Getting Close

We just got back from four days in New Orleans. It was my first trip there, and it can be summed up with one of our breakfasts. We ate at a place in the French Quarter called Petunia's. It's in a hundred and fifty year old Creole house, and famous for their crepes. When we entered the waiting area, a hostess immediately appears.

"Good morning! Would you guys like a cocktail while you wait?" she chirps. It was 8:30am.

"No thanks", my husband replies. "But can I get a coffee?"

"No." she abruptly answers, slamming her menu shut and returning back to the kitchen.

NOLA was very, very cool. Although cocktails are apparently their breakfast drink of choice, there's much more to the city than most people think. I have never been there before, yet somehow- it has made the very, very short list of places we are considering calling home. Everytime I tell someone this- I get one of 2 reactions. Either someone will say:

"Are you Freaking serious? The crime rate? The hurricanes? The flooding?"
or I'll hear:

"Ooooh- one of the best cities on Earth!"

I'm caught in between. They put us up at a swanky hotel- and had cookies and milk for the kids and cheese for hubby and I in our room when we arrived. The next morning, Matt took off on his interview. I trotted the kids down to the French Quarter for some beignets and chickory coffee, and Annie danced her first of many dances to Dixieland Jazz. The French Quarter does kind of look like the Haunted Mansion stuff at Disneyland (my only reference), but a tad sleazier and with the lingering odor of some hard partying going on the night before.

After porking out on beignets, we boarded a real live steam boat for a two hour cruise down the Mississippi river. I called Annie Huck Finn, and Lucy was Tom Sawyer- and it was so neat to go down the river the same way Mark Twain did when he piloted his own steamship down the very same water. I learned a bunch of cool history, none of which I will bore you with- but it made my Cliff-Clavin heart warm and happy to hear some random facts I can toss to my Dad. I will tell you that a lot of folks are sporting bumper stickers that reference the Louisiana Purchase- they say:

Please France: Buy Us Back.

That evening, the hospital arranged for a babysitter to arrive at our hotel so Matt and I could go to dinner with a few folks. First, we had drinks at someone's house. It was gorgeous- built a hundred years ago, and the only damage it suffered during the hurricane was from the National Guard kicking the door in to look for bodies.

We had dinner uptown, in a cozy little place called La Petite Grocerie. Afterwards, they drove us around. Parts of the city look exactly like San DIego- uptown looks like a cross between Berkeley, San Francisco and Santa Monica. Matt and I were amazed at how much it reminded us of California.

The next day we spent four hours with a realtor, looking at houses. If and when we do live there, we have decided to live in the uptown area. Any home that's lasted there for over a hundred years has a pretty good track record for future storms. One house we looked at was built in 1865, and needed a ton of renovation- but it had 15 foot ceilings and guillotine windows (the coolest!) and marble fireplaces that didn't work and most likely a ghost or two that probably came with the escrow.

So anywhoo... nothing finalized yet- but we're getting close. Stay tuned!

Memories

Without a doubt- the hours between 5pm and 8pm are the hardest of my day. At 5:00- my kids ability to be rational is completely gonzo, and all hell breaks loose. Unfortunately, this meltdown occurs at just the moment when I'm starting to think about what the hell I'm supposed to feed everyone. By the time I get dinner on the table, dishes cleaned up and the kids popped in the tub- I'm wiped out. Tonight, I let the kids play for a bit longer than usual. They had a new game- something about mermaids and a submarine song, and they were spitting water out and belly laughing- so I propped myself up on their Target brand pink stepstool and just thought.

Five years ago, the hardest part of my day was chewing out some lame-ass salesman who didn't know his head from his enterprise system. Every few weeks I took a short business trip and traveled throughout the country. I had a weekly brunch gig with my girlfriends. On Sunday mornings, I would light a fire in the fireplace, turn on some jazz and while away the day on the couch with a great book. Matt and I took weekly excursions in to Balboa park or Coronado beach- and they always ended around 3pm- with either a bloody mary, a cappucino or a margarita.

Right now- it is so easy to get carried away with the details. Raising kids requires so, so many steps- that it is all too easy to get lost in the muck. Today, I reminded myself to take a mental snapshot- of my little girls, hiding from a scary monster under Annie's comforter. I have a feeling, that in a few years I'll be sitting on some couch, trying to read a book- and wishing I could be there with them.

Spring Broke

I am now nursing a massive headache. This morning, I tried to go get an oil change on the ol' minivan- but apparently everyone this side of the MIssissippi decided this morning was THE morning to do work on their car. Instead of waiting an hour and a half with 2 kids inside of a dealership, I took the anklebiters home and we cleaned out the car. This is what we found:
1. soccer ring from a crappy store bought cupcake
2. one shoe. Have no idea where other shoe is.
3. Multiple piles of horribly smelly, unidentifiable crumbs.
4. Annie's Boston Red Sox hat
5. Very important escrow papers for our house

After Febreezing the whole stanky thang down, I loaded up the kids and we hit it to the local strawberry patch. We came home with our weight in berries- and now the whole kitchen smells like Strawberry Shortcake's armpit. In addition to picking berries, the rest of our spring break culminated in a couple of playdates, 3 different egg hunts, dinner at a friend's house, a ton of baking and a urinary tract infection. Good times folks. Good times.

Disposable Generation

Lucy: "Mommy? My elbow hurts."
Mommy: "What happened Lucy?"
Lucy: "Me don't know. My elbow hurts."
Mommy: "Sorry about that Luc."
Lucy: "Me want a new elbow.
Mommy: "??"
Lucy: "Take me to the elbow store.

Keepin' It Real

This is a stressful time. We were supposed to have date night on Saturday, and instead of living it up- we crashed our local Indian place to furtively whisper an argument over some curry and tikki masala. Trying to figure out where to put down roots has caused both of us angst, and each one feels like the other one is issuing ultimatums, or painting them into a corner. Bottom line- this is going to take compromise- on all parts. I'm totally stressed out because I have no idea where we're going to be living- and I don't have the kids on waiting lists for schools ANYWHERE- and we close escrow on our house in July, so we can't buy anything before then, so I've got to find us a place to hang our hat for the summer. Matt is even more stressed--- he's working a totally intense day job, and juggling phone calls from all over the country and scheduling EVEN MORE interviews to try and wrap this puppy up before the year ends. On top of that, we have well meaning relatives that continually want to talk- over, and over again about the many options, and some poke their well meaning fingers into pies that weren't supposed to be touched. (enough metaphors?)

But just when things look their darkest- my hubby has this innate ability to crack a silly joke, or make me laugh- and suddenly all of the anger and pent up plans to escape to Hawaii are immediately forgotten. Almost. When he says he's going to be home for dinner, and I start whipping up some tres' expensive seared scallops with garlic spinach for a late Monday night dinner and he calls about halfway home to say an old friend is in town and he's going to go to some Brazilian steak house and wolf down 15 steer, well.... I still get a bit pissy. Jokes and all.

Horton Hears A Hit

This movie is adorable. It is quaint. It is charming. It is an excellent way to burn two hours of spring break. Two down, only 166 more to go.

Creepers Jeepers

I'm 35- and the more I say that, the more I start to believe it. I'm half way though my thirties, and even though I still remember what it was like to feel like a dorky seventh grader (basically, like a dorky 35 year old) I have reached that stage in life where I'm happy with who I am, and not intimidated to force myself into something else. However, with this new found wisdom- I do have moments where I feel totally, completely.... well, old. O_L_D.

I had some frequent flier miles that were about to expire, and there weren't enough to really do anything with, except subscribe to some nonsensical magazines that I would never in a million years subscribe to. So, Matt wound up with a year's subscription to the Economist, and also Maxim. When each issue comes, I peek at the cover- and it makes me feel seriously uncomfortable. These "women" look like little girls playing sexy dress up. Seriously! When Avril Lavigne was on the cover in her push up bra- I told Matt that I couldn't, in good faith, let him have this because it was just CREEPY. (Note: I felt creepy about Castro on the cover of the Economist, but in a much different way).

These Maxim cover girls look like teeny boppers- and they are younger than my little brother, who, (gasp!) at age 29 is my barometer for acceptable young-ness (i.e. immaturity). I just don't get the whole starlet thing. In my mind, a woman with experience is much more attractive than a 20 year old nymphet with no clear idea of who she really is. Sorry Avril, but your purple push up bra (with matching hair extensions) did nothing for me. Now Selma Hayek (non-preggers) is a verrry different story.