately nine minutes into our fifteen hour travel day. We stopped at four different public bathrooms so Colby could attempt to poop. Whee. At least there wasn't traffic though! We got to the airport four hours early, which wouldn't have been terrible (gave us time to eat, run the kids, etc.), except...

All of the flights at Norfolk (and everywhere within a 200 mile radius) were grounded because the FAA server was down and thus air traffic control was rendered useless. Our flight was delayed indefinitely, which would cause us to miss our connection in Chicago, which happened to be the last flight out to San Diego that day. The next available flight out of Norfolk wasn't until Monday. (This was Saturday.)

Luckily, we did end up making it to Chicago that night. Of course, our baggage didn't. The kids weren't too stoked on not having their PJs, or their Star Wars toothbrushes. We got some cheapo vanity kits from the hotel, and Jack said, "That's nice they gave us these, but what would have been better is if we had packed our own things in our carry-ons. We should try to remember that next time." Yes, thank you, son. We should try to remember that.

I actually used to be really good about that. At least carrying-on toiletries and a spare pair of underwear. But I guess I got out of the habit now that our carry-ons are stuffed to the brim with blankies and lovies and iPads and crayons and coloring books and games and toys and a smorgasbord of non-Dorito snacks. (I'm actually really proud of myself, I made these adorable little travel boxes for the kids out of retro metal lunch boxes and those magnetic spice tins and all sorts of goodies. I am so Pinteresting right now!) So, yeah, not much room for emergency overnight supplies. Maybe next time.

I was texting with my two besties and one of them was having contraction-y type pains (at 22 weeks pregnant, so, no bueno), and the other one was about to undergo super scary back surgery, but obviously the most pressing problem was the fact that I had to wear the same underwear and stinky t-shirt the next day, and worse, I had to spend a day in public with NO MASCARA. (Um, by the way, as to the latter, did you know that there is now a MAC store in the Chicago O'Hare airport? Score!) As to the former, I tried to wash my shirt and underwear in the sink (< apparently, according to my brother and sister, this is very strange). Anyway, the shirt didn't dry overnight, so I spent twenty-minutes blow-drying it in the hotel bathroom, which I'm pretty sure only succeeded in me heat-sealing the BO into the fabric.

But. We were halfway there. When we got to the airport the next morning, we accidentally went to the fancy VIP security line and the agent let us in because I was giving off "good vibes." Maybe she assumed I was generating good vibes because I smelled like a dirty hippie? ;)

Because the flight was switched last minute, we had four separate seats strewn about the plane, and until about 20 minutes before we boarded, it was looking like we were going to have to rely on the mercy of strangers to get seats together, which I loathe doing, or, in the alternative, just leave our 3 and 5 year olds sitting solo with randos, which actually didn't seem like a completely terrible idea. But ultimately that got worked out too. Phew.

By the way, I think people who claim you shouldn't fly with kids are dicks, but I sympathize a little bit because I kind of feel the same way about people who fly when they've got SARS and shit.

My face when my neighbor on the plane apparently has Ebola.

As if 36 hours of travel wasn't enough, we had to drive straight from the airport to a final walk-through for our NEW HOUSE that we closed on the next day. This week has been so hectic we haven't even had a chance to celebrate! Should've saved some of that bourbon :)

But the kids have been great. Barely any vacation-hangover at all, despite the fact that Colby started a new class in preschool and Jack was in camp for a week which is way outside his comfort zone. (Come to think of it, this might be because, due to conflicting schedules, we had a babysitter picking them up every day and navigating "suicide hour" (as one of our friends calls it). Ha. Whoops. Thanks and apologies, J!)

PLUS, one of the TSA agents who patted me down at the airport told me I should "eat a cookie once in a while," so I'm going to mark the whole debacle down as a win!

Oh, I forgot to mention the part where we hired a dog-sitter and then she decided that she didn't really like taking care of our dog so she dropped Feta off at boarding and stayed at our house for a week anyway?! WTF?!

stranger danger

i'm still stalling on getting to "the good stuff." but, my husband is dying to know what Mackenzie Cheeseman's been up to ;) so, here goes:

december was supposed to be a mellow month, or i had hoped it would be, anyway. i got most of the christmas shopping done by thanksgiving, we got our tree early, i planned to bang it all out and then just chill. i didn't want december to be a frantic game of catch-up like it usually is. i took specific precautions to prevent such an eventuality. then life happened. (why does this (life being life) continue to catch me offguard?) one weekend we ditched the kids and went to disneyland (per paragraph 7a of DM's wedding vows - annual disney trips).

...it's a small world after all...

ever wonder what Space Mountain looks like with the lights on?!

then we went to a "rock-n-roll christmas" party with our friends. DM and i were johnny cash and june carter cash, and everyone made fun of us all night for not dressing up. they were like, "Oh, who are you supposed to be? Mackenzie and Daddy Mack? Wow! Super original!" Brats. I guess I should be flattered that we just look like the Man in Black and his Leading Lady all the time :)

the weekend after that we took a last-minute trip to san francisco because i won this totally random charity raffle that included an all-expense-paid trip to watch the forty-niners at the new levi's stadium (which, by the way, is nowhere near san francisco). the original prize was for the thanksgiving day game against the pea-hawks. i bought the raffle tickets on monday, and found out that i'd won on tuesday... i was like, oh wow, i won, awesome, wait... i have family in town for thanksgiving (two days hence), i can't go to SF, what in the F was i thinking?! (< this is SO like me, btw.) so they let me move it to the december 20th game against the chargers.

the day we left for SF was strange. at work it was that weird "everyone's already basically checked out for vacation" vibe. i had an afternoon meeting and the partner on one of my cases was like, "you guys should just go on home after this," but i had to stay at work until DM and the kids picked me up on the way to the airport. i squeezed a few precious drops of productivity out of my brain, but my heart wasn't in it, so i decided to take a stroll to 7/11. on the way in this dude asked me for money, and i said "sorry, not today." but on the way out i actually had a couple bucks, and i figured, it's almost christmas, what the hey? so i handed him a few dollars, smiled, and started to walk away. he reached toward me and said, "wait wait wait! don't go!" so i turned. he said, "when am i gonna see you again??" me: "ummmmm..." him: "christmas is going to be so lonely without you!" now, mind you, i do have some transient buddies who frequent the sidewalk in front of 7/11, but this guy is not one of them. as far as i know, i've never seen him before in my life. but he seemed like a nice guy. a kind of grizzly old black dude wearing a weathered and worn track suit. possible contender for my grandpa collection. anyway, i said something like, "oh, sorry man, that's too bad, i hope you have a good christmas anyway!" he replied, "well it's not gonna be the same without you. just hold up one minute. i need your help with something." oh dear. "see, i just got this new cell phone today [?] i don't know how it works." me: "well you're asking the wrong gal, i am useless when it comes to that kind of stuff." he's fiddling with it, muttering at it, and for some reason i feel incapable of turning and walking away. suddenly, *FLASH,* and he says, "Alright! There we go! Now I'll have your warm smile to keep me company on these cold winter nights." So, yeah, some homeless (hipster?) dude has my photo on his cell phone. although i sort of doubt i'm smiling. pretty sure if he got me at all i'm looking like this:

hope this mug's enough to keep you warm, bro

then we get to the airport and our flight is delayed 3 hours so we have to kill 4 hours in the airport with a 2- and 4-year-old, which is basically the very definition of my personal hell. honestly though, they were rockstars. i have zero complaints. at one point DM got up to go get us some coffee and when he came back the kids were eating m&m cookies and he gave me this puzzled look and said, "where did those come from?" i informed him that some nice girl gave them to us. he stared at me as though i had personally fed my children risin poison. then he froke out because the girl wasn't there anymore and started to move like he was going to hunt her down like Liam Neeson in Taken 7: The Cookie Monster. okay, so, it probably wasn't the wisest decision i've ever made. but she seemed super unthreatening and had a convincing story (she made them as a thank you for her friend who dropped her at the airport, but it turned out he was allergic to butter, and cookies have a lot of butter in them), and they were on a cute little paper plate, and she had a half-eaten one in her hand, and, this is racist i think, but, she was an asian college student and i feel like on the spectrum of potential bio-terrorists that is just above sweet grandmas knitting sweaters with home-grown alpaca wool... anyway, we all lived to tell the tale. (of course i did. i wasn't about to eat that shit, you kidding? ;))

survivors of the harrowing cookie-gate 2014

a series of unfortunate events occurred upon our arrival to san francisco (FYI - the last BART from SFO to the city leaves at 11:54pm. also, kids + public transportation isn't as seamless as you might hope. for some reason we thought we could do the trip without car seats. we were wrong.) anyway, we didn't get to the hotel until 2:30 in the morning, but the kids handled it like champs. they were actually angels the whole weekend. DM and i basically wrote them a blank check from Santa because they were so shockingly good.

we left them with my brother and his boyfriend for like 12 hours on saturday while we took the looooooong trek to and from santa clara and levi's stadium via public transportation. i had total anxiety about ditching the kids with my bro - he's never really watched both of them before - and this was in the big wide city, not in the safety and comfort of our home. i texted him as much, saying "are you sure you're up for it?" his reply: "only one way to find out." me: "that is not the answer i was looking for." brother: "i was about to ask what's the worst that could happen, but i think your over-active imagination makes that question hurt more than help." needless to say i was on panic level 7 by then, but my brother was AMAZING and the kids had the best time with Uncle T. and he got some help from his new(ish) beau (who we all met when he braved the family for thanksgiving!). as DM pointed out, "Beau" pushed an empty stroller around San Francisco for 2 hours without complaint so he's good with me! :)

uncle Fun

i wish i had such glowing praise for my forty-niners. they blew a 21 point lead for the first time in 48 years, with a painful/shameful loss in overtime. it was fun while it lasted though. this was one of the few times i've been able to watch a game surrounded by niners fans. i could get used to it :)

tiny man's victorious fist pump (before shit got ugly)

and i got a quick visit with some of my favorite people in one of my favorite places to be, so all in all i'd say we rounded out the year on top!

i do love this city

and now it's 2015. that sort of boggles my mind a little bit. will I ever not think of the 90's as "ten years ago?"

anyway. in the words of jon stewart, 2014 wasn't a great year for... people. and i have high hopes for 2015. but we're not off to a great start with this Charlie Hebdo business. and, look, i know better than most that you can't care about ALL OF THE THINGS all of the time. you just can't. there's not enough emotional bandwidth. but. this devastating display of intolerance, hatred, and lack of humanity is thrown into stark relief by my "news" feed, which prominently features a debate over whether or not justin bieber actually has a happy trail, and it kind of makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a spork for the hopelessness of it all.

that's all i have to say about that. and, to call again on jon stewart, i'll leave you now with a moment of zen :)

<3

p.s., we still have our crispy critter of a Christmas tree up in our living room, save the lower 1/3 that the new pup feta has already helped us de-trim, if that gives you any indication as to how well we're adjusting to the new year 'round here.

leavin on a jet pwane

what are the chances of making a connection with two small children and a 15 minute layover?

the answer is zero. zero percent.

we went to michigan last week. on the flight out the kids were angels. i know this has very little to do with me. (as one of my cousins quotes, when it comes to kids, don't take too much credit for the good or the bad.) but still. when people say to you after a painless 4.5 hour flight, "wow, your kids are SO GOOD," it's hard not to feel a tiny bit proud. of course i say thank you and laugh it off and chalk it up to luck and divine intervention. but in my head i'm thinking, yeah, man. dragging these nuggets on airplanes ten times a year since they were born, spending a small fortune on exciting new travel toys every single time, hours spent perfectly packing nutritious snacks and "busy bags" that will fit under the seats in front of us... yeah. i am getting pretty darn good at this.

as they say. pride go-eth before the fall.

on the day of our return, we get to the airport and find out our flight is delayed. if we miss our connection in minneapolis/st. paul, we'll have a five hour layover, and not get back to san diego until after midnight (which is 3am michigan time). we're watching the flight delay tick up by the minute, and our layover time sliced down sliver by sliver - 40 minutes, 30 minutes, 20 minutes, 18 minutes... the alternative is to take a later flight out of kalamazoo, connect in detroit, and get home around 9:45. when we realized we would have less than 20 minutes to make our connection, we bit the bullet and made the switch. i'm really glad we did because we would 100% have missed the flight and been stuck at MSP for 5 hours with two angry babies which sounds like the ninth rung of hell. 

so we wait. (2 hours, not 5, thank you lord). the kids are already pretty tetchy at this point - it's been almost a week in strange hotel rooms, sleeping on weird schedules, and spending all day every day with lots and lots and lots of loved ones. they're just kinda loved-out. they were mostly super great, by the way, especially my mister "don't touch me." and i think they were just exhausted and maybe felt like they could finally let down their "best behavior" guard. it was just bad timing, as we were in a teeny tiny airport with great acoustics and every single person there was privy to the kids' theatrics. and of course, we still had over 6 hours of travel time ahead of us.

because we switched flights last minute, the seating arrangements were dicey. they were able to get us 2 and 2 for the quick hop over to detroit, which went fine. of course the girl fell asleep on my lap 3 minutes before we landed, but what can you do?

then from detroit to san diego, we had a row of 3, and then a middle seat seven rows up. middle seats make me homicidal so i chose to sit with the kids. it was supposed to be a full flight, but as they closed the doors of the airplane, the aisle seat across from us was open! "FATE," i thought. just as i reached up to press my call button to get DM into that seat, the guy who was in the middle scootched over and buckled himself into the aisle seat. i made my best sad-sack mom face and gave him the elevator version of our story, saying i was really hoping my husband could sit there and help out! otherwise this was going to be a long flight! pretty please??? [insert batting eyelashes here.] no dice. he said, "sorry, but i sat in the middle the entire way here and if i have a choice, i am not doing it again." i stopped batting my eyelashes and said, "well then, my husband will be taking that middle seat with a grumpy toddler on his lap." of course, i had two grumpy toddlers on my lap and no way to signal the seat subterfuge to DM so it was an empty threat.

before we even took off, a baby behind us started to cry. colby puts her hands over her ears and says, "DAT'S TOO LOUD." i said yes but sometimes babies cry and she should probably try to be a little more understanding as she was just pulling some ear-piercing mariah carey-pitched BS in the airport. the baby continued to shriek and colby pipes up, "dat baby is CWABBY.... diss is not a cwying ting!!...we don't hass to whine 'bout it."

and someone in front of us definitely has SARS.

then as we take off, jack's like, "DISS PWANE IS GOING TO AFWICA!!! Wait! No! we are going to CHINA! Wait! No! We are going to PWUTO!!! Pwuto is dah farzest away as awfica!!" the ascent was a little bumpy and he continues to narrate, loud enough for deaf people to hear, "OH NO! we are getting shotted by Ironing Man's REPOSTER BWASTS! oh no! we are going to CWASH into dah OCEAN! Pew Pew Pew!!! Aaaaahhhhh!"

the first couple of hours were less than enjoyable but definitely not the worst thing in the world. they were just grumpy and tired and hungry (but didn't want to eat anything i had to offer) and uncomfortable and bored of my bag o' tricks and super squirrelly. then they both wanted to go to the bathroom at the same time but there was no way i was going to try to pull that off so i walked them up to DM and said, "help." then i tapped out, trading seats with DM for the last 2 hours of the flight. i imagine it supremely sucked for him because they were already on a one-way train to crazy town, but i couldn't hear the kids from 7 aisles away, so it could have been worse, right?

DM warned me that i really wasn't going to like the other seat, but i didn't think it could be as bad as the seat i just came from. and i'm sure it wasn't. but it was not ideal. it was between an older couple who had seats on the window and aisle, and they were not slim, and they kept wanting to have conversations and pass reading materials and hot coffee and snacks across my lap, and i had a nearly uncontrollable urge to punch a couple of elderly folks in the "eye-bowls" (as Colby likes to say).

it was so hot and sweaty and uncomfortable and i was crawling out of my skin and i was just thinking to myself, there is NO WAY ON EARTH i could possibly fly to someplace like fiji or anywhere in afwica. and definitely not pwuto. which somehow made me feel even MORE claustrophobic because that basically means i am stranded on this continent for the rest of my life. (i did fly to europe by myself when i was 9 which completely boggles my mind. but that was before my complete set of neuroses was fully developed.)

i had no choice but to eavesdrop on the kids behind me, which at least took my mind off the all-encompassing sense of anxiety:

girl to boy: my birthday is march 28 and your birthday is august 28. six months apart!
nope.
girl: well a year and six months apart.
nope.
girl: once you turn 17 your are closer to 20 than 15.
nope.
girl: well, once you are 17 and a day.
nope. this is not giving me a great deal of hope with respect to san diego's public school system.

i tried to distract myself by watching a movie but then discovered it was going to cost $6 to watch cameron diaz in "the other woman," and while i'll spend more than that on red bull in a single day, i couldn't bring myself to do it. (okay actually it was just because i didn't have a credit card on me.) someone in front of me was watching that animated movie "9," with Japanese subtitles and frankly it was scaring the CRAP out of me. maybe it's less ominous when you can watch it with sound but that shit gave me nightmares. finally i discovered i could watch older/crappier movies for free so i settled for eminem in 8 mile. i fast-forwarded all the way until the final "battle," which is still one of my favorite movie scenes of all time.

and i have to say, i sort of identified with eminem in that movie - except instead of using rap skills to overcome socioeconomic adversity, i'm using humor and glitter glue to overcome parenting adversity, and while these paths are accompanied by nausea and black eyes, in the end we both win ;)

i carried a watermelon?

...continued, sort of, from my last post, "what time is the midnight buffet?" about my first time on a cruise...

one more thing that struck me about the cruise experience was the not-so-latent pubescent sexuality that abounds on a cruise ship. it seemed wherever i was, i could hear awkward introductions and adolescent machinations happening around me. it was like the pick up scene at a bar except with people who cannot legally drink alcohol. the setting: combination floating amusement park and denny's.

i was reminded of this time in high school when my best friend came with me and my family to maui. we met a couple of older guys - hot surfer brothers. i think they were maybe 18 and 19 or something. i can't remember if we were 14 and said we were 16, or 16 and said we were 18, or what, but anyway, we pretended to be older than we were. we forcefully inserted our sober, Mathlete, goody-two-shoes selves into the burgeoning "stuck on a family vacation in a mega maui condo complex" teen hookup scene. unfortunately for the two unsuspecting saps we snagged, to us, "hook up" meant have long meaningful talks and possibly, if you're lucky, first base.

if i remember correctly, my BFF was actually seeing someone at the time, so she more or less just observed the tomfoolery from the sidelines. but i was in a neck-and-neck competition for the hottest guy. my opponent was a pretty, insanely skinny, yet ridiculously busty blonde who, i believe, was actually 16. or 18. or whatever she said she was. we soon discovered that the reason she was so thin was that she was a meth addict. this was basically like telling my girlfriend and me that she was a zombie unicorn, for all the knowledge and understanding we had of drugs at this time (what am i talking about? the only reason i know anything about it 20 years later is from watching breaking bad). anyway, while "Crystal" and the rest of the "crew" were busy sneaking booze and extolling the virtues of Maui Wowie, my BFF and i were regurgitating portions of the D.A.R.E. presentations we remembered from fifth grade.

still, somehow, i managed to eke out a win over my adversary, and i got the guy. or, rented him for the night, anyway. he took me out for a moonlit walk along the beach, and then he wanted to lie down on the sand and "look at the stars." you can imagine where that headed. i didn't have a ton of experience at this juncture in my life so i think i tried to approximate some sexy moves i had seen on, like, 90210. after a minute or two the guy was like, "what are you doing?" i said, "um, i don't know?" and he responded, "well, can you stop? it's super weird." needless to say our romantic rendezvous didn't last long. he walked me back to my room shortly thereafter. my girlfriend was already there, so she overheard our painfully awkward goodbyes. but i didn't know she could hear us, so when i got inside i was like, "yeah, he said it was just so refreshing, hanging out with someone who was smart, and motivated, and wasn't a total waste-oid." my friend: "really? because that's not how the conversation sounded on this end." me: "dang. busted. okay. i basically said 'isn't it so nice to hang out with someone sober rather than some gross drunk drug addict?' and he was like, "um, i guess." translation: i'm pretty sure the drunk druggie would have put out.

interestingly enough, the guys did actually seem to enjoy our company* and we spent the rest of the vacation hanging out ... during the daylight hours. the hot younger brother and i even ended up talking on the phone periodically and becoming pen pals for a long time thereafter. wracked with guilt, i quickly came clean about my real age. i remember one of the first letters he wrote me he said something like, "well, you lied about your age, so how do i know you didn't lie about everything else, like being on the honor roll and stuff." (why on earth i thought i should discuss my grades while being interviewed for the position of "vacation fling" is beyond me.) in any event. i did NOT take to kindly to him calling my academic prowess into question, so i set out to clear my good name. in my next letter... i.... mailed him.... my... report card. lolol... ooohhh myyyyy lord, please, just kill me now. i even remember explaining in great detail why i had one mere A amidst all the A+'s (naturally, the result of a highly unreasonable high school teacher).

* i just had this random recollection. one other potential explanation for the brothers' eagerness to befriend us (aside from our charm and devastating good looks, obv ;)) could be that they were holding out hope for some hot lipstick lesbian action. this may or may not have been the result of my girlfriend and i casually mentioning one day after the beach that we were going to go shower. guys: "together?" us: "yeah, why, is that weird?" omg. don't even ask because i don't have an answer. water conservation? a holdover from grade school? ummmm, yeahhhhhh. all i can say is we were honestly zero percent aware that (a) yes, in fact, this was a bit bizarre, and (b) to certain audiences, this might give a misleading impression of what was really going on in there. good lord. i just asked DM if he thought it was okay to include this part of the story, but he can't get past his initial reaction, which was, "wait, what? both of you? in one singular shower? and you were how old? but... why?" so, without the benefit of his helpful editing and guidance, i choose to overshare! i hope my friend, who shall remain nameless and blameless, doesn't divorce me for publicizing our idiocracy ;)

so, yeah, there's that. file it under "things to show my kids when they are 16 and think they're too cool for school," (alongside this post). also, file under, "don't let my daughter out of my sight, ever, between the ages of 12 and 33. (either that or make sure she's as big a tool as i was)."

that is all.

WHAT?! SOMEONE BUY ME THIS SHIRT!

mayonnaise cupcakes

Want to know an awesome, relaxing way to wind down after a stressful day of traveling with Tasmanian devil babies??? Why, making and decorating baseball cupcakes for The Boy's preschool class, naturally!

Let me back track. We were in the Sea Ranch this weekend for a big ole family reunion with DM's family. It took us about 12 hours of travel to get there which sucked donkey balls but once we arrived it was really, really great. So nice to touch base with his fun, loving (and fun-loving!) family, and eat, and drink, and eat, and drink, and eat ;) And best of all, to watch all the little critter cousins play together. It's so fun to partake in that big family atmosphere without personally inflicting further trauma upon my vagina ;)

Anyway, as indicated in my last quickie post, I had the brilliant idea of throwing a little birthday shindig for The Boy during said reunion. What's more stressful fun than throwing a three year old birthday party? Throwing a three year old birthday party for 60 of your husband's relatives 600 miles away from home! But honestly, it was really relatively painless (3am Oreo pops notwithstanding). The cousins were super helpful and amazing and it was much easier (on me) than if I'd thrown it at home. All I really had to worry about were cupcakes and goodie bags, and, that being the case, I went a wee bit overboard on both counts. I definitely let a little (or maybe more than a little) of my crazy show, and they hardly even judged me at all. (E.g., I ordered "I Spy" bags and crayon rolls and travel tic-tac-toe games all in coordinated baseball fabric that matched baby sister's party dress. "Did you make those?!" "Oh God no! This party was sponsored by Etsy." ;))

Sadly, just as we started to settle in, it was time to hit the road again. Luckily, the trip home was quite a bit less painful than the one there (9 hours of travel instead of 12, and 38% less psychosis). I give J an A-. For Colby Jean, I'll have to divide her grades between the car ride and the plane ride. Car ride she gets a solid A (mostly because she slept for half of it). Plane ride she gets a C+. And that generosity is only because of the curls. Oh those curls. They friggin' slay me.

Any way you cut it, traveling with children sucks the life out of you faster than that machine in The Princess Bride. The last thing I wanted to do upon my return was to make 24 cupcakes and decorate them per the pervasive baseball theme. Correction. The LAST thing I wanted to do was make a batch of batter that was supposed to yield 24 cupcakes but really only made 19 so then I had to make a second batch of cupcakes except I only had two eggs left and the recipe called for three. But the show must go on! Did you know, according to The Google, you can substitute 3 tablespoons of mayo for an egg in cake batter? Allegedly. Ha! We shall see. Anyway, they look like cupcakes. I have a bunch of 3 year old guinea pigs taste-testing them today. I'll let you know how that goes. But I'm guessing that their palettes, carefully calibrated to chicken nuggets, goldfish, fruit snacks, and "apple" "juice," won't even know the difference :)

So, yeah. Mayonnaise cupcakes. Learn somethin' new every day. I also learned that, due to the mild palsy brought on by an acute case of motherhood, I suck at drawing frosting/candy lines meant to approximate baseball stitching. This causes me a keen sense of defeat, as it's a gut punch to my personal identity as a slightly-more-than-mediocre crafty martha mo-fo. But. Seeing as Big J can barely draw a "kirkle," I don't think he's really in a position to judge ;)

Anyway. Sap alert. Happy happy happy 3rd birthday to my BEST boy. You've expanded my heart, softened my soul, brightened my life, and taught me many, many lessons in your three years on this planet. (The longest and shortest three years of my life, by the way.) You've taught me that a full night's sleep, coherent thoughts, and complete sentences are not in fact necessary for survival. That giant eyelashes, dimples, and a devilish grin can dig you out of almost any hole you've gotten yourself into. That all you need to know about negotiation you can learn from children. That mastering (or rather, attempting to master) manipulation of a toddler is immensely useful in interactions with grown men. That sometimes sharing is overrated. That you have to look out for your little sister but that doesn't mean you don't sometimes need to accidentally-on-purpose push her off her chair (actually I already knew that one ;)) That time can stretch and shrink like a rubber band, and that every moment is precious (though admittedly, some more precious than others). That there's almost always time for "five more minutes" of books, bikes, or baseball. And that even though Daddy is currently the clear favorite, mamas and their boys have a bond like no other. To my sweet, handsome, hilarious, and slightly schizo love - I hope all of your biggest, best birthday wishes come true - up to and including the baseball player-pizza-school bus and baseball field. And, if Mama may be so presumptuous as to add a birthday wish of her own: may the cupcake-induced lunacy and attendant low blood sugar meltdown happen on Miss Laney's watch. Amen.

source: my freaking kitchen at 1am.

source: http://adoreprep.com/2013/03/07/adventure/

 

our camping trip was ... not at all terrible!

We went camping last weekend. It was our first camping trip as a family of four (and a (furry) half). When we got back, DM, always scheming, said, "maybe we should start writing off our trips as a business expense, since you're going to write about them anyway, and obviously you're going to become totally famous and get a book deal." Riiiiiiiiight. Aside from the fact that he is on crack (and crack is whack), the weekend was totally uneventful (in the best way) and I don't really even have anything to write about. But don't worry! I won't let that stop me! :)

As with all things involving my children, it was totally great, until it wasn't. Seriously, this exact same thought process happens to basically every time we take the kids anywhere (out to dinner, across the country, to another country, etc.):

Preparing to leave - For the love of God and everything holy. This is an enormous pain in the a$$. WHY does it take 3 pounds of stuff per pound of child to get out the freaking door?

Getting there - Where's the Valium (or the Cyanide, depending on the length of the trip)?

After arriving and getting settled - Okay, that wasn't so bad. Actually this is kind of great. Totally worth it. We should do this way more often.

One hour later - This is terrible. What were we thinking?

Thirteen minutes after that - Seriously, please, somebody murder me.

Twenty-seven minutes later (after getting the kids' blood sugar levels and mom and dad's blood alcohol content up to par) - Okay. Okay. We're going to be okay. This is going to be nice. We are going to have fun, dammit! Yo! Gonna need a top-off over here! (Side story. When DM and I lived in the Virgin Islands for a short while, our landlord (who, b.t.w., had three piercings in his junkular region) had a buddy named Greggo. Greggo was 63% creep and 100% drunk, neither of which was completely out of the ordinary for a male living in the Islands ("the odds are good, but the goods are odd"). He carried, at all times, an assortment of female thongs in his backpack - new and unused (I think?) in a rainbow of colors and sizes. He was nothing if not prepared. He would try to coax/bully women into going nude at the beach, and if that didn't work, topless with a thong. "No tan lines, Mon!" If your excuse was, "Gosh darnit, I left my thong at home this morning," Never fear! Greggo had a spare! Greggo had many thongs, but two jokes. One was to say, while sitting on some of the most breathtakingly beautiful beaches on the planet, "I hate this beach! This beach sucks!" again. And again. And again.... The other was to say, "I need a top-off! Get it? Get it? Top. Off? Because I need a refill on my drink, but also, I want you to take your top off?????" So anyway, now whenever DM and I need a refill we say we need a "top-off.")

Okay. So. Anyway. Our camping trip was not at all terrible, which is basically a ringing endorsement. I grew up camping and hiking and spending a lot of time outdoors, so it made me feel really good and brought back a flood of fond memories when the kids just ate it up. Obviously, too, car camping is barely camping and makes it 900 times easier, especially with the littles. And, two of our favorite restaurants were within walking distance (one of them is right on the campground!) Plus it's a 5 minute drive from our house, and right on the ocean. So it's not like we were roughing it. My parents would probably be ashamed (they were pretty hardcore) but I kind of liked it this way :) And it was this whole little community. They may or may not have been able to survive in the wild, but man, these people were pros! They could car-camp like royalty. We definitely looked like amateurs. Our neighbors even made jambalaya with fresh seafood one night! God knows how they did that on a camp stove but God bless 'em! And there were kids everywhere, biking and scootering and running amok. It was just a really neat scene.

Of course, we had our share of public psychopathy, but that's par for the course. And despite the fact that entire forests spontaneously combust and burn to ashes in a day, it took us an hour the first night to get a fire going, with fire starter sticks and matches. Also, I don't think my kids have ever been dirtier in the entirety of their short existence on this planet, but I actually sort of loved that part (I just didn't want them to touch me :)) Especially for Prince Jackson (I mean my prince, not Prince-brother-of-Blanket-Jackson), who normally loses his sh*t when a speck of dirt, sand or water sullies his hands, and shares his mother's obsession with Clorox wipes. The novelty wore off after approximately 24 hours for J and he started saying he missed "home" (a.k.a. "his" iPad and Little Einsteins), but all in all, it was a great weekend, and DM and I both agreed that we should do it again very soon :)

Note - It has been 5 days since our return and my children still smell vaguely of campfire. I'll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions about family hygiene and the care with which we bathe our children.

Purse of sh*t, expanded version, or, our "vacation" was a "success"

Our vacation was a success! If by "vacation" you mean, average amounts of mishap and mayhem, carried out in planes, trains, automobiles, restaurants, hotel lobbies, and other highly public venues, but in the company of favorite friends and family in an aesthetically pleasing locale... And by "success" you mean, we all made it back alive.

Let me just break it down for you.

Tuesday, 7:30am. Take old lady Blue to the groomer so she'll be fresh and clean and pure as a buttercup for the pet sitter. Keep in mind Blue barks like a Banshee in the car, and it is difficult if not impossible to decipher whether she is happy, thirsty, saw a cat, is contemplating suicide, or really has to pee. As we are pulling into the parking lot I notice that she is suddenly very quiet. I look over and see that she is taking a shit. In my purse. IN. MY. PURSE. She then proceeds to sniff it, step in it, and track it all over the car. I don't know if this was the result of unavoidable intestinal distress, or done in protest because she knew we were going on vacation without her. I stop and somehow manage to get her out of the car without actually touching her. Pull out jumbo pack of Costco wipes that THANK YOU LORD I had in the glove box. Clean her up as best I could. Ninety-seven wipes later, carry her into the groomer. Hand her over with the warning, "Sorry, but her face and her feet and ... actually all of her are sort of covered with fresh crap. I tried to clean it off with baby wipes but was only somewhat successful." Groomer is laudably unfazed, but the other patron, a woman clad head to toe in Lululemon, perfectly coiffed at 7:30 a.m., with two bowed and bedazzled dogs in tow for their "weekly bath," poorly conceals her disgust. Whatever. I'm out. Dispose of my "purse of shit." Should be on my way to work, but stop off for non-negotiable express car wash and detail. Tip extra for biohazard/contact with foreign fecal matter.  


Tuesday, 7:00pm. As we are making our way through airport security, my blonde-haired, blue-eyed son looks up innocently at my tan, bearded, Iranian-American husband and says, "Are you my Daddy?" Thankfully, the TSA agents all laughed, and/or were indifferent to the kidnapping of small Aryan children by a suspicious-looking bearded Middle Easterners. [And yes, my husband really is my son's father. Don't ask (brown haired, brown-eyed) me. Ask Mendel.]

Tuesday, 8:00pm. Flight from San Diego to Sacramento. Children are more or less angels. Plane is almost empty and we get two whole rows to ourselves. However. On the "pain scale" I would rate my most recent experiences as follows: First, child birth with ineffective/late-onset epidurals. Close second, a blocked and subsequently ruptured eardrum on airplane descent, while accompanied by two boisterous toddlers. Distant but not insubstantial third place, being repeatedly pinched by sharp daggery little one-year-old pincer fingers on the flying-squirrel-fat on the back of my arms.

Wednesday, 10am. Sacramento is HOT AS BALLS.* My pops and I (insanely) attempt a trip to the park with the kiddos. There was a cursory perusal of the park, an abbreviated swing session where they swayed to and fro with all the enjoyment of coma patients, and some lackluster digging in the flaming hot sand. I am convinced that this the birthplace of the ubiquitous "hot lava" playground game because the skin might literally melt of your feet if they touched the sand. Jack does uncover a little action figure/doll and wants to "resh-cue" her. Grandpa says, "Oh look, it's Wonder Woman! But where's her cape? And her pants?" Remarkably, her gold heels were intact. Actually, if I know my Disney characters, I'd say it's Bikini Belle, and it appears that she and The Beast had a rough night. J whisks her away in his toy garbage truck. Apparently, he may have a touch of the wounded bird complex, much like his father.



10:13am, park trip over. Babies spend the rest of the day in a state of heat-induced catatonia, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Thursday through Sunday - exhausting but extremely enjoyable Fourth of July vacation at the lake with some of our favorite friends. The kids were pretty freaking great, considering they were sleep-deprived, hopped up on ice cream and goofballs, and ingested half their body weight in sand, pool- and lake water. Please GOD let Lake Tahoe be cold enough to ward off the brain-eating amoeba.

Sunday morning. Drive from Lake Tahoe to Sacramento, things start to get a little hairy.

Me: Jack, please stop being ornery.

J: What's ornery?

DM: It's French for Henry.

J: I'm gonna be Henry.
Me: I would prefer if you would just be Jack.

J: I WAAAAAAANNNA BE HENRYYYYYYYYYY. I AM A ANGWY FWENCH LION! RAWRRRRR!

Meanwhile, our nanny texts to let us know she will be flaking on us on Monday. (We love her and she's great with the kids but she has medical/family emergencies on a somewhat regular basis and I think I have reached my sympathy quota for the year.) DM rifles through the backup babysitter rolodex while I drive. We exhaust all our options, to no avail. We start doing the complicated calculus of "Who is less likely to lose their job calling out of work (again) tomorrow?" DM has commitments he can't get out of so I bite the bullet, but can I please just say, for the record, how insanely frustrating this (recurring) situation is? I will never ever be taken seriously, or get ahead at work, when I have to do shit like this basically once a month, either because of the nanny or because they got sick at daycare and are thus too sick to go to daycare. Now I am an angry French lion.

Then, J's psychotic break wakes his little sister, who was heretofore napping peacefully in her car seat. Now they are both losing their shit. DM and I begin to discuss plans for double-assisted-suicide.

DM: We really have to time it out perfectly. There's no room for hesitation.
Me: I don't think I could do it. I would probably wuss out.
DM: Well that would suck because I would feel really bad because I will have murdered you.
Me: I'd feel worse for you! You'd still be alive, and a single parent!

Sunday, 1:00pm. We arrive in Sacramento and my dad buys us Jimboy's for the second time in five days. My mood is markedly improved. He then offers to drive me and one or both of the kids back to San Diego, so as to avoid searing flight-induced ear-pain, and solve Monday's childcare dilemma. At the same time, my sister says she can come over to watch the kids after her morning doctor's appointment. Thank GOODNESS for my amazing family. And Jimboy's. And wine. Thank you for wine.

Sunday 2:45pm. Arrive at airport an hour early and don't even think to be worried about time (because I momentarily forgot that everything takes 13 times longer when you are doing it with children), but as we're approaching the front of the disastrously slow security line, we hear our names over the loud speaker - "Cheesy Family: Please report to Gate B18 immediately or your seats will be given away." I bat my eyelashes and ask the super duper helpful TSA staff if they could possibly, pretty please, let the people at the gate know that we are almost there, but my request is met with mild hostility. Apparently their walkie talkies are just for show. Somehow, by the grace of God, we make it on the plane (while my husband lectures me like a 2 year old about how "stressing out doesn't solve anything and increased stress levels cause 'us' to make mistakes" such as leaving the backpack that he was in charge of carrying at security. My response: "I'm not trying to be dramatic, but if you don't stop talking, I am going to divorce you." But I digress :)) We are the last ones on the full plane and there are only 3 middle seats left. The flight attendant is attempting to bribe passengers with booze to move for the 4 assholes with 3 tickets that show up 2 minutes before the flight is scheduled to leave. If looks could kill, I would have been put out of my misery. Finally, praise Saint Sucks-to-be-You (the patron saint of traveling with children), some blessed souls finally agree to move and we get the whole last row. We receive a slight credit to our karmic debt via proximity to noxious overused airport lavatory fumes. The children are generally angelic yet again, minus one small incident wherein Colby acts out some ninjitsu nunchuck maneuvers on her brother with a metal die cast airplane. DM is his normal amazing dad self and I have, for the time being, shelved my notions of divorce. We arrive in San Diego more or less unscathed, though if there was ever any question (there wasn't), I now know for certain - DM will be getting that vasectomy. We come home to a clean house and clean sheets and my sweet, crazy, shit-for-brains fur-baby Blue. All is well with the world.

Mildly humorous side story. Our vacation buddies have been getting pretty serious about ridding their lives of chemicals and other synthetic crap. Apparently, DM took their talk of sulfates and parabens to heart because on Sunday he decided not to wear deodorant - on a day that included hours of auto- and plane travel with two children, and temperatures ranging from 85 to 107 degrees. He was sort of horrified that he had sweat stains and said, "Oh my god, I smell!" But seriously, it was like, baby B.O. Do you have any idea how terrible I would smell if I went without?! As a general rule I am a total sweat-er, but yesterday, adding stress and scorching Sac-town temps and a squirming 30 pound heater strapped to my front, I smelled like a patchouli-peddling shoeless hippie. And this is with multiple applications of the triple-petro-chemical, clinical strength, extra-paraben, 17%-likely-to-cause armpit cancer stuff! No fair!

Anyway. Got to work at 1pm today. Nothin' like hittin' the ground stumblin' after a long weekend! Lean in!

* Did you know they have a similar saying in Puerto Rico? "Calor con cojones," which I think is basically a direct translation of "hot as balls," or maybe "hot with a side of balls."