Mother of All Muddlers

Welcome to the Sports Center,.. Proceed with CautionThere

2012-02-07T08:54:00.000-08:00

There are all sorts of news stories and public service announcements talking about getting outside and playing with your children. With childhood obesity on the rise –the CDC reports that since 1980, obesity prevalence among children and adolescents has almost tripled – it is important to make moving and exercising fun. But I am here to provide an important PSA directed specifically toward you: you are no longer the spring chicken you think you are.

I am all for putting down that electronic device you are addicted to (and you know you are) and playing with your kids. But let me offer you the 10 rules for playing with your children:

10. If your child is the quarterback of his football team and he asks you to play catch; don’t. The work lost by jamming all your fingers as you attempt to grab that little rocket is too expensive at your age. You need all those productive work days in order to pay for that little cherub’s college.

9. When playing Twister, if the move to put your ‘left hand on yellow’ requires you to contort in such a way that you can’t tell your hands from your feet, gracefully bow out. Believe me, between all the vegetables and ground sirloin in your freezer, you don’t have room for those big ice packs your physical therapist is going to require you to use at home in between sessions.

8. Monkey bars? This is a perfect opportunity for ‘do as I say, not as I do,’ unless you want to have double jointed shoulders for the remainder of your adult life.

7. If you think that ‘double under’ refers to your chin and not a jump rope; please don’t attempt any rope jumping at home alone. You will require a spotter.

6. If your youngster is calling you a ‘wuss’ for not trying to balance on a floatable board on a swell of water on anything other than your belly, smile politely and sit your butt right back down on that towel.

5. Same thing goes for boards that move on concrete. Do I need to say concrete one more time?

4. Do you know when a diamond is not a girl’s best friend? When the girl is pushing forty, they are black and they come in multiples. This is a time when more is not necessarily better.

3. Trying to return any sort of ball with your head is not encouraged. Children’s brains do not fully develop until they are well out of their teens. I think this began with the prevalence of soccer.

2. If the last time you went roller skating it was referred to as er,.. roller skating and you needed a key, take it slow.

1. Proceed with caution when taking your high schooler to the gym. Exercises don’t always match their names. For example, cutely named ‘jumpies’ and ‘burpies’ aren’t quite so cute after you’ve survived 50 of them. However, other exercises, like ‘suicides’ are exactly as they sound.

Other than that, tie up those shoes, put on those knee pads, pop some Advil and have fun!

Full of Thanks

2011-11-16T20:42:00.000-08:00

November is the month many people take time to think of what they are grateful for in their lives. The latest phenomenon is updating Facebook statuses every day with something that has made the person posting full of gratitude.

I’m not that organized. My first post of the month was something about giving a shout out to the employees at Home Depot for not pretending I was invisible. This is what usually happens when I venture into the cavernous maw of that store. Honestly, I can’t think of anything more boring to shop for than home improvement items, so I spend as little time as I can in those kinds of establishments. Probably because while I always knew I didn’t have a green thumb, in my maturity (okay, old age), I also realize I do not have a home improvement thumb, either.

However, for this trip I was looking for seeds for a kindergarten science lesson. Not only did the friendly employee help me find some big seeds that little five year old fingers could deftly plant in a paper cup, he pointed out an easy care shrub. I made a pact with myself that if I could keep the shrub alive for a month, it was a sign that my aptitude for homecare was changing and I might venture on to a flowering plant, vegetables, or even a home project.

Well, it’s almost a month later and the shrub is still alive! I am considering this my Grandma Moses moment – she didn’t start painting until she was in her 90’s. I even have a few decades on her for my personal revelation. So, shout out to you Home Depot.

The next day, I believe I posted that I was thankful it was no longer October. That is because after a month of scary movies, scary pumpkin patches, and scary decorations everywhere, I had reached my scary limit. I realized this after I spent a half hour trying to prod a Barbie car into the bathroom with an extended light saber. You see, there was a long, dark leg peeking out from behind the console in the car. My mind extrapolated how big the body would have to be of whatever mutant spider was attached to that leg, and I tell you, it was as big as my German Shepherd.

Once I had maneuvered the car into the bathroom, I had to muster up the courage to actually touch the Barbie car in order to put it into the bathtub. Then, I had to muster up more courage to turn on the shower water – but I had visions of the very large spider leaping out and attacking me.

After five more minutes of deep breathing and trying to look cool, calm and collected in front of my three year old, I turned on the water. I waited for the Barbie car to fill and flood, killing the mutant spider. You know that saying – you learn something new every day? Well, it’s true. I learned that Barbie cars don’t hold water. After about five minutes of soaking that car in a boiling hot shower, the water level never got above the white plastic seats.

Even though the Barbie car didn’t flood, about five more minutes passed and I was sure the spider was dead. The beast’s leg bobbed up and down, but didn’t move. I must have scalded the thing to death. Now was the time for me to meet it face to face, but I didn’t even want to see its lifeless form. Until this moment, I thought I only had an irrational fear of dentists and heights. Now I know I am also deathly afraid of spiders.

Taking the light saber, I removed the dripping car from the bathtub. Carefully, slowly I lifted the front end of the car up, so the drowned spider would tumble forward into my view. Do you know what came sliding out onto the bathmat? It was a spider alright - a plastic Halloween spider ring. I had wasted 45 minutes and given myself heart palpitations from stress – all from doing battle with a plastic Halloween spider ring. So, once I finally disposed of the ring, I gave thanks that I could put my frazzled nerves to rest until the next year’s Halloween activities.

The third day of November, I think I gave thanks that I could react quickly to parenting situations. Like when I decided against leaving my five- and three- year olds girls unattended for a few minutes in their room while I did laundry, after hearing a conversation that required them to say the words “dog” and “makeup” in the same sentence.

On the fourth day of giving thanks, I gave a silent high five to the universe for being a safety net to my own stupidity as I try to raise five kids. Our family was gathered– all seven of us – in the T.V. room. I had a glow about me as I surveyed my brood – together and cozy. My husband was reading a book to the little girls. My oldest two sons were glued to a football game. My middle boy was watching a Netflix movie on my iPad. I was updating my Facebook status.

Then my middle son ripped out his earbuds and exclaimed,” That was the best movie EVER!”
It was at this moment I realized that even though I was no more than eight feet away from my kid, I had no idea what he had been watching.

Afraid to ask, but knowing I should, I posed him the question: “What movie were you watching?”

He responded, very excited, “Beavers!”

I think I was a little ashen when I asked, “Uhm, was it about animals?”

Thankfully it was and I vowed never again to not flex my full parental rights before a person under the age of 18 used any device in my house again.

Those four days about ended my stamina for being thankful. Thirty days of thankfulness? I think I’ll stick to just the twelve days of Christmas, thank you very much.

Earthquake,.. on the East Coast?!

2011-08-24T09:37:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true. We Californians like to share, I guess. Did you know that one of North America's biggest earthquakes actually occurred on the Mississippi River in the early 1800's? So this is not unprecedented, although unexpected.

I love this map, which includes what we call 'authoritative' data sources (from USGS data feeds and others - agencies that are responsible for tracking this type of information and we know we can rely on) and then data from the general public - you really get a sense of how strong the liquifaction of this quake was (so much soil on the East coast! Not as much rock as we Californians have) and how far away it was felt. Seeing information in geographic space can give you a better sense of an event, a deeper understanding of what happened.

Monday already?

2011-08-15T06:12:00.001-07:00

Father Robert Joerger, Debbie Philips, Father Edward Beck. Picture taken from Philips' blog.

Seems so, so I'll just send you directly over here to read a nice blog post to get you through today and many days to come - inspiring words from Father Edward Beck, a Passionist Priest in New York from a retreat he gave on Martha's Vineyard. Rob and I first met Father Edward at a retreat he gave at our Church. We are able to visit him periodically, primarily when he comes to the West Coast, but this past summer we bugged both him and Father Robert over in New York.

River Rats

2011-08-04T14:56:00.001-07:00

Our awesome home away from home! Yep, we had the double wide and we wore it well!

Seriously, the only thing I can focus on in this picture is that Froshy is really getting close to being even with me. Yipes.

Yeah, they look ready for bed, right? I don't think they can get any blonder without being dayglo colored.

I actually look... relaxed! Could it be because of no wifi or cell phone towers anywhere? Brown beast is peering over my shoulder.

Parker Dam, where we'd zoom to, cut the engine and fling small, life jacketed bodies out of the boat and into the river. I flund myself in as well, to keep the small ones from drifting far, far away.

Collecting river shells on the shore.

This is what summer time is all about! We had such a great time! Besides the sand bar incident. And the bouy incident. I didn't mind falling off the seadoos a few times. And I survived Froshy driving me into every wake imaginable when it was his turn on the 'watery-vehicle-of-death.'

Of dog poop and chicken lips

2011-07-08T20:26:00.001-07:00

So, the eldest, who is entering his freshman year of highschool and shall from here on out be known as Froshy, is taking summer school. Because he takes after his nutty parents, he is an overachiever. It helps that his best friend is also an overachiever, so I can pass the blame later on.

His summer school class is health. Which he told me today that wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. I don't think anything is easy when you have tests each week that have more than 80 questions on them.

He watched the movie Food, Inc. which I love, because a lot of the foodie authors I read are in the film. People like Michael Pollan who created the great Omnivore's Dilemma. I own the young reader edition (I know my own intellectual limits. Actually, it was the only version available when I had the urge to read it) I fail horribly, but I know how important good food is and I have five kids, so I really can't afford to be a delinquent in the nutrition department. I do my best.

Froshy and I are having a bit of a fencing match in the kitchen these days -

"Mom, which is better for you - ketchup or mustard?"

"Is there high fructose corn syrup in that?"

"Guess how many grams of sugar are in this serving!"

I'm loving it!

Tonight was a cafeteria style dinner with everyone eating a different time, between football and cheer practices and pick ups at friend's houses. Froshy told me he didn't want to eat red meat, since he'd eaten carne asada four times this week, and even he has his limits, I guess. So, I offered him my dinner - chicken and brown rice, sans the Trader Joe's Red Thai Curry sauce.

I fed the dogs some of the raw chicken that had too much fat on it for me to handle. He asked if we would get sick if we ate raw chicken. Then he asked why dogs don't get sick. "Well, they eat their own poop, Froshy, they have stomachs of steel."

Don't bring poop up to a kid taking a health class. I had to listen to a diatribe on how poop won't make you sick since it comes from your own body. Yes, I know that, but I'm not going to eat poop any time soon.

Anyway, we got through the poop discussion. I added some watermelon to his dinner of chicken breast and brown rice. He actually told me thank you for dinner. We have crossed a huge chasm people. I simply can not wait for the other kids to come to the mother ship so I don't have to make mac and cheese or mickey mouse shaped chicken nuggets anymore. Patience, grasshopper.

The three year old, who hadn't eaten four meals of carne asada in the last few days, was eating left over tri tip. She had a question. "Why don't chickens talk?" (I'm assuming because we were talking about eating raw chicken.)

I've learned to keep quiet as long as possible, because I have become very uncreative in my 14 years of having to answer these types of questions. Froshy as a preschooler would drive me to tears with questions and insisting I read every street signs as we flew down the Interstate.

I waited for hubby to answer. "Because chickens don't have vocal chords," he responds.

To which Froshy responded, "Actually chickens do have vocal chords. They don't have lips." (don't you love teenagers?)

And then hubby, being very mature asked,"Then where did the term chicken lips come from?"

At this point it really went downhill, so I fed them all ice cream.

"

Thanks Washington!

2011-07-03T20:46:00.000-07:00

I've spent a great few weeks with the kids on vacation up in Washington. I spent enough time there that I feel like I'm going back to my chameleon ways - you know, the lizard that is known for blending in with it's environment. I adapted to the great northwest again, tossing my Southern California ways aside. I had given up my sequins and high heels for plaid and comfort shoes. I was starting to feel the urge to trade in my BMW for a gas friendly hybrid.

Sequins and bright colors just announce to the public that you aren't actually from the area anyway - natives come equipped with skin so white from lack of sunshine, who needs to compete with clothes that also glitter and glow? My teenager actually commented that he'd never seen so many pale people in his life. Nothing wrong with that - as we become preternaturally wrinkled from extended sun exposure where we live, Seattlites will be popping their vitamin D tablets and having the last laugh.

I did find that my urge to wear plaid was kind of like the same feeling you get when you go on holiday somewhere like Disneyland. You walk into a gift shop and think the Mickey Mouse emblazoned outfits are cute. Only do you realize when you put on that tuxedo jacket with the tiny Mickey heads all over the fabric does it not work anywhere outside of the Happiest Place on Earth.

I have to say it's tough to pack for three weeks away from home when you have five kids. You think that the Chevy Suburban has a vast amount of space until you load up suitcases, scooters, hockey gear, coolers and snack food. Then you realize that clothing options have to be restricted. And as the kids get older, their clothes get bigger and less outfits can be packed. I'm limited to four of each item, even for me - shirts, pants, sweaters and shoes. That means I need to be smart about my clothing choices for extended wearabilty - I'm limited to grey and brown - the colors of dirt and grubby fingers.

It's been so nice to hang out with family and friends - go to the local lake and catch tadpoles, visit playground's and eat meals together. Fill our gullets with as much great roadside lattes and copper river salmon as possible before making the trek back to the sunny, but dusty brown inland area where we live in SoCal. Thanks Washington, for being incredibly green, amazingly only cloudy with a very few showers and full of tasty food and beverages.

Brussels

2011-04-18T19:46:00.000-07:00

That's what this post is about. Okay, the sprout. Nothing as amazingly romantic as the city in Belgium. There are a couple of vegetables I haven't made friends with - brussel sprouts and beets. I hate anything that comes out of a can, unless it's refried or baked with brown sugar. That kind of limits the veggies I like that I was introduced to back in the days of my youth when canned veggies were a cool thing to do. Now, my mom is an amazing gardner - she had an amazing garden when I was a kid and I loved to eat sugar snap peas, anything salady, carrots, rhubarb and strawberries. So, why the hell she decided to feed us beets out of a can, and I think maybe brussel sprouts, I do not know. Now, as an adult, I've tried to be an adult about beets, but I don't like them fresh either. I just think that veggies should not be sweet. I don't really like sweet potatoes unless they are baked in a pie, fried as a fry, or mixed with so much brown sugar and pecans, you'd think you had dipped into a casserole dish of praline heaven. So beets, unless I find a way to wedge them on a popsicle stick, well, we aren't friends. I thought the same of brussel sprouts. Now, they aren't sweet, I know that. But the brussel sprouts of my youth were slimy, glutenous masses of green that could pass for snot. (love you mom!) So, when my five year old told me she wanted to eat brussel sprouts, I did the "Mmmmhhmmmm, that's nice honey." thing I do when I'm working at home and not really listening to what the kids are saying. Which happens maybe more than I'd like to admit. Well, I had to go to the local veggie stand in search of a green strawberry basket, since I just realized a few minutes ago that Easter is indeed this Sunday, which means I have to get party stuff ready for two preschool girls. Which includes ferreting out green strawberry baskets. Since I'm also in charge of the veggie tray at one of the school parties, we stroll in and pack our basket full of goodies. Lo and behold - I find brussel sprouts! I point them out to the five year old, who is extremely excited. Bringing them home means googling recipes. I find some that sound intriguing, but I can't get past the guilt of taking something so fresh and good for you and roasting it with bacon or slathering it with shredded cheese. So, I opt for the boil a bit, then pan fry in a scant bit of butter (for color) and salt and pepper. Delish! How could I not like brussel sprouts? I like spinach, cabbage and broccoli - now I've encountered their long lost friend. The five year old is beside herself and has thirds of her brussel sprouts. I finally confess that the reason the kid wants to eat brussel sprouts is becuase her beloved cartoon character on Nick Jr. eats them. Shout out to Nick Jr. ! How exciting that my kid came away from the tellie not wanting to go purchase Froot Loops or a Zhuzhu pet, but brussel sprouts! My gosh - watch more TV, kids! The boys at my homestead, I must say, were not quite as enamoured with the new vegetable. When the 11 year Z-man found out it was a cartoon pig who was to blame for the green stuff on his plate, he announced "Well, guess what's for dinner tomorrow? Pork chops!" Not such a good sport, that one.

Tsunami

2011-03-11T05:38:00.001-08:00

Praying for everyone affected by the earthquake off Japan and resulting tsunami.

Cavemanbistro - Helping you eat the paleo way!

2011-03-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

My good buddy from college, Craig, who married another good buddy of mine from college, Alisa, has a new Website featuring some of his most awesome dishes.

Craig has worked at a variety of restaurants, as you'll see in the about the chef section.

He uses simple ingredients, relying mostly on fruits, veggies and meats. This is great for gluten free eating (take note, in-law sibs).

Check it out here.

Eat Healthy for Free! (Kinda,..)

2011-02-24T07:34:00.001-08:00

I just found out that NBC is creating a cool new show about opening 'America's Next Great Restaurant.' Aptly named 'America's Next Great Restaurant' one of the judges on the show is the founder of Chipotle Restaurant. I love Chipotle. Why? Because they are YUMMY. They are FAST. They serve BEER. And they are healthy - trying to serve organic food as much as they can - someday the market will actually support their endeavors so you don't have to be faced with a placard apologizing that their chicken that day isn't free range because they ran out. We'll get there, folks.

As an advertising campaign (this is genius, in my mind) they are offering a buy one get one if you watch their 90 minute promo. I'm a big lover of the Food Network and all their crazy food shows because I could never be that creative. And I am a big lover of the Food Truck culture - bringing eclectic, yummy food to the masses. Our only food truck where we live is the Kool Kactus, but I can deal with that. They are great. Not only do they have the best fish tacos ever, but yummy spinach enchiladas. I know, sounds gross, eh? But don't knock it til you've tried it.

Okay, I'm running out of time, gotta get ready for a full day of preschool fun that involves sushi, ballet, tap, and tumble bus, all before noon.

Go here to learn more about the offer.

You are Where Live

2011-02-18T06:33:00.000-08:00

I posted here about a great new app my company created that can be used by - yes ADULTS and children alike - (ask your child to help you out, it is 21st century technology,..)

Okay, even if you haven't honed your skills on that app, here is an even simpler one and one that you can play with and fret about for hours on end,...

Because, just like we are what we eat (and today I am a stack of Thin Mint cookies, thanks a lot evil girl scouts,..) we are also where we live.

Did you know that where you live has an effect on whether or not you have a heart attack? Just listen to Bill Davenhall, one of the people I get to work with, as he addressed a TED conference (cool innovative conferences that have people like THE NAKED CHEF and last only a few minutes each, for those with Adult onset ADD, like myself.):

And it is perhaps not the fault of childhood innoculations, but instead where you live, that is attributable to autism. Here is one of many articles,.. and another,...

And while you should weigh every opinion and fact, it is always best to be equipped with the most information possible, right?

That's where this fun little app comes in handy - it's free and can help you find out what toxic chemicals and other risk factors are knocking at your door. Then, it goes a step further and helps you save and keep track fo this information so you can bring it up at your next doctor's visit. I use this as frequently as my iPhone migraine headache and blood pressure logs.

Let's see what wonderfulness I am harboring due to my place history. And I am the perfect person for this, since I have lived in a lot of places in my 40-ish years. This map is not including outside of the U.S.

Geomedicine

So, go here and map out your place history.

Fun blog from a friend

2011-02-16T06:44:00.000-08:00

Who says kids can't help your social life? And who says that social media doesn't keep the friend fires burning? I feel so much richer being connected, even in a technology sort of way - to many people I have no time to bond with in reality. Perhaps that sounds lonely, or condescending, or robotic - but with five kids, a job, a house, a husband, and the need to sleep and perhaps work out every now and then, I rarely even call my mother on a regular basis. (sorry Mom!)

Any hoo - I met this fun lady when our now 11 year olds were in a preschool together - it was a 'teach the parent' school that was wonderful and the expectation was that we would attend, learn with our child, and help teach the class as the year went on. We attended required parent seminars every Wednesday - which as sooo nice because it meant you got to sit down for an hour without your kid (God knows I love every one of 'em - kids I mean!) and eat yummy snacks, because our instructor had heard that if people eat while learning, they retain that information for a longer time. I have applied this in my work life, and while I don't know if this is scientifically true, it has helped me win friends and influence people - do not belittle the power of a home baked chocolate chip cookie!

Here is the link to her blog - I am constantly learning from her - and I hope you will too!
http://shuttfamilysimplelife.blogspot.com/

It's all fun and games until an app gets you arrested,..

2011-02-08T08:25:00.001-08:00

I was exiting the pizza party - which hubby craftily scheduled to combine all three of the basketball teams he is coaching so we wouldn't have to eat pizza for the next week at individual parties - and my iPhone came alive of its own volition.

Granted, after taking care of two preschoolers who were feeling a bit under the weather all day, and trying not to strangle the 9 year old while he attempted fractions/spelling words/multiplications tables, and then taking the 14 year old to orthodontist and physical therapy appointments all before said party, I was a little tired.

I had just checked my iphone calendar hearing hubby would be scarce on Wednesday evening. After, I threw the phone back in my purse. Leaned over to strap preschoolers into their seats. Threw purse on middle console and hoisted myself into the big SUV.

As I was turning on the car, I heard talking and some weird '70's music - you know, the chuckah chuckah wow wow kind of thing. I looked at 14 year old and asked, "what is that?"

He shrugged.

I realize it's coming from the bowels of my purse, so I dive in to find my phone lit up and having a little party. I look at the screen, which is somehow on Youtube and looks like a newscast. I exit out, only to come to the screen that shows the category of video I was watching.

Turkey Porn.

I kid you not. I don't know what that is, but seeing the p*** word with four of my five children under the age of 18 in the car, I quickly exited out of youtube so fast, it would make your fingers bleed. And then I yelled at my 14 year old, who was laughing so hard at this point, he could barely breathe.

"What were you doing with my phone?!?"

"Nothing! Why would I use your phone when I have one of my own?"

"I don't know!?! Maybe because you didn't want to search for turkey p*** on your own phone!"

I find myself looking out the rear view mirror, knowing the sherrif's department is just across the street and wondering how long it'll take the officers to come and take me away in handcuffs for insidious behavior.

The 9 year old pipes up - "What's turkey corn?"

I'm think quickly - "It's corn that turkeys eat."

To which he says, "Ewwwww,.." (I don't know why this would be gross, but as I'm sweating right now and trying to change the subject, I don't worry about it.)

Then I say: "I know, it is kind of fowl!" Hahahahaha.

I then try and change the subject. "So,.. what kind of icecream does everyone want tonight???"

We listen to the three year old repeating "Turkey corn! Turkey corn! Turkey corn!" for the three hour drive home. The drive is only a mile? Well, let's just say it felt like three hours.

Thnking of Egypt

2011-01-29T19:34:00.000-08:00

These days have been tough, hearing about the uprising in Egypt.

I was only there for a few years, but what a wonderful few years they were. My big J turned 2 and 3 there. He attended the most wonderful preschool where he learned Arabic (his most hated subject), was very popular (we were always late and the kids would line the cement block fence and chant his name - I'm finding that's the same for him these days, when at his 4.0 assembly for 8th grade, there was a disturbingly loud squeal from many girls as his name was called and he shuffled to the stage,..) The kids made beautiful, yummy powdered sugar crescent moon Rhamadan cookies as well as had Santa saunter in on camelback.

My little Z-man travelled to Egypt when he was just 3 weeks old. I will never forget hubby holding him against the door in the Olympia, Washington Kinkos' to get his passport photo taken. Having to hold his little head up, but hide his hand at the same time. The ignorant idiot yelling "why does he need a passport when he's so little?!?!" And us answering him: "So he can go home."

What is so mind-boggling to me is that I just recently read an article on how Egypt was on the top of the list of vacation spots. Then the next day, total chaos. We were there during another smaller uprising. The Isreali Ambassador, our neighbor in El Ma'adi where we lived, airlifted their family out at that time too. I told my work friend not to visit. We laid low for a while. Then, we were on the move to Luxor, K having just been born back in the states, me staying with my parents for a while, getting my bearings as a mother now with three small children, moving to a foreign country, a new city. My dad came home early from a meeting to let me know that the twin towers had toppled; I wouldn't know when or on what continent I'd see my husband again.
That prompted a move to the Philippines, to get out of what hubby's company at the time thought was too much of a liability - having the only American family in Luxor at the time.

I'm watching news, tweets and facebook closely. Reminicsing with old friends who have moved, checking in with others who are still there. Thinking about those who I have lost contact with over the years, hoping they know how much we are all rooting for them and praying they are safe.

A facebook post from a friend made me smile: "Al Jezeera reported gunfire in my old expat neighborhood in Cairo. They were trying to block the entrance to Ma'adi. Here's a repost about what's happening from a CNN reporter & former neighbor, Ben Wedemen: "My wonderful wife has handed out baseball bats, clubs, kitchen knives and tea to neighbourhood patrol."

I remember going through orientation with this woman, who at the time, who wasn't half the fierce warrior she sounds like she is now. I remember Wedemen getting shot while on field reporting duty in Israel; all of us ex pats coming to their aid - not that they needed it, they are strong people - and making sure they and their kids (very small at the time) were recovering okay. Saying hello at our neighborhood hangout - Cafe Greco -way better coffee than Starbucks (sorry!). I visited the real Cafe Greco in Italy and giving a picture of it to my hangout in Cairo.

Hearing that this is being thought of as a game changing event - the Berlin Wall, the Ayatollah in Iran loosing power,.. wow.

I hope this beautiful country pulls through. I know it will. Egypt has been around for a long time and they will continue to live strong, proud and beautiful.

What I Did for Christmas Vacation

2011-01-21T17:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, that's a misleading title. Because first, I'm going to tell you what I didn't do for Christmas vacation - I didn't deal with a projectile vomiting infant on Christmas Eve, nor did I deal with taking a kid to the ER on Christmas Eve with croup. I didn't loose a child (although I did loose a couple of dogs, we'll get to that later), and I didn't embarrass myself in front of my children with a bunch of board games (although I did do that with adults).

What I did this Christmas vacation was get through it with the skin of my teeth, I flew on the wings of angels, I skirted imminent doom.

Let's start from the beginning, which would be the week we were prepping our own sleigh full of two large dogs, gazillions of presents and five tiny children. That week I was packing, taking the 14 year old to his last physical therapy, getting him to the doctor to get his leg brace removed, making sure that the 9 year old's newly rebuilt front teeth were okay (that's a post for another time,..) and planning his last neuro/psych testing, squeezing a little work in, getting the dogs groomed so I could stand to be in close quarters with them for two whole days, dealing with the last of the football banquets, attending the Christmas performance for two preschoolers and oh yeah, doing laundry so I had something to pack.

The morning before the morning we were slated to drive up from So Cal to the grey Northwest, I got woken up at 3:30am. Not from one of the wee-est babes, but from the 11 year old. Okay, seriously, my first thought was "Really?!?" as I rolled my eyes and stomped into his room. Now, cut me some slack. I'd just come off of a week long bout with the newly turned three-year-old who sported a 103 degree fever for that entire time. I was a tired momma.

The 11 year old was crying and saying his stomach hurt. I did what every blue blooded mother would do and ran down the laundry list of home cures each time he called me into his room: try to go to the bathroom again; have a drink of water; here, eat a cracker; Omigawd, take this antacid; for criminey's sake, it's now 4:30 and I have to wake up in 30 minutes to work, come to bed with me, justgobacktosleep.

By 4:45am we were downstairs with him on the coach, me clenching my teeth warming up my computer and searching WebMD. Daddy had left for work.

By this time the kid is begging me to call the doctor. I feel bad interupting said doctor, as I'm afraid to be classified as a stalker, or some sort of freakish attention seeker. Remember, I had just been to said doctor with the three year old for her fever. I was sure she had pnemonia - but it was simply a virus, just had to wait it out. We go there so often the doctor recognizes my voice on the phone. We are known collectively when we visit as "the family." I wasn't about to just pick up the phone and call about a tummy ache.

By 5am I couldn't stand it anymore and called the doc. She recommended we go to the ER straight away. The ER is about 30 minutes away, three towns down. I called hubby. He agreed to turn around on his way up to the mountain for his last day of work until the next year, and meet me at a local gas station to do a little relay race with the kid.

I shook my almost 13 year old awake, told him he was in charge, and I'd be right back. Drove 11 year old to daddy, handed him off, and called the babysitter, who arrived a half hour earlier than she was hoping. Called preschool and told them I wouldn't be able to work in class that day. Called yet another doctor and told them I wouldn't make it for my other son's appointment. Stuck hair up in a ponytail, ate some toothpaste, found some shoes and hit the road.

On the freeway, the texts started coming - "Does Z eat dirt?" "How about pencils?"

A few minutes go by, then the text "It's his appendix." I respond "wow."

Next text, "he's scheduled for surgery this afternoon." I respond "WOW."

Then the last text, "But we can still leave tomorrow as planned." I respond (we are all adults here, right?) "WTF?"

To which I get a hurried text "But we don't have to."

Kid is in surgery before noon, I call my friend who is a nurse at the hospital and she holds our hands.

Find out it is a Seventh Day Adventist hospital, which means there is no meat, which I can deal with, but also NO CAFFIENE. This is such a departure from all the Catholic Hospitals I've become accustomed to, having had three babies and a foot operated on in them; there's a Starbucks in each one and I think also a wine bar in the reception area. But my friend hooks me up and we find the coffee pots stashed around the floors with real coffee in them. I'm saved.

The kid does great, his nurse hits him with so much morphine I feel like I'm in that Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day, every couple hours he gains consciousness and asks me the same questions, "Did they take out my appendix?" "Where's daddy?" (there is no glory for a mother,..)

I spend the night and am so exhausted I actually feel like I got a good night's sleep.

We leave the next morning and go home, so I can continue to drug my son and pack. We don't leave the next day, but we leave the day after. We are every little bit of insane.

Now, there is divine providence here, or at least some serious grace happening here. I go white thinking about what would have happened had we been on the road and had to pull over to some rediclinic on the side of the freeway? It makes me realize how fortunate we have been to be safe on all the lunatic adventures we have taken our brood on, and that someone is watching over us and indeed, we are given all we can handle. Dengue fever and malaria? Okay. Burst appendix in some tropical country? Not so cool.

Then, if that wasn't enough, on the way home from our wonderful Christmas vacation we again escaped a horrible run - the Grapevine (I-5 north of L.A.) was closed. Now, if we had left the day before, we would have been trapped, on the side of the freeway, with literally thousands of other travellers. In freezing temperatures with five kids and two dogs. In a suburban. Over night. When I told hubby this, he started laughing. "Why are you laughing?" I asked him, getting a bit annoyed. "Because you're right," he responded. "It would have been horrible."

Instead, hubby had taken an extra day off work so we could enjoy New Year's Eve with our families. I'm so glad we did. What's a little side trip to Nevada on your way from Washington to California between family?

These Friends may be Geometrically Modern, but They aren't Square!

2011-01-21T05:59:00.000-08:00

My friend's cutie patootie daughter in a photo shoot of their gorgeously remodeled 1940's Portland, Oregon bungalow, credit to OregonLive.com. Oh bungalow, I knew you when you were nothing but a hole in the mud,..

From now on I'm just going to post the absolutely fabulous things my friends accomplish and fantasize it was really me. Much easier than posting,... No, really, a new resolution this year is to blog more than once a year,...

But I digress, please read on!

Congratulations Dartmouth Woman of the Year!!!

2010-12-28T05:44:00.000-08:00

My friend Liz Olimpio is bestowed this wonderful honor!

The Crane and I

2010-12-08T21:57:00.001-08:00

So, I'm married to a civil engineer. I do know, deep down inside, that he loves to play in the dirt and he spends most of his time, work and free, outside. Usually in jeans that by the end of the week, can stand up on their own. He continues what I can only imagine is his boyhood dream of playing with Tonka trucks in a sand box. But this time, Big Bear, California is his sand box.

He's been building this really cool bridge for the last couple of years. I like it because it means we can stay in a nice cabin on the weekends and go boating.

But I'm all about trying to be engaging and understanding what makes the man I've been married to for almost two decades tick. So I climbed the crane.

This wasn't just any crane, folks, this was a HUGE crane that he had to wrestle to get special permits for and have assembled up on the mountain top. It moves big pieces of bridge around and it's really massive. And tall. People stop on the side of the current bridge and take pictures of this crane. I've never felt the urge, but that doesn't mean I didn't respect the crane.

So when hubby asked if I wanted to go on top of said crane, I thought, "sure, why not?" Now, I am a pretty logical person, but there are a few things that kind of stand my hair on end. One is the dentist. But, no dentists operate cranes (that I know of) so I was safe on that count. The other is heights. Which is oxymoronish because I'm kind of tall. But I'm all for self preservation and the understanding that our bodies have adapted to keep us alive, so when my mind is screaming at me 'THIS IS REALLY HIGH! STEP AWAY FROM THE WAIST HIGH SAFETY BAR!' I tend to listen, if you know what I mean. Hubby - braver than me, as you can see by this picture:

Yes, these are my feet and it was really hard to look down.

Does the word "matchbox" come to mind here, or what?
Okay, I'll be honest. I thought I'd ask what I should wear to the crane visit. I was thinking maybe some nice tennies or flats. Something reptilian deep down inside that was all self preservationish told me to choose the super heavy hiking boots instead. The ones my husband gets all wistful about and measures for crampons every now and then. That's when I remind him I birthed him three boys so they could go snow camping with him and I could stay home at the spa.

This picture over here is the rabbit hole we emerged from after climbing about 500 little tiny yellow metal ladder steps. For some reason, I thought perhaps we would have a cute little bucket elevator take us to the top of the crane. Nope. We had to climb. Which meant focusing on the rung in front of me and not on the wrungs above or below. For about half an hour each way.

See this guy? This is the crane operator. This man climbs this crane EVERY SINGLE DAY. He spends his day in that crane. He has an iPOD, pics of the fam, about 500 bottles of gatorade and a bucket (if you know what I mean.) He sits there, nothing between him and 100 feet of airspace except for some safety plastic all day, five days a week. Wowza. And you know what? He was really nice and sane. Not what I expected from someone who sits 100 feet above the earth for hours on end and moves big pieces of stuff around all day. He used to be a marine. I think you need marine training to do that job.

Okay, so I told you that there was no elevator. Now, let me tell you what else: there was no clear path to the crane. We had to pick and choose our footing very carefully. It reminded me of hiking in the Sierras on a snow field where I had to tread in hubby's footsteps or incur instant death from dropping between boulders that held nothing but pretty snow,.. and air. Did I mention I was expecting a path?
So, yes, this is kind of an 'expose on cranes.' They are not for the suburban. Like me.
We had to figure out where to walk between ice patchs, a field of rebar, and large pieces of sharp things laying hither and thither. No path.
But, I made it! I ventured out onto the boom. I even allowed the crane operator to move the boom, while I was standing on it. I didn't make it to the crow's nest. I had my child's doctor's appointment to go to. Thank God for small favors.

2010-12-03T07:28:00.000-08:00

Black Fridays and White Oatmeal

2010-12-01T18:45:00.001-08:00

I did it. I braved black Friday. But I did it in a sort of cowardly way. I didn't venture out until about 6:30a.m. By then the crowds had cleared. When you open at 12:01 that morning, showing up six and a half hours later made me feel like every kind of non-achiever.

Because I was lazy (by black Friday standards) I didn't score the amazing deals I thought I would, but I did score most of my Christmas shopping done. In a mere six and a half hours. (hmmm,.. a theme seems to be happening here,.) I ransacked six stores with merely an eggnog latte to keep me going. I said "no thank you" to the electronics departments at both Target and Toys R Us that still had two hour lines when I showed up.

My last stop was Costco, to stock up for a party we were hosting the next day. Plus hubby had requested some stuff for work, that I quickly forgot. So I had to call the house to figure out what it was my better half was counting on me getting for him. Of course, no one answers the house phone. I was desperately calling all the numbers on my list that belong to some semblance of a family member. My last resort was my boy with a broken leg, who of course, answered the phone. (what else does he have to do, really?)

"Where's dad?" I ask.

"Outside on the rowing machine," he answers.

Hmm,.,. conundrum in a question wrapped inside a mystery - how do I get my question answered? I am desperate."Can you ask K to ask dad what it was he wanted at Costco?"

"Sure." Muffled yelling and threatening and gnashing of teeth. Sound of sliding glass door being opened and thrown shut. I assume the 9 year old has been dispatched on his mission. (A loaf of bread, milk, and some budddah,..)

K comes back and I hear muffled conversation. The broken legged boy gets on the phone. "Shrimp and white oatmeal."

Huh? I've been married to the man for 18 years and I've never known him to want to bring shrimp to work, nor to I have a clue as to what the heck white oatmeal is. Organic, they have. No white. I hate to do it, but I ask anyway, "Big J, can you pleeeeezzzeee go outside and ask daddy again what it is he wants me to get him at Costco?"

I hear a sigh, some metal clanking (which I assume is the phone firmly gripped next to a crutch) and then hopping. Sliding glass door opening. Hopping. Sliding glass door closing. Hopping. Muffled voices. "White tuna and instant oatmeal."

Yes, that makes sense. I promptly hung up on the child; I couldn't stand the sound of more hopping.

Mr. Skeeter's Holiday

2010-11-30T19:59:00.000-08:00

We lost a rat the other day. Actually, it was an evening. Usually, Skeeter the boy rat pounds on the top of his cage until the screen opens and then he hops on over to visit the other rat in a cage. Who happens to be female. Trying to figure out how to get into her cage is enough to keep him thoroughly engaged until the early morning, when I get up and pass by the cages, realize there is a rat missing out of one of them, notice the free rat, and shoo him back into his cage.

Of course, the morning of the day I'm hosting a party, the rat isn't in his cage. He's not trying to chew his way into the girl rat's cage. There isn't a rat anywhere.

Now, here is the conundrum of friendship and honesty: do I 'fess up and tell my friends there is an errant, rabid rat traipsing around my house (guard your children!) or, do I "forget" the rat has escaped and keep the truth to myself. I did mention the escapee rat. Kind of like oh-the-food-is-in-the-kitchen-and-drinks-are-in-the-cooler-did-I-mention-we-have-a-rat-loose? kind of a way.

The next morning I woke up to find toilet paper strewn from our master bathroom to under the chaise loungechair next to bed. Either we had a poltergiest, or Skeeter had paid me a visit during the ngiht. Not really sure which one is more disturbing.

Later that day, the five children were dispatched upstairs with a large flashlight, strict instructions to find the rat and then locked into the rooms until the rat was found. Thankfully, they found Skeeter.

Forget Oprah, here are some of my favorite things,..

2010-11-24T05:20:00.001-08:00

Yep, it's the time of the year - we are all stretching our wallets and our legs getting ready for Black Friday. Or flexing fingers and waiting in anticipation for Cyber Monday.

I'm always on the look out for something unique for the holidays. Even better is if I happen to know the creative person who made such a wonderful gift - I feel like it makes me a better person. I'm all about basking in reflective light.

Here are a few interesting gifts for you to ponder:

1. Mamba Point by Kurtis Scalleta

Fiction for young adults. I knew Kurtis when I lived in Monrovia, Liberia. I'll be honest, we didn't hang in the same crowd. But, he's now a fellow writer with at least two great books under his belt - what is not to love? And this one takes place in Liberia. You gotta love it. Check it out.

2. Chaos Cove by Leslie Downie - this is a friend of mine at work. Her first book - and our department (fellow writers) is so proud. Makes a better present than say, downloading one of my Best Practice series on Imagery, if you know what I mean. This is another tweener book. Just got my signed copy and can't wait to read it,..

3. And of course, my friend Father Edward Beck - he's got a few books, all great reads, as well as hosting a spirituality show with Chris Cuomo on ABC. Perfect for the holidays! He's the only person I would agree to accompany to a five star Bel Air restaurant,.. with five children.

4. I recently reviewed another book that I think would make a great stocking stuffer along the same lines as Father Beck's book - "Why God Matters".

5. Tired of reading and need something to do? Since I have a bunch of boys in my house (four of them aged 9 - 42), a rusted 1959 Chevy, a leaking water heater and the vision to transform the garage,.. in my garage,.. I thought this was interesting and a great price:

Seriously? The only time you will see me enter Home Depot is during the holidays because my hubby has a fetish for power tools and office supplies. (that's that other Depot - both leave me with eyes rolled back in head, frothing at mouth.) But really? $20 for some good quality tools? That leaves some serious cash laying around for that trip to Nordstrom after the holidays, cleverly disguised as the "Half Yearly Men's Sale." Thanks Nordies, for having my back.

***Bonus ***

And you need toonage,.. so please check out this awesome fusion funky jazz from this German band - I was honored to sing in choir with Pat Appleton when I attended highschool in Liberia, the very talented leading lady of this popular European group DePhazz. I love her even if most of the time she is facebooking in german,...

And we must not forget my new favorite friend, Chickee and her awesome jewelry made from vintage items - chandeliers, spoons, type writer keys,.. she's amazing. Her business is called Lizzy B's Vintage Found Jewelry. Visit her online store or Facebook page, but better yet, email her and discuss a one of a kind item she can make for your loved ones.

That's all my sage shopping advice for now, folks. Happy Black Friday, early!

Who's Kid is That?

2010-11-21T10:45:00.000-08:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while - lots of serious stuff going on - deaths and sicknesses and kids with broken limbs. Not too much to poke fun at, but we're coming out of that, don't worry. There is always a laugh at the end of the tunnel.

Halloween was a fantabulous time, even if the 13 year old fractured his femur the day before. He has some nice friends - they came and hung out with him even though he couldn't limp very far. He was just new to his crutches ("crunches" as his four year old sister calls them.) so he hadn't built up the speed or agility for limping door-to-door swinging a pillow case full of candy for a long period of time. What was worse was the fact that he had on a banana costume - so everyone just thought his crutches were props.

The girls had it all figured out this year and I can see a glimmer of hope that soon - maybe even next year - I will be meandering at the sidewalk while they take themselves to the door to trick or treat. I might not even have to yell "did you say thank you?" from the street.

And hat's off to my good friend - who is still able to dress her entire family in a theme - including her husband!!! So she and her two cutie girls were flowers and her husband was a bee. Ehem. Wasp. Macho wasp. My favorite quote of the evening was listening him explain to everyone who commented on his great costume that "Oh, I'm not a bee! Actually, I'm a wasp,.." Righttt,...

I guess my other friend dressed her husband up as a care bear. I'm still waiting for the blackmail pictures. I love having friend with cajones, and I'm not talkin' about the guys,..

We are now in the holiday tempest - frosted sugar cookies in the shapes of leaves have been baked and we're collecting baking items for the rest of the holiday fare - fudge, santa cookies, candy cane cookies, Chex mix,.. Oi.

Before this week of relaxation (made doubly relaxing because I have no desire to drag five kids including one on crutches anywhere besides the required physical therapy sessions) we had parent teacher conferences. I thought elementary conferences were tough enough - but middle school is so far taking the cake. (Can't wait for high school).

Parents hadwer all week, Monday through Friday, to hoof it to the middle school and meet with the teachers, who were set up at tables in the library and gym, and get the low down on their seventh or eighth grader. It's set up like speed dating, complete with a rating (A - F) at the end.

Sounds quick and easy, right? Wrong. It took me two afternoons and a total of 2 1/2 hours to talk to all my 13 year old's teachers. The kid is great; just ask his teachers. After they all had the same thing to say to me - "He's so polite," "He's so contientious," "He's one of my favorites, such a delight in class". All I could do was double check their roster - did they have the correct child?

Because that's not the creature that barrels through my doors at 2:20pm every weekday afternoon. Wow.

And instead of me telling the teachers all about my beloved babes - "He's shy," "She loves to read" etc,... They were telling me things: "I think it's great that J wants to be an engineer!" (He does?) How can someone spend so much time with a person and not even know them? Teenagers are definitely a new experience. Lord, give me strength.

Book Tour: Why God Matters

2010-09-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

Well, I messed up. I was supposed to do this book review last week, but life got in the way. I lost a friend. And worse than that, my friend left behind a beautiful wife, (also a friend of mine), and four wonderful children. Loss is hard. Trying to understand loss and death and why things happen is difficult, if not incomprehensible. Like my previous post about the dead cat, we all must realize that bad things happen, yes, even to good people. Life is hard.

That is why (I apologize now for the shoddy segue) books like Why God Matters: How to Recognize Him in Daily Life are so beautiful. This is a very short and easy book to read. Some may argue that it is in fact, too simple. But I think that faith is simple. Really, all it takes is to give everything to Him. That's pretty simple. But we humans seem to make things very complicated. I am definitely someone who has done this.

Sitting in Mass this morning, I had the honor to listen to a homily from a Deacon who works with the LA Diocese Missions. He has travelled the world, bringing his family to East Africa a couple decades ago, and most recently, visiting Haiti, where a diet staple is literally, a mud cake.

He reminded us that everything we have is a gift. And it can be taken away at any time. So, instead of fretting, we should enjoy our lives. And thank Him for what we have, as little as it is, as small as it is, as short in time as it may be. To not dwell in what should have been, but to be thankful for what we have, or had. And to go on living and giving to others.

These reminders are reflected in Karina Lumbert Fabian and Deacon Steve Lumbert's book. The fact that the author was born into the faith but her father was not, gives this book depth that makes it identifiable to many. I love hearing conversion stories, but as a cradle Catholic myself, I have to live with the fact that my faith lies in the mundane; I've never had a major 'ah ha' moment as a Catholic Christian; I've just always had to rely on the little bits and blurps of life and the small signs that God is present. God is in the mustard seed, not in the fireworks at the 4th of July, but as a narcisstic human, I'd like some fireworks now and then. It's nice to have a simple book bring me off my high horse and remind me that faith takes work, patience, and prayer.

As a practicing Catholic, I enjoy reading books from other Catholics' perspectives on how to incorporate faith into daily life. That is another reason why this book works; Catholicism, for all its beatiful pagentry and traditions, leaves many outside of the faith thinking that Catholicism is shrouded in mystery and hard to understand. But, we are ordinary people too, as this book exemplifies.

I would love to attend a bible study, I would love to attend a daily Mass. But the circumstance of my life make it not so. I would love to pull out my Bible and read a scripture or two each night, but I haven't quite acheived this, either. I should really read the daily Mass, or the Magnificat, but I'll be honest, I'm not too great at those either. This book is a quick read, especially if done a chapter a day for some reflection. This was a nice way to spend some time reflecting on my faith, remembering why I think there is a God, and realizing that I must continue to live in the Christian spirit.

It's nice to rely on some one else's rudder once and a while and see if you too, can steer yourself on the right path. I recommend this book to anyone needing a little nudge now and then, a reminder of what we espouse as Christians, whether Catholic or not.

As one of the speakers said to my beautiful friend during the funeral of her beloved husband and father to her children. He leaned on the podium and spoke into the microphone: "Look around you," he said to her as he pointed to the enormous crowd of friends that had gathered to pay their respects and show their support to the family. "You will be okay."

And, that is how faith works. To give it all up and realize that even in the darkest moment, He is with you and supporting you. It's in the faces of those around you. We are all loved.

Have a wonderful Sunday.

.