Watch me! No, watch me!

Looking Westward

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sun, 10 Apr 2011 22:19:00 +0000

Shot with my Hipstamatic for iPhone
Lens: Tejas
Flash: Off
Film: Blanko

On Drop-kicking the Drop-Leaf

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 04:44:00 +0000

Today I sold something.

A lovely piece of furniture, one I thought fit so perfectly in my home it was meant to be. A gorgeous drop-leaf desk with a glass-fronted hutch, it was once the perfect transition between our kitchen cabinets and the built-ins in the family room. It fit the otherwise unused area between the two rooms: now the area wasn't just a pass-through, it anchored and tied together both rooms. I knew it was destined to become a hub; the place where bills were paid, letters were written, photo albums created. Finding that piece of furniture and settling it into our house felt like one more piece of the puzzle...everything was fitting together perfectly. It felt like a sign that my life was on the right trajectory.

That's how things were then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We sold that house, somewhat upside down, a few years ago.

One of the things I miss most about the house we sold is the door jam in our kitchen pantry. It held the notches that noted how our children were growing. My daughter, with whom I found out I was pregnant on the first morning I woke up in the house, was gingerly propped up against it when she was barely able to stand; we laughed as we marked her "starting point." She practiced some of her Sharpie first writing skills on that door jam. My son's preschool years were noted there...and most of the way through his elementary school. Even my husband and I marked our heights there, laughing at how someday we'd watch those lines go lower as age took its toll on us.

Wasn't meant to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We carried this piece of furniture with us from rental to rental. It remained a hub for us. The place of homework, the place of nursing while typing one-handed, the place of discovering then abandoning then rediscovering then abandoning again (ad nauseum) Twitter, the place where my daughter learned to write her letters...and to scratch them into the desk (most notable, "Hi Mom").

But the thing is, moving that desk is a pain. Gone are the days when the purchase of a large item of furniture was not only financially easy, but also without thought to the future other than, "Oh, it'll be nice to live with this forever." Now we have to think, "Gah. Do we want to move THAT again?"

No, we don't. It's one more thing we're leaving in our wake. Bye-bye house, bye-bye door jam, bye-bye desk.

There is no trajectory. There are only decisions and consequences. And the simple fact is, sometimes things just don't go the way you thought they would.

So we shall see. The thing about not having a trajectory is that as much as it can SUCK sometimes, there is a little bit of excitement in the unknown. Maybe just around the corner there will be a pot of gold and unicorns and all manner of things wonderful.

Trajectories don't have corners.

Twelve Days of Technology

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 18:17:00 +0000

On the first day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me
Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV.

On the second day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV.

On the third day of Christmas,
 my true love sent to me  
Three Geek Squad visits,
 Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV.

On the fourth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the fifth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Five viral videos,  
Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,
 Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the sixth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me
 Six CD's queued up,
 Five viral videos,  
Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,
 And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the seventh day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,  
Five viral videos,
 Four photos printing,
 Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the eighth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Eight gift cards emailed,  
Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,
 Five viral videos,
 Four photos printing,
 Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the ninth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me
 Nine shows DVR'd,  
Eight gift cards emailed,
 Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,
 Five viral videos,  
Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the tenth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Ten friends a-poking,
 Nine shows DVR'd,  
Eight gift cards emailed,  
Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,  
Five viral videos,  
Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,  
And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the eleventh day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me
 Eleven RSVP'ers texting,  
Ten friends a-poking,
 Nine shows DVR'd,  
Eight gift cards emailed,  
Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,
 Five viral videos,
 Four photos printing,  
Three Geek Squad visits,
 Two laptops glowing,
 And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

On the twelfth day of Christmas,  
my true love sent to me  
Twelve Skype rooms pinging,  
Eleven RSVP'ers texting,
 Ten friends a-poking, 
Nine shows DVR'd,
 Eight gift cards emailed,  
Seven remotes controlling,  
Six CD's queued up,  
Five viral videos,  
Four photos printing,
 Three Geek Squad visits,  
Two laptops glowing,
 And Netgear bringing WiDi to my TV!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This ode to technology was inspired by the sparkling, amazing, unbelievable giveaway over at Blissfully Domestic. They have partnered with Intel for this full digital makeover valued at $1600.00, and it would be a Christmas dream come true to win it.

Forever Smiling

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 01:54:00 +0000

“Well, you’re lucky. Your son is so easy. Not like MY kid...”

I hear that often, and you know what? It’s true. I am lucky. I know that. My kids are smart, sweet, kind...best of all, they love each other. They love our pets. They love their schools and their hometown and their family and pizza. They are happy.

I’m lucky.

But.

But.

Lurking underneath that knowledge of my good fortune in the children department is this constant nagging, a branch scraping against the window of my contentment reminding me with its every tap that things used to be better. Back when money wasn’t a source of concern, when providing a secure, full life for our children wasn’t ever uncertain.

We were never wealthy, but we were comfortable. Things like piano lessons and shiny new supplies every school year were a given...as was covering the mortgage and car payments.

But the economy had other plans for us. We’ve sold the family home we thought our grandchildren would come to visit us in, are down to one car, and still struggle to make ends meet. Things that once we would have spent money on without a second thought have become luxuries that are now far, far down the priority list...for example, orthodontia for my twelve-year old son.

His teeth are fighting to find a place to settle; they are crooked, overlapped and creating havoc with his bite. Fortunately, my boy still smiles his gorgeous smile readily, laughs unabashedly, and isn’t really particularly concerned with the present state of his smile. Yet.

But I see his friends hide their smiles behind their hands, or stifle their smiles altogether...embarrassed by their crooked teeth. Or their braces. My heart breaks at the idea of my son suppressing his enthusiasm out of self-consciousness.

A couple of years ago, I became aware of the Invisalign Teen products. As the Health Editor at Blissfully Domestic, I had the opportunity to attend an Invisalign informational event being held in San Francisco (just a quick train ride from my little 'burb). Honestly, going in, I was totally skeptical. I imagined big, clunky retainer-like devices interfering with speech and giving the teeth a yellowish hue. After learning about the product, however, I found out not only was I entirely wrong, but that it was without a doubt the best course of treatment for my son.

The trays are virtually undetectable (I’ve literally had conversations with people wearing the trays and I had NO idea they were on), so that’s an obvious aesthetic bonus. I also love that the trays are removed for meals...no dietary restrictions, no excuses to not eat that apple.

Even MORE important, in my opinion, is that the trays are also removed while brushing and flossing. I had braces for four years, and it’s the one time in my life I accumulated fillings; it’s nearly impossible to adequately maintain healthy dental hygiene when you’re maneuvering around wires and brackets with your floss.

Then there are the less obvious benefits...for example, my son plays football. He could take the trays out when he needs to wear his mouthguard; it would be much safer and more comfortable than braces. My son also plays bass guitar and sings back-up vocals in a band; for performances he could remove the trays, keeping his voice unhampered and his smile free of braces glinting in the spotlights.

But for the past couple of years and for the foreseeable future, being sold on Invisalign and its benefits is simply moot. It’s not in the budget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m lucky, I know that.

But as we struggle to maintain normalcy for our family in light of our financial woes, the list of things we can’t provide for our children has grown over the years. We’ve exchanged a family home for a series of rental houses. We don’t vacation, buy new clothes at the beginning of a school year, or go out to eat. Maybe someday (No. Definitely someday.), but not now.

Why am I writing about this? I became aware of a contest; it’s an opportunity to win a smile courtesy of Invisalign. Thus this post is both a confession and a contest entry.

I’d love to give my son the gift of forever smiling...without interruption, without inhibition.

Lean into the curve

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 05:00:00 +0000

"Lean into the curve," she reminded me.

I was the tender age of twenty, and my twenty-two year-old roommate was schooling me on how to be safe passenger on a motorcycle. We were waiting for our dates to arrive, and I took her advice seriously.

When in a big turn that tilts the bike, you'll instinctively to want to counterbalance that by leaning towards the other side. Don't do it, just go with it. Lean into the curve.

It's scary, but here's how you do it. Grab him around the waist, and melt forward into him. Just watch over his shoulder. You can switch shoulders, but only on the straightaways. You can look left and right, but only your neck should move independently of his torso. The rest of your body should to follow his movements. When the bike turns, his body will tilt with the bike. You do the same. ALWAYS.

When the boys picked us up and I climbed onto the motorcycle, I was nervous. As we roared away from the curb, I looked to my friend. She looked confident and secure, and her words echoed in my head.

We made our way through some of the suburbs south of LA, and I spent much of my ride leaning into my driver, with my eyes shut. I was scared. Eventually I caught a whiff of the Pacific Ocean and with that I realized where we were. The sudden scent of the ocean combined with the the tilt in the road told me what I needed to know; my eyes were not needed in this situation. I took this route routinely for work and for play, and I recognized not only the scent of the ocean, but also the curve of the road we were on.

I inhaled.

I leaned.

I opened my eyes.

Everything was coming at me so fast...and yet, as I was in the cocoon that was my helmet, everything was peaceful. Sights, smells, the woosh of sounds...all blurred together as we cruised down the highway. I stopped being afraid. I just experienced the ride.

As the road wound its way to the coast, I heard my friend's words in my ears and I leaned into those turns.

As a bike tilts towards the ground while taking a turn, you'll be temped to do what you should do on a boat, which is shift your weight in the other direction. You have to fight that intuitive action and just trust physics to do its thing. You lean into the curve. It's what's right, even if it feels wrong.

Bunnies don't wear glasses

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 03:50:00 +0000

My daughter was just eating carrots. Without being asked or prompted or begged or bribed. Her sixth birthday was last week and it's as if some switch was flipped; she's proud of being a Big Kid, and she voluntarily seeks out situations where she can demonstrate her new Big Kidness.

She knew I'd be thrilled and so she skipped over so I could watch watch her chomp down happily.

"Look, Mom!" Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

I told her how happy I was, because carrots are so good for you.

"They are good for your skin! And your hair! And your eyes!" I blathered on.

She nodded.

I decided to dial it down a notch, so I said, "I mean, bunnies like carrots, right?"

She nodded again.

"And have you ever seen a bunny with glasses?"

She shook her head, crunching on her carrot.

"So, carrots MUST be good for your eyes, right?"

She nodded and bounced away.

Oh, my. She nodded. And bounced away.

She usually catches me when I try to pull a fast one over on her like that. I thought she'd roll her eyes and say, "Mooooooooooooooom! That's silly!"

But she didn't. She nodded.

And bounced away.

Someday, not tonight, but someday, it will be the last time she buys my goofiness. I won't know it at the time...but it will happen.

I'm glad it wasn't tonight.

Schwarzenegger's Assembly Bill Veto, complete with super secret hidden message!

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 17:35:00 +0000

Frankly, I don't know a lot about Assembly Bill 1176, whether it was a good idea or not, etc. I do know it was sponsored by Assemblyman Tom Ammiano and that he and Schwarzenegger have a rather contentious relationship.

Check out Schwartzenegger's written veto (emphasis mine):

To the Members of the California State Assembly:

I am returning Assembly Bill 1176 without my signature.

For some time now I have lamented the fact that major issues are overlooked while many
unnecessary bills come to me for consideration. Water reform, prison reform, and health
care are major issues my Administration has brought to the table, but the Legislature just
kicks the can down the alley.

Yet another legislative year has come and gone without the major reforms Californians
overwhelmingly deserve. In light of this, and after careful consideration, I believe it is
unnecessary to sign this measure at this time.

Sincerely,

Arnold Schwarzenegger

Ask my husband...I have the sense of humor of a thirteen year old boy. Soooooo...I freaking LOVE this.

The Wagons Are Circling Around Roman Polanski

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 00:52:00 +0000

As an undergrad, I had an amazing English professor. He was one of those rare educators who manage to not only make the course syllabus come alive, but also enlighten in ways that reach far beyond the classroom. He was intense, demanding, insightful, ruthless, dramatic, and above all else, passionate.

Once in a while this Immortal of Immortals (as we called him) would step out of the small, upper-level Literature classes from which I knew him and teach to an auditorium that allowed non-English majors. The subject? The Films of Roman Polanski.

It was interesting to watch him in this different venue, speaking directly into a microphone instead of with a carefully staged whisper. Trading the squeak of leather shoes on worn wooden floors for gestures amplified for an audience of 250. Frankly, it was wildly entertaining for us ever-so-special English majors to see him devour unsuspecting Math/Paych/Bio/Art/whatever majors (who thought that this was going to be an easy A) with his calculated retorts to what they thought was an adequate comment. "Adequate" didn't compute with Immortal of Immortals.

Nothing set him into a tirade more than when someone tried to explain the actions of an antagonist with an offhanded, "He's crazy." Of course, Immortal of Immortals loved this...he'd set up his audience with the question, "What do you think motivated {insert antagonist's name here} to {insert whatever fucked up thing the character did}?"

Inevitably a newbie to Immortal would raise their hand and say the dreaded word, "crazy."

And off he'd go.

"Why would this author spend months, perhaps years of their lives crafting this work, this character, to have them be so readily dismissible as simply crazy? Do you NOT think the author was trying to convey a message with this creation? Why would they bother to conceive, construct, and manifest this character, this situation, this oeuvre if not to convey a message? I highly doubt the message is that the character is, quote, crazy." ***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you've likely heard, Roman Polanski has been in the news recently. Because of the aforementioned class, I've got more than a soft spot for him as an artist.

That being said.

In 1977 Roman Polanski (age 43) had in his care a 13 year-old girl. Her mother dropped her off at Polanski 's house as the the famous director was supposed to take photographs of the child for a Vogue session. As it happens, Roman Polanski fed her wine and quaaludes, then despite her protestations and begging him to stop, he raped and sodomized her repeatedly. He violated her in multiple ways.

Polanski skipped the country to avoid sentencing. He's been living in Paris for the past 30 years, continuing with his directing career and raising a family. Last week, however, he got nabbed by the Swiss and is sitting in jail, waiting to find out if he'll be extradited to the United States to face the music.

Astonishingly, there are plenty of people who are defending Polanski's actions, and who believe his actions shouldn't be considered criminal. Take Whoopi Goldberg, for example...she claimed on The View that the drugging, raping, and sodomizing wasn't rape rape. Really? Have you read the court transcripts of her account, Ms. Goldberg? Sounds like rape rape to me. I thought you were a woman's rights advocate. Huh.

Maybe she agrees with Joan Z. Shore's Huffington Post article, "But there is more to this story.

The 13-year old model "seduced" by Polanski had been thrust onto him by her mother, who wanted her in the movies."

Ummmm...statutory rape isn't seduction. By definition. And Roman admitted that the girl was begging to be let go. Doesn't sound like any case can be made for "seduction." And so freaking what if the mother wanted her daughter in the movies. Ms. Shore's bio says she is a Co-Founder of Women Overseas for Equality (Belgium)...I'd laugh if I wasn't so disgusted by her.

Some make the case that Polanski should be granted leniency because his childhood in the Krakow ghettos ended with the loss of his mother at a Nazi concentration camp, and years later his happy marriage to Sharon Tate ended with her brutally murdered while pregnant at the hands of the Manson family. Unspeakable, unbearable horrors, for certain. But that doesn't mean he should get a pass at abusing others.

John Farr's defense of Polanski (also at the Huffington Post) even goes so far as to say, "And unless there's something we don't yet know -- for instance, that he actually wanted to be arrested to gain some sort of late-life expiation of his past sins -- then it's clear he thought he was safe going to Switzerland to accept that award."

So...because he wasn't anticipating being arrested, it's not fair that he was arrested? Seriously? By extension that means unless he turned himself in voluntarily, no arrest would ever be fair.

Sadly, according to this petition/press release, "Filmmakers, actors, producers and technicians - everyone involved in international filmmaking - want him to know that he has their support and friendship." Signatures include Woody Allen, David Lynch, Martin Scorsese, Wim Wenders, and hundreds of others. This press release also states, "Roman Polanski is a French citizen, a renown and international artist now facing extradition. This extradition, if it takes place, will be heavy in consequences and will take away his freedom."

Yes. It just might take away his freedom. Jail's like that.

The greater point is, however, the first sentence. "Roman Polanski is a renown and international artist."

That's the crux of the issue, for each of Polanski's defenders, from the above mentioned to all of the others who are rallying behind Roman. He's famous. He's talented. He's one of us.

Their hypocrisy is deafening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you've seen Rosemary's baby (1968), you remember the demonic rape scene in which Rosemary (played by Mia Farrow) realizes this "hallucination" isn't a dream, but it's really happening. It's hard for me to reconcile that the director who so accurately and sensitively portrayed the horror of being drugged and raped is the same man who did just that to a 13 year-old girl.

But maybe it shouldn't be. Art imitates life, and vice versa, no?

***While I heard variations of this speech many times, this is obviously not verbatim. In fact, I think I can safely say that if Immortal of Immortals read it, he'd be mortified that the quote was attributed to him. He was far more succinct and erudite...my best guess is he'd have given me an "A" for content, but a "D-" for execution.

I'm thinking this might be my claim to fame.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 05:55:00 +0000

Google these:

"watch me"
"eyes oozing green stuff"
"brain zaps" (okay, on this I'm ranked second)

Sigh. Still working on that Great American Novel.

On my destructive, co-dependant relationship with Sallie Mae. Alternate title: student loans suck.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 00:43:00 +0000

Dear Sallie Mae,

Remember how we met? Our mutual friend Financial Aid Office introduced us. She thought we'd get along famously, and even mentioned something about how we'd complement each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Financial Aid Office was right; I took to you right away...your easy-going nature was engaging and you were a blessing during a time of need for me. The fact that you were, literally, the only fish in the sea didn't factor in at all. Honestly. I liked you for YOU.

I think you liked me, too (glad you can't see me know, because I'm blushing).

When we decided to go ahead and tie the Loan Consolidation Knot, I did so with enthusiasm and optimism. Financial Aid Office officiated...how COOL was that to have the person who introduced us be the one to do the honors? That will always be a special moment for me. For us.

Oh, Sallie Mae. At what point did things start to sour for us? Was there any way around it? Could this situation have been prevented? I wrack my brains at night, going over and over our relationship...my stomach in knots, tears staining my pillow. It's all so sordid, so...insurmountable.

In retrospect, we never should have consolidated. I'm sorry if it hurts to hear that, but it's the truth.

Forever is a looooong time, and your 8% interest is just...ugh. I mean, really? Eight percent? Never to be renegotiated? I know, I know. I was complicit. I signed onto this relationship. But, Sallie, hon...remember. I was young. I thought I knew what I was doing. But the fact is, I didn't even know what compounding interest MEANT. Not really, not all of the ramifications. Not in my heart of hearts.

I mean, I had no idea that my student loans of well over 100K could double in just over a decade under certain circumstances. And they have, Sallie. They have.

It's not you. It's me. Well, actually...it kinda IS you.

You won't go to therapy with me. I'd be thrilled if we could find some satisfactory solution to this impasse. I am not one to shirk obligations, and I want to honor my bond to you. But I simply can't afford the minimum monthly payment on ANY of your plans. I just don't have a grand or two laying around at the end of the month. BELIEVE me, I wish I did. But we've had some major financial set-backs over the years. You know that...I've told you time and time again. So I have to keep deferring, which means more of that compounding interest, and up and up that principle goes.

And you won't let me break our ties. I'm stuck with you. I know, that stings. But it's true. You've dug in your heals with this 8% thing, but you won't let me go to someone with lesser rates. You're so obstinate! I know, you have every reason to be so. If I am not up to keeping my obligations to you, your buddy The Federal Government will pay them.

Nice. You've got YOUR back-up plan, but I'm not allowed to have a little somethin' somethin' on the side. You've managed to have your cake and eat it, too.

Where do we go from here, Sallie? I just don't know.

Sincerely yours (literally),

Christine

PS: I always picture you wearing gingham. You know, because of your name. Do you ever hang out with the Wendy's girl? She seems nice.

Crazy Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 04:50:00 +0000

One of the things I love most about where I live is that I can be on the coast in an hour or so. The ocean is the closest thing my brain has to a reset button.

The last time I was fortunate to be seaside, my children and I were huddled in a make-shift tent of blankets and towels. The wind was whipping so fiercely the next day I was wishing I could market it, but there's nothing like nature's free dermabrasion.

Anyway, as we were trying to keep sand from gouging our eyeballs while still making castles, a man with a huge backpack and a tiny dog settled down not far from us. He pulled a large orange tarp-like thing out from his backpack and flapped it open. We couldn't figure out what it was...a tent? A raft? A kite?

With what looked like a bike tire pump, he proceeded to pump this thing up. It ended up looking like a giant pair of bat wings; we still didn't know what it was. He threw some sand on it to weigh it down, and he left with his dog at his heals.

A few more people came along and soon the beach was dotted with these THINGS.

The things turned out, in fact, to be kites. The people, in fact, were surfers. Surfers who used the wind as well as waves to propel them.

Kitesurfers.

Watching them launch from the beach into the Pacific was breath-taking. One minute they were standing on the shore, all laden with hooks and ropes attached to large swaths of fabric, and the next they were dancing on water.

I watched and I drooled. I swear, my muscles were twitching, just aching to experience that...gliding over the water, jumping into the air and diving back into waves; they were both surfing and flying.

Eventually, a woman strode onto the beach and began the same ritual of pulling out the tarp, pumping of the bike pump. At this point, however, the winds had picked up even more and her tarp was whipping around making it hard for her to keep it attached to the pump. I watched for a few moments, and then headed towards her.

"Can I help?" I asked.

For a moment, she was quiet. She looked at me without expression; there was enough time for me to wonder if she was silent because she hadn't heard, or if my intrusion was unwelcome. I explained myself by gesturing to the wind.

She broke out into a smile and said, "That would be great. Grab this part here."

I grabbed the wrong part.

"No, here."

"Sorry." (Why did I apologize? I need to work on that.)

"No problem. Right here."

She asked me, "Have you seen us kite from here before?"

"No. It looks amazing. It must be incredibly physically demanding."

"It is. I am crazy. I am a crazy girl. This is what I've chosen. I'm a crazy girl...I didn't chose to stay home and crochet or cook or have kids. I chose this."

Okay, honestly, for a split second I felt a bit defensive (yet there was nothing judgmental in her delivery; she was clearly thinking out loud). But for the rest of that second, and for the following minutes, I chatted with amazing woman as we got her gear in order. She shared about kitesurfing, and I talked about my life.

Eventually, she also threw some sand on her kite and went off to put on a wetsuit. She asked me if I'd be able to hold up the kite when it was time for her to launch. I gushed that I would love to; the concept of being a part of this experience, however tangentially, thrilled me.

I filled my kids in on the details they weren't able to hear and waited for her to come back. I kept my eye out for her as we built more castles, as I read to my little one or read my own book as my boy read to her, as we shared some sandy sandwiches.

But then I saw her, Crazy Girl, in the water slipping her feet into her board while another wet-suited person held up her kite. Somehow, I'd missed her reappearance on the beach, and I'd lost my chance. The disappointment crept over me as I watched her take off, gliding across the water.

I looked at my kids arguing about how best to build a moat for their sandcastle, "NO! The moat should be a circle and we make a river to the water!"

"NOOOOOO! We bring the water to the moat!"

"NO!"

"NO!"

Even as I started to intervene to make sure their argument didn't continue to escalate, I was aware that I was so glad I chose to be the Crazy Girl With Kids.

With every choice, there is a loss.

Reset button pushed.

Did I mention my calfs are full of spider bite welts?

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 05:15:00 +0000

Earlier today, I was watching a spider.

As it slowly, slooooowly crawled up a wall, I considered my options. We're a "No-Kill Zone" when it comes to spiders in our home; we strictly capture and release.

My husband and I have always made a bit of a deal about it for our kids, "Bye-bye spider! Now you can be outside with your family and friends and not be stuck inside! Have fun!" Yes. We really say that. Honestly.

(Then, since we're already outside, we usually decide to barbeque, generally either tri-tip or ribs. YUMMM!)

Anyway, I'm watching this spider painstakingly make it's way up the wall. It. took. forever. Then, I literally gasped as it suddenly plunged to the floor in front of my eyes.

At that point, I started to feel guilty for the moments I considered grabbing it with a wad of tissue and flushing it down the toilet. (Don't tell anyone, but I sometimes do that when the kids are in bed. In my defense, I say, "I'm sorry spider. I hope you are like Nemo and make your way out of this mess." Yes. I really say that. Honestly.)

But! The spider awoke! It hadn't plummeted to it's death...in fact, as I watched, it made a left turn, trucked along for a while, and made it's way back up the wall.

Ooooooohhhhh....

It was spinning a web.

I'm so freaking out of touch with nature.

Like you haven't thought the same thing. Oh, you haven't? Ahem

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 04:00:00 +0000

I was sitting in my family room today, and this little bug flew past me. I don't know what kind of creature it was, just that it wasn't a fly nor a mosquito, so it was cool with me.

It buzzed around the room a bit, as if checking out the piano and bookshelf and sofa and walls. Then, seemingly bored, it made a beeline (HA! But it wasn't a bee!) out of the room. It proceeded to go through a doorway, and purposefully made an abrupt right turn to go down a hallway. It went right down the center of the hall, and deftly turned the corner at the next jog.

That buggie knew the floorplan of my house! My jaw dropped and I thought, "Wow, how fucking cute that the little bug totally knows where it's going!"

So, this is the type of gripping news you've been missing due to my blogging sabbatical. Stay tuned for more!

My Type of Motivational Posters Part Deux

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 02:41:00 +0000

Here's Part One...nearly two years ago. Sigh...where does the time go? Seems like just yesterday this blog was born and started being ignored.

Are women born this way?

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 23:53:00 +0000

Cutest part is the "mama" at 6 seconds.

I'm just a girl who can't say no. Well, I used to be. As of today, I am a bitch.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 04:06:00 +0000

There are many reasons I haven't been round these here parts recently, but there is a common thread that weaves through most of them.

Despite myself, I'm a volunteer-er. I'm a helper. I'm a go-to gal. I'm that one who people know they can depend upon in a crisis, a pinch or whatever. I say yes. I can't seem to stop myself. They neeeeeeeed me. I can heeeeeeeeelp them. Why should I not?

I'll tell you why not.

Beware the pitfall of consistently saying yes. The thing is, the one time you don't, it can throw the recipient of the unexpected, "No" into such a paradigm shift that things can get ugly. Fast. At first they waddle in circles for a few minutes, spinning their arms saying, "Does not compute. Does not compute. Danger. Danger. Does not compute."

Then things tend to settle into a comfortable anger on their part. After all, there must be some malevolent reason why their request was denied; you've always managed to find some way to rearrange things to help out in the past. This recent alteration in your behavior clearly indicates that YOU have suddenly turned into a dickwad.

Anyway, this is where I find myself. I've heard stories of it happening to others (oh, the irony), and now it's happened to me...I find myself the target of resentment and mistrust because I HAD to say, "No. Not this time." Ah well, deeeeeeeeeeep breath.

Coincidentally, I recently finished two other volunteer positions: the HUMUNGOUS main one that sucked the life out of me and my family for months (hundreds of hours over 13 months), and another far smaller one (errrmmm...probably about 40 hours spread over three weeks). Which means, suddenly, I am volunteer-obligation-free. For the first time in years.

Yowsa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so...you know how there are a ton of book/seminars/videos/etc. flying around out there about how awesome the word 'yes' is? Embrace 'yes' and your life will soon expand to the point of overflowing with sparkly goodness, true love, flying unicorns, and a fat bank account! That kind of crap?

Why does 'No' get a bad wrap? "Oh, it's so negative!" and "'No' is so limiting"..."'No' is mean and ugly and probably smokes behind the garage." You've heard it all before.

Not. true.

'No' can be a most freeing, honest, concise, and profound word. "No, I really don't need to spend seven bucks on a bar of soap, no matter how fancy the twine bow is," or, "No, that's okay, I understand," or, "No, that makes me uncomfortable." How about, "No, I can't attend your event; I need to stay home and darn twine to wind around the soap I make," or best of all, "No, I think I'd better not."

No, wait. I think this is the best 'No" of all, "No, I disagree. But we can still agree on other things."

So, I am reclaiming 'No'. No is not evil nor unfair. 'No' is just itself, and as Mr. Roger's taught me, what makes you YOU is what makes you SPECIAL. ~chucks 'No' under the chin~

What I am getting at is this...I pledge to you that starting tomorrow, No Watch Me Christine is going hard-core. I promise to say NO every day and to report back to you all the juicy details.

Does this mean I am going to actually report back to you daily? NO!

But, maybe.

I always keep my word.

Bye-Bye BlogHer Ads

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 22:11:00 +0000

Cleaning house here...getting ready to get this li'l ol' blog back up and running.

First thing to go...BlogHer Ads.

Buh-bye!

I'll be doing more cleaning, and soon she'll be fresh as a daisy and ready for spring!

WTF Blanket

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 19:40:00 +0000

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

My advice to the writers and producers of the Sex and The City sequel, because I think I am that important.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 02:29:00 +0000

Not too long ago, one weekend afternoon I was faced with a mountain of laundry (plus other random chores) and a quiet house (husband was out with the kids). That's quite a rare occurrence. The raining made it a cozy, stay-at-home afternoon...also rare.

So, I flicked on the TV and checked out the movies I could order from our cable company (again, a rarity). I wanted something mindless as I was going to be in and out of the room and didn't want to be bothered with a plot (I am so deep).

Sex and the City it was!

Despite the fact that I did occasionally watch the TV show, and admittedly sometimes even enjoyed it, I had no desire to go to the theater with my friends to ~~endure~~ watch the movie without being able to openly mock it. I mean, two-plus hours of Samantha's rasping double-entendres in her roller coaster delivery? In fact, double-entendres from all four of them? Hard to take.

(As an aside, my husband and I often entertain ourselves by lapsing into Samantha's vernacular to make anything sounds dirty, "Oh, you're go-ING to make an OM-elette, are you? Let me HELP you with the SPAT-u-LAH.")

Anyway, this movie fit the bill mindless visual and auditory entertainment. Sadly, though, after a while I found myself thinking...and remember, I was trying to avoid thinking; it was supposed to be a No Thinking Afternoon of mindless entertainment and laundry folding.

The movie predictably starts (well, after an odd montage from the TV show to bring unfamiliar viewers up to date on it's complex character arcs and plot points) with a voice-over from Carrie, which went something like this, "Year after year, twenty-something women come to New York city in search of the two L's...labels and love,"

Really?

Twenty-something women don't move to New York City because that is where their career takes them? Nor for access to museums and world-class restaurants and Broadway and kick-ass pizza by the slice, and the sheer excitement of living in one of the world's most diverse, fast-paced metropolises...and, and, and?

I shook that thought off, and as I watched the movie I was dumbfounded by that Carrie was so freaking obsessed with labels. Sure, designer apparel was also revered in the series, but at least Carrie brought her own Molly Ringwald "Pretty in Pink" irony to her wardrobe. None of that in the movie...it was slathering over labels for label's sake, even to the detriment of the other "L" (Opps! Sorry! Guess I should have warned to about the quasi-spoiler there!).

As the movie continued, I was struck by the fact that despite being released less than a year ago, it is horribly dated. The conspicuous consumption rampant in this movie, I thought to myself, just wouldn't be relevant in this post-October 2008 economy.

Yeah, and then the next day I found out they are filming a sequel.

One of the funniest things I've seen in a long, loooooooong time.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 22:47:00 +0000

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

Obama vs. Putin: A Chest-Off ~or~ Off of Whose Pectorals Does the Sun Glint More Brightly?

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 22:32:00 +0000

~~~~~~~~ or ~~~~~~~~

Remember, people, this is important. Vote early, and often (use the little scrolly thing...it ain't perty, but it was easy)!

Wii Fit can bite me

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 01:58:00 +0000

So, I got a Wii Fit for Christmas...I had my son, who is ten, hook it up to our Wii system. He's better at that than I am, and my time is far better spent losing at WordTwist on Facebook. He went through the whole syncing process, etc. (Oh, and I beg to differ WordTwist people...'lumen' IS a word).

When he got to the Body Test area (the one that would tell me my BMI is atrocious, I am sure), the freaking thing started to spaz (technical term). It kept telling us to "Step off the board and press A." Ummmmm...we are not on the board, NEVER were on the board. My son kept pressing A. And pressing. And pressing. And pressing...

My kids wanted to cry, so I spent ages online trying to suss out the problem. Nothing worked. Talked to customer service at Nintendo today, and after some shrugging on their end (I could *hear* him shrugging), they decided to try sending me new software. If that doesn't work, it's the plank for the board.

At least I don't know my BMI yet.

Why is there a helicopter in MY sky?

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 02:20:00 +0000

This morning my husband and I were lounging on our family room sofa...snuggled under a thick blanket, coffee still steaming hot. Our kids were in their rooms, all occupied with whatever, and so we just enjoyed a few quiet adult moments until the fun of the day really got started.

He was telling me about something going on in the neighborhood, or in the family, or at work...I don't actually remember, and frankly it's not relevant here. What IS is my response to his story.

Me: Do you know why?

Him: No.

Me: Ugh. I don't like a mystery.

(pause)

Him: YOU? NO! SURELY NOT!

(I blink slowly at him, unsure as to where this is going.)

Him (imitating me): Shhhhh! Is that a helicopter? I wonder why there is a helicopter flying over our house.

Me: (raising one eyebrow, as if to suggest, you really want to do this?)

Him (still imitating me): Whoa! There it is again! That's twice. I wonder what is going on.

(Pretends to dial phone.)

Him (talking into his hand): Hey. It's me. Is that Matt? He hasn't left for work yet?

(He nods, as if listening.)

Drag, I hate it when mornings start like that. Look, have you heard any helicopters fly over your house? They've been circling; they were flying your way. Can you see it? I wonder if it's the police or military or what.

(Stops talking and nods again, continuing to pretend to look out of a window.)

You can hear it? Really? Can you see it? Look out front; it was heading west. OH! It's turning around? Okay, I'll watch.

(brief pause)

Oh! There it is again! Something is definitely going on. No, you're right, it's the police. Hmmmmmm...I wonder...

At this point, tears are running down my face because I totally do that kind of stuff. All. the. time. If something is out of the ordinary, I try to figure out what's going on around me until I can create a narrative that satisfies me.

What's best is not that was he so spot-on in mocking some of my quirkiest behavior (which he totally was), but that I know he finds it endearing. Okay, perhaps not at the time when I force him to explore different "scenarios" with me (because, say, he is a captive in my car), but it's part of the package that is me, and he loves me.

It's nice to be totally understood, oddities and all, and unconditionally accepted.

It was a great way to start the day.

Who woulda thunk I'd do a "frugal" post?

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 07:27:00 +0000

So we bought gas today. No big whoop, right?

Yes, we paid just under 38 cents per gallon.

Seriously.

Check it out...we filled our minivan (I was running on fumes) for under six bucks:

It seems that our grocery store (Safeway) has some weird points thing...you spend money and accrue points. We've been accumulating points for ages. I had no idea.

The other week my husband was lucky enough to have a cashier who spent a few moments to explain just how valuable those points were. (*Warning, boring explanation ahead.) They are running a promotion...every "point" accumulated amounts to ten cents off per gallon of gas. We had thirteen points. That's $1.30 off the price of gas...so instead of 1.68 per gallon (which is already cRaZy cheap), we spent $0.379. Ummm...wow.

So anyway, when someone tells you it is too good to be true, don't believe them. It just might be that good. Or better.

Brain Zaps. A tutorial for the rest of you.

noreply@blogger.com (Christine) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 02:14:00 +0000

So, I'm totally off the Zoloft. It's been a looooooong process.

I started stopping in June, and I just finished stopping last week. I was only on 50 mg daily (which is the starter dose. It worked for me, so I never upped it; the max is 200 mg daily).

My weaning wasn't scientific, but it was gradual. I began every three days or so taking a half pill, or 25 mg. After a few weeks, I upped it to 25 mg every other day. Eventually I was at 50 mg every third day. After a while on that, I went to 25 daily.

Then the process started all over, with me halving the 25's (I asked the pharmacy to give me sixty 25 mg tablets, rather than thirty 50 mg). Once I was on 12.5mg per day, I gradually introduced days that I didn't take anything at all. That's the part that took the longest.

So here I am, five months later. I haven't had a single milligram in about ten days, and so far pretty good. I'm more emotional than I've been in years...I was never one to cry, and right now I can choke up at the drop of a hat. Frankly, I am thinking this is a good thing. More on that another time.

Right now I want to focus on the bizarrest of bizarre withdrawal symptoms. If you've been on an SSRI, you likely know what I'm talking about.

Yup. Brain Zaps.

Before I went on Zoloft, nearly three and a half years ago, I read about this phenomenon and thought, "That sounds awful!" Ironically, the anecdotal accounts I'd ready about it pretty uniformly said something akin to, "They sound awful, but they aren't. In fact, they are oddly pleasant."

They are tough to describe. Essentially, for me, a Brain Zap feels like an electrical current briefly runs through my head, starting at the back of my skull. Not unlike a friction shock, but totally NOT like a friction shock in that it doesn't hurt at all. Just the fun part of the jolt. And yes, if you've had a Brain Zap you'd know there IS a fun part.

Brain Zaps were always my cue that I was behind on my Zoloft. If I missed a day, and went too long the next day, sure enough...zzzzzzzzzzztttttt. Oh, right, gotta take my Zoly.

The strangest thing about this (and yes, the strangest part is yet to come), is the physical action that would proceed the BZ. It seems BZ's require, again, at least for me, a quick eye movement. Not a simple annoyed eye roll (if that were the case, I'd pretty much have them constantly when running low on Zoly).

No, it requires a faster motion than that.

A quick over the shoulder glance.

Eyes darting to the other side of the room because I think one of my kids is trying to sneak some cookies.

A sudden look upwards after opening our hall closet because something is about to fall on my head from our overstuffed hall closet that I keep nagging my husband to sort through because I am not tall enough to reach the upper shelf otherwise I'd do it myself.

(oh, sorry for that tangent.)

Anyway, that's the Brain Zaps.

Here's what I didn't expect. I am still getting them.

They are, however, far less intense than anything I'd experienced while actually on Zoloft. There is just this faint little zzzztt. Kinda like Zoloft is saying Hi! Remember me? We used to hang out? Ummm...thought I'd check in.

I do remember, Zoloft. You were good to me. Thanks for all you did. You helped me at a time when I really needed help. I'll always remember you fondly.

Now, Zoly, go work your magic on the next person. And don't let those Brain Zaps freak them out.