American Girls

When I was four, my preschool's dress up box consisted of one pink negligee that someone generously donated. We fought over the flimsy nightgown EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. It would drive the teachers crazy. We'd pull, push, taunt and tease to get our hands on that nightgown. Because in our minds? That nightgown, when properly tied around one's head, became a princess veil.

Today, I broke down and took the girls to the American Girl Store in Los Angeles. Since we didn't leave town over spring break, I've booked a daily adventure for each day we're out of school. Recently, they have become enamored with all of the American Girl movies, books, etc- so I thought we'd finally go see the mecca of all dolls.

Wow. No nightgowns tied around heads here. During the lunch, I think my girls were embarrassed at how excited I was. They have the cutest little chairs so your doll can sit next to you, and the waitress makes a big deal out of serving each doll her own pretend drink in a miniature teacup. (And as she does this, you know she is dying a little bit on the inside, and hoping for her shift to end so she can make a very real G&T in a large glass).





My favorite part of the lunch was a little black and white polka dotted box on the table. It was filled with little question cards, and we took turns picking one and asking each other the questions. "What is your best summer memory? (My oldest said it was the day we spent at Main Beach in Laguna and then went for ice cream. The four year old said she just loves the flowers that come out in summer). What would be your dream job? (one wants to own a furniture store (?) , the other wants to be a pilot).



Afterwards, we toured the historical dolls. My girls asked questions about WWII, about Native Americans, slavery and the state of New Mexico. The oldest anklebiter is currently learning about money in kindergarten, and it was a bit funny to her her gasp at how expensive Kit's Tree House was. I am fortunate to know someone that graciously shared their employee discount with me, so today's visit did not hurt their college fund as much as I anticipated. But if we need new clothes? I've got a few old nightgowns we can turn into headwear.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Easter. Once again, the holidays come and go, and I become so mesmerized by their presence, that by the end of the festivities, I cannot look at another egg. Or a bunny. Or a basket. Or I will vomit.

Seriously. I get SO excited for a holiday- any holiday (arbor day, anyone!) and completely overdo things, that by the time they are over, I'm more than ecstatic to have them go away for another 364 days.

And this Easter was no exception. We hightailed it to the grandparents, to hook up with the rest of my family, to commence the annual dying of Easter eggs on Saturday. My Dad was put in charge of the egg dying- and while we practiced egg hunts in the front yard, he set up the vinegar bowls and wax crayons and empty egg containers in the backyard. (Side note: my sister-in-law is the Master Egg Hider, and she taught me some awesome hiding tips. She always hides two eggs in almost the same exact hiding spot. The kid gets so excited to find the one egg, they walk right by the second. Genius, I tell you).

Except, Grandad got a little overzealous with the egg dying. By the time we discovered him, he had dyed half of the eggs by himself, and each kid only had 2 a piece to make their mark on. (What, you think I came by this holiday fanaticism by my environment? Oh no, pure genetics, baby).

We celebrated my Mom's birthday that night- and every year we try and find her the perfect gift. And every year, she gets angry that we spent any money at all. Next year, I'm going to schedule a blood mobile to show up while my Dad is dying all of the Easter eggs. We'll all make a donation in her honor. She will still complain that we should have saved our blood to give to our children.

The next day, the Bunny made an appearance (he had to take a trip to Vons at 11pm the night before to bulk up the Easter candy stash) and we made it to my parents' club for brunch. I indulged in one bloody mary too many, and a few hours later, found myself being driven home by my Dad, while I rode in the 3rd row of my minivan. I told him that it felt just like old times, and that I hoped I wasn't grounded when I got home.

After a quick nap on their super comfy couch, I awoke to a swaying, and rocking sensation. At first, I thought the dogs had gotten inside and were playing coyote- until I heard my Dad softly mutter, "Is that an earthquake?"

It was. We were feeling the rumblings of a 7.2 quake on an previously undiscovered fault in Mexicali. An interesting end to an otherwise unforgettable day.

A Random, Useless Update

1. I am sick. A horrible cold has infested my body and turned me into a snivelly, snotty cranky pants. Luckily, Netflix delivered my copy of "New Moon" and I'll have some Mrs. Robinson's Cougar oogling to do over Edward to make me feel better.

2. The much talked about talent show is this Saturday. You can bet your bottom dollar I'll be there with my camera, and will give you guys a full report. Someone recently, anonymously, commented "Stop The Insanity!": and I hear you sister. (or brother, since I'm not sure which gender of anonymous you are). I promise to give all the salacious details as it unfolds.

3. Is anyone watching the show "Parenthood?" If not, please fix this as soon as possible. It somehow captures the melancholy looniness of family life in a way that doesn't dumb things down for the audience. And on the flip side? American Idol has completely jumped the shark. I never thought I'd miss Paula Abdul so much.

4. Has anyone tried Pop Chips? I'm on a hunt for them- and hope they satisfy that 3:00pm gnaw off my arm hunger that is inhibiting my weight loss progress. Pop Chips, I will find you.

5. My kids are now completely obsessed with American Girl. I bought the DVD set of movies at Costco, and suddenly found myself explaining black out raids, circa WWII, and child labor laws. Thanks American Girl, for making me parent a little harder.

Out Of Luck

Today was one of those days. One of those days you don't want to remember when you're gumming jello in the assisted living center. My oldest anklebiter's elementary school is getting out early all week- for parent teacher conferences. So when I showed up for pickup, there was a ton of parents that aren't normally there at that hour. The street was clogged, cars were lining up one after another.

My minivan had been parked against the curb for fifteen minutes. 1-5. As I toted my kids back to the car, there was a woman standing in front of it, looking sheepish.

"Is this your car?" she asked, nervously.

I nodded my head and noticed my left bumper was hanging on by a thread.

She quickly explained that she had run into my car, and was in the process of writing me a note. As I listened to her explain, I found myself consoling her. Patting her on the arm, assuring her that no one was hurt, it could have been worse, yadda yadda yadda. She told me how her husband was going to kill her, how she had never hit anyone before how, OMG! I can't believe this has happened!

I took her info, got the kids in the car, and tried to make my way out of the parking spot. Except the woman that had hit me penned me in. And she was so flustered, she had to leave her car running and jump out to tell the car in front of her the whole damn story. Which left me boxed in. For ten minutes. Ten, very long minutes.

When I got home, I opened the garage door and discovered we have another dead varmint rotting away in our walls.

Yeah, I really don't want to remember this day.

Unplugged

During the dinner party on Saturday, one of the kids inadvertently lost the remote for our family room television. You cannot operate the television without the remote. I feel like I'm starring in my own "LIttle House On The Prairie" but honestly? It's been kind of nice. The kids are playing more board games. We're all reading more books. Talking to each other.

But suddenly I think about all of the shows recorded on the DVR and I start to shake. I've furtively thrown every couch cushion every which way. Looked in every nook and cranny. Natta. Zip. So if anyone watches "The Real Housewives of NYC" and something juicy happens? Please take pity on me.

Spring Broke

I'm whipped. Plum tuckered out.

Some of the country celebrated spring break this week, and even though it was supposed to be work/school, business as usual- we've had quite the time. Last weekend, my family got together to celebrate my older brother turning 40. 40! We rushed home from his shindig in time to greet an old friend that was visiting us for a few days from New York.

Ironically, it was 85 and hot when she arrived, and her family at home was in the midst of a terrible storm and left without power. The orange blossoms are in full bloom over here, and we had one teeny, tiny earthquake- so she got the full California experience. (We also decided to hit Disneyland at 7:30pm on Tuesday night- and between 8pm and midnight, we went on 8 rides: Small World, Pirates, Nemo, Star Tours, Tiki Room, Indiana Jones, Peter Pan & Mr. Toad).

After my houseguest left, we went to a Pirate dinner theater with the grandparents and visiting cousins. It was fun, and I tweeted the entire experience, but if you think the dinner fare at a pirate theater is going to be halfway decent? Think again.

The next day, after school- we hightailed it back to Disneyland. It was a lot more crowded than it was late Tuesday night- but we had a great time hanging out at California Adventure and talked all the little kids into getting on "Soaring" (one of my favorite rides).

Today? We hosted a dinner party for the family that graciously lent us ski stuff for our vacation.

Tomorrow? I'm not getting out of my pajamas. For anyone.

Wake Up Call

Today is a sick day. Sick as in, my four year old was up most of last night puking her brains out, and sick because what I had to live through was way beyond what anyone told me was in the Mom Job Description. We've been lucky. My kids haven't been sick much this year. Just when I realized this, the Gods of Bacteria smiled upon me and thrust the plague of ear infections on my brood once again.

Then last night, at 3am, Lucy cried out the dreaded words no mother wants to hear. "Moooommmm? My tummy doesn't feel too goo....."

She didn't get to finish her sentence.

My dog is not allowed to lick anyone today.

I am forever thankful I bought a Hoover carpet cleaner.

The rest of the night spiraled downhill. Lucy knows I'm a huge fan of Jane Austen, and decided to go all "Pride and Prejudice" and insisted on puking in a bucket, while laying propped up on pillows. No indoor plumbing for my little Elizabeth Bennett. Of course, someone needed to procure the bucket, and that lucky job fell to me. We had many important life discussions during this escapade:

1. We discussed the importance of keeping your mouth OPEN while vomiting.
2. We learned why they call it "waves of nausea".
3. Hey! Let's time your waves! 3:30, 4:00, 4:30, 5:30- Wow! We could almost set a clock by her vomiting skills!
4. Yes, I know you feel better. You just puked. No, you may not drink chocolate milk. My Hoover can only take so much.

So today, we are watching lots of television, stupid pet tricks on youtube, and busting out the carpet cleaner. We look forward to returning to regular programming soon.