School is back in session.
Although we were all excited for the new year to begin, I must confess that my heart aches on each first day of school. It takes me a few weeks to get used to having them around during summer vacation, and then I get weepy and melancholy when I send them back to school. The irony of motherhood.
My oldest has started first grade. Her new school starts at o'dark thirty, so my late nights of bad tv watching are a thing of the distant past. I'm not used to getting up early. I've never been much of a morning person, which is a nice way of saying that I'm a raving lunatic anytime before 10am. As part of the back-to-school shopping, my oldest daughter got her first "grown up" haircut. The long hair we have lovingly grown out for the last 6 years was so damaged from the pool, we cut it into a chin length bob. The loss of hair instantly aged her- my husband and I were amazed at how much it matured her (she still has trouble putting on her socks, but whatever). It seems that overnight, she lost all vestiges of little kid-ness, and her gangly legs with mosquito-bit ridden knees are knobby and lean. She looks like a year old puppy with big paws.
We've been early to school each day this week (a remarkable feat for me)- mostly because I am so intimidated by the hustle and bustle of the school parking lot that I insist we park around the corner at the dry cleaners and walk. The kids think the "secret path" is great- which I think will change when we get hit with a typical tropical storm.
Houston has changed so much since we left here a few years ago. The population has exploded. Rumor has it that Houston will usurp Chicago and become the nation's 3rd largest city. All I know is that I had to beg my pediatrician to take us back because their ENTIRE practice is no longer accepting new patients. Nor is their dentist. The Costco parking lot is jammed, real estate is ridiculous and we went out for pizza last night and the line was out the door. On a Thursday. At 6:30pm.
The other day, someone on twitter was talking about mercury being in retrograde. Basically, this happens 3 xs a year, and it signals a time of transition, and significant change. This made me laugh, because mercury is definitely in retrograde around here, and has been for the last few months. Here's to hoping it settles down soon.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Jersey Girl
I was born in New Jersey.
I do not have a pouf.
I do have fond memories of summers spent at the shore.
I do not wear leopard. I did not marry a nice, juicy Guido and I don't fist pump or GTL. (Gym, Tan, Laundry).
I do, however, love watching "The Jersey Shore."
Have you seen it? Despite their newfound fame- the characters are as crass, genuine and idiotic as last season. The editing is brilliant. The dialogue is better than anything Hollywood could come up with. Most importantly, my husband and I roll on the floor everytime we watch it.
I am so going as Snooki for Halloween. (So yes, I will have a pouf).
I do not have a pouf.
I do have fond memories of summers spent at the shore.
I do not wear leopard. I did not marry a nice, juicy Guido and I don't fist pump or GTL. (Gym, Tan, Laundry).
I do, however, love watching "The Jersey Shore."
Have you seen it? Despite their newfound fame- the characters are as crass, genuine and idiotic as last season. The editing is brilliant. The dialogue is better than anything Hollywood could come up with. Most importantly, my husband and I roll on the floor everytime we watch it.
I am so going as Snooki for Halloween. (So yes, I will have a pouf).
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Real Moron Game
The other day, the plug to my laptop stopped working. I made an appointment at the local apple Genius bar, and the very next morning- I picked up my brand new plug. I went merrily about my business.
That afternoon, my 4 year old dropped my iphone in the toilet. I'm not sure how it happened- only that she was excited to reach a new level on the "Moron Game" (don't get me started) and apparently couldn't temper her enthusiasm without some accompaniment on a potty break.
The phone wouldn't turn on. I googled every possible remedy. I chose to not bake the phone at a low temperature (it freaked me out), but I did blowdry the heck out of it, and placed it in a ziploc bag of rice. I spent two days blowdrying- bagging with rice. Finally, I turned it on.
It worked. Sort of. Everything seemed to be ok, except for the home button. I limped along, until 1 day later, the whole thing quit. Kapoot.
I went BACK to the Genius Bar. (By now, I"m starting to recognize them). I tell them what happened. They open it up, and it's flooded. I'm not eligible for an upgrade, but my husband is. So my Genius quietly suggests that I return at 11:20 the next morning- the same time they typically get their morning shipment of the handful of new 4G phones that sell out in half an hour.
So there I was, BACK at the apple store- this very morning. Dragged my little Moron Game expert and her sister to the local mall. Checked myself in for my appointment, and politely inquired if they had unpacked their morning shipment.
The Genius bar scheduler looks at me with disdain- and says, "We don't have any 4gs. I cannot tell you when we will get more." She then suggests I speak with a salesperson. I find the closest looking Vulcan in a blue apple shirt and ask him the same question.
He says he will go in the back and check. But as he leaves... I notice that he sighs--not a sigh of compassion, more akin to a sigh of annoyance. I don't even think he went to the backroom- he probably stayed on the other side of the door and waited until it felt like a long enough time before coming out and telling me they didn't have any phones.
Finally, it came time for my appointment. ANOTHER Genius in a blue shirt approaches me. I tell him the whole potty-sob-story. I say that I'm here to use my husband's upgrade for a 4G. I tell him that 2 people have already told me there are no phones. Before I can finish, he says he will go to the back to check.
He's gone for a while.
I start to feel hopeful.
My blue shirt (Genius?) returns. He's holding an iphone box under a piece of paper, close to his chest. He quietly approaches me, and tells me he found a box of phones in the back that had not been unpacked. He motions for me to follow him to the front of the store.
I don't understand why he's being so secretive. They have a product to sell, I'm willing to part with some cash- so sell it to me, right? Suddenly, I notice a gaggle of people have spotted the box. They start following us to the front of the store. (I know I can exaggerate on occasion, but I pinkie swear that I am not making this up).
My Genius takes out a black rope- similar to what they use at Disneyland or the movie theater to control lines, and puts it behind me. He holds the phone and says to the nearby OTHER Genius who will be completing the transaction:
"Congratulations! Here is your first iphone sale of the day!"
The other Genius claps her hands and yells "Oh Goodie!"
The crowd on the other side of the black rope starts murmuring with excitement. They start jostling to get a better position in the line that has now formed, directly behind me.
They activate the phone. They take my money. They act like they have done me a HUGE favor- this honor of allowing me to pay cash for a product.
Who's the real Moron now?
That afternoon, my 4 year old dropped my iphone in the toilet. I'm not sure how it happened- only that she was excited to reach a new level on the "Moron Game" (don't get me started) and apparently couldn't temper her enthusiasm without some accompaniment on a potty break.
The phone wouldn't turn on. I googled every possible remedy. I chose to not bake the phone at a low temperature (it freaked me out), but I did blowdry the heck out of it, and placed it in a ziploc bag of rice. I spent two days blowdrying- bagging with rice. Finally, I turned it on.
It worked. Sort of. Everything seemed to be ok, except for the home button. I limped along, until 1 day later, the whole thing quit. Kapoot.
I went BACK to the Genius Bar. (By now, I"m starting to recognize them). I tell them what happened. They open it up, and it's flooded. I'm not eligible for an upgrade, but my husband is. So my Genius quietly suggests that I return at 11:20 the next morning- the same time they typically get their morning shipment of the handful of new 4G phones that sell out in half an hour.
So there I was, BACK at the apple store- this very morning. Dragged my little Moron Game expert and her sister to the local mall. Checked myself in for my appointment, and politely inquired if they had unpacked their morning shipment.
The Genius bar scheduler looks at me with disdain- and says, "We don't have any 4gs. I cannot tell you when we will get more." She then suggests I speak with a salesperson. I find the closest looking Vulcan in a blue apple shirt and ask him the same question.
He says he will go in the back and check. But as he leaves... I notice that he sighs--not a sigh of compassion, more akin to a sigh of annoyance. I don't even think he went to the backroom- he probably stayed on the other side of the door and waited until it felt like a long enough time before coming out and telling me they didn't have any phones.
Finally, it came time for my appointment. ANOTHER Genius in a blue shirt approaches me. I tell him the whole potty-sob-story. I say that I'm here to use my husband's upgrade for a 4G. I tell him that 2 people have already told me there are no phones. Before I can finish, he says he will go to the back to check.
He's gone for a while.
I start to feel hopeful.
My blue shirt (Genius?) returns. He's holding an iphone box under a piece of paper, close to his chest. He quietly approaches me, and tells me he found a box of phones in the back that had not been unpacked. He motions for me to follow him to the front of the store.
I don't understand why he's being so secretive. They have a product to sell, I'm willing to part with some cash- so sell it to me, right? Suddenly, I notice a gaggle of people have spotted the box. They start following us to the front of the store. (I know I can exaggerate on occasion, but I pinkie swear that I am not making this up).
My Genius takes out a black rope- similar to what they use at Disneyland or the movie theater to control lines, and puts it behind me. He holds the phone and says to the nearby OTHER Genius who will be completing the transaction:
"Congratulations! Here is your first iphone sale of the day!"
The other Genius claps her hands and yells "Oh Goodie!"
The crowd on the other side of the black rope starts murmuring with excitement. They start jostling to get a better position in the line that has now formed, directly behind me.
They activate the phone. They take my money. They act like they have done me a HUGE favor- this honor of allowing me to pay cash for a product.
Who's the real Moron now?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
First Graders Do Not Prefer Plaid
I'm not sure if it's the heat, or my rapidly advancing age- but this unpacking business is kicking my patootie. I start every day with grand illusions of what will get done- and by 6pm, I'm left scratching my head and wondering "is that it? Is that all I will get to today?"
Sigh.
I do have most of the boxes unpacked. I still can't find our red toolbox with all of our tools, or 12 of the botanical prints I so lovingly framed for the living room. Or 2 more pictures for the family room. My husband is sure we will uncover them, but I have my doubts.
We are really enjoying the pool- especially the dog. If you leave him outside for longer than 3 minutes, he comes to the door and cries. Not whimpers- full on pooch-sobbing sounds that say "I am a black lab! Let me in! It's 105 and my paws are melting!"
He's a wimp.
I spent a small fortune on uniforms for my first grader today. I was not aware that the required plaid jumpers are lined in 14 karat gold. I did stifle a laugh when I saw my daughter's face in the fitting room. "THIS?" she exclaimed. "This is what I have to wear? Every day? Are you KIDDING me?"
I told her to call her grandmother and commiserate. Her lifetime spent in Catholic school uniforms manifested itself into a serious Eileen Fisher addiction later in life. I told my daughter that one day, her closet would benefit from a short lifetime of uniform torture. She glanced at me, and I was able to marvel that even in all of her red/navy plaid cuteness, her eye rolls were still annoying.
I am not cooking. I am not regularly applying makeup, or doing much with my hair. My house looks better than I do, and that's really not saying much. I'm hoping that I will unpack my mojo soon, and start to feel more like myself. Or maybe, just like my botanical prints and toolbox, the mojo is something I will have to claim on the insurance form.
Sigh.
I do have most of the boxes unpacked. I still can't find our red toolbox with all of our tools, or 12 of the botanical prints I so lovingly framed for the living room. Or 2 more pictures for the family room. My husband is sure we will uncover them, but I have my doubts.
We are really enjoying the pool- especially the dog. If you leave him outside for longer than 3 minutes, he comes to the door and cries. Not whimpers- full on pooch-sobbing sounds that say "I am a black lab! Let me in! It's 105 and my paws are melting!"
He's a wimp.
I spent a small fortune on uniforms for my first grader today. I was not aware that the required plaid jumpers are lined in 14 karat gold. I did stifle a laugh when I saw my daughter's face in the fitting room. "THIS?" she exclaimed. "This is what I have to wear? Every day? Are you KIDDING me?"
I told her to call her grandmother and commiserate. Her lifetime spent in Catholic school uniforms manifested itself into a serious Eileen Fisher addiction later in life. I told my daughter that one day, her closet would benefit from a short lifetime of uniform torture. She glanced at me, and I was able to marvel that even in all of her red/navy plaid cuteness, her eye rolls were still annoying.
I am not cooking. I am not regularly applying makeup, or doing much with my hair. My house looks better than I do, and that's really not saying much. I'm hoping that I will unpack my mojo soon, and start to feel more like myself. Or maybe, just like my botanical prints and toolbox, the mojo is something I will have to claim on the insurance form.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Talking Trash
The fingernails are gone, but the feeling that I'm camping still lingers.
It is the rainiest summer Houston has seen since the early 1900s. Which is basically the long way of saying that it rains EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
But I'm always one for counting their blessings, and so I shall.
Thank you God. Thank you for creating gymnastics camp. This provides me a brief respite from the continual squabbles and bickering that plague my everyday existence.
Thank you for Texas neighbors. In our short time here, someone has already baked us a cake. Our next door neighbors could not be friendlier. (almost too friendly, but that's a story for another time).
Thank you for Big Trash Day. Oh yes- I've missed this one. Once a month, you can put ANYTHING- really anything, out to the curb, and the trash folks take it away. (Unless people driving by don't scavenge it first). This Monday, my curb will look like Sarah Cynthia Syliva Stout finally did take her garbage out.
Thank you for Central Market. For those not in the know, Central Market is like a merging of Whole Foods, Trader Joes and Bristol Farms- but only better. It says something when the entire damn family wants to go grocery shopping. Yesterday, my kids sampled imported salami shaped like a flower, something called Cowboy Cookies and freshly squeezed orange juice. Walking into the doors of Central Market was like saying hello to an old friend- an old friend that likes to make me fat.
Amen.
It is the rainiest summer Houston has seen since the early 1900s. Which is basically the long way of saying that it rains EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
But I'm always one for counting their blessings, and so I shall.
Thank you God. Thank you for creating gymnastics camp. This provides me a brief respite from the continual squabbles and bickering that plague my everyday existence.
Thank you for Texas neighbors. In our short time here, someone has already baked us a cake. Our next door neighbors could not be friendlier. (almost too friendly, but that's a story for another time).
Thank you for Big Trash Day. Oh yes- I've missed this one. Once a month, you can put ANYTHING- really anything, out to the curb, and the trash folks take it away. (Unless people driving by don't scavenge it first). This Monday, my curb will look like Sarah Cynthia Syliva Stout finally did take her garbage out.
Thank you for Central Market. For those not in the know, Central Market is like a merging of Whole Foods, Trader Joes and Bristol Farms- but only better. It says something when the entire damn family wants to go grocery shopping. Yesterday, my kids sampled imported salami shaped like a flower, something called Cowboy Cookies and freshly squeezed orange juice. Walking into the doors of Central Market was like saying hello to an old friend- an old friend that likes to make me fat.
Amen.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Temporary Fix
I wanted to take a picture of my current situation, but I can't find the camera.
It's somewhere here- somewhere behind the 300 boxes (not an exaggeration) littering our small rental house.
We are renting a house in Texas, until our house in California sells. Actually, we decided to rent even when we thought we had sold our house, but that's neither here nor there. It will give us time to get our bearings- relearn the neighborhoods, get a lay of the land, so to speak.
Except the lay of the land is dirty. Renting a house is dirty business. Yesterday, I cleaned someone else's fingernails out of a drawer. SOMEONE THAT IS NOT RELATED TO ME. I think I will have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.
In other news, our stuff arrived on the day they said it would. I have been married 14 years, and out of those 14, I've moved 7 times. That's an average of one move every two years. This is the first time my stuff has arrived on time.
The moving truck showed up two days ago- at 8am. It was a balmy 76 degrees- with a big Texas blue sky, littered with fluffy, white clouds. Off in the distance, you could see a few grey clouds- but really nothing to speak of. I thought to myself, "Hey! This isn't so bad! Where's the humidity?"
They started to bring the stuff in. It's fun seeing your stuff come off the truck. You exclaim as you recognize each piece- it's almost like Christmas morning-but instead of wrapping paper, your stuff is entrenched in awkward blue moving blankets. I had a great crew- one guy used to play the drums for the Temptations. Another guy, named DJ, could lift a mattress like it was piece of paper.
After lunch, we started to lose our steam. By "we", I mean the crew- because yours truly was parked in a lawn chair- ticking off box numbers as they paraded by. The air started to get thicker, the grey clouds began to outnumber the white ones. I suddenly got nervous. It was going to rain- pour, judging by the looks of things. My kitchen and bedroom had boxes stacked to the ceiling. My house began to look more like a storage facility, and I could only imagine the work ahead of me.
I don't mind moving, I really don't. I mean, I don't "enjoy" it- but I do get a high out of the organizing that takes place as you prepare. The sorting of the junk drawers- the cleaning of the closets. It's the same with laundry. I don't mind doing laundry. I love emptying the hamper- throwing them in, starting a load. But I absolutely detest putting laundry away. Almost as much as I hate unpacking a box. Any box. And now, I've got 300 of them, staring me down.
So, forgive the lack of pictures. Once I find the camera, I'm hopeful the amount of boxes will be less than a hundred, and that our current digs will resemble more of a cozy, temporary place to rest our heads- instead of one of those pods people use to store their stuff. Because right now, it's Chez Storage Facility.
It's somewhere here- somewhere behind the 300 boxes (not an exaggeration) littering our small rental house.
We are renting a house in Texas, until our house in California sells. Actually, we decided to rent even when we thought we had sold our house, but that's neither here nor there. It will give us time to get our bearings- relearn the neighborhoods, get a lay of the land, so to speak.
Except the lay of the land is dirty. Renting a house is dirty business. Yesterday, I cleaned someone else's fingernails out of a drawer. SOMEONE THAT IS NOT RELATED TO ME. I think I will have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.
In other news, our stuff arrived on the day they said it would. I have been married 14 years, and out of those 14, I've moved 7 times. That's an average of one move every two years. This is the first time my stuff has arrived on time.
The moving truck showed up two days ago- at 8am. It was a balmy 76 degrees- with a big Texas blue sky, littered with fluffy, white clouds. Off in the distance, you could see a few grey clouds- but really nothing to speak of. I thought to myself, "Hey! This isn't so bad! Where's the humidity?"
They started to bring the stuff in. It's fun seeing your stuff come off the truck. You exclaim as you recognize each piece- it's almost like Christmas morning-but instead of wrapping paper, your stuff is entrenched in awkward blue moving blankets. I had a great crew- one guy used to play the drums for the Temptations. Another guy, named DJ, could lift a mattress like it was piece of paper.
After lunch, we started to lose our steam. By "we", I mean the crew- because yours truly was parked in a lawn chair- ticking off box numbers as they paraded by. The air started to get thicker, the grey clouds began to outnumber the white ones. I suddenly got nervous. It was going to rain- pour, judging by the looks of things. My kitchen and bedroom had boxes stacked to the ceiling. My house began to look more like a storage facility, and I could only imagine the work ahead of me.
I don't mind moving, I really don't. I mean, I don't "enjoy" it- but I do get a high out of the organizing that takes place as you prepare. The sorting of the junk drawers- the cleaning of the closets. It's the same with laundry. I don't mind doing laundry. I love emptying the hamper- throwing them in, starting a load. But I absolutely detest putting laundry away. Almost as much as I hate unpacking a box. Any box. And now, I've got 300 of them, staring me down.
So, forgive the lack of pictures. Once I find the camera, I'm hopeful the amount of boxes will be less than a hundred, and that our current digs will resemble more of a cozy, temporary place to rest our heads- instead of one of those pods people use to store their stuff. Because right now, it's Chez Storage Facility.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Scenes From A Move
My house was packed.
The truck was loaded.
Everything was fine, until I realize that the 2 cases of wine that I lovingly, painstakingly collected had mistakenly been loaded on the truck. The truck that is driving through the country's hottest inferno.
I've now got 2 cases of vinegar that will make excellent salad dressing.
Sigh.
*************
We're at the furniture store, trying out different mattresses.
We didn't ship our old set- it is 12 years old and harder than a plywood shelf.
We've never tried a tempurpedic before. The saleswoman keeps talking about how great the "memory" foam is.
My husband pipes up: "Just my luck- it's memory will be so great it will say 'Hello fatty. I remember you. You gained some weight.''
*************
I've got 12 packs of gum in my purse- hopeful distractions during the long roadtrip ahead. Today, I gave my 4 year old a piece, and she chews it for a moment and then immediately hands it back. "Gum is too chewy, Mom." she says. Alrighty. Must find new distraction.
**************
I am currently crashing at my mother-in-law's house. She's got the volume of the television on the highest possible setting, and keeps a running commentary of her favorite shows. (America's Got Talent & So You Think You Can Dance). Please- if you don't hear from me soon, it's because my head exploded and I shuffled off to Buffalo to the nearest loony bin.
***
The truck was loaded.
Everything was fine, until I realize that the 2 cases of wine that I lovingly, painstakingly collected had mistakenly been loaded on the truck. The truck that is driving through the country's hottest inferno.
I've now got 2 cases of vinegar that will make excellent salad dressing.
Sigh.
*************
We're at the furniture store, trying out different mattresses.
We didn't ship our old set- it is 12 years old and harder than a plywood shelf.
We've never tried a tempurpedic before. The saleswoman keeps talking about how great the "memory" foam is.
My husband pipes up: "Just my luck- it's memory will be so great it will say 'Hello fatty. I remember you. You gained some weight.''
*************
I've got 12 packs of gum in my purse- hopeful distractions during the long roadtrip ahead. Today, I gave my 4 year old a piece, and she chews it for a moment and then immediately hands it back. "Gum is too chewy, Mom." she says. Alrighty. Must find new distraction.
**************
I am currently crashing at my mother-in-law's house. She's got the volume of the television on the highest possible setting, and keeps a running commentary of her favorite shows. (America's Got Talent & So You Think You Can Dance). Please- if you don't hear from me soon, it's because my head exploded and I shuffled off to Buffalo to the nearest loony bin.
***
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