Monday Musings

Mother knows best

2012-02-07T09:34:00.000-08:00

The movie trucks are gone - which means classes must be starting at COC. After weeks of driving around roped off areas and listening to stories of "guess who was on campus today" Spring Semester has begun and now the parking lots are full of students and their horrible driving/parking "skills".

Aidan is now back to his 8 class courseload. The three college classes will significantly add to his workload - which has been light so far this year. Math started yesterday - and he was witness to the ever-present California budget crisis as his teacher ("You can call me Bob") had to ask waitlisted course-crashing hopeful students to leave the class, as it was already too full. I'm not sure of the wisdom of having my 15 year old boy refer to his teacher as "Bob" - this could easily backfire with Aidan's 'issues with authority' personality. Or it could be genius.

History of Animation is his other academic college class - fulfilling both a-g and IGETC requirements, I think. Luckily, the counselor at his high school knows WAY more than I do about such things. Aidan is looking forward to the class - which is a great sign.

The class that he's the least excited for? PE. And this is where he needs to trust his mother. He's in Ballroom Dancing for PE. Ballroom. How amazingly awesome is that??? He doesn't see it yet. But he will. It might take a few years, but someday he is going to come to me and thank me for taking this class. He'll get a glimpse of it's power when he asks a girl to dance and doesn't look like a moron. And then he'll see it even more when the girls/women (later) realize that he *can* *dance* and will want to dance with him. And pursue him. And be happy to dance with him. Guys who can dance (and lead!!!) are in short supply. And the gal who can appreciate a good dancer - well... that's the kind of gal I want my son to date.

Ballroom is not easy. Partnering isn't easy. It's ultimately a form of non-verbal communication. It's discipline and athletic at the same time - with the added benefit of working with another person to get it right. Important lessons for anyone - especially teenaged boys. And eventually can help keep you healthy: http://socialdance.stanford.edu/syllabi/smarter.htm

My hope is that Aidan learns something from this experience and sees it for what it's worth. Because in my opinion, this class has the potential to be the most important class of his social life. He has countless hours of wedding receptions in front of him - and what better way to spend those hours than by twirling girls around the floor? If I could crash the class, I totally would. But I would probably get kicked out: budget cuts and all.

High School

2010-05-19T13:13:00.000-07:00

I had 4 kids in 8 years. Some are closer in age than others. But while on the phone today with my sister, we realized something that my children won't experience which shocked me.

My children have/will have a completely different experience than I had during their high school years. For 3 of them, it's because they are boys. For all of them, the high schools they attend will look nothing like mine: most will be significantly bigger and one will be significantly smaller. Half of my kids will attend schools without the benefit/comfort of old elementary school friends, acquaintances and bullies. My sister and I had this experience: K-12 with the same people; one junior high and one high school in the town we grew up in. There are 6 junior highs in our town here. And 6 "typical" high schools - with alternative learning facilities to boot (continuation etc..) Each 2 year junior high school here has at least as many students if not more than our 4 year high school alma mater.

Colin is almost halfway done with high school. There are 2600 kids on his campus - with 150 more coming in next year. He attends school clear across the valley - to take advantage of a social skills program offered to kids with Asperger's Syndrome. He's in the Special Education program but in all "regular" academic classes. He straddles both worlds. Sometimes more effectively than other times. He listens to Eminem, Kanye West and Radio Disney equally. He'll watch ESPN and read Sports Illustrated and still play Yugioh. He'd prefer watching a Miley Cyrus movie to a horror film. He's also in AP classes and is trying out for football. (Well, "trying out" might not be the best way to put it: we paid the $600 fee and now he's on the team.) He was also selected to be a representative for the California State Youth Leadership Forum for Students with Disabilities to be held this summer in Sacramento - all expenses paid.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

Aidan is getting ready for high school next year. Junior high has been a 1200 person trial and we're holding a collective breath until it's done on June 3. No promotion ceremony for him this year: the school district cut the ceremonies out due to a California budget crisis. He's been accepted to an alternative high school offered through the school district in conjunction with the community college- also across town. He's one of 60-70 kids to be accepted out of 175 incoming freshman applicants. It's possible he won't know a single student on his first day of school - or more likely that he'll only know a few. He won't take AP classes, but his college level courses will be *college* classes on the community college campus. He'll be exposed to the students and professors of the college, in addition to the students and teachers of his high school academy- located in a building on the edge of the college campus. He'll also be exposed to everything at the college - including but not limited to access to the college health center (and free condom handouts...) at age 14. He won't be able to play in high school sports - they aren't allowed at his school due to CIF eligibility regulations. But he can take anything for PE from the course catalog including Jujitsu and Hip Hop.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

Julia has an October birthday. She started Kindergarten when she was 4 years old: a decision we made, in part, due to her older brother's age. We wanted her to be in high school with her older brother. My oldest friend had a brother 2 years older than us, and I was always envious of the ease she seemed to have interacting with boys - and frankly, that she got asked to dances as a freshman because of it. I figured that having an older brother (and his friends) would be a certain bonus to Julia as a freshman in high school: at least someone on the campus to look out for her. (And for me to have a spy in her looking out for *him*) As it stands now, Julia will be the first of my kids to go to the local high school. And by local I mean: Right. Across. The. Street.
And she won't go to the same high school with any of her siblings.

Edwin's in first grade. He has an October birthday too. We made the decision to hold him back from starting Kindergarten - and waited until he was 5 (almost 6) to start school. He'll start high school in the fall after Julia graduates. He may go to the local high school too.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

High school was a time in my life that I would actually do over. I loved it. It was a great experience. Partly because of when and where I grew up. Partly because I had a group of friends whom I gathered over my school years, but always having familiar faces since kindergarten in the halls (for 13 years, I saw Jon Keller every day in at least one class.) But largely because I had a sibling to share it with. We went to school with each other and we have a shared history of familiar schools, friends, and teachers. My kids won't have that. They'll have excellent opportunities. Different experiences. Unique options.

But they won't go to high school with each other.
And it makes me sad.

Bugsy and The Wrong Mother

2010-02-28T18:55:00.000-08:00

The Christmas gift from my sister consisted of 2 things representing opposite ends of my life so far. The kid end: "Bugsy Malone" soundtrack. The mid-life adult end: "The Wrong Mother" by Sophie Hannah, contemporary fiction. Both were very meaningful.

Bugsy Malone was a huge favorite of ours growing up (in the days before Scott Baio was Chachi or Charles and before he became a complete tool on reality TV). Our parents took us to see the movie when it came out. I remember picking out Willy Wonka candy to take with me to see the show, and becoming extremely thirsty during Blousie's song, "Ordinary Blues." I think it had something to do with the type of film it was shot on: it looked dusty and sepia like - very parching. (These were the days before juice boxes and bottled water - if you tried to bring beverages with you, it had to be in a thermos, and those always leaked, so no one ever used their lunch box ones.) I never noticed the amount of violence in the film until my own kids saw it last summer at a roof top drive-in in downtown LA. It took on a different feel watching it as a mother. Although you'd think I'd be used to the gun fascination thing as a mom to 3 boys. Happily, we've escaped this phase for the most part. But being a mom didn't stop me from singing along with the movie: we owned the record and it was one of the most played records in the playroom. I'm happy to report that it's still in the playroom, alongside the other LPs of my childhood: Saturday Night Fever, Sound of Music and Grease. Sadly, all of the Donny and Marie albums have disappeared. I'm not sure why Bugsy survived the cleaning purge and Donny did not. So this Christmas, Hilary gave me Bugsy on CD - part of my childhood in song form.

The other part of the gift was the joke part. Hilary is great at joke gifts - a skill passed down from our father. One year, after a particularly long commercial ad-campaign by Manny, Moe and Jack, he followed their advice and got each of his "girls" (mom included) some little tidbit from the Pep Boys: "get all your Christmas needs at the Pep Boys" the commercials promised. He got each of us a trinket and wrapped them up in small jewelry boxes. I believe mine was some kind of spark plug. Upon unwrapping, the girls were confused, and the dad was crying with laughter. It took a bit of explanation before we all started laughing with him. This year, Hilary got dad a Snuggie. And for me? "The Wrong Mother." Hee. She said she walked by it and the title spoke to her.

So I've cracked open "The Wrong Mother" this weekend, as I've been stuck with a cold in bed and there is only a limited amount of Joss Wheden produced material starring Nathan Fillion I can see on Netflix. "The Wrong Mother" is a British Book. Written by someone who lives in England. Uses the queen's English in her writing. Which I find exciting, actually. It's like reading a foreign language book that you can understand *most* of. It's a little like travelling abroad, which, let's face it, all authors try to do: transport you into his/her world. It's usually a world I like to think myself a part of. I studied abroad in Essex for 6 months. I've seen the BBC versions of ALL the Jane Austen classics. I drink Tetley tea and Boddingtons ale. I know the difference between Crisps and Chips. You know, all the important stuff that makes you feel more British, and a little snobby too. But there's something about reading a British author that illuminates your American-ess. It's not just the spelling. Or the slang. It's the assumption that you know what "O levels" are. And how the police system works - and what the initials in it stand for. Or that post (mail) boxes are standardly red. (I knew that one!!!)

So when I understand something that to a Brit makes perfect sense but is slightly baffling to their Western Atlantic counterparts - I feel a bit excited (I knew that one!!!). Like I've read a passage in Latin or some other foreign language. And it makes *this* mother feel smart.

I won't ruin the story for anyone. In fact, I haven't finished it myself. It's turning out to be a great tale. A mystery. I won't be surprised if it's made into a movie; hopefully starring a Kate Winslet and NOT a Gwyneth Paltrow faking a British accent. That would be rubbish. (hee) And I don't tend to discuss - at length - books with anyone anymore. Been there. Done that. Paid 5o grand to do it for 4 years and have a piece of paper to prove it.

And how does this relate to raising 4 children - as the blog title suggests? It doesn't, really. But some of the passages of the book dwell on the dark side of motherhood (yes, there is that side - you see it the moment you go into labor and it peeks it's head out fairly often after you've gone through the trauma of birth) and acknowledging the dark can be a healthy thing from time to time. Bit of perspective and all. And it can be nice to hear another mother say, even fictionally, "What the f*ck have I gotten myself into..." - comfort in numbers and all that.

"You give a little love, and it all comes back to you..."

Trash

2010-02-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

I am a semi-feminist. I was full-blown at age 18, 19, 20 and 21. Now? Not so much. As I get older (or "age gracefully" as I like ot call it) I find that life is far less black and white. Much more shades of gray. I am sure of less *now* than I was *then* but I know *more*. Hmm...
So back to the feminist, I can do anything a man can do, and better! thing. When it comes to trash, I happily defer to the age-old sexist sterotype that male people should take the trash out. I live in a house with 4 of them. You'd think one of them would get it.
Tuesday is trash day. As in, the big truck comes right up to your curb and takes your stinky cans, dumps them into the truck and drives away. There is no excessive hauling. The curb is less than 30 feet away from where we store the big trash bins. This is not Italy where you had to carry your trash down 4 flights of stairs and walk half a block to the communal trash dumpster. No, it's not.
So when I freak out about having to remind those who have penises to Take. The. Bins. Out. I (understandably) get a little bent out of shape. Because it happens every Monday. I have tried ALMOST everything to get my point across to the p-bearers in the household: reminding, threatening, withholding allowance, contemplating storing the trash bins in their rooms so they can live with the smell. Nothing has worked.
Last week - I threatened the boys (as I waited in the car while they hurried to get the bins out to the curb after I reminded them AGAIN that it was trash day) that the next time they forgot, I was taking $20 from each of them. No more of this losing a day of allowence. No extra chores. No make up chores. Just pay me when you screw up. I thought this would get through to them. If not Aidan, then Colin, because he is scrupulous about his money and keeping it.
Today? I'm $40 richer. Because they have no frontal lobe function - no memory. No concious thought that doesn't revolve around their stomachs or other (less important) organs. They cannot possibly do this one SIMPLE task. Hmmm. What's a creative mom to do? Think of more creative ways to INSTILL THIS PRIMAL MALE FUNCTION INTO THEIR TINY, TINY BRAINS. Wish me luck.
Eventually this may work with Colin - he paid me cash already. Didn't want me to transfer money out of his savings account because then he would lose interest. Seriously.

Fundraising = *dra**g

2010-02-08T11:01:00.000-08:00

Fundraising should really be a 4 letter word. I don't know who actually enjoys this aspect of raising children. Maybe the kids for about the first 10 minutes? Certainly not me. I don't care what the fundraising "theme" is - the mere sight of a catalog/order form throws me into an anxious state. I really don't care how great or deserving the organization is: I'm averse to whoring out my children as cute little salespeople.

I hated selling Camp Fire Candy as a kid. This was back when you could go door-to-door by yourself and hawk some overpriced product to strangers. It's also when I learned what the "No Soliciting" sign on the door meant.

And now there are few (if any) activities which don't require the participants to sell something. Part of my aversion comes from asking people for money. I will concede that there are some people out there who are extremely adept in selling; and who can sell ANYTHING. You know who they are- they probably have part of your bank account in their wallet.
They are not me. In any way, shape or form. And since the selling really comes back to the parents, my kids are kind of screwed in the fundraising area of life. Doesn't matter if it's candy, magazines, cookie dough, wrapping paper, Tae Kwon Do lessons, car washes, cookies, popcorn, peanuts - and that's just a list of what we've been asked to sell this school year. 75% of the time, I will buy my way out of the fundraising part: I have a cupboard full of nuts to prove it.

And how about the donation part of fundraising? That's the one my quasi-hidden Republican self likes. The donation and the write-off. For me, as painful as the check may be, it's FAR less painful than hawking stale popcorn to people who don't want to buy it. But please don't make me ask other people to donate - it's really a form of selling something and again pushes me way too far past my comfort level.

Sadly, I don't have an alternative solution that is equitable for all teammates/schoolmates/scoutmates. So the selling continues. And will not stop for at least 10 years. Food for thought though: less selling = less perks. No catered Cub Scout party. No monogrammed soccer backpack. Hmm... maybe the kids do with a little less, and still have fun?

Holiday Cheer 2009

2009-12-20T18:01:00.001-08:00

Julia made a list of 100 holiday related items for a school art project: Christmas cards, Santa’s lap, lights, wrapping, relatives...and (my favorite) “stalkings.” Add to this Edwin’s expectation of a Hanukkah celebration (thanks to best buddy Alexander down the block) and it all adds up to just the right blend of realistic, holiday cheer around here.

The Christmas tree and outdoor lights (mixed LED and regular because “they’ll look just fine, honey.” Really? Not.) were put up Thanksgiving weekend. Brian’s 97th trip back to Vienna , Austria that weekend precipitated the early festive preparations (OK, not 97...but it sure feels like it) The kids and I have spent much of this fall talking to Brian on the phone during his various travels – and with a 9 hour time difference, it’s not as easy as it sounds. We look forward to 2010 when Brian will head up a new Baxter project that will keep him in Los Angeles most of the time. However, we will miss the coffee and chocolate he brings back to us from Europe .

2009 has been as normal as it can be for a family with 4 kids in various schools and activities. We’ve added more sports into our afternoon and weekend repertoires: Colin played 5 on 5 flag football in the spring; Julia played spring soccer (with our neighbor -16 year old West Point bound soccer star/ Julia’s role model - as her coach) and fall soccer; Aidan and Edwin continue their study of Tae Kwon Do and will earn their 2nd degree blue belts tomorrow. All the kids are back in Religious Education this year – adding more drop-off and pick-up times to our harried schedule. I have only forgotten a child once so far. (OK, maybe twice – but it wasn’t Edwin, so it doesn’t really count, right?)

Colin is a sophomore at West Ranch High School . He’s made the National Honor Society – with the help of mom and Aidan who accompany him on his “community service projects” to earn the required hours necessary to remain in said society. As the majority of his hours have come from projects which require trash pick-up from the side of the road, I’m left to wonder how this enriches the “honor” part of this academic society – I’m sure there’s a metaphor in it somewhere. And here’s a tip for those of you entering the community service world: bring gloves with you. Colin has added AP Chemistry and Honors Pre-Calculus to his class schedule, so when Dad is out of town (see above) Colin is on his own for homework help. Frighteningly, he has not needed it with math. He looks forward to the weekly arrival of Sports Illustrated and ESPN is his TV channel of choice – sigh. Colin has high hopes of joining the football team next year, and can be found running (jogging around the neighborhood and 5k races) and working out in his room with new free weights – the weights he tried to bring with him on summer vacation (in his backpack!) were confiscated by TSA as they were shaped like soft explosives. Yeah, that was a fun security experience...

Aidan is finishing up 8th grade in Junior High School. He and I will both be thrilled when this rite of passage/torture is done in June. Let me say here for the record that Southpark is evil – and being a redheaded adolescent boy got even harder this fall. On a happier note, Aidan is excelling academically and made the Honor Roll at school. He enjoys the wit of most of his teachers, and through the Advanced Cooking class, has become quite the chef at home. On our way to Lake Tahoe this summer we stopped at the former Japanese relocation camp, Manzanar. Aidan’s study of US History was one reason we decided to tour this illuminating piece of our country’s history. Aidan has moved up to the adult class in Tae Kwon Do and has been known to kick his mom during sparring. He participated in Tae Kwon Do tournaments this year, taking home numerous medals. The “broken ankle” Aidan sustained in his sparring match turned out to be a false alarm...knock on wood, we’ve gone another year free of broken bones. He continues his love of reading and while finishing an assignment for “The Outsiders” tried to argue with me about characters from the famous 1983 movie. He lost the argument, of course.

Julia is in 5th grade and enjoys school. Her teacher this year is a country music fan and is teaching the class line-dancing as part of their PE. She and her Junior Girl Scout Troop earned the “Bronze Award” this fall after many months of hard work and preparation. (I have earned my “Mom award” as I have kept up on the sewing of every badge and fun patch she’s brought home.) She keeps busy with the scouts and the various meetings, outings and campouts. One highlight this year was going to “Surf Diva Camp” in San Diego where she conquered the waves in a wetsuit. Julia has run several 5ks this year, and managed to break off on her own to finish with her best time during the Santa Clarita Marathon/5k. Her favorite color is lime green and she favors brightly colored clothing and accessories with faux fur – in response, I believe, to all the testosterone in our house. Soccer continues to be her passion: she has earned spots on both the All-Stars team and on a travel Tournament team for the coming spring – big accomplishments for this age group in our city. She very much enjoyed our family vacation to Texas – girl time with cousin Lizzy was a big highlight for her, as were the Texas shaped waffles at an Austin hotel buffet.

Edwin is seven! And loves 1st grade! And recess! And Tae Kwon Do! Especially on dodge ball days! Yes, he’s *that* excited...about everything. He continues to prance, run and jump through life with gusto. He really loves school and is working at becoming a better reader – currently, his favorite word is “awkward” and uses it (too) frequently. He continues to attend speech class, but has finally mastered the “S” sound: on to the letter “R!” He joined a Cub Scout den this fall and is an official “Tiger Cub”. He would be perfectly happy getting into uniform every week and showing up just to salute and have snack. He loves to play outside with his buddy Alexander – the more complicated the game, the better. Many obstacle courses pop up during the week. This is done while dodging the basketball/football games played by the big boys on the street – games which Edwin and Alex, to their dismay, are rarely allowed into. Roller blades, Legos, Sponge Bob, and the Bop-It are some of his favorite things. He had a great time on our family vacation this summer back east: 2000 miles from Chicago to Boston and back. He had a blast with cousin Henry in South Bend and during the Danahy family reunion. He perfected his Boston accent on Cape Cod with his introduction to “Chowdah” and “Lobstah.” I think he'll always be welcomed at Aunt Anne's house, as long as he brings the accent!

Brian got to spend some vacation time on the Notre Dame campus again this summer, where we were joined by many members of the Danahy family in Carroll Hall. He especially enjoyed the rain that started in South Bend and followed us throughout our entire vacation. The kids and I were less thrilled. He spent some time on the sidelines of Julia’s soccer games as Assistant Coach and sideline referee when he wasn’t overseas “enjoying” 4 hour European dinners every other week this fall. He continues to bike on the weekends with the kids to the mall and dreams of expanding the house. I dream of the easier expansion version: start kicking kids out – the house will seem much larger and we avoid the whole dust/demolition thing.

In March, I started Tae Kwon Do classes myself. It kind of stuck, and I will be testing for my green belt with the boys this week. I admit to not enjoying the sparring portion of the sport, but having the opportunity to legally kick your teenaged son is somewhat of a bonus. I keep busy volunteering for the schools: I can papier-mache like a pro now, thanks to many 1st grade projects and chaperoning junior high dances remains a terrifying task. I continue to exercise and run when my body doesn’t fail me. Some 2009 highlights include: purchasing real cowboy boots in Texas , taking outdoor showers on Cape Cod this summer, falling in love with Boston and having kid-free days for the first time in 15 years. My friends and I still use coffee (although most of them have switched to decaf. Traitors.) to get through the highs and lows of daily life. As I enter this mid-life (but not 40! yet!) phase of my life, I’m grateful for good family, good friends, good coffee and Miley Cyrus – it’s all about The Climb, people.

Boo

2009-10-30T08:13:00.000-07:00

The mornings around here resemble a split personality. They start off very quietly (and darkly, thanks to daylight savings time for a few more days) and then manifest to full blown chaos in a sudden, blink of an eye, transformation.

Today was no exception. Well maybe a *bit* of an exception as it's the day before Halloween AND Edwin's birthday. On the days that I don't crawl (slowly) out of bed to go to the gym for spin class, I take advantage of a little lie-in and usually shout wake up calls to the various kids. It goes something like: Wake-up (smiley face) "OK mom" I hear from Julia. Colin is, of course, already awake in the kitchen reading the sports section - so he just grunts so I can hear him. Wake Up! (a little louder) then WAKE UP!!!! AIDAN GET OUT OF BED. Mumblings are then heard from that area of the house. This is quickly followed by EDWIN!!! Get DRESSED!!! Then the bickering starts. And yes, Aidan starts it all. NO TALKING!!!! I shout. (I have had a "No talking" policy for many years now. Say what you will, but the less talking = the less whining/fighting/complaining I have to listen too. They are, of course, allowed to talk *to me* - but only after I've had a coffee.)

But today was different. Today they were all excitedly up. Today is some kind of "dress up" day at each respective school. Dressing up is a rite of childhood. One that should (and is) enjoyed and looked forward to with as much anticipation as Christmas eve. So much so that dressing up now needs more parameters. The high school principal sent out a message earlier this week urging parents:

*PLEASE* make sure the teens were dressed appropriately for the Halloween dress up day on Friday. Yes, students may come dressed up, but please leave the "sexy ________ (nurse/pirate/cop/doctor/fairy/princess)" outfits at home. Students violating dress code will be loaned clothing or will need clothes brought to them by parents.

Obviously, this has been an issue in the past. And given the state of what they wear on a daily basis - I can only imagine the costumes. So Colin is dressed up like a Yankee player (Posada. I know this because I ironed on those letters last night in between making birthday goodie bags and decorating the puppet for the first grade project, all while getting myself dressed for Taekwondo) He looks great. What doesn't look so hot are the Addidas warm up pants that now say "New York Yankees" written messily down the legs in white out. Sigh. Oh well, points for him for wanting to be completely decked out.

Aidan didn't go for the costume but instead got up EARLY AND ON HIS OWN to paint his face ghoulishly white and black. The theme for his school is "dress up for 'Say No To Drugs Week'" Seriously? What kind of no fun dress up day is *that*??? He worked hard and is artistic (mom crows proudly) so the face turns out great. He's just wearing a black shirt and shorts - no costume needed for him. What is needed is a minor adjustment to the make-up, because when he comes out to the kitchen (after many LOUD requests to GET IN THE CAR NOW!!!) he is sporting a bloodied bullet-hole in his forehead drawn with the carefully applied face paint. AIDAN!!!! GO TAKE THAT OFF RIGHT NOW!! "Why???????? Ugh!!!!!!!!!" He stomps off. HURRY UP!!!! I shout.

Meanwhile, I'm making an egg (his favorite - fried with salt and pepper please) for the birthday boy who himself is dressed up for "Clash" day. (No, sadly, *not* the band - but how cool would those costumes have been?) "Clash" day is miss-matched day and Edwin did his plaid/stripe/color combos very well. He definitely clashes, and takes delight in it. The other thing he delights in? His birthday. He must have mentioned it about 15 times yesterday in class his teacher told me after school. Yep, that happens when you are 7. I will be bringing him a very specific lunch to school as a special birthday treat (he has placed his order with me every day since I brought Julia *her* birthday lunch 16 days ago....) He will be bring goodie bags for his classmates today because it's now against the "law" to bring food to celebrate birthdays at public schools. Some teachers turn a blind eye. Others don't. We settled for donating a book to the class library and pencil/eyeball bouncy ball goodie bags. Because nothing says 7 year old boy more than an eyeball bouncy ball.

Now we are in the car - heading toward the school drop off route. Colin first. Then Aidan sans bullet hole: "Aidan, there is a one word reason why you can't go to school with a bullet hole in your head. Do you know what that word is????"

"Columbine." he mutters. He's miffed about ruining the artistic rendition on his forehead, but (Thank God) he gets why it's inappropriate.

Finally off the to elementary school where Ed is chomping at the bit to get out and start his birthday at school. Julia is decked out wildly for clash day: neon green and black striped tights; brown boots; purple and grey plaid SHORT skirt; tye-died t-shirt; polka dotted sweatshirt and pink polka-dotted head band (after *much* deliberation, the hair is left down today) She watches Edwin leave the car and then horrifically asks me,
"Mom, are you SURE it's 'Clash' day???" With the jackets that kids are wearing as we watch them walk up the hill, we don't see anyone else dressed up. Uh-oh. "Let me call the office right now and check, Julia" I answer her. I call. I check. It IS "Clash" day.
"Yes, Julia it is." I reassure her. "But MOM, NO ONE ELSE IS DRESSED UP!!!" she cries. As in, she's crying now. Hysterically. And won't get out of the car.
As much as I know that there will be some kids at school dressed up, I realize how Julia will feel if she's one of the few. (Part of this dilemma stems from "Clash" day being announced just the day before in the parent bulletin that goes home. It wasn't mentioned around school: no posters, signs, announcements were made. And not many parents actually read the bulletin that may or may not make it out of the child's backpack...) So I call my friend Lori over to the car as she's walking by and we ask her opinion of what to do. "Go home" she says. "Let her change." Yeah, that was my gut too. So we pull an illegal U-turn in the school zone, almost get hit by another car zooming down the hill, and speed home for Julia to get normal clothes. Changed and back in the car, we zoom back up the hill and she gets out - visibly relieved. I make her take the "Clash" clothes in her backpack so she can change back later "just in case." I hope she does. Dress-up at school is part of being a kid.

And that was the full blown morning end to the chaos that is Ed's birthday/Day before Halloween. All before 8 AM. Boo.

"Hey guys! You forgot me!" Chapter 3

2009-06-15T19:58:00.000-07:00

We had a lovely day at Notre Dame. The campus is host to many conferences and sports' camps in addition to the alumni family hall (where we are staying) during the summer, so there is no shortage of people on campus. There are curiously few people here in our alumni hall - but maybe I'm wrong about that. The walls of the rooms are so thick, that it's hard to tell how many people are actually roaming the halls. This is one of the few pluses of the dorm.

We were able to partake of a few Notre Dame highlights today. One being the dining hall. All you can eat menu is particularly helpful when travelling with teenaged boys. My stomach literally hurt watching Colin eat the enormous amount of food on his plate; but not as much as watching the athlete at dinner. I have never seen that amount of food consumed by one person at a sitting. His small side dish was 6 hard boiled eggs.

We had a mellow day - riding bikes and going for a jog around the lake. We even went for a swim at "The Rock" (athletic center named for Knute Rockne). When we returned to the dorms to get ready for dinner, we met up with a family with 3 small kids (dad with child in one arm, porta-potty seat in the other) and as they hadn't checked in yet, we let them in to the dorm - after trying several doors - with our key. We continued up to our 3rd floor rooms. We were here about 10 minutes when Brian went to retrieve something from the kids' room. He returned shaking his head. "What happened?" I asked. He explained that while in the kids' room he heard this little voice shouting, "Hey guys! Up there! Let me in! You forgot me!'

It was Ed. Outside the building. In our haste to help the new family check into the dorm, we forgot one of our kids outside. Thankfully, Ed was content to play on the volleyball court for awhile until he decided he wanted in.

Grandparents arrived this evening - and god bless them - are roughing it in the dorms with us. The kids are super excited to see them. Colin, especially, since he knows that Papa will willingly visit the College Football Hall of Fame with him. Edwin and Julia are happy because they have their collective eyes on a 12"x18" package of Rice Crispie Treat in the student center. They tried to get me to buy it for them. I told them to wait and ask Papa.

We might kick the big boys out again tomorrow to roam the campus. Today, we gave them some money and the directive of not to return for 2 hours. It was great.

Sitting on a bed in a boy's Notre Dame 103 year old dorm room: Chapter 2

2009-06-14T20:46:00.000-07:00

In case you were worried (and really, why wouldn't you be?) we were able to switch our hotel room last night to a room with a king bed and a pull out sofa "double" bed. I did know that we would be one bed short on this part of the trip, so we did bring a blow-up bed. In the small room, we had Julia & Aidan (plus all their bickering) on the pull-out sofa, Edwin on the sofa cushions in the corner on the floor and Colin on the blow-up twin mattress - which was blown up in the bathroom, sticking into the tub. Kids in bed - at 1:30. I decide that Brian and I need to unwind a bit so I forage in the lobby and come up with a snack kit (like the kind they sell you on a plane) and one bottle of Corona and one small plastic bottle of Chardonney. We sit down to picnic in the bathroom. Yep. Me on the toilet. Brian on the edge of the tub. Sharing trail mix and chugging wine out of the bottle. All class I tell ya. Then off to (not) sleep so we can get up and not miss breakfast.

We spent a lovely day in Chicago. The sun was out!!! A nice change for us since June has far surpassed its historical gloom period in L.A. After packing up the car (Dodge Grand Caravan, fairly comfortable, with hidden storage compartments in the floor: kids love 'em) we head into the Chicago expressway parking lot to get downtown to meet Uncle Jim for lunch. Uncle Jim is Brian's cousin and Colin's godfather, so it's easier just to refer to him as Uncle Jim. We meet for deep dish (what else?) pizza at Pizzeria Uno - a famous Chicago institution. After not a very long wait, we are taken into the depths of this small and historic restaurant to a corner table where much pizza is consumed. Jim is my age. And not married. But has a girlfriend! Which is the first time in 15 years I've heard him utter this term. I was *very* restrained and only asked 3 questions about her. I'm quite proud of myself and my restraint. Brian contends that this is why Jim still likes me.

After much pizza - we took a walk down to Lake Michigan and Navy Pier - a common haunt for us when we used to live in the Chicago area 10 years ago. We came upon an event unlike one any of us have ever seen before. The Second Annual Windy City International Professional Footbag Championship. Footbag: aka "Hackey Sack" They've turned it into a sport. Think 2 on 2 Volleyball only with feet and a tiny bag like ball. Played on a court surrounded by miniature stands and a hushed crowd. It was richly bizarre. But much fun to watch. And mock.

Once on the pier we all went up in the ferris wheel for a great view of the skyline. I was a little freaked out... then a few more attractions on Navy Pier before a walk back to the car via a Lavazza! coffee shop for gelato and espressos. yummy yummy. We said goodbye to Jim, made a pit stop at the Jewel grocery store (where I could use my Albertson's card for extra savings!) and off into the car for the drive to Notre Dame.

We rolled into South Bend around 8:30 and found the Family Hall to check in. It's in Carroll Hall, on the outskirts of campus by the lake. The dorm is 103 years old. So of course no elevator. And we have all those bags...It's a boys' dorm during the school year. The kids are in one room, Brian and I are in another. It's kind of like camping... I'm not sure I need to say much more than: boys' dorm; Notre Dame; and 103 years old. But! The kids are in a quint, and we're in a triple so we actually have too many beds tonight. Oh, the irony.

Since we arrived in South Bend so late (it's now in the Eastern Time Zone year round) most things on campus were closed for dinner. So we went to Bob Evans (and ate things that I'm pretty sure would have earned me about 100 push-ups in bootcamp) and were served by a lovely gal by the name of Kritter. With a K. Gotta love Indiana.

Midwest adventure 2009: Chapter 1

2009-06-14T20:40:00.000-07:00

Fun adventure so far. Airport in LA fine: Premier check-in was easy. Those frequent trips and subsequent premier status makes life so much easier. I could easily get used to travelling like this. It will be hard to go back to donkey class. But we did learn that they really don't like you to carry on hand weights. Colin had one in his backpack. I guess to workout on the plane????? Who knows. We gifted it to the airport since we couldn't bring the explosive device looking hand weight with us.

Arrival in O'hare was less than stellar. Airport was virtually empty at 10:45 but it still took over 30 minutes of waiting to get our bags. I sent Brian to get the car - he took Edwin with him. Finally (after being directed first to carousel 4, then to carousel 6, then back to carousel 4 - passengers en masse) Julia, the big boys and I get all 8 (!) pieces of checked luggage and make our way to seats to wait for Brian. His phone is dying: it's hard to get ahold of him. Meanwhile, he's been directed to a rental car shuttle pick-up that doesn't actually have pick-ups. After waiting for 35 minutes, he finally schlepps it with Ed to a different terminal to try and find a shuttle to take him to Alamo. This after calling the 800 number - which of course is in India - and then finally gets transferred to the woman at the Alamo desk in Chicago who gives him the pick-up details. Meanwhile... kids and I are waiting and we get the call to try and hop an Alamo shuttle ourselves to meet Brian at the rental site. We HAUL the bags to the curb (actually the 3rd curb if you remember O'hare's pick-up) We have as much luck as Brian getting a shuttle. No Alamo busses in sight - plenty of other ones though. So I finally sight an Alamo bus, try and flag it down, and he drives right by. The Avis driver says to me, "Did he just leave you folks stranded?" I reply that Yes! He! Did! and the nice Avis guy says "Get in, I'll take you to Alamo." Because by this time, it's 11:45 PM, I have 3 kids with me and EIGHT LARGE BAGS with me. I think he pitied me. So we "hop" in (more like lugged and hauled in: especially Julia) He takes us to the Alamo gate, but since he's in an Avis bus, he can't go in the Alamo lot. So he lets us out ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD about 150 yards from the Alamo office. We schlepp everything off the bus, I give him all the chick cash in my pocket and he pulls away. Then another Avis bus arrives to tell us that the Alamo driver who had passed us by was looking for us and was upset that we left without him. ! I decide not to argue with him, and try and make our way accross the road with my kids and the luggage to get to the other side. "Watch out for the spikes!" (as in the "Warning: Severe Tire Damage" kind) he calls to us as he stops traffic in the road for us to cross.
We haul our crap to the office to find Brian talking to the rental agent. and they have no record of our reservation. Of course!!! I handle this information very well. (OK, so I don't. I believe the word lawsuit might have been mentioned.) But I know they have a reservation because while waiting originally for Brian, I too called Alamo (thankfully remembering their "catchy" Go Alamo! slogan to get the right number... 1800 goalamo...) and I speak to a lovely man in India who tells me that no, Brian has not checked in to get his car yet - thereby confirming to me that Alamo does, in fact, have a reservation for us. When I "share" this information with the agent at the counter, she reiterates that it's not in HER computer, so obviously, I must be wrong, and would we please get out of line so she can help the next customer.
Out of line now, I do manage to get ahold of someone else in India who gets our confirmation number lickety split. Back in line we go, and she gets us a small piece of paper allowing us to drive off the lot. After a bit of confusion choosing a car (first one too small, next one too stinky, last one: just right) we hit the road to drive the mile and a half to the hotel.
[Edited to note: " So you do realize you have proven the theory, it is easier to rent a car in India, Sri Lanka, and Pakistan. Even though the main mode of transportation is a bike." jmp]

At the hotel, Brian jumps out, goes to the front desk and they happily say to him that they have everything ready - key is out and everything. Brian comes back to the car with a smile and exclaims that at least something went well.
We park and he takes a few kids up to the room with some luggage (we do this in shifts, because we have too many kids and we're sneaking one in...) and he opens the door to the room. Inside is....
One double bed. ONE. No couch. No chair.
For 6 of us....

Random venting before schlepping

2009-03-23T10:54:00.001-07:00

Random thoughts before I resume schlepping kids to various functions and schools...

* Skinny jeans are really *not* a good fashion choice if you are a balding man.

* You can take the bluetooth out of your ear at church. God is not going to be calling you on the phone in there.

* Huge trucks and Hummers. Hmmm... head scratchers to me.

* I usually choose not to respond to crazy. It's generally better that way - don't engage fanatacism. This is why I won't share my honest opinions with:
Fans of American Idol Adam Lambert;
Objectors of Obama's commencment address at Notre Dame;
Believers of anything that comes out of the mouths of Limbaugh, Hannity, or O'Reilly;
Snub-nosers of "pop" music, culture, books or movies (although I do draw the line at "Graphic Novels" - those can be mocked.)

But as anyone who knows me well, my opinions generally have a way with leaving my mouth. I've put them here in the hopes I won't get into hot water with any of the people included in the list above - since I think I write here, generally, without an audience. Unlike facebook.
And for the record, Adam Lambert is just creepy.

* Julia learned to surf this weekend. Surf! And she loved it. I see surf boards in our future. Who would have guessed it???

*Exercising in extreme heat is purely for the insane. I truly don't understand pumping the heat up, piling on layers of clothing, and jumping around for an hour. Unless your name is Lucy Ricardo and you need to fit in that dress that Ricky doesn't know you bought, otherwise... just don't do it.

That's it. A little bit of random this monday... off to schlep

Cookie Time!

2009-02-23T16:25:00.000-08:00

Many moons ago, I was a Girl Scout Leader. Never a Girl Scout myself (Camp Fire Girl, "WoHeLo," thank you very much) As a Girl Scout Leader, I needed to attend various "trainings" on how to lead a small group of 5 year olds in craft-making and singing. You'd be surprised at how much training is needed for this. You'd also be surprised at the minutiae of detail that women's organizations get mixed up in. Many forests have been lost, I'm sure, making certain that every rule is first created, then followed, and finally documented. 98% of the rules are ridiculous. (The biggest one was regarding siblings of the Girl Scouts. They are never allowed to be near the scouts at any event/meeting. So as a Leader, if you have other kids - and most do - then you need to find babysitters for them. Babysitters....so you can "volunteer" your time to an organization that doesn't allow "Tag-alongs." Yep, that's the name they give them. They liked the name so much, they named a cookie for it.) You will not find this kind of detailed training in Cub Scouts. I guess the men just don't see the need. Consequently, IMO, Cub Scouts is WAY more fun. But I digress...

So my stint as a Leader didn't last long since I'm not exactly the person who *likes* to follow ridiculous rules. Just the one year. And it was the only year that didn't involve selling cookies.
Now that we are getting close to cookie time, even more rules are being created to make sure everyone looks and feels like headless chickens.

The following is a list of instructions/commandments that I received attached to a volunteer "request" this week in my inbox. Unable to fulfil the request myself (other mothering duties having already been scheduled) I passed it along to Brian. Who, with *some* cajoling, agreed to represent the Girl Scout Troop at the "Cookie Warehouse."

This list works best as a dramatic reading, with Phantom of Opera music playing in the background:

* At least two people from each troop with hand trucks (dollies, if available) and car space to accommodate your entire order. Each troop must be represented.
* Absolutely No Children allowed. You will be asked to leave with your child. (No, this is not a perk!) Please make child care arrangements in advance.
What we’ll be doing:
*Break down the pallets and distribute cookies troop by troop.
*Based on the configuration of the warehouse, we will have two lines working, each
line distributing cookies to the troops farthest away from each other and working
towards meeting in the center.
* Stack the cookie cases, only 5 cases high– one flavor against the wall, then the next
flavors away from the wall.
* Cookies cases will be counted & verified by (name removed) ONLY.
* Receipts will be signed by (name removed) ONLY.
* Cookies will then be taken out by troop, per the sign-in sheet.
* Everyone will help load all of the cars.
* When your car is loaded, park it and come back to help others load. If you need to
load another car, bring the next one after you have moved the car by the warehouse.
* This year, cars will be allowed to back into the warehouse. This should make loading
cars move faster. However, it is not a green light to leave once you are loaded. I do
ask that everyone returns and help the next troop load.
** If we all work together, we’ll be able to leave in 1-2 hours. Remember, YOU cannot leave until every troop’s order has been loaded.

When I read the list aloud to him (dramatically, of course) Brian wonders how on earth everyone can *effectively* gather around one car at a time to load it. Hmmm... good point. I guess he'll just have to wait and see. I'm sure there will be some woman (women?) there just waiting to direct him. He's so gonna love it...

Snow Days in Tahoe

2009-02-16T16:06:00.001-08:00

Extreme Weather

2009-02-16T15:55:00.000-08:00

OK, so there’s “Murphy’s Law:” Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Then there’s “Danahy’s Law.” Danahy’s Law states that when on vacation, we will encounter the most extreme weather fluctuations possible. Phrases like “It’s never been this hot,” and “we never get snow in April” or “it’s never been this cold at the beach during spring break” punctuate our attempts at vacationing. Whether it’s heat waves in the summer or snow storms in the winter, it will inevitably be record-breaking weather that we experience.

We are just coming back from a weekend in Lake Tahoe. Just coming back as in I’m typing while driving down the mountain. In fact, we just stopped to take the chains off the front tires (front wheel drive and all) because there are chain controls on Route 50. It’s a drive I don’t particularly enjoy, given the steep, death-defying cliffness of it. But after this summer (of record temperature heat, remember) and driving (OK- front-passengering) the cliffs of the Italian Cinque Terre, Route 50 doesn’t seem as bad. And now my hands smell like chain. Ah frozen icey goodness.

We came up to spend a ski weekend with the cousins in Lake Taco (or “Chicago” as Ed keeps mistaking it for…) We lucked out on the drive up = no major weather issues. Brian ingested 2 coffees, 3 sodas and a Monster brand beverage in an attempt to stay awake on the drive up Thursday night. We made it up safely and awake, but then he couldn’t fall asleep (see beverage consumption above.) Friday morning arrived bright and early (and loudly) with the cousins waking to find Julia and Ed on the floor of their room. Much laughter (and maybe some wrestling?) ensued. After a breakfast made by Aunt Hilary the chaos continued with the preparations for the ski outing. The six oldest kids were outfitted and readied for a day on the slopes – with temperature highs in the mid 20’s. Uncle Chris and Brian got all the kids to Sierra at Tahoe for the day while Aunt Hilary, Stephen and I stayed home in the warm and toasty house. They spent their morning skiing – a subject that I don’t know enough about to comment on. I hear they had fun. I’ll leave it at that. Edwin conked out in the lodge and Uncle Chris had 5 kids to himself at one point while Brian watched a sleeping Ed.

Hilary and I spent the morning trying to win tickets from the radio station to go see Dana Carvey. Which would have been AWESOME: I hear he does “chopping broccoli” in operatic form. Alas, we did not win tickets. But I may have some explaining to do when the cell phone bill comes… We enjoyed our day together playing with Stephen and facebooking. And I finally got to try out the lovely eating establishment Sprouts that my friend Jenny raves about.

To celebrate Valentine’s Day, Brian and I got out for breakfast at a cute little place (“Ernie’s”) which is located across the street from the original coffee shop (“Bert’s.”) I hear there is another family owned place in Folsom. (I’m guessing the name is “Big Bird’s.”) Then it was off to more skiing for Brian and the big boys. Again, I’m told it was fun. It really sounds less than fun to me, so I’ll take their word for it. Tahoe continued their snow-storm. Only the second big one of the year. Of course it was! Danahy’s Law and all… The young 5 spent almost the entire day outside building forts, creating elaborate tunnels and digging snow paths in the front yard. They only came into eat lunch and wait for the snow clothes to thaw and dry, then it was back out again.

Hilary and Chris got ready for their big night out. It was the anniversary of their first date 15 years ago. Brian and I took on dinner and babysitting duty. It wasn’t hard really, (seriously, what’s 3 more kids?) except for the small diaper detail. As a parent, once you are done with diapers, you are *totally* done with diapers. As in never, ever! want to change another one. I tried telling Stephen earlier in the day that he could only poop for Mommy. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. So after dinner and dessert (because Brian bought 2 cakes) I got treated to diaper duty and Stephen got treated to a bath. BTW, he *does not* like getting his hair washed. It was at about this point that Obexer decided that he was done with this party and retreated upstairs to sleep.

Then we were on to bath #2 with the middle boys. To entertain a now clean Stephen, he was offered a story. And when he picked Colin to read to him, we were all a little surprised (Colin most of all.) Colin dutifully (if not *very* expediently) read the required stories while I bathed the middle boys. Then the girls were off to shower – after which then necessitated curler application by Aunt Joelle. A little “Princess Diaries” viewing and then it was off to slumber land – thankfully not protested, due to the immense amount of snow play during the day. The big boys even went to bed fairly easily out on the sofa bed too.

“I bet everyone will be asleep in their beds when we get home. Except Joelle.” Uncle Chris was right. I was waiting up for them.

A little more snow play was necessary before our trip home on Sunday morning. This one had the benefit of a true snowball fight between and Aidan and the Three Musketeers (Uncle Chris, Edwin and Peter.) After which we packed up the car and headed up and then down the mountain toward home. A very white, wet weekend it was.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-01-27T09:38:00.000-08:00

1. I have an almost paralyzing fear of driving over bridges – which I can trace back to the bridge scene in “Saturday Night Fever.” An R rated movie that my parents let me watch at age 9.

2. I still know my Junior High locker combination: 5-7-41 (top locker: right above Maya Haywood’s) At the time I was petrified I would forget the combination – and I believe this fear did etch the number on my brain to be remembered *forever.*

3. “Forever” by Judy Blume was my favorite book in 6th grade. This fact scares me now as a mother of a daughter quickly approaching 6th grade… not to mention that I didn’t want my 7th grade son reading “Breaking Dawn” with a far less explicit sex scene in it. (He read it anyway. Checked the book out from the school library himself.)

4. As a junior I was kicked off the High School track team for mouthing off to the coach.

5. I am not the only person who knew that if you walked far back enough underneath the SPHS bleachers, you could see into the boys’ locker room.

6. I can listen to a song 100 times and still not know all the words. Unless the song came out between 1982 and 1989. Then I can probably sing you the verse, bridge and chorus.

7. I have never (nor plan to ever) seen the movie “Titanic.”

8. I started college as a film major.

9. I was taught gospel spirituals by a 105 year old woman named Miss Emma. She also taught me the virtues of prune juice.

10. I am happy that I still communicate with people I went to Kindergarten with.

11. I have lived in Los Angeles and Washington DC but have only been robbed in France.

12. One day I will go to Argentina with the sole purpose of learning to Tango properly.

13. I re-learned how to drive a stick-shift on narrow, winding Italian roads with 4 kids in the car.

14. I gave birth to a 10 pound baby boy at home. On purpose.

15. I love that I married a man who laughs freely at television shows (and Buddy the Elf,) but who occasionally cries at sappy movies. And commercials.

16. I have seen every episode of ER. And to this day I get teary-eyed if I hear the version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” that played while Mark Greene died.

17. I drink at least a double espresso every day.

18. I feel that I still have time to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

19. I wake up 5 days a week at 4:30 AM to exercise.

20. I learn more about God from 4 year olds in Sunday School than I do in 6 months of homilies.

21. I wish that John Hughes would make a movie about middle-aged people with kids. I would like to see his take on this part of life.

22. I am perfectly OK with going to bed having a sink full of dirty dishes.

23. Given the choice, I prefer waking up to a clean kitchen. But #22 usually wins out.

24. My uterus is a children’s beacon: no matter where I am (movie, restaurant, plane ride, concert, theater) my seat will always be next to children (and not my own children!) If I ask for a different seat, the children will either follow, or new kids will come in and sit near me. Every. Time.

25. I play a mean game of Dodge Ball.

The Stomach Flu

2009-01-13T08:39:00.000-08:00

The Stomach Flu.
Three words guaranteed to send everyone running away from you. Julia came down with the stomach bug on Saturday morning - right as the hot water heater went out and just after the play date had arrived. What started as the whiny "My stomach hurts," turned into full-fledged stomach flu about an hour later. And lasted all day long. She couldn't even keep ice down. Her stomach really hurt her, and we all knew it. Over. And. Over. Again. The crying lasted as long as the flu bug did.
On the repair front, luckily my (extremely handy) neighbor was not only home, but willing to go down to Osh for me and purchase the hot water heater part, which he then installed for me. And luckily, Ed wasn't sick so the play date had someone to play with while I tended to Julia. So those issues were a relatively easy fix. (Note to self... go buy Tom a case of thank you beer ...)

Julia was a bit better by Sunday, but not exactly well enough to go with me to pick the big boys up from their Floridian week-long winter escape (because you really need to escape that brutal LA winter...) My other neighbor offered to watch Julia so I could get the boys - and Ed and I journeyed down the 405 to pick up "the brothers." Everyone had really enjoyed the previous week - with the exception of the school restarting for Julia and Edwin. The big boys had a great time being spoiled and pampered by Dad and grandparents, and the little two and I enjoyed the peace and quiet of home. The only two kid thing would have been a bigger piece of cake, if not for the stomach flu that hit on Saturday. Being the sweet and loving child that he is, there was no way Edwin was avoiding catching the flu from his sister. (Because if she gets to lay in bed and watch TV all day, then I want to do that too. And be right next to her. And breathe in all her germs.)
So Monday morning as I'm on the phone with the school excusing Julia's absence, I hear:
"Mom! Ed's throwing up!"
To which I quickly add another excused absence to the call right then and there, and escape off the phone to clean up. Or decontaminate. While Edwin didn't have the wherewithal to be sick in the bathroom, at least he chose the tile floor and the kitchen trash can. After his initial projections, I get him into the bathroom seated on the floor.
He looks up with a grin and proclaims proudly: "I threw up 8 times!"
"Eight?" I ask.
"Yep. 8. I counted." he answers, still grinning.
And so I start the Cloraxing and the laundry. When determining what more needs immediate cleaning attention, I ask him, "Ed, did you throw up in the bed?"
"Nope," he replies, "I just peed in it."

While dealing with the stomach flu is possibly the worst gig as a parent, it was not lost on me that we have it relatively easy here in this country. We have access to clean water. And working sewer lines. We have power and heat, and if you count noodles as a food group, plenty of food. Thank God we don't live in Zimbabwe, where cholera is raging. And the life expectancy is in the mid-thirties. Where you aren't just knocked out by vomiting; you are dying from it. I know this because the boys brought me back the Washington Post from their trip home through Dulles Airport. I'm not sure I would know this if I was left only to the LA Times. A paper which dedicated not one, but two! large sections to the winter replacement TV shows and the 2009 movie guide. The fluff I found in this past Sunday's Post was how to park and walk to the Inauguration, complete with maps. Oh, and a bit about a reader contest to design Michele Obama's dress. Say what you want about the liberal media... at least the Post has real news in it.

So I'm home taking care of recovering kids. Edwin's case of the flu was much milder... thank goodness. The house smells like Lysol. And I hope I've cleaned enough to prevent Colin and Aidan from coming down with it. I'm crossing my fingers and knocking wood, because there is only so much flu one person should be required to handle. I wait (not so patiently) for Brian to return from the business trip. To Italy. I'm so jealous that he is there.
I. Can't. Even. Stand. It.

Visit to Santa

2008-12-15T19:35:00.000-08:00

Know Santa? Know Christmas.

No Santa? No Christmas Presents.

That's how we roll in our house. I believe in Santa Claus. I always will. My children *will* believe in Santa too - or they won't get gifts.

Because of this belief, we go and see Santa every year at the mall. Usually, we wait in line for an hour. I bring snacks and games. It's a hunker down, handle it the best you can kind of situation. Because the line is excruciatingly long. Every. Year.

Except this one. I got smart this year. We went at 3:45 (right after Santa gets back from his break) on the Monday before Winter Break begins. We walked right up to the front of the line. It was almost anti-climactic actually. It was at the front of the line where I noticed Julia's application of eye shadow. Eye! Shadow! The 9 year old!! I didn't realize she even had access to glittery eye shadow. But there it was, applied (artfully) to her eyes. Seriously. I am in a heap of trouble with this one if she's putting on make-up for the Santa picture at 9 years old.

So after our quick line for and quick picture with Santa, we headed over to the Cinnabon where I purchased hot chocolates ("very hot! very hot!") and cinnamon rolls for the kids to enjoy. Because this is the only way I can get Colin to go take a picture with Santa. And God bless him, he still does. And always will too, if he still wants to get presents.

Monday

2008-12-15T19:34:00.001-08:00

And the winner is...

2008-12-03T08:56:00.000-08:00

This is the letter that Julia slipped under my door last night. I think I get the "Mom of the Year" award for it. I really like how she has counted 5 people in her tally - even though Brian wasn't home to be counted yet. Maybe someone was extra hungry?

Tuxedo pants and athletic supporters

2008-12-01T16:44:00.000-08:00

Edwin and Aidan "received" (we paid out the wazoo for) their Tae Kwon Do sparring gear a few weeks ago. Edwin is especially excited about it. He spent several days sporting the equipment and trying it out around the house. When grandparents arrived last week for the fattening holiday, the first thing Ed did was run back to his room to don the equipment. As they were only going out to lunch, Ed didn't really need to wear head to toe sparring protection. When he was told to change, he did so quickly, getting back into his tuxedo pants that he had worn to that morning's pilgrim/indian (yes, they are still called indians at this kindergarten) program:

Edwin: "Mom, I have to wear dark colors. I'm a pilgrim."

Hence the tuxedo pants. What he didn't take off in his dash to remove the gear was his athletic supporter. Because I guess you just can't be too careful at lunch these days. Tuxedo pants and athletic supporter... outfit of champions.

Monday Musings

2008-11-28T07:44:00.001-08:00

trip to the Cape

.org versus .com

2008-11-20T18:07:00.000-08:00

I know it's not Monday. But I'll be on a plane coming home on Monday, and don't know if I'll get a chance to post.

I've been spending a wee tad too much time online. I'm sure the addiction will pass. Soon I hope (although I just found Animoto - thanks to Louise - so I fear I will have a new addiction soon. When I figure out how to post the videos to blogspot, then I'll share them here.)

I'm off to Cape Cod tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour. It's one thing to get up mega-early to exercise. At that time... it really doesn't matter what you look like. You put your hair in a pony, slap some deodorant on and you're good to go. Unless you are jump-rope girl. Then, well, I guess it takes a bit more effort. She's at the gym. Jumping rope. All. the. time. And she's very perky.

So not only will I have to get up early, I have to *get ready.* To get on a plane. Get ready to be treated like cattle. Potentially criminal cattle, at that. I will go against my upbringing and will wear the ultra-comfy velour sweatsuit on the plane.

You see, I was raised to dress up for plane trips. And for church too. And out to dinner. Pretty much anywhere, actually. Outings required outfits. But especially plane rides. I guess it was a hold-over from my grandparents. They still dress up to travel - perhaps because they do so on passes... but still, I think it's a generational thing. The only time my grandfather *isn't* dressed up is when he's working around the house: fixing the wiring, cutting and laying tile, etc. Since he's 90 now, most of that kind of work has ceased: hastened by his fall off the ladder last year when he tried to trim the hedges and wound up in the hospital. So now he's either in pajamas (both tops and bottoms, thank you) or dressed up. Nicely. (How I wish my husband would take a look at a page from this man's book...) And tomorrow I will get up and put on my "clothes:'" which I'm sure my grandparents will consider pajama-like.
I will feel a tinge of guilt at this. But after the almost 8 hours of travel, I will be one happy, comfortable camper.

And now...
.COM VERSUS .ORG
In this corner: .org.
We received a girl scout update from Julia's leader last night. She suggested the girls look at several websites to help choose the "cookie patch" for the event they (as junior girl scouts now) are hosting in January. As the girls get older, the activities get more girl-driven: or at least that's what is supposed to happen. One of the sights listed was www.girlfirst.org. I tried clicking on the link and got nowhere. Thinking maybe a letter was missing, I added an "s" and re-typed in the url.
Aaaannnddd...In this corner: .com
What I didn't do was double check to see if it was supposed to be .org or .com. It's supposed to be .org people. DOT. ORG. *NOT* DOT. COM Because .com will take you to the adult poster site of "girlsfirst:" a site that doesn't offer the right kind of cookie patch... seriously people. Thank goodness Julia was not with me when I found this. Brian was. {edited here to protect Brian...} He already knew of the pitfalls of .org vs. .com. I guess that until VERY recently, FDA.com was a site of colorful nature also...

So we cleared that right up. And now we know where to look for the correct cookie patch. (yes, I'm acutely aware of how that sounds.)

Facebook

2008-11-17T09:24:00.000-08:00

I had lunch last week with a dear friend whom I had not seen in a long time. It was fantastic to reconnect with her and catch up with the craziness that our lives endure these days. She's one of those technology people: designing websites long before it was easy to do so. Has all the techie toys - and knows how to use them. And while she's younger than I, she's not a teenager (the generation who apparently is DNA wired for all new technology learning) which makes her grasp of it even that much more impressive. She told me to get on Facebook. Facebook. I laughed at her. She said, no really - you need to get on. So I did.

Holy Smokes. Wow. How cool is that world.

For those people (like me) who mock it: just stop now. It's cool to see people you haven't seen in forever (says the woman who flew half-way around the world for her high school reunion... and yes, I still haven't forgotten those people who DIDN'T come, and who still owe me. Big.)
I was able to find people I've been looking for for a *long* time. Old roommates and friends.

Technology is truly amazing. I don't think that "kids these days" will appreciate the connections they have to the people in their lives. They are always connected, and perhaps *will* always be connected in ways those of us not tied to the internet in high school and college ever were. For them, it's not a question of losing addresses and changing phone numbers and losing touch. They just assume that they will always be accessible. Don't know if that is a good thing or not...
But for me, seeing old friends has been great. Seeing my sister on there... the one who refused to even check email until VERY recently... well, that just made me feel even more behind the times (but not like the loser I felt in step class. No, I haven't gotten over it yet.)

Ultimately, like it or not, those people and those connections in my past have helped shaped my life and the way I live it. Some were fleeting acquaintances (part-time coworkers.) Some friends by lottery (roommates) and chance (childhood neighbors.) Some friends by association (boyfriends of roommates, friends of my sister.) Some by birth, some by choice. Others who were going through similar lifetime experiences (new motherhood, elementary school friends.)
I have all of these people (and more to find...) to thank for the person I am today. And those friends who I share my life with now - I will thank for the person I strive to be tomorrow. And I don't care what it looks like to be on Facebook.

Because I'm almost 40 ("...someday!") and it's becoming less and less important to me what others think. I'm the opposite of junior high school Aidan - who burdens himself too much of what other people think. As he edges to the extreme of those feelings, I'm backing away from them. And to those of you Facebook naysayers, well, I guess you won't be on my friends' list - which I can tell you is a pretty great group that I'm blessed to have known.

ps: dyed my hair bright, vivid, dark red last week. It's my goth look - so I've been told. Part of it was for kicks, and part (as was pointed out by a very shrewd woman) was to *not* blend in. Life's too short people. Go and have some fun and be the person you want to be.

Perfect: 23 years later

2008-11-11T18:35:00.000-08:00

I joined a gym on Saturday.

Yeah, it's still sinking in for me too. A big, shiny box of a place. I never thought that I'd be the type to join such an establishment. It's full of highly sculpted machines and people. That's so not me. But I'm determined - sort of - to at least give it a shot. The impetus of the change was the dissolution of the bootcamp I've been attending for a year and a half.

I didn't think that I'd be as distressed as I'm finding myself at the closure of this chapter of my life. I wasn't an original "bootie" but feel I've earned equal member status with the rest of the remarkable women who have dedicated themselves to arising at an inhuman hour to work out. We exercised and bitched and moaned (sometimes all at once) together. We became a family - in ways that are understandable, really, only if you have a uterus.

So this group is picking up and moving to the gym. We took a tour on Saturday - given by the lovely and self-depricatingly skinny, young sales manager - and the five of us all signed on the dotted line. Some with more reservations than others.
We are trying out the early (5:15... that's AM, people!) classes this week as a trial run. Yesterday, we did our own improvised workout in the yoga room that no one was using. (Well, the one gal did come in to jump rope and watch herself in the mirror. We just ran around her...) Today was the horrendous torture of step class. A fad I missed in the 80's and 90's: I was not at all prepared for the combinations of steps.

I felt like a moron. I don't like to feel like a moron. I like to think of myself as a fairly coordinated person with some sense of rythem. Not so today, friends. I left disgusted. The only saving grace was the friends I was with: at least I wasn't alone. We all had difficulties (and obviously all of them handled it much better than I...) and I was convinced (?) to give it a few more tries before giving up. Maybe. The next class of torture will be the spin class, which I'm already warned hurts your crotch.
Those are my choices: feel like a moron, or have a sore hoo-ha. Yeah, it'll be great!

So I'm taking out my unsettled feelings on Edward, Bella and Jacob and the greatness that is Twilight. Bought the soundtrack today. Fabulous stuff. It's helping with some of the difficulty I have with change.

NB: Found banned (by me) book number four in the Twilight series "hidden" on Aidan's desk. He went behind my back and checked it out from the junior high school (!) library so he could finish reading the series. I don't know whether to be angry or impressed that he was so resourceful... And really, all my credibility went out the door when I let him read The DaVinci Code instead of Breaking Dawn. So much for trying to shield him from mature (sex) themes. Says the woman who read Forever in the 6th grade...

"Back...back...back to school again"

2008-11-03T19:52:00.000-08:00

I went back to high school a few weeks ago. It was "Parent Shadow Day" at Colin's high school and I enthusiastically signed up to shadow him for the half day of school. It wasn't until we were on our way to school (after having arranged for the little two to be at a friend's house at 7:15 AM and after dropping the arguing junior high kids off at their school) that I asked Colin if he minded me coming with him. He said he didn't mind, but let me know that I would be on my own for brunch, as he had things to do and people to see. Lucky for me, there was a parent reception at brunch, and I was able to grab a quick cup of coffee.

I was quite concerned on the attire for the day: really, can there ever be a bigger concern than what to wear? My intent was to look like a mom. I can tell you that not everyone else there shared my intent. Check out "Real Housewives of Orange County" if you want to know what I mean. And for the record: just because you can pull off the skin tight rhinestone jeans doesn't mean you should.

The principal did a nice welcome (as Junie B. might say) and then we were off to math. Math. Colin, in his first year of high school, is in the last level of math that I took in high school. On this particular day in Honors Algebra II/ Trigonometry the class was learning how to use graphing calculators - and since it was new to them, the parents could participate as well! I left with such a brain-ache. The memories of being overwhelmed by a lesson came flooding back to me. It's probably good that I experienced this sensation again. It may, perhaps, make me more sympathetic to my kids when they whine "but I don't get it!"

The highlight of my day was in English class. Colin has quite a few cheerleaders in his Freshman English class. I have very fond memories of this class - but I won't share them here. It is the internet, after all. And these are other people's children - and after this past Saturday's girls U10 soccer game fiasco, I have re-learned that you just don't ever mess with anyone else's kid. Ever. Never.
Let me leave you with a mental picture of my English class experience: a purple inked smiley face at the end of sentence. Because, you really just can't have enough of those. Sadly, I had no other parent around me to share the fun.

So going "back... back... back to school again" was a trip. I learned a lot. Got to see the campus (and my kid) in action. It's a beautiful campus - it's a relatively new one. Last year had the first graduating class. They seem to be doing well for the 2600+ kids who call it home. Home of the Wildcats (And YES! I have seen High School Musical 3. In an auditorium full of 1000 screaming kids and tweens. The tweens squeed for Zac Effron every time he showed his face on screen. And THAT was after the 10 minute Karaoke SING ALONG.) For putting up with me, he got a nice lunch out of it. I'll be back next year.

Bested by a Hunk of Metal (with a pretty ringtone)

2008-10-20T16:01:00.000-07:00

My perfect record is now broken. I used to think of myself as "smug driver" a la the Bridget Jones "smug married" character. For 22 years, 3 months and 11 days, I was a perfect driver. Or so my record (or lack thereof) would say. Sure, I had a few times when I was pulled over, but I always drove away WITHOUT a ticket. Until yesterday. I guess I knew that it would happen to me someday. Until yesterday I happily drove along as "smug driver," even with screaming kids in tow.

But I have been bested by the mighty cell phone. I wasn't hands free, and I got caught -- on a Sunday morning pulling away from the drive-through coffee stand. And there's my defense: I hadn't had my coffee yet.

The only benefit from the situation was my ability to use it as a teaching moment(well, more like a teaching lecture as it lasted the whole drive down to Pasadena...): Aidan and Colin were in the car with me when it happened. As they near the ages when they will want to be behind the wheel, I'm certain it helped for me to model appropriate behavior when confronted with an officer at your car window. Because as much as I'd love to believe that my sons will be perfect drivers (like I WAS), I have read the insurance fine print and I'm no fool: boys and cars = trouble. Hopefully, the trouble will be minor. But I'm fairly certain that one of my boys (Aidan..) will more than likely be pulled over sometime in his early driving days. So really, if you spin it the right way, I was just being an extra-thorough mom by modeling appropriate ticket-receiving-behavior.

Today I had to take over the high school carpool (just temporarily, thank goodness.) It took me almost 1 hour to get all the kids to school (not counting Julia, who had to walk.) Then it took another hour to pick everyone up and drop them off after school. And guess what I wasn't doing the whole time I was driving?

Talking on the phone.

Junior High Angst - 25 years later

2008-10-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

I wasn't a particularly big fan of junior high when I was first there 25 years ago. I consider myself lucky to have passed through that tumultuous time and made it to the other side: the side of *not being in junior high.* And yet, here I sit doing it again. Yes, I'm less removed this time; but I'm there just the same. Colin's experience had its trials, no question. But he weathered the storm well, and came out quite nicely.

Aidan's experience is transporting me back there with disturbing clarity. He's miserable. I'm miserable. His grades are suffering alongside both of us. Sadly I have to sit back and watch him make his own mistakes most of the time. It's a struggle to find the right balance on my part of "help" (interference) and patience. We've implemented a few organizational changes to help with the grades; but he's mostly on his own when it comes to the friends/bullies/junior high angst. Hitting puberty later than your peers is not something I have experienced personally, so all I can really do is reassure him that yes, it will happen *someday.* And we both hope it will be a soon-day rather than a later-day.

So he's typing part of his book report now. The report that is due tomorrow. The report that (miraculously) got mostly done on his own - until I looked it over and made him redo the parts that he skipped/forgot to follow the instructions on. It's one of those "project" reports - Ugh. The bane of a parent's existence. (I really don't understand the concept of these. Does making some kind of board game or TV interview or whatever else really make reading a book more interesting? I'm betting some killer project could be done with the right blend of Cliff's notes and creativity. And get an A. Is that really the point of these things? It's a tempting idea...) The kind that need to be done, and done well if your kid has any hope of passing the class - and that's iffy at this point with him. If I never see one of these reports again, it will be too soon. And we have 7 more quarters left of junior high school. And that doesn't even count the 2 kids who haven't even gotten there yet.

So he'll be missing Tae Kwon Do this afternoon. Edwin gets to go, because his homework is done. Julia and I will be off to the store to find an appropriate "non-food-item" birthday treat for her to bring in to school to share with her classmates tomorrow. It will probably be something that requires assembly.
Another project.
Goody.

The morning exchange

2008-10-08T07:07:00.001-07:00

The morning exchange:

"Everyone get up, right now!" as I walk in the door, home from boot camp.
Colin comes out to the kitchen rumpled but dressed.
"Colin, make your lunch."
I start the pot of necessary coffee.
"Aidan, get up!"
Aidan comes into the kitchen
"Aidan, make your lunch."
Julia comes out. She gets sent back to her room.
"Julia, you have Girl Scouts today - put your bathing suit on under your clothes and wear something old that can get wet. I'll give you your $3 dues in the car. And you can buy your lunch today."She replies cheerfully that it's cookie day at school lunch.
"Edwin, get up!"
Edwin walks out and down the hall dressed(!)
"Edwin, did you go to the bathroom?"

"Ba dum bum," he replies (as if we're in a bad comedy club and I've just cracked a joke) "No. I have not," as he runs down the hall to the bathroom.

Coffee is now ready, and I pour myself the first of the cups needed to make it through the morning.
Aidan and Colin fight over which cookie is theirs - one is broken and therefore inferior. Aidan tries to justify a lunch bag full of junk and one tiny mini-bagel sandwich for the healthy factor. ("But I'll put a lot of meat in it! he claims)
"No deal," I say.
"But I can't find the bread," he says. I make sweeping hand gestures.
The bread is on the counter in front of him, and is also on 3 of the four shelves in the fridge he has just opened(grocery shopping happened yesterday.)
Aidan makes a sandwich.

Julia comes out with the carefully planned outfit for her Girl Scout meeting after school which will include earning a swimming badge and will involve jumping in the water fully clothed.

Colin goes outside to retrieve the newspaper.

"Everyone eat!"
Eating commences, not quietly.
"Did you hear that the Stanford football coach's wife was in labor during the Stanford/ Notre Dame game?" Colin muses.
"I know someone who went to Stanford. Mae Jemison," Julia pipes in.
"The astronaut?" Aidan replies.

Julia eats half of her breakfast sandwich ("But I'm full!") before escaping to the bathroom to do her hair.
"Ed, finish Julia's breakfast."

Knock Knock on the kitchen door.
Diego, Devin and Drew walk in, ready for school.
Diego proudly displays his USC shirt to me - one of dozens he owns and likes to torture all of us with.
"Do you all have lunches today?"
"Yes," they all reply.
Drew shows off his newly applied braces while simultaneously asking if we are fans of Green Bay.
"My mom can't pick us up today," Diego announces.
"Does anyone have homework club today?" I ask.
"Yes" and "No" answers are given at the same time. Much discussion ensues about whether homework club is, in fact, meeting today. Collectively, we figure out that it's not, so Devin goes to call his mom to find out if she can drive home.

Ed finishes spiking his hair - gelling it up for the most dramatic effect.

"Aidan, leave your cell phone at home. You are grounded from using it for 24 hours."

"Everyone! Get. In. the. Car. Now!"
And off we go, at 7:15, to the various schools and drop off points.
Me and SEVEN kids.

The House Is Not a Kleenex

2008-10-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

"The house is not a Kleenex"

Sadly, this is a phrase I need to drill into my kids' brains. Over and over again apparently, as they believe that the house, is in fact, their personal kleenex box.

And here's how I know this:
Monday morning is pick up time around the house. I attempt to corral the clutter into manageable piles so that my angels Maria and Francesca can help me clean the house - a fact which I have had to justify many times over the years and as recently as two days ago when I explained, again, that I have four kids and being a mom is a full-time job in itself.

So while I'm doing this corralling, I'm noticing streaks on the walls of the boys' bedroom. Small streaks, but streaks just the same. All at around Edwin's arm height. A closer look confirms what I already guess is the origin of the streaks. Eeeuuwww is all that comes to mind. So I instruct Ed to grab some babywipes and start
scrubbing while I go hunt down the Mr. Clean eraser - a product I firmly stand by despite the horrible internet pictures of the one kid who was supposedly burned when he scrubbed his face with it. Ed quickly figures out that the babywipes don't cut it and goes for a more abrasive washcloth (which he does *not* wring out, thereby
creating wet spots in the carpet that I keep finding with my socked feet) to scrub the boogers *Off the Wall.*
(I'm pretty sure Michael Jackson did not use this scenario when he made that title into a hit. Then again, he was once a little boy, so maybe he did.) And a little abrasion is what we needed, because they become glued to any surface they are wiped on. Glued on. Take-the-paint-off glued on.

When Ed decided to put his washcloth down on Aidan's bed (see washcloth description above) it was time to change the sheets. And the mattress pad beneath them. As I stripped the bed, I noticed more streaks about Aidan arm level high on the wall next to his pillows. Because *this* is the kind of behavior that I want all my kids to share.

In the past, I have had to do scrub downs of Colin's room, but those have been met with some pretty severe "discussions" so out of curiosity I checked to see how his walls were faring. Apparently those discussions paid off as he won't be scraping boogers off of his wall this afternoon when he gets home from school.

I'm not looking forward to checking Julia's room, but sadly, I'm thinking she will have some scrub time too.

I have kleenex boxes galore around the house. Obviously, I need to buy a few more. And have a few more "discussions."

Starting with, "The house is not a Kleenex!!!"

Monday Musings

Mother knows best

High School

Bugsy and The Wrong Mother

Trash

Fundraising = ***dra****g

Holiday Cheer 2009

Boo

"Hey guys! You forgot me!" Chapter 3

Sitting on a bed in a boy's Notre Dame 103 year old dorm room: Chapter 2

Midwest adventure 2009: Chapter 1

Random venting before schlepping

Cookie Time!

Snow Days in Tahoe

Extreme Weather

25 Random Things About Me

The Stomach Flu

Visit to Santa

Monday

And the winner is...

Tuxedo pants and athletic supporters

Monday Musings

.org versus .com

Facebook

Perfect: 23 years later

"Back...back...back to school again"

Bested by a Hunk of Metal (with a pretty ringtone)

Junior High Angst - 25 years later

The morning exchange

The House Is Not a Kleenex

Fundraising = *dra**g