Three Kid Circus

Overheard from the yard.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 12:22:44 -0800

"Stop bugging me! Be NORMAL!"

"I can't help it. I'm a Lauck."

Oh, goodie.

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 09:32:00 -0800

Just in time for the BlogHer conference, my hair has begun to fall out. Something happens every year at this time that makes my scalp decide to just let go of inhibitions along with handfuls of follicles. It has happened for the last 5 years. June through October. We're not talking a little hair, either - we're talking small ponytails, every time I shower or brush my hair or run my hands through my hair.

I am 99% sure it is my thyroid, for reals this time.

A few months back, I took a battery of tests, and one of them indicated that my thyroid numbers were still in the normal range, but were high-ish. A friend advised me to investigate further, and I learned that my numbers were actually considered outside the norm.

But okay, not everyone agrees on the number that indicates thyroid issues, and while my "symptoms" could easily be related to half a dozen other things - ie - can't lose weight? How's that desk job? I've got family history backing me up. Virtually all the women on my maternal side have thyroid issues.

Do I believe taking a little pill will magically reverse all the unpleasant physical changes that have been going on? No. But if it can stop it from getting any worse, I'm willing. I've got a doctor's visit for next week, and hopefully I'll be able to stop this infernal shedding before I'm flashing scalp this fall.

I've decided to ask Janeane Garofalo to play me in any future bio-pics.

Mon, 29 Jun 2009 20:00:38 -0800

Because this: is totally, exactly, 100% how my kids and I have been interacting

We had a good week of them cooperating, but then it got hot, and summer camps aren't happening for us this week, and we're just hanging out at home, taking trips to the swimming pool, eating popsicles and playing in the yard (and I'm working, and the husband has been on 900 business trips) but man, you ask 'em to clear a plate or pick up their toys, or refrain from yelling "JERK!" at each other and you get the dramatic sighs, and the slamming things down and the tears of woe and unfairness.

One more week of kids at home before they start up another week of summer camp... will we survive it? Will there be enough popsicles in the right color combos to prevent a "Jerk!" off?

Anything for you

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 18:40:26 -0800

Man, I don't have anything intelligent to say about the loss of both Farrah and Michael Jackson today, but I'm tempted to break out the curling iron and attempt a moonwalk in my own private form of mourning.

I sort of left the whole "drama camp" thing hanging, didn't I? Fact is, I'm still sort of stunned by what happened that day. Actually, let me back up a bit. While the two big kids were in drama camp, my youngest had half-day soccer camp.

I mean, okay, look at this kid. Is this not hilarious? She's running around with a flower pinched in her fingers. She loved every second of camp, except for that one time when she got hit in the face with a ball and cried for half an hour - but she didn't tell me about that until the next day. I'm sort of shocked that she attended a camp for a sport that she's never, ever played, and didn't know a single kid, and still had a fantastic time.

Now, it could be because the camp is run by a group of brothers who told the kids a story about their own youthful love of soccer, and how one time they were at home and their mom was at work and they had a game to get to or something and they STOLE HER CAR, but because they were TOO SMALL TO DRIVE one worked the gas and brake and the other turned the wheel and WHY GOD WHY would they tell that story to a group of 6 and 7 year olds? WHY? My daughter dismissed it as utter crap. I've gotten a good look at those former kids, and I'm betting on true, but who am I to argue with my daughter? Crap it is.

Okay, so! Saturday morning, we had to get up and out early, as it was Little League closing ceremonies. As one of the moms pointed out, that required thanking the league officials, and the coaches and managers, and the sponsors, and the parents, and the kids, and the doctor that delivered the kids, and the DJ who was playing that song on the night that the kid's parents met, and on and on... surprisingly, all three kids did not have issues.

Then, we quickly ran over to the quickie hair salon and got my son's hair buzzed off. A quick lunch at home and both kids were hustled off the the school for dressing and makeup before the play. I fully expected "issues" but there were none.

At the appointed time, we arrived, clutching flowers, and sat in our seats. And? The scenes went off without a hitch. My kids remembered all their lines, their dance steps, everything.

That's right, I said dance steps. My son was a singing, dancing fool to I'd Do Anything For You from Oliver! Look at the little fella!
He's the one in the blue shirt kneeling in the front.

Even more surprising - he growled like a tiger! On cue!

My daughter did fantastic. Yay for tween girl drama energy.

Here she is as the snarky larkspur from Alice in Wonderland

And pretty in pink veil with bonus red, demonic eyes as Jasmine in Aladdin.

Can I just say that aside from the productions? THERE WAS NO DRAMA. It was amazing. The whole day, all three kids were really, really good.

A week later, and my son is still sneaking up behind me, singing "I'd do anything for you, dear, anything..."

And then I give him a chore. Hah. Might as well work that compliant mojo.

She just rocks my socks off

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 18:30:40 -0800

For years and years, I've been telling my dear friend E to get herself a blog.

All the cool kids are doing it, I'd tell her.
Your art is amazing, and it should have a home online, I'd say.

She made charming, bashful aw-shucks noises and never got that darn blog going... until a few months ago.

Elise Durenberger is an amazing artist and scrapper-extraordinaire, and I'm so pleased to share her site with you: Mamacow Creations.

Seriously, will you look at the adorableness? I could just die from it. I've learned my lesson, though - scrappin' is best left in the hands of the pros.

Now, I just have to talk her into an Etsy store so I can gleefully buy her glorious handmade cards (and other fine art) for all my social occasions.

Get on over to her site and admire and comment and add her to your blogrolls!

Oh, Baby (Week)

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 14:18:36 -0800

BlogHer is partnering with Discovery Health to share some amazing birth stories in honor of Baby Week. It's like Shark Week... except with babies! Baby Week runs Sunday, June 14th through Friday, June 19th at 8 pm, with an marathon on Saturday, June 20th from 10am to 5pm, so you can catch up on all the episodes you missed.

The lineup looks amazing:
Twins by Surprise; LIttle Parents, Big Pregnancy; Births Beyond Belief; Obese & Pregnant; I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant and the Deliver Me season 3 premiere, plus Freebirthing and Double Identical Twins: Four Years Later. That's a whole lot of red-hot Baby Week action for you.

The Births Beyond Belief preview really resonated with me - with my first child, I had every intention of doing everything as naturally as possible...until about two hours into labor, when an epidural suddenly sounded like a fantastic plan. My son's birth was also (blissfully) under control with an epidural. But all hell broke loose with the birth of my third child, now six years old...

After a relatively fast (6 hours, no ruptured membranes) labor with our second, I suspected that my third labor could be speedy. As usual, I was right on the money.

My official due date was December 14, 2002. I had joked on my favorite discussion boards that I would no doubt deliver on Friday, December 13th. The afternoon of December 12th, I had groceries delivered. Feeling lazy, I put away only the perishables, and left the boxes, bags, jars and cans piled on my kitchen island. My husband brought home dinner, and we got the kids to bed at around 8pm. I went to bed, watched some TV, and finally fell asleep.

I slept fitfully. My son joined us around 1am, and I clung to the outer 18 inches of our king size mattress, dodging the flailing limbs of my snoring two year old. Around 3 am, I had a contraction. It lasted a full minute. I watched the glowing numbers on our alarm clock, but it seemed to be an isolated event. I mounted my body pillow in Child's pose and snoozed.

At 3:30, another contraction, again lasting a minute. And again, that was all.

At 4am, things got rolling. I visited the bathroom repeatedly, checking for leaking, but since I was wearing a maxi-pad the size of Texas, I couldn't tell. Contractions were coming every 5 minutes, lasting a minute at a time. I didn't want to wake my husband and the kids yet, and since my parents would have to come and get the kids, I kept thinking it would be nice if I didn't wake them for another hour or two. I also experienced a moment of panic realizing that my neat-freak mother would be arriving to groceries stacked all over and a generally trashed home. I got over it.

I made some coffee for my husband, and then decided I should pack bags for the kids. The contractions were just too much, and I gave up, and sat in a semi-reclining position on our couch. Our Christmas tree lights were twinkling at me, and I breathed through the contractions. At 5 am, I figured I should wake my husband and get my parents moving, since I wanted pain meds, and things were starting to get intense.

Now, my husband's morning routine is the source of much hilarity in our circle of family and friends. He must drink coffee while reading the paper in an upright posture (preserving the line) so that he can proceed to the bathroom at the precise moment, sports section tucked neatly under his arm. A shower immediately follows. However, this whole business usually takes an hour, and I was in LABOR. I believe I made a few pithy comments along the lines of "Oh, just GO already!"

I called the hospital, and informed them that I was in labor and would be arriving soon. The receptionist was very perky and didn't seem to buy it that I meant business. She said, "okay, well, why doncha have some light breakfast, and take a nice shower, and then come on in and we'll check ya."

I then called my parents who asked "Are you REALLY in labor?" Um... shuddup and get over here, already!

I spent the next half hour watching Christmas lights and thinking of a special friend and her Christmas time birth experience. I felt connected to laboring women everywhere. Meanwhile, the contractions seemed to get longer and longer, and I couldn't wait to get me an epidural. Giddy-up, Husband!

At 6am, we shooed my parents out the door with both kids in weird outfits chosen by Grandpa from the laundry pile. My husband walked me out to the car, and I reclined the seat after clasping the belt around my copious belly. I was wearing a lovely blue velour dressy pantsuit, but still managed that je ne sais quoi that comes from rolling out of bed at 4am. I swear I was in one solid contraction from the time we pulled out of the driveway until we arrived at the hospital 20 minutes later.

I walked quickly with my husband trailing behind (men!) to the elevator, then into the L&D where Nurse Perky awaited. She was all "Okay, let's get your card and get your forms..." I gritted my teeth and said very clearly "I WOULD LIKE SOME PAIN MEDS NOW." She smiled and said "Okay, well, we've got your room all ready. Let's get you into your gown, and get a listen to that baby..."

She leads me into the room, hands me a gown and a cup for a urine sample and traipses off to her desk. My husband returns to the car to get my bag. I waddle into the bathroom, wondering how the heck I'm going to get a urine sample, when it dawns on me that the pressure I feel is not just another bowel movement waiting to happen.

I get into the gown as quickly as I can, and then open the door to my room and say to Perkybutt, "Uh, I feel the head coming"

She smiles and says, "Okay, let's get you up on the bed and see if we can check your progress, okay?" I heave myself up onto the bed, she snaps on some gloves, and performs a quick check. Her demeanor changes immediately. She throws back her head and bellows "SHE'S COMPLETE!" Suddenly my room fills with (apparently) every doctor and nurse on the L&D floor. It was very three stooges. They ripped the foot off the bed, turned things on, turned things off, told me to not push, to push, yelled names and titles at me.

All the while, I felt a sense of ease and complete control. Despite the whirl of action, I was very at peace. My husband moseyed back in just as I began to push. I grinned at him, told him to get the camera. He looked bemused, but also took it in stride. One push delivered the head, and the next our baby emerged with wide open eyes and a startled look. No doubt she was feeling rushed, too.

We arrived at 6:20. The baby arrived at 6:29. After my placenta delivered and my tears were repaired, it was determined that I was still bleeding problematically. Despite a round of Pitocin, a short nursing session and several brutal rounds of massage, it continued. The doctors suspected a tear in my cervix, and needed to take me to the OR to repair it.

And so I DID get my epidural, after the fact. My husband stayed with our baby as I was fixed up, and I was reunited with them 40 minutes later. I was cracking the corniest jokes imaginable the whole time this was going on. Interesting to learn that in times of stress, I become a raging dork. I could be dying, and I would be cracking one liners. Great.

It was a wonderful birth. It coincided with the biggest storms of the winter. As the baby and I relaxed in our room, my husband returned home to the big kids, who were sick as dogs. It was so peaceful to be snug and warm with my new baby as storms raged outside. The nurses spoiled us rotten, and I was grateful for the night of alone time with my wee one. I left the hospital in good health and spirits the next morning, with the baby nursing and sleeping like a champ.

Check out the rest of the fantastic birth stories from BlogHer Moms at the roundup page.

Drama for Virgos

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 18:51:21 -0800

My eight-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter are attending a two week drama camp held at their elementary school. I'll admit, my motivating factors when registering them were not pure, exactly. I didn't think "hmm, what enrichment activities would rock their socks off, and allow them to blossom?" I was more interested in the 9am to 3pm 5 days a week for two whole weeks. Plus, you know, enrichment, blossoming yadda yadda.

After the school variety show this year, where my daughter's act was not selected (she and two friends had decided to sing Caramelldansen. In Swedish. Swedish-ish) she came home with a burning desire to perform. Drama camp sounded perfect, because not only does she want to perform, she is also a ten-year-old girl and therefore dramatic. All the time.

My son, however, while an eight-year-old boy, and therefore also dramatic, also all the time, is not as interested in performing. He does like to play imaginatively, and he was also old enough to attend so you know how hard I thought about that. One kid out of the house for two weeks, or two kids? What Would Jenny Do?

At drop-off this morning, one of the instructors came running out to the car to ask me about my son's quirks during the program.

Eh? Quirks? My kid? Surely not.

So, it turns out that my son is hanging on the periphery of the acting exercises, and is sort of brushing off the instructor's request to join the rest of the group in pretending to walk through a swimming pool through of Jell-O. He's looking a bit lost, she said, and doesn't seem to want to let go and throw himself into the process.

I spluttered about it being his first experience with acting exercises, and how he can be a little reserved, especially if the requested behavior is outside his norm (don't get me wrong, the kid is a regular goof-ball, but more on that in a minute.) She assured me he isn't being disruptive, or messing with the group mojo, however, she did hint heavily that there is a waiting list for this camp filled with kids who are super-enthusiastic about theater, and would just love to take his slot if he's not enjoying himself.

Here's the thing - while I made my kids both play baseball, sometimes at gun-point (not really) I'm not into forced enrichment as a rule. So when I picked them up on the first day, and both kids were talking at once, full of excitement about the first day at camp. They ran in eagerly on the second day, and both kids came out all fired up on day two.

I gave the teacher a bit of the stink-eye, I'm afraid, and I said "well, he's assuring me he's having a great time. He's coming home excited and eager to return the next day." She gave me sad eyes and said - when we were casting the roles for our showcase, it became apparent that your son did not specify any preferences in roles. He didn't even officially try out for anything.

Oh noes! I thought to myself. I don't care if they make him a tree, or a lamp, or whatever. He's obviously not very clear on the concept of what he's doing there.

With a final sigh, she mentioned that when they asked the kids to pretend they were dying of thirst in the desert, most of the kids dropped to the floor and writhed about, moaning. My son, however, called his (insert water-squirting pokemon here) to give him water, and he was saved, and also still standing, unlike the rest of the poor unfortunate actors.

You give the kid a problematic situation to act out, and he just moves right through to the conclusion.

"He's a Virgo," I said, by way of explanation.

This afternoon when I picked the kids up, they were again bubbling over with joy at the day's activities. My son apparently is going to be not only a pickpocket in Oliver, but he's also got the role of a tiger who gets to bite the pants right off of another character.

I'll give those ladies some props, because if there is something my kid knows how to do, it's pick a pocket. And biting the pants off? That's old hat for the original Nudito Bandito.

It's got to be better than this.

Thank you, Charlie.

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 18:06:17 -0800

Today was the first day of Drama Camp for the two oldest kids. Upon pickup my son recited a list of all the new friends he had made.

Elliott, Blake, Michael, Sean... and he spelled it out for me S. E. A. N.

At that point, my six year old chimed in from the back seat: Sean the nonbeliever! Seaaaaaaaaaaaan!

Three Kid Circus, on a log.

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 11:56:47 -0800

June2009_ 027, originally uploaded by mizzjenny.

Friday never sounded so good

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 10:47:23 -0800

The kitchen has been stocked with groceries. The kids are dressed in playclothes and are sort of playing nicely with each other while I work. I'm not ready to call it yet, but I think we will have survived week one of summer vacation.

Every excuse in the book

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 06:44:21 -0800

I was up at 6 am, but no walk today. Why? Because I have a knot in my muscles in my upper back, and while I know and you know that exercise would only help, since it is probably a stress-ball, I'm sitting here sipping decaf and reading blogs.

Bah.

I wish the dog seemed more eager to walk. Yeah, let's blame it on the dog.

Covered in sticky notes

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 19:55:27 -0800

Oh, my friends. Summer vacation is upon us, and the weather has been rather bleh. The mornings have been socked in with fog and chilly, and the skies don't clear until mid-afternoon. It hasn't exactly inspired me to pack up picnic lunches and take the kids to the park. It also hasn't inspired me to grocery shop, although the lack of milk is going to force my hand tomorrow.

What with my daughter's broken arm - and believe me, I'm tempted to put that in air-quotes but the orthopedic whoever said oh yes, broken, must have short arm cast, bring her in on Wednesday so hello another co-pay - and the crappy weather, my big plans for daily swimming haven't happened yet. And I haven't gotten up at 6 am to walk the dog/myself yet, but I set the alarm for 5:45 and thought about it today.

Seriously, last year I was gleefully waking up at 4 am to begin work, and I keep wanting to switch myself back to that schedule, but something happens around 4 am now, where I fall into a sleep so deep and drooly it is like I've been clubbed into unconsciousness. I have crazy, vivid dreams and if I try to wake up before 6 am, I'm completely disoriented and deeply disgruntled.

In my defense, the dog doesn't seem to be all hot to trot at that hour anyway. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

Yesterday, my son's baseball team won a trip to see the San Francisco Giants play the St. Louis Cardinals at SBC Park. My husband and I love to go to baseball games, and we've tried to get the kids into it, but so far we are not successful. We decided to go anyway, and it really was a one-of-a-kind experience.

We arrived at the ballpark at 9 am, and were treated to a special talk by some of the San Francisco Giants players and coaches and broadcasters. My husband sat rapt and attentive, while my girls whined and moaned about being starving.

My son, on the other hand, was visibly and audibly vibrating after having eaten a bowl of oatmeal at home, followed by two doughnuts on the bus down, plus a couple of fruit rollups, a lollypop, a granola bar, some juice, whatever else was in that bag. Holy moly. His brain was putting out a high pitched buzzing noise.

I played with my new camera while the guys were tallking.

Hello Travis Ishikawa!

Hello Mike Krukow!

Hello Tim Lincecum!

Hello Tim Flannery!

New cameras are fun. Of course, it helps if you remember to charge the batteries all the way, so the stupid camera doesn't die when your family gets the chance to walk on the field in the parade. Sheesh. Thank goodness for the iPhone in my life.

Again, the kids were unappreciative of the awesomeness of getting to do that, but DJ and I soaked it all up.

Once we got back off the field, we made our way up to our seats in the bleachers. My 6 year old curled up in my lap, ready for a nap (which, seriously? Why the heck won't she take a nap at home, if she's going to do it?) DJ took the kids to go down the Coke bottle slide (more power to them all, I say.) By the time they made it back to the seats, the game was underway, and my entire butt and part of my legs were asleep from balancing my sleeping kid on my lap.

After a few innings of whining, we cut our losses and headed back to the van. We listened to the game on the way home, and were delighted that they Giants managed to pull off a win.

Back at home, we had a mellow evening, including many jokes that revolved around trying to stick a giant, er Giant, foam finger in places where it just doesn't belong. Number one, baby.

Today, I worked like a mad woman while the kids did their level best to stay out of my hair without destroying anything. They did pretty great actually. One day at a time.

I'm trying to be a non-yelling mom this week, so I'm working on my Lisa Stone whisper of serious seriousness. This elicited a great response from my six year old, who cupped her hand around her ear and said "EH?" like a granny.

The kids have been occupying themselves making flip books using post-it notes. They are pretty clever, actually. My son made one of a plant growing from a seed. My oldest made one of dancing frogs. My youngest broke the mould and made me a series of three notes.

I (heart)

+ 100

They are stuck on my wall above my desk. I'm sure it will be a nice reminder when the novelty wears off entirely, and Summer, The Reckoning begins in full force.

Worst mother in the world, part 900

Fri, 29 May 2009 20:33:37 -0800

Last weekend, I was on the phone with my mom when I heard a blood-curdling scream from the front yard. I got off the phone and headed for the front door, and was greeted by my 10 year old daughter, clutching her arm and yelling her head off.

It seems that some sort of game had gone awry as they typically do around here, and my son fell or stepped or something on my daughter, driving her hand into the ground and bending her wrist back.

Despite the initial howling, within 5 minutes she was reduced to snivelling, and an icepack, a dose of tylenol and a call to the Kaiser advice nurse had us convinced that she had maybe, MAYBE a sprain, but she was probably fine.

There was no bruising. There was only a tiny bit of swelling, and nothing that indicated a break. She had full range of motion and was not complaining of any pain. So we carried on through the final week of school with little disruption of our activities.

One of her baseball games was canceled, and when she was still mentioning that it "felt achy" when she let her arm dangle loose against her side, I kept her home from practice and made a doctor's appointment.

My husband took her to the appointment this afternoon, and he said that Dr. Hot thought it was nothing too. But the xrays showed that whatever the main bone in the forearm is was buckled by some sort of impact. She was sent home with a wrist brace, and we're expecting a call from the cast people on Monday.

3 weeks minimum. This effectively ends her baseball season, not to mention any plans for swimming for the next little bit. She's bummed about the swimming, not so much the baseball, but in any case, I feel like a jerk for not getting her in to be seen earlier.

Then again, even the doctor was fooled, until the xrays came back.

On another note - the final day of school came and went, and today was the first day of summer vacation. It was pretty darn okay, considering.

A difference of opinions

Tue, 26 May 2009 18:51:09 -0800

I do most of my grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. For the few things I need that they don't carry, I typically shop at the Safeway around the corner from my house. And yet, whenever I send my husband to the store, he always goes to the Raleys that is not only farther away, but more expensive.

I rib him about it, and demand that he shops where I shop, but no. He goes out of his way to not shop at the Safeway. This has been going on for several years now.

Finally, yesterday, we had a break-through.

"I just can't stand it when they hand me my receipt and call me Mr. Lopez." said my husband, looking sheepish.

Apparently, 10 years or so ago, the Lopez family had our telephone number. And the Safeway computers are convinced that I am Mrs. Lopez. Now, I've told them several times at the store that I am NOT Mrs. Lopez, and they've scrawled a 1-800 number on my receipt and told me to call and update the records. I forget about it until the next time. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"You know that it isn't their fault - I just haven't called to change the name on their records, right?"

My husband gives me A Look. You know that look. The "sitting on your ass eating bon-bons all day again?" look. I gave him A Look of my own.

"I kind of like it. Mrs. Lopez is my alter-ego. She's my secret identity, and no one knows that it is NOT Mrs. Lopez, but in fact Jenny Lauck who is buying all those rolls of toilet paper and gallons of milk. Bwahahahahaha!"

He didn't say anything after that. We got in the car and drove on home. I could tell he was thinking on it, though. We can be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, except not assassins. We'll just be incognito grocery shoppers. That's sort of the same thing, except with more savings.

Doing our part (again)

Sun, 24 May 2009 18:49:43 -0800

Oh, we've gone and done it now. We went out and purchased a new car for the hubs this weeked. Just like that.

Except it wasn't exactly unplanned. The timing was sort of a surprise, but the need has been there for years.

See, my husband bought his Acura Integra back in 1991 and he's been driving it ever since. Not too long after he purchased it, he was rear-ended. Body damage repaired (and chiropractic care obtained) he got back on the road and kept on driving it.

When we first started dating, I jokingly planted a fire-engine red lipstick kiss on the driver's side window, and there it stayed for months. He washed around it, no joke.

He also won me a stuffed animal at the fair, and we had it buckled into the back seat for a few months, until someone broke into the car and stole not only the stereo, but the toy as well. Bah.

When we lived 100 miles apart, we put a lot of miles on that car. I got my engagement ring while sitting in that car. (He had put it under the passenger side seat. OH YEAH, BABY. THAT'S ROMANCE.)

The years haven't been kind - the once shiny black paint is weathered, especially on the roof. The stereo fades out, and requires an occasional smack on the console. The antenna has been gone for years. The weather stripping is missing on the trunk, and rain leaks in. The window tinting is peeling, and for a long stretch last summer, the driver's side door would not open from the inside.

You can imagine my delight about driving into valet parking at BlogHer last summer and having to roll down my window to stick my hand outside the car to engage the door handle from the outside.

This winter, I was driving into the office at 7 am, and the radiator hose blew off (I think) spraying fluids and belching smoke. We had it towed to the mechanic and put back together one last time. We knew the practical lifespan for the poor thing was approaching the end, but we decided to keep driving it until it died. Even with all the problems, the car was still getting over 30 miles to the gallon, and with a 40 mile commute each way, fuel use is a major consideration.

My dad recently returned to work as a car salesman, as my parent's business (home staging) is very slow, with the economy being what it is. That, combined with a bunch of sales events and rebates and all is what nudged me to act this weekend.

I woke up on Saturday morning and said: "Hi, let's go buy a car today!"
My husband said: "What?"

And then we did. We are now the proud owners of a 2009 Nissan Altima Hybrid. It is very pretty, and has so many bells and whistles that I think it will take us a month to program everything.

Even weirder - THERE IS NO KEY.

There is a "start/stop" button. You have this little remote in your pocket, and you can just leave it in your pocket, walk up and open the car door and then you sit down and push the start button, and it doesn't make any noise because of the electric engine and then you just drive away. Then, when you are done driving? You just push the stop button again. It's... weird?

Totally weird. But cool!

I'll post pictures tomorrow.

So, what with our piano purchase, and now the new car, I think it is safe to say that the Lauck family is doing our part to show consumer confidence. The Acura is now parked at the curb, and we're debating whether to try to sell it or donate it. If I could give it to a nice farmer who would let it graze and enjoy its senior years, I totally would.