These are the days

Happy 80th Birthday, Mom!

2011-11-25T16:02:00.001-08:00

Eighty years ago, on a stormy Thanksgiving night, Orville drove to town to fetch the doctor so that he could help Helen deliver her baby girl, Dolores.

Dear Mom,

I wish I could be with you in person today, but since I'm not, I'm sending you my love through the computer. Mom, thank you over and over for everything you do and everything you are. Thank you for always having a homemade dinner on the table when we were growing up except for the tuna casserole and brussel sprouts because those were gross. Thank you for helping me get A's on every school report I ever did. Thank you for all the dresses you sewed for me and for always dressing me so much better than Danny. Thank you for taking the time to put all of our family photos into chronological albums with captions because I now totally appreciate what a huge job that is. Thank you for being my biggest supporter since… forever. Thank you for every sacrifice you’ve made on my behalf. Thank you for loving me through every tantrum (even though I don’t believe I ever misbehaved!), every mood swing (what!?) and anything I ever did that caused you worry or concern or heartache.

I love you so much, Mom. Happy Birthday!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T22:23:00.000-08:00

Justice for all

2011-10-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

Last week Alyssa told me that they learned the Pledge of Allegiance at school. She recited it for me and did a pretty good job. But when she was done she asked, "Mommy, why do they say Justin is for all?"

Me: Ohhh, actually the word is justice. It's justice for all. Don't worry, Justin is all yours.

I was repeating this story to Amanda later that night and she told me that Alyssa had asked her why it says "Justice for all". She said, "Justice is a store. And I thought it was just for girls!"

Kindergarten is so confusing.

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Quiet?

2011-10-06T13:18:00.001-07:00

The other day, Alyssa's teacher asked how she was doing, how she was liking school. I must have looked at her quizzically because she followed up by saying that she's doing great. She's just quiet, so she was checking in.

"QUIET?!?" was my shocked response. Alyssa? Quiet?

I told Ms. Plencner that from all the stories Alyssa tells me, she certainly seems to be having lots of fun. She loves school.

The quiet comment stumped me though. So of course I over-analyzed all the way home from school.

At home, Alyssa rarely stops chattering. Or singing. Or making some kind of noise. She puts on how-to shows complete with commercials. She tells me about her dreams and her nightmares. She asks billions of questions. She talks to her dolls and her dolls talk back. She tells long long long stories. It's constant.

Quiet?

Is everything okay? I see her teacher every day and we chat often. Was there a reason she mentioned this now? Did something happen? It's not that I can't imagine Alyssa being quiet. Amanda is the same way. Much quieter at school than at home. In fact, I remember having the same conversation with the same teacher about Amanda when she was in Kindergarten. And it took me by surprise then too.
I think it's just that I spend so much time with them and I feel like I know them so well that it's jarring to hear a report that doesn't fit in with the picture I've drawn in my head.

I understand that people act differently in different situations. I totally get that. I was more surprised by the quiet comment because every day Alyssa gives me long detailed reports about her school days and in her stories, she's not quiet. She raises her hand often and speaks up a lot... But not just a lot. In some of her stories she raises her hand more often than anyone else. More than once I've heard the line, "I was the only one who raised my hand." And I'm always happy to hear these reports. Relieved, actually. Because speaking up in class was something I struggled with.

It occurred to me then that I just have issues with the whole quiet thing. I decided it would have bothered me less if the teacher had said Alyssa had been disturbing the class by chatting too much. Now that's pretty screwed up. You'd think I'd know that quiet can be a good thing considering how often I wish I had more of it. But instead my quiet self freaks out and starts SCREAMING inside when one of my children gets labeled "quiet."

See, quiet was a label that followed me through all of my school years and even into my work years. It was the thing, that thing, that would show up on report cards and even on performance reviews. And perfectionist that I was, that was what I focused on. It didn't matter how much the rest of the report glowed with gold stars, hard work, successes or A+'s... It made me crazy that I never could conquer that quiet thing. Even when I tortured myself on a regular basis by forcing myself to speak up, the label stuck. And speaking up in large groups or even relatively small ones has never really gotten easier for me.

I've made peace with it now for the most part thanks in part to a wise friend who explained that trying to turn myself from an introvert to an extrovert was like trying to turn my brown eyes blue. Studies have shown that introverts are actually wired differently than extroverts. So quiet is just part of who I am. And that's not a bad thing.

Of course one casual comment from her teacher doesn't mean anything. But I did make a mental note to listen extra carefully to Alyssa after school that day. And when she pronounced it "the worst day ever" (totally different than her normally happy reports) I figured I was in for a good story.

Instead, she told me that the day had started like it always does with a few songs, like the Good Morning song... and then there was math. She slowly walked me through all of the math problems. Told me who raised their hand and if they'd gotten the answers right or wrong. We stopped to pick up a roly-poly (See photo above.) Then the teacher asked them if they knew any words in Spanish. Alyssa said she was the first to raise her hand and volunteer, "Hola!" (Completely due to our intense home-schooling efforts or whatever you call the hours she's spent watching Dora the Explorer) and then she told me what every other kid had said. (No actual Spanish was spoken after this point, but she put on a heavy Spanish accent and created a whole lot of interesting words and meanings to go along with them.) No amount of prompting got her to tell the story any faster.

We had a brief musical interlude when she explained and demonstrated, complete with snapping motions, how they'd learned a new song about the days of the week, sung to the tune of "the Adamms Family." (snap, snap.) She told me there was a girl in the other Kindergarten class wearing the exact same jeans as her. She told me she and a bunch of others got awards for getting happy faces every single day of school. She told me that Emma and Gabby are the tallest girls in the class and that Anthony is the oldest. She told me that Nicolas washes his eyeballs and that Luke's tooth fell out.

Twenty-eight minutes into the story, Alyssa finally explained why it was the worst day ever. It seems that "other Alyssa" was driving her around on a bike and they crashed into the fence. No, she didn't get hurt and neither did "other Alyssa". I asked if that was really enough to qualify it as the Worst.Day.Ever. And she said, "Well it was cold outside too."

Seems to me that if that was her worst day ever that her life must be pretty good, quiet or not.

And her story wasn't over. She went on to tell me that she'd exchanged phone numbers with Madeline (strangely, Madeline's phone number has only 5 digits.) She told me Brianna had a tummy ache and that Jake spilled his milk on her backpack. She told me about the upcoming field trip to the pumpkin patch and that Eric can speak Chinese. She counted to 100, more or less. She told me why she wrote her name in orange and that if she tilts her head a certain way and squints her eyes that things look funny. By this point my eyes had glazed over and I may have been drooling slightly. And that's when I officially decided I'm not worried about Alyssa being quiet at school. But I am a little jealous.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Random Photo Tuesday (on Wednesday)

2011-09-21T17:18:00.001-07:00

Here are my beautiful little darlings along with Beth's little darling, Emily, and they are coated from head to toe in Hidden Valley Lake dirt. Red dirt. We were visiting my mom's house and they went outside under the guise of searching for Lake County diamonds... but instead, apparently they were turning themselves and each other into mud pies.

You wanna know the most shocking part about this? My mom didn't even blink an eye when she saw the girls looking like this. MY mother who, when I was little and we went to visit my grandparents in Auburn, would spend half of our trip warning us about the dangers of RED DIRT. You know the kind that will never come out of anything. It will stain your clothes and mess up your brand new white tennis shoes and ruin your carpet and destroy your entire life if you're not careful. My mother stressed out a LOT about red dirt in those days. If you came in from playing in the yard with so much as a trace of red dirt on you then LOOK OUT.

I'm pretty sure I started shaking a little when I saw my children covered in the stuff with my mother standing behind me. I braced myself for lightening to strike. But all she did was laugh. She said, "You better take pictures." Umm. Okay. Who are you and what did you do with my mother?

This is Alyssa with Boo. Alyssa can't sleep without Boo. Or won't sleep without Boo. This is one of several Boos that we have. For a while we numbered them. There was original Boo. Then Boo 2. I think the one above is Boo 3 but I can't be sure. Now they're all just Boos and she'll sleep with any or all of them, lucky for me.

Here's one of Amanda with her best friend in the whole wide world, Rilie. She used to live next door, then sadly moved away, then moved nearby again... but now... far away again. Wah! We still get to have sleepovers now and then though.

Last weekend we went to my adorable niece, Tia's, 14th birthday party.

Here are the girls with my super cute niece, Katie.

And here's my handsome nephew, Giovanni, with some Swedish Fish. Long ago when Gio was new to the family, my sister and nieces were trying to Nelson-ify him and among other things, they gave him some Swedish fish. He sat in the backseat happily eating them for about 20 minutes when he finally said, "Wait a second! This candy is NASTY!"

Here's my mom at the bottom of the best slide ever. At the Chevron Rod & Gun club in Richmond. Stepping onto that playground was like stepping back into my childhood. I LOVED that slide as a kid. Thought I was pretty brave going down it again until my nearly 80-yr-old mother went down it a while later. She's posing at the bottom for this picture because we had Giovanni catch her at the bottom. As my sister Darin says, "It's all fun and games until someone breaks a hip!" I nearly landed on my butt when I went down but managed to catch myself in the least graceful way possible. (Thanks for not posting that video on Facebook, Katie! She posted an awesome one of my mom going down.) See below for Kate's photo of Alyssa in mid-air... about to fall on her butt. Only to get right back up and climb the stairs again. Because it is the funnest slide in the whole wide world. (And no, I don't care if "funnest" isn't a real word.)

And here are the the girls on the teeter-totter at Rod and Gun. Alyssa is obviously practicing to be an old lady who yells at small children for walking on her lawn.

A few pics of Alyssa playing on the monkey bars. She began perfecting her technique last spring when we would walk over to the school and wait to pick up Amanda. Now she's going for the record in speed.

Clearly, doing the monkey bars is EXHAUSTING!

Grandma-Daddy's-Mom got this outfit for Amanda. How cute is she? She never would have worn this for me. Yesterday she asked if she could try on the outfit she's going to wear when she goes to tea with Aunt Darin. She came out wearing this.

And then she posed.

And posed.

And posed some more.

And then it was Alyssa's turn to pose.

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Alyssa started Kindergarten, Amanda started 4th Grade

2011-09-15T16:02:00.001-07:00

So yes, I'm working backwards in time here. A few weeks ago that much anticipated day finally arrived. At last, it was time to start Kindergarten! And 4th grade too, of course. Our morning went very smoothly. Except that we were ready way too early, which was a bit torturous for Alyssa who had waited long enough. (Years, people.) And didn't feel like waiting any longer.

My major worry was that Amanda would have to fend for herself when she was used to having me and my camera tagging along for her first day of school action, snapping photos right up until they have to ask me to leave. I knew she'd be nervous and I didn't want her to think that she suddenly didn't matter as much any more now that her sister had arrived on the scene. Of course she fed right into my guilt by announcing rather over-dramatically that she would probably be the only "parentless child in the whole class."

Oh, the tragedy! Orphaned at such a tender age by her annoying younger sister starting Kindergarten.

Alyssa and I walked her to her classroom, made sure she had some friends to wait with, and even snapped a photo or two before making our way to Kindergarten. Finally! My little orphan, Amanda did just fine, by the way. Most of her closest friends are in her class and she loves her teacher, who won the award for California's Outstanding First Year Teacher a couple of years ago. At the end of her first day, her teacher told me that what she'd learned about Amanda so far was that she's quiet and likes her own space. In an email she sent me last week, her teacher said this about Amanda: "She's doing very well. I enjoy her quiet, calm, insightful way!"

Now back to the first day of Kindergarten, Alyssa or "Alyssa T." as she'll be known this year (since some other parents had the nerve to give their child our child's name) did great. She marched right into that classroom like she's been there a million times before (possibly because she has been). She found her name tag and the teacher took our picture for her memory book. (Yes, they're going to make memory books! And yes, that's me, bringing cleavage to Kindergarten.)

Alyssa did get a tiny bit nervous once she was surrounded by all those new faces, but mostly she was just really excited. The parents were allowed to stay a while before the principal came to herd us into the Boo Hoo breakfast. Alyssa gave me hugs and kisses and then it was time for me to be a big girl and say good-bye.

Luckily I had plenty to do that morning so I didn't have time to fret about the fact that Alyssa was probably having so much fun that she didn't miss me a bit. One of the things I was working on was a "My Life in Five" project for Shutterfly. The idea was to choose five photos (actually 6 with a cover photo) and captions to represent your life. This was for a new hub on the Shutterfly website and the idea behind "My Life in Five" is to show others how easy it is to tell your story in photo books. A few photos and a few words and voila!

Normally I don't have a hard time telling my story but I was struggling with this assignment. Later I made this one about Alyssa starting Kindergarten just to help get myself in the groove. She helped me with the captions.

Alyssa's Life in Five

My name is Alyssa. I'm 5 years old and guess what? I just started Kindergarten!

The night before school started I was so excited! My mommy read me stories but I had a hard time going to sleep.

In the morning I ate my breakfast, brushed my teeth and got dressed as fast as I could. I couldn't wait to go to school but Mommy said it was too early so she wasted time by taking a million pictures.

Finally we got to go to school. I got to take my new lunchbox and backpack! This is my teacher, Ms. Plencner. She was Amanda's teacher too. She's really nice. Do you want to know what we did at school? Everything fun! And not just kinda fun. REALLY FUN!

My teacher gave me this smiley face. It means I followed all the rules and had a good day. Do you want to know my favorite part of Kindergarten? Lunch.

At Kindergarten we played and sang songs. I made a new friend named Katie and had so much fun! I wish I could go to Kindergarten every day!

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Amanda turned NINE last week!

2011-09-14T17:30:00.001-07:00

Dear Amanda,

It's pretty hard to imagine that you could actually be nine years old. Nine years seems like such a long time but it went by so insanely fast. It's scary to me that the next nine years could fly by just as quickly. Before you know it, you might have some crazy idea about moving out. I hope we're still sticking with the plan you came up with when you were three or four, which was that you'd either live with me forever or maybe move next door.

For some reason, the fact that you're getting older always gets to me on the day before your birthday instead of on your actual birthday. If you think about it, the idea that it's your first day of being nine is pretty cool and exciting... full of possibilities and all that. But the idea that it's your last day of being eight is just sad. And I guess I don't like saying good-bye.

Eight was fun. And extremely agonizing. And completely wonderful. Eight was full of anxiety. Worrying about math class and wearing the wrong jeans and getting kidnapped and what will people think ifs.... Worrying about so much stuff that shouldn't be worried about at eight. Eight was about making up songs and choreographing dance routines. Eight was always putting on plays and talent shows in our living room or backyard with your sister and friends. Eight was full of singing like some diva pop star at the top of your lungs when umm... weren't you supposed to be doing your homework? Eight was still playing with Barbies with your friends (I won't tell if you don't) and creating the most intricately detailed life stories that make me sure you have a future in writing novels or for TV. Eight had quite a flair for the dramatic and an ability to embellish details in a way that always made a story more interesting.

Eight was incredibly excited about the idea of being a teacher one day, and even more-so being a teacher now. Eight loved nothing more than playing school with your sister, your cousins or your friends' little brothers and sisters. Teaching them the alphabet, shapes, math, drawing or whatever you could think of. And eight was GREAT at this. Eight tirelessly made "lesson plans" and wrote out worksheets. When it came to teaching, eight was calm, patient, tolerant and unruffled. No, eight was not always like this at other times but something about teaching brought out the best in you.

Eight was inquisitive and curious. Eight was downright nosy sometimes. Eight was careful, cautious and responsible. Yes, eight was extremely conscientious about most things. Eight was a good student, always got her homework done on time and would have rather eaten worms than be late for school. On the other hand, eight hated to clean her room, hated to take baths and avoided eating vegetables if at all possible.

Eight loved to write stories and draw. Eight taught herself how to ride a bike and how to hula-hoop. Eight loved to invent complicated desserts, drinks and snacks. Eight was unbelievably goofy. Silly like you wouldn't believe. Eight was laughing until your sides hurt on a pretty regular basis. Eight could also be moody. And picky. SO PICKY. Over food, as always, and clothes too. Even socks. Really picky. But then how cool was it that eight absolutely knew your own mind? Knew what you loved and what you couldn't possibly tolerate. Eight truly hated to pick up after herself but somehow loved to organize things. Even loved to clean out my car or purse. Eight didn't like boys yet. Thank goodness. Eight loved her friends though. Eight was loyal and caring and trustworthy.

Though I've loved eight more than I can explain, I have no doubt I'm going to love nine just as much... maybe even more.

There's a page in one of your scrapbooks about your last day of being two. On that day I took pictures of you at the top of the slide and then got all weepy when I saw them because you looked so grown up.

So on your last day of being eight I briefly had some crazy notion about making you get back up on that slide so I could take some new pictures. But then I came to my senses. You were too busy doing your own thing anyway. You were on a play-date with Holly when I thought about it. (I forget... am I still allowed to call them "play-dates" or is that not cool anymore?) Anyway, fast forward to last night when we were killing time while Alyssa was at soccer practice and when I spotted you on the playground at the top of the slide, I ran for my camera like a crazy lady and you kindly allowed me to take a bunch of pictures. Actually, when I stopped, you asked me to take more, so for the record, it's not like I was forcing you.

And just like when you were two, the pictures kind of stunned me. Not so much because you're looking grown up exactly... oh trust me, you are... but that part has been stunning me for quite some time. But just the way you seem to glow. You have such a great smile and you're gorgeous! I know, you think I HAVE to say that because I'm your mom, but it's true. You're beautiful inside and out and I love you like crazy. Happy birthday, Sweetie!

Love,
Mommy

P.S. Here you are on your last day of being two:

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Heard on the way home from Alyssa's soccer practice today

2011-08-30T20:04:00.001-07:00

Alyssa: Guess what I just found out? I LOVE soccer!

I wonder who told her.

Also, Alyssa asked me how street lights work and I explained as much as I knew, including the part about sensors in the street that cause the lights to work correctly.

Amanda (shocked): How do you know that?!? What else do you know? Are there cameras in my bathroom?

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As long as you don't post it on the internet

2011-05-24T17:04:00.001-07:00

Alyssa and I were in the garage when she spotted this frame and started hamming it up. When she asked me to take her picture, of course, I said yes. But when she asked if she could take my picture, I said, "No way, look at me!"

She responded, "Mommy, I just wanna take your picture, I'm not gonna put it on the internet."

That totally cracked me up and I would love to do that thing where I play stupid and say oh I don't know where they come up with these things...except I have to admit that's a phrase that gets tossed around occasionally at our house.

Like just last Friday.

I took Amanda to the dentist for a check-up and the dentist reported that the good news was no cavities! And the bad news is that he wanted to extract three teeth. Three top front teeth. That very day. Remember my last post about how Amanda's first top tooth took so long to come out? Well that's because it's crowded in there. She should have already lost those front teeth but the crowding was making it too hard for them to come out... meanwhile her permanent teeth are ready to come in. (Yes, he also mentioned she's going to need braces! Wheeee!) Amanda is not a big fan of losing teeth. Unlike me, who would have yanked every single one of mine out when I was six if it were possible. So when we got home, her smile sporting three new gaps... she said, "I know you're gonna wanna take a picture Mom, but do NOT post it on your blog!!!"

Who me? I would never do that?!?

Alyssa's comment was funny but it also got me thinking... it's all fun and games when I'm the one doing the blogging but the thought of them posting humiliating photos and stories about me isn't nearly as delightful. Is it too early to talk to a lawyer about that?

Random Photo Tuesday (February catch up)

2011-05-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

One of the first things that happened in February was that Amanda finally lost her first top tooth. I say finally because it was kind of a long drawn out process. Not only did it take a long time but it was obvious that the permanent tooth was trying to push out the baby tooth, and it just got lower and lower and lower... but it wasn't very loose. Not loose enough to pull... Wasn't Amanda's best look though. I'm not going to show you the before picture but if it had gone on much longer I was afraid she might start to look like this:
But how cute is she in the after photos? These photos were taken the day after she lost her tooth and her new one was already about a quarter of the way in!

In February, Alyssa got a new bike!We saw Gnomeo & Juliet.We saw Disney on Ice. I also decided I should attempt some creative Valentines this year. The photoshoots went something like this:
And the Valentines turned out like this:Do you know what this cat really needs?
A pillow!
Also more comfortable with a pillow: Justin Bieber.

Alyssa did a lot of playing in February. Alyssa pretended to be an artist. She pretended to be a chef.
She pretended to be a princess. (For the record, that is MY faux fur coat... I'm guessing circa 1974-ish.) She had a pretend wedding where she got to be the beautiful bride, complete with pretend flowers and pretend tattoos.She had spectacular pretend wedding rings.And a pretend groom who was not all that excited about pretending to get married. It's never a good sign when your pretend groom has to be dragged down the aisle by your pretend maid of honor.After a brief discussion, the pretend wedding was called off.But from the looks of this photo, the pretend reception must have gone on all night.

And then we could all end up in jail

2011-05-13T17:59:00.000-07:00

I was looking for my phone before the girls and I ran to the store. Alyssa asked why I needed it and I explained that I always like to have my phone with me when I'm driving just in case something happens.

Amanda pipes in: I always think something's gonna happen. That's why I always take my jacket everywhere I go... and shoes... and quarters (for quarter machines not phone calls) because you just never know.

Me: You are SO your Grandma N*'s granddaughter!

Amanda: Well you just never know. There could be an accident or we could end up in jail.

Me: Why would we end up in jail?

Amanda: Well I don't know what you're gonna do!

All of my life I've felt like sort of a goody-two-shoes. I've never been in trouble for anything. Never got a speeding ticket. Never even got called to the principal's office. But in the eyes of my 8-year-old, apparently I'm just a wild card. Capable of anything. You better take a jacket and some quarters because at any moment I might choose to steal a car, beat up a police man or rob a bank.

Random Photo Tuesday

2011-05-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know it's not Tuesday but you'll get over it, right? In an effort to catch you up a bit on what's been going on with us while I was on the longest blogging break in history, I'm going to share some random photos. These are all from January. Next week I'll get to February. I know I've been gone a lot longer but neither one of us wants to go back that far, right? I'm hoping that flipping through these photos will remind me of what we were doing so I can fill you in on the details a bit too. (Above is Amanda with the camera that Santa brought for the girls. (water proof, freeze proof and shock proof. Yes, I'm trying to train the next generation to take pictures of every single thing.)

We were at Universal Studios the last week of Christmas vacation, so that's where we celebrated New Year's. They brought "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" to life and it was so much fun hanging out in Whoville! There was real snow to play in and there were "Whos" everywhere we turned. It really felt like we were walking around in the middle of the movie and I LOVED it. After Universal, I have to say that January is pretty light on cute kid pictures. That's because I was hugely focused on decluttering my house. It was sometime last year that I started watching all those hoarding shows. You know the ones that start by taking you on a tour of a house that is packed to the ceiling with a lifetime full of stuff? Those shows fascinate me... and scare me... a lot! I noticed that the people with hoarding problems all seemed to have similiar stories: "I was always kind of messy and I liked to save things but nothing too unusual. But then _____________ (fill in the blank with divorce/death of a loved one/children leaving home/random disaster) and things completely spiraled out of control..."

Most of the people I've talked to about those hoarding shows respond the same way, saying something along the lines of, "GROSS! I can't imagine how anyone could ever let that happen." But me, I totally empathized with them. I thought, "Uh oh! I am kind of messy and I like to save things! I could be just one major life tragedy away from becoming that crazy lady with stuff piled to the ceiling and 23 cats!"

So last year I started changing a lot of bad habits and I got rid of a ton of stuff. Okay I didn't actually weigh it or anything but I swear there had to be a ton. To be honest, I expected that getting rid of all that stuff meant my house would suddenly be clean. That it would practically clean itself and that it would stay clean all the time. Totally didn't happen. Not even close! I mean things improved quite a bit but not nearly as much as I'd hoped. Imagine my disappointment.

By this January I was feeling pretty defeated, especially after the major influx of STUFF from the holidays so I decided to get hardcore about it. I decided 2011 was going to be the year I turned it all around. By then, getting rid of my own stuff had become easy but I still struggled with letting go of the kids' stuff... and looking around it was pretty clear that their stuff was a major part of the problem. Their stuff took up A LOT of space. Their rooms were always a mess. And they dragged their stuff all over the house on a very regular basis because their rooms were too messy to play in! But they were attached to their stuff. Alyssa was far more attached than Amanda because Amanda liked to watch the hoarding shows with me. The phrase "crazy cat lady" was all I really needed to inspire Amanda to part with her overabundance of things. But ask Alyssa if she wants to turn into the crazy cat lady, and hulloooooooo does anything sound more fun than that? (Speaking of cats, below is our ONLY cat taking advantage of the fact I'm cleaning out a drawer. I bet the crazy cat lady's cats don't get to do this!)

I've realized that my attachment to things has very little to do with the actual things but everything to do with the memories those things evoke. So after the girls and I spent at least an hour playing I-spy with this photo (below) that I took several years ago of some of my Christmas ornaments, I realized that they already knew the stories behind many of the ornaments... Amanda would say, "This one full of sand and seashells represents my first trip to the beach." And Alyssa would say, "This is from the time that the Not-Real-Santa called me Booger Baby!" Even without the STUFF in front of them, the memories were still there.Okay, I'm a photo nut so of course I'd already thought about taking photos of all the stuff... but I'm also lazy and couldn't actually imagine taking photos of each and every THING, whatever it was, separately. We had a LOT of stuff after all. And what was I going to do with all those photos anyway? Become the crazy lady with a house crammed full of photos? You know who I'll be showing all those photos to? My 23 cats.

But the girls love I-spy books. If you've never heard of I-spy books, they're books that have these cool photos that are crammed full of all kinds of stuff and there are riddles that go with each photo and you have to find the answers in the photos. So what if I gathered up all the stuff I can't bear to get rid of into groups, snapped some pictures and turned those photos into an "I-spy" book. Then once we have the photos, BYE-BYE stuff!

So here are a couple of those photos. They include stuff from my childhood as well, recovering-could-have-been hoarder that I am. Can anyone spot Justin Bieber, who Alyssa plans to marry, in the top photo? Can anyone find Giraffe, who Amanda used to referred to as her husband, in the second one?

Alyssa also learned how to tie her shoes in January. When Amanda learned to tie her shoes she was actually a couple of years older than Alyssa. Mostly because she rarely wore shoes that needed to be tied. When I did finally teach her it took a while. A bit of practice and a bit of "I'll never be able to do this!" before she caught on. It was a much faster process with Alyssa.

Amanda taught Alyssa how to tie her shoes. She demonstrated for her ONCE and then watched as Alyssa tied them. And that was it. Alyssa's been tying her own shoes ever since. Leading Amanda to conclude that I am really, really LAME at the teaching thing. We also did a lot of painting in January. One of my most vivid memories of Kindergarten is from the day we put on smocks and got to finger paint. Just thinking about that day can still make me a teeny bit giddy. I only remember doing it once but I remember thinking it was the best thing on the planet earth. So I'm going back to my kindergarten roots and just PLAYING. My paintings are probably only slightly better than they were back then but I'm just as giddy... Yeah those are mine, not the girls... Scott took one look at the one of the house and said, "That is the worst designed roof I've ever seen. The rain is all gonna puddle up at the ends and it's gonna rot." I wonder if he was this practical in Kindergarten.

Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-08T23:33:00.000-07:00

So when my Mother’s Day plans came to a crashing halt, I was feeling rather cranky… and umm… sorry for myself. But then I stopped and thought, what do I really want to do on Mother’s Day anyway? I want to hang out with my kids, the ones who make me feel unbelievably grateful to be a mom… I want a new photo with the two of them because I’ve been avoiding the camera lately (see above) AND I want a bit of alone time to finally update my blog which I haven’t touched in oh, let’s see, over a year! I was thinking that I’d wax poetic about how grateful I am to be a mom... and I am... well most of the time....but then I decided that what I really want is to say thank you to all of the most important moms in my life.

Thank you to my mom, who after being told by the adoption agency that she and my dad were too old for a newborn and getting blessed with my delightful 6-month-old brother who drank cold milk straight from the fridge and slept through the night, she OOPS got blessed with me, a NEWBORN! She somehow managed, in her old age (38!), to carry me for 9 long months and survived all those sleepless nights of heating bottles and changing diapers. She kept me safe through my childhood, put up with me when I was way less than delightful... when I turned up my nose to the meals she prepared, used up all the hot water, when my room was so horribly messy that the police had to tell her it had been ransacked by burglars and my mother had to explain that, no, it’s always like that. She fed me, clothed me and always reminded me to take a jacket. She believes with complete certainty, as only a mother could, that if Oprah were to stumble across the blog I never update that I would be skyrocketed into fame and fortune as a bestselling author.

She’s the reason I thought it was perfectly logical to take up painting at 41. Actually she’s the reason I feel like I can take on pretty much any craft, hobby or home improvement project that strikes my fancy. Because she did. She can do ANYTHING. She can sew a wicked ball gown, build a Victorian dollhouse completely wired with electrical, trace the family history all the way back to Adam and Eve. The woman has had more hobbies than anyone on the planet and I only hope that I’ll have the nerve to take up golf lessons, bear making, genealogy, astrology, meditation, visiting haunted houses and cemeteries, belly dancing or giving birth while under hypnosis… no wait… not those last two. I’ll never learn to sew either. Probably because Mom never let me touch the good sewing scissors. However she’s probably responsible for my photo book making addiction because I spent a lifetime watching her make personal, heartfelt and usually very funny gifts for all the people she loved. She will be 80 this year and she’s still going strong and still taking on new hobbies… like gardening, fishing and collecting frogs. She’s the best mom in the whole world.

Thank you to my mother-in-law, Andrea. When I hear other women complain about their mother’s-in-law I always breathe a huge sigh of relief because I totally lucked out in the mother-in-law department. She appreciates photos and photo books more than the most expensive gifts which is a very good thing because I wouldn’t have a clue how to go about choosing the most expensive gifts. She never criticizes me or tells me how to do things. She never gives me grief about the areas I am lacking in… Even when the areas I’m lacking in are ones that a mother would find important in one marrying her son or raising her grandchildren. Cooking and cleaning? Eh. And if I could choose any grandma in the world for my kids, I would choose her. She adores them completely, lights up when they walk into the room, reads to them, gets down on the floor and plays with them endlessly, will spend hours talking to them on the phone even if they’re telling her the same story for the fifth time.

Thank you to my Grandma T* who I feel so fortunate to have. I had wonderful grandmas who I dearly miss but I really lucked out when I married Scott. I get to share his grandma and I love her as much as I loved my own. I love that my children have a great-grandmother to share stories and time with. We love going to her house where the girls head straight for the stacking dolls and the Rubik's cube. She's always so excited to see us and she always makes us feel so welcome and loved. It doesn't hurt that she feeds us well too!

Thank you to my oldest sister, Deni who gives the best and most practical advice. Turns out you shouldn’t attempt to cook a turkey in a 175 degree oven until it reaches an internal temperature of 325. Turns out there’s really not much you can cook in a 175 degree oven. Who knew, right? Deni did. And why do they let me set the oven to 175 then? Deni can tell you these things. And Deni won’t make fun of you until after the crisis passes. Then and only then will you two laugh about it until you cry. Deni is one of the few people on the planet who understands with frightening clarity how my brain operates. Because genetics blessed her with a very similar brain. So I don’t have to explain how or why I did the latest stupid thing I did because she just GETS it and can probably tell you a story about the time she did the same thing. Oh and if you have spent all day giggling with Deni via instant messenger over random stuff and suddenly remember at 5:14pm that you haven’t even thought about what to have for dinner… you can throw out any two ingredients you happen to have on hand and she can give you at least five ideas for what you can have on the table by 6. She’s AMAZING that way. She’s also always there when I need her and I couldn’t ask for anything more in a sister.

Thank you to my other sister, Darin, who served as kind of a second mom to me growing up… and I am still growing up. She didn't do it in a bossy know-it-all way but in a super cool older sister I-want-to- be- just-like-her- when-I- grow-up kind of way. Darin got me through the drama that was adolescence. She was the one I went to with the important questions about boobs, boys, zits and life. Darin taught me how to get out of cleaning my room so I could get back to reading. Darin taught me about hovering over public toilets and how to prepare for a job interview. Darin found me the PERFECT BRA (and yes, that one deserves capital letters). Darin is the one who, when you feel like your entire universe is falling to pieces, can somehow explain in two paragraphs how you can put it all back together again. And she’ll make you feel like you would have eventually come up with the solution yourself. Darin is like a cheerleader in my head telling me I can do anything. Darin is incredibly wise and wickedly funny. Darin is the one I wanted by my side when having both of my babies. And Darin is the one I hope to hang out with in the old folks home. Actually I sort of look forward to those days of adult diapers because Darin very frequently makes me laugh til I nearly wet my pants.

Thank you to my sister-in-law, Cara, the little sister I always wanted and finally got when I married Scott. What I didn’t expect was that I would spend so much time looking up to my little sister. I have always adored her and admired her abilities to pull off superhuman feats like cooking gourmet meals or entertaining a houseful of people as if it were nothing. She’s the only one I know who truly appreciates a great font as much as I do. She’s a brilliant proofreader AND she’s the one I have always been able to count on to give me a brutally honest opinion if I ask. She’s funny and smart and can tell me what to wear no matter what the occasion.

But she has gone through so much in the last few years while trying to become a mom. Some of the things she has faced I can only imagine might have sent me to bed for months, yet somehow she has faced it all with unbelievable self-assurance, grace and incredible strength. Sophia and Ava are lucky little girls to have her as a mom… and I am incredibly lucky to have her as my sister.

Thank you to my sister-in-law, Michelle, who is like the Kate Middleton of our family. Not only would she look super cute in a tiara but she has the kind of poise, elegance and grace that would have fit right into a royal family. Yet somehow she landed in ours. And she seems truly thrilled to be one of us. (Sucka!) She is unbelievably sweet, kind and lovely and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her get mad. If I were to tell her that my brother is incredibly lucky to have her I know… I KNOW… she would tell me that, in fact, SHE is the lucky one. She’s just like that… All head over heels in love with my brother… All sweetness and light. And we are so lucky to have her.

And lastly, thank you to all of my mom friends who keep me sane on a regular basis… The ones who, on the days when I’m feeling completely overwhelmed, because my house is never clean enough and the cat just threw up and and finding a pair of clean matching socks or my keys seems like an impossibility... they remind me that it’s not the end of the world, that we all have days like this and tomorrow will be better.

Thank you to Beth M. who will go to Target with me three times in one week and the only one on the planet who could laugh so hard with me in the container aisle while discussing Space Bags that the rest of the customers had to think we were drunk or crazy. The one who “attended” the Royal Wedding with me in tiaras, boas, a ton of plastic bling and sweatpants. The one who will trek from one end of Safeway to the other to help me track down a missing cart full of groceries and never lecture me for leaving it unattended. The one who can drop by unannounced and I don’t feel even the tiniest need to make excuses for what a disaster my house is or why it’s 1pm and I still haven’t showered. The one who is always a phone call away if I need someone to pick up Amanda from school, need to arrange a last minute playdate or if I just need a Starbucks break. The one who drops by for coffee and doesn’t mind watching me fold laundry. The one I can call in the middle of a recipe if I need to borrow a can of chiles or a teaspoon of a spice I’ve never heard of. She's also the one who will order a pizza for me if dinner can’t be saved. My mom used to talk about friends like her who lived around the corner and dropped by to chat over coffee and I thought, “Someday I hope I’ll have those kinds of friends” and now I do.

Thank you to Wendy, my SSFL, who arrived at precisely the moment when I really needed a friend. And who, if I were to have written a description for that friend I needed, would have exactly fulfilled that description in every single way. Wendy, who is so like me in so many ways that I had to call my mom to make sure I didn't have another sister she never mentioned. Wendy, who always takes the photos I forgot to take and usually emails them to me before I remember I forgot to take them. The one who would have gone to her deathbed with the story about the toilet seat cover stuck to my butt. The one who has shared room-mom duties with me for three years now even though every year we say we’ll never sign up again. Who is always just an instant message away when crisis strikes. Who cheers me up when I’m having a bad day after listening to me whine in horrifying endless detail about that bad day. Who always knows what homework is due and if today was a minimum day and which teacher we need to hope our kids get next year. Who is always smiling and makes me laugh like crazy. Wendy, who gets as excited as I do about all things crafty and who can usually remember which blog had that super cute idea about whatever it is I happen to need super cute ideas about. Wendy who encourages me endlessly and makes me feel like I can do anything.

Thank you to Beth B. who has known me since I was 12… the friend I don’t talk to daily but am able to pick up with as if we do whether it’s been 6 minutes or 6 months. The one who knows all of my secrets and never judges me, the one who taught me how to drive (yes, go THROUGH the stop sign) and who caught all the balls that happened to come my way in right field saving me from countless head injuries. She’s the one I shared my first apartment with. The one who has such a huge heart for giving that she not only will stop on the side of the road to help random strangers (Don’t get in the van, Beth. You’re in the van, Beth. Just don’t drive away, Beth. You’re driving away, Beth!) but who has also been a surrogate mom to four babies helping other parents get the children they desperately wanted. Beth is like Superwoman in my mind. Multi-tasking extraordinaire. Able to leap tall buildings while driving a van full of children, and putting on a fundraiser and a school play while baking 8 kinds of pies and she’ll swing by Starbucks to grab me a coffee on the way. The one who I have had countless sleepovers with, the one who loves a good tearjerker as much as I do, who. The one who, if it was suddenly determined that laughter can make me you lose weight, I would spend every last second with. She reminds me of who I am, how far I’ve come and how far I can go.

Thanks to all of you amazing moms who make my life better in so many different ways. I love you all. Happy Mother's Day!

(Yes I know this was posted in 2011, but when my mom requested a copy of my blog book she insisted that this post be a part of it and I wasn't about to say no. I love you, Mom!)

Tooth Fairy Duty

2010-04-14T19:43:00.001-07:00

I was on tooth fairy duty last night, which means I didn't get much sleep. It was my fault because after quite the long battle, I finally bribed Alyssa with a movie at bedtime to get her to let me take her Band-Aid off so I could clean her icky stitches. (Yeah, I'll have to write a post about those. She stayed perfectly still and didn't make a peep when the doctor was stitching her up, but try to get a Band-Aid off of her and you would think I was trying to cut her toes off with a pair of scissors.) The thing is, I'd taken Benadryl, which totally knocks me out, to deal with the mysterious rash covering my entire body. (Between the ER rooms and Disneyland, it's a small world full of yucky germs. And yeah, I'll have to write a post about those too.)

So the plan was: take Benadryl, put the girls to bed, go to bed and sleeeeep. Instead it was: take Benadryl, do 14 other things I'd forgotten about, argue with Alyssa over a Band-Aid for probably half an hour while in a Benadryl haze, finally bribe her with a movie at bedtime, which was already way later than it should have been. Then have Amanda suddenly remember she had to write a note for the tooth fairy, then check every 10 minutes to see if Alyssa has fallen asleep yet, then wait 10 more minutes to make sure she's REALLY asleep so I can finally do tooth fairy duty because I know there's no way I will be remembering it in the middle of the night. Alyssa watched the whole darn movie of course, which is why I'm exhausted today.

I'm even more paranoid than usual because Amanda nearly caught the tooth fairy the last time she visited. It was about 2 AM when Scott got a phone call from work and I jumped half out of my skin because in my mind, 2am phone calls = a death in the family. I was annoyed at first (What? Nobody died?) knowing it would take forever to get back to sleep and then suddenly remembered: tooth fairy duty!!! That is why I have to do it before I go to bed. The whole I'll just lay down for a few minutes thing may not end well. So I did my TF thing and, of course, Amanda woke up, mid-visit. Turns out I think faster on my feet than I would have guessed. The tooth fairy got away before she was recognized.

Amanda's usual fairy leaves a lovely sprinkling of glittery fairy dust. Her very first fairy left fairy dust not just on her pillow but all over the entire backyard! I personally thought it resembled frost glittering in the sunlight but Amanda KNEW it was fairy dust and has been quietly disappointed in the laziness of the fairies she's gotten since then.

Hullooooo, she leaves a trail of dust and sometimes a certificate in beautiful, scrolly lettering. Excuse the hell out of her for not making the yard sparkle.

Some people think there is only one tooth fairy, like there's one Santa Claus or one Easter Bunny. I don't buy that. I mean Santa and the Bunny each have one day a year. And then a whole boatload of vacation time. But the tooth fairy, I can't imagine how ONE person, err fairy could handle that job, what with the zillions of children all over the world popping out teeth at such an alarming rate.

So yeah, I actually think there are a bunch of tooth fairies, and that they're all totally different, though all approximately three inches tall.

This explains why Brandon has a boy fairy, why Adam only gets cash, never a certificate or fairy dust. And why Luciana's fairies are soooo much better than ours 'cause the certificates she gets are much cooler AND Luciana gets to choose from a chart which fairy she wants (all better than ours, by the way) plus the fairy leaves money AND gifts.

I'm not sure we'll always get the same fairy every time either, 'cause fairies have lives too. They go on vacation, they work different shifts, they get sick and have personal issues. They might even take a long unexplained leave of absence and we might get stuck with a crappy temp or we might luck out and get some fab overachiever who typically works in another county.

Sometimes I like to imagine the fairies at performance review time. I like to think about the well-paying over-achievers who leave teeny tiny notes written in teeny tiny calligraphy stuffed into teeny tiny envelopes next to brand new ipods getting big raises and promotions, while the ones who toss a quarter in the general direction of the pillow and spend the rest of the night chain smoking cigarettes and watching porn getting fired or at least put on probation.

For the record I think our normal fairy is slightly above average, what with the glitter and the certificates. However she is a terrible procrastinator and has asked me NEVER to remind Amanda that it's time to leave the tooth for her. She likes her sleep okay?

Oh! Speaking of sleep, the best part of this story is that after torturing myself to stay awake last night, Amanda didn't even remember to check to see if the tooth fairy had visited! She left for school and never even checked. I didn't remind her to because I didn't want her going back into their room and waking Alyssa.

I do sort of hope that Amanda suddenly remembered after arriving at school and got to experience her own torture … the sweet agony of waiting, certain that by the time she gets home her little sister will have stolen her money and destroyed any fairy evidence. Is it wrong that that the thought of that makes me feel a little better? I can't help it. I'm mean when I don't get enough sleep.

posted from my iphone

Stuck Inside

2010-01-26T15:50:00.000-08:00

Rain. Tons of it. Endless amounts of rain. I actually LOVE rain. But it's starting to get just a tad bit old, even to me. So for your viewing pleasure, a few pictures of how we've been keeping ourselves entertained these last couple of weeks.

We've had playdates. Lots of them. We've played Barbies. We've danced.We've set up some tents in the dining room. (Thanks Aunt Jacque and Uncle Brad, we LOVE them! Scott says next time we visit he's going to bring them and set them up in your dining room so he can show you exactly how much he loves them!)We had our own version of American Idol/So You Think You Can Dance. By the way, Alyssa got a golden ticket! She's goin' to Hollywood. Pretend Hollywood, that is. We've done homework.
We've played some more Barbies. We've rough-housed a bit. We've played school.
We've made monsters.We've climbed the walls. We've danced some more.We 've baked cookies. We've pretended to sleep.We've made weird faces. We've cooked.We've laid down and been covered in clean laundry, straight out of the dryer. I swear these two will drop anything for the thrill of warm laundry. And when it stopped raining, we finally got to play outside!!!
By the way I wrote this post yesterday... We had actual SUNSHINE today! Woo hoo!!!

The Great Gingerbread Village Fiasco of 2009

2010-01-25T18:13:00.000-08:00

I was watching two of my friends' kids for a couple of days, so I had a total of five kids ranging from three to eight. Two of them were boys who aren't nearly as impressed with our Barbie collection as the girls usually are. At some point they cried boredom and what did I do? A saner person would have put a movie in the DVD player and pushed PLAY but what did Dione do? She said, “Who wants to build a gingerbread village!?!?!”

The words just came flying out of my mouth before I'd considered the consequences. I thought it would be easy actually. I thought it would be FUN! I had a kit after all. Five adorable little houses for five adorable little kids. FUN!

Five happy little voices were saying, “YAAAAAY!!!” and for that first glorious moment, I was thinking, I ROCK!

And then the fight broke out over who was gonna get which house. No problem. We'd draw numbers to see who got which house. Perfect! This was going to be FUN! Except for the adorable kid who got the stupid house they didn't want. But then, in an incredible act of generosity, adorable kid #2 offered to trade with adorable kid #1... unfortunately kid #2 got stuck with a house with broken pieces... and it went on and on like this. Nobody wanted to put their own house together, so I had five freaking adorable little houses to put together and five adorable children saying, “Make mine first, make mine first!!!”

When one of my friends called to say she was almost home and to let her know when to come pick up her daughter, I said, “Here's what I want you to do. Pull up in front of my house with the engine running... I'll jump in and you FLOOR IT!”

I then explained my gingerbread house insanity. I said, “We haven't even gotten to the decorating part yet but I know how it's gonna go. These kits... the box always says Lots of Icing and Candy but there never is. They don't factor in all the eating that goes on while the frazzled grown-up tries to get four walls to stick together and somehow hold up a roof. Five times. Pretty soon I'm gonna have five adorable kids completely wired on sugar trying to decorate five stupid, stupid adorable little houses and fighting over 14 gumdrops, six red hots and a candy cane to do it. What was I thinking?"My friend said, “I'm in front of your house. Come out here, I have something for you.”

Really? Hmm...Help had arrived. I went skipping out to her car wondering what she could possibly have for me. She started fishing around in her purse as I said, “Whatcha got for me? Ya got valium? Ya got prozac?”

She started laughing. “No, no... it's here, somewhere...”

“Whatcha got for me? Ya got vodka? Ya got a pitcher full of margaritas?”

“No. It's candy.”

“Candy? Oh chocolate? Okay it's not prozac but chocolate can solve a lot.”

“No, no, not chocolate,” she said, and then right before my eyes, she started pulling sealed packages of candy out of her purse. Not just any candy either. This candy was green, red and white. Candy that was born to live on a gingerbread house.

I said, "I swear to you, I'm not judging... But you have gingerbread house candy in your purse, why?"

She explained that a couple of days before she and her daughter had been to a gingerbread house decorating party and this was some of the leftover candy. She said, “Hold on, I think I've got frosting in here."

“Yeah umm. Seriously? Frosting in your purse? I love you. This just another prime example of why we're friends.”

She never did find the frosting. I know. Only a friend of mine could lose frosting in her purse. And it only made what happened twenty minutes later even more funny. I went back into the house to show off all the new candy. “Oh. But it's only to look at, adorable children! No eating!”

So then I went back to building five tiny little stupid houses while five adorable children dipped themselves in sprinkles. When my friend Wendy showed up to pick up Brandon and Jaden, I told her all about my gingerbread village fiasco and then added that you'll never believe what Beth showed up with, "Candy! And not just any candy. The woman was pulling gingerbread-house-decorating-candy out of her purse. Seriously. She even thought she had frosting. Only my friends. Can you imagine?”Of course Wendy responded, “Oh... do you need frosting? Hold on a sec.”

She then went out to her car and popped open her trunk as I stood there, with a you have got to be freakin' kidding me look on my face and, I kid you not, the woman started pulling tubes of frosting out of her trunk. And not just frosting, but a vast assortment of Christmas themed decorative toppings...

“Really? You just happened to have this stuff in your trunk, Wendy?”

She explained that one of the activities at her office party that day had been sugar cookie decorating. They had a lot of stuff left over.

As I watched Wendy drive away, and waved good-bye to Brandon and Jaden, I stood there on my porch, admiring the twinkling lights decorating my neighbors' houses, basking in my own personal Christmas miracle moment. Thinking how lucky I am to have exactly the right friends and family for ME. Always there with exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment. I felt extremely blessed. Then I went back inside and smiled at the three adorable children who remained. Admired the lights on my tree which sat in the midst of my lovely house which looked as though it had been ransacked by angry monkeys.

I smiled at the glittering beauty of my dining room floor, which appeared to be covered with freshly fallen snow... sticky green & red snow, to be exact. I admired the hot pink frosting in my seven year-old's hair and I pried the gummy bears out of my four year old's sticky little hands. I remembered that my adorable husband would be home at any moment and that I had absolutely no clue what we were having for dinner.And I thought to myself that as incredibly lucky as I am to have the friends and family that I have, there's still an opening for a friend who carries a cleaning crew in her van... and one who delivers take-out. Plus I really wouldn't mind that vodka/prozac friend. Email me. PLEASE.

December 2009

2010-01-24T18:05:00.001-08:00

Click here to view these pictures larger

Just sharing some pictures from December. As usual, it was a crazy, busy month. Tons of shopping, decorating, baking, parties and photo book making. Scott and I celebrated our tenth anniversary. We also had Amanda's school sing-a-long and her class party.

Somehow I managed to get ahead of schedule with many things, which is pretty unusual for me. Oh I hear you all snickering... Okay, being ahead of schedule is VERY unusual for me, but somehow I managed it. Most of the gifts were not only bought or made weeks before Christmas but also wrapped and under the tree. I labeled them with a secret code so the girls had no idea who was getting what. Unfortunately it was such a great code that when Christmas morning finally rolled around, even I had no idea who was getting what. Oh look, it's another mystery gift. How exciting!

The biggest thing I managed to check off my list early in the season: visiting Santa. I've mentioned my issues around taking the kids to see Santa before here and here. Love Santa. But I've blown up the going-to-see-Santa experience into something to be dreaded... procrastinated... avoided if humanly possible. I want the girls to see Santa. I want cute photos of them seeing Santa. I just don't want to stand in line with 5,000 impatient children waiting to see Santa. The very idea of it makes me break out in a cold sweat.

Every year I tell myself that we'll go see Santa right after Thanksgiving. Get in early to beat the crowds. But every year I put it off. Last year I put it off so long that we ended up at the mall on Christmas Eve. Mind you, Christmas Eve dinner is pretty much the only event I can be counted on to host at my house every year, so it was an act of total desperation/insanity that made me venture into the mall on Christmas eve afternoon and even consider a visit to Santa. One look at that line of 5,000 impatient children and crabby parents stretching around and around and around and I immediately bribed the girls into leaving. I told them I had gotten a good look at Santa (which I had) and it wasn't the real one anyway. All we had to do was check the online Santa Tracker to know that the REAL Santa was already delivering gifts to good little boys and girls all over the world.

This guy was just one of his helpers. To be more specific, (like I said, I got a good look at him) this was the very helper who had called Alyssa “Booger Baby” the year before. I wasn't waiting in line for that guy. I just wasn't. Well if they had cried or told me I was ruining Christmas I might have considered standing in that line, but luckily they didn't seem to mind much. Do you want to stand in this line for six hours or do you want mommy to buy you something pretty and completely useless? We'll text Santa just to be sure he remembers you...

Don't judge me, people. It had to be done. I had a messy house and company coming. So last year I completely blew it. For the first time in their short little lives they had no Santa visit. I couldn't afford to screw it up this time.

So in November, when my friend Wendy mentioned that there was a holiday open house in a quaint town near us and Santa was going to be there... I was all for it. Mind you that we hadn't even celebrated Thanksgiving yet. I didn't care. I've heard people say it's awful to see Santa so early. Even right after Thanksgiving is too early for them. They say it's like torturing the kids... making them wait so long. PUH-LEEZ... I'm gonna torture the kids anyway. Why not start off the torture with a fun trip to see the jolly old man in red?

You may notice that Amanda's jacket is wet in these photos. That's because right as we left for the event it started raining. Not sprinkling a little but POURING. We were not to be deterred though. So what if we had to wait outside in a little bit of rain? I was going to get to check “Santa visit” off of my list and it wasn't even December! Go me! Luckily the rain seemed to scare a lot of people off. The line we waited in was nowhere nearing 5,000. This year I'm hoping to schedule our visit with Santa before Valentine's Day. Easter at the latest.

With so many of my “must do” items checked off of my list early in the month, like I had always fantasized about.. what did I do? Did I sit back and bask in the joy of the season like I'd always pictured I would do? No. No, I couldn't stand being done. It just doesn't feel like Christmas if I'm not running myself ragged, you know? So I just started adding a bunch of random stuff to the list. Things to do. Parties and parades to attend. Cookies to bake. Crafts to make. My visits to the Martha Stewart website spiked dramatically. Because I had clearly lost it. If it called for popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, paint, glue, glitter or googly eyes, I added it to my list. We made cinnamon dough ornaments that we never got around to painting. We made button wreaths, popsicle stick reindeer, craft foam trees, two advent calendars. I attempted to make this:

See? Those are my cute little gingerbread guys before the tragic accident. Many of them were dismembered. It hurts too much to talk about it.

However the kids and I did successfully make about a zillion of these snowflake button ornaments. Cute huh? Unfortunately, I pretty much forgot to attach them to my gifts as planned. I'm creative but completely disorganized. It's a curse. Then there were the gingerbread houses. That story deserves its very own post.

Anyway it was a fun Christmas. I think we now have more Barbie dolls than ToysRus. That was the only thing Amanda asked Santa to bring her. She finally added a stuffed animal dog and a couple of candy canes to her wish list just so Santa would have options, but for her it was all about the Barbies and Santa came through. Alyssa just wanted a baby doll. She got one that sneezes and runs a fever. Next year maybe she'll specify she'd like a healthy baby doll. Luckily they haven't started dragging out the catalogs and making carefully itemized 6-page wish lists like my brother and I did.

The girls and I spent New Years in Anaheim with my friend Beth. It was an impulsive trip for me. I couldn't resist the idea of Disneyland at Christmastime. Except that we didn't end up going to Disneyland since the weather was horrible, rainy and windy, and we heard the parks were insanely crowded. Bad planning on my part. But we had a great time anyway and we'll be going back to Disneyland again soon. Because if we don't, my children will remind me of it for the rest of my life.

As it is, I'm fairly certain I'll be hearing about it anyway.

Hey Alyssa, remember that Christmas Mommy surprised us with a trip to Disneyland but instead she took us to IHOP and the Dollar Store?

Overheard

2009-11-15T15:46:00.000-08:00

Alyssa: "Peter Pan!"

Jaden: "Peed her pants?"

Alyssa: "Peter Pan!"

Jaden: "Peed her panties?"

Alyssa: "PETER PAN!"

Jaden. "Oh! Peed her pants."

The Princess & the Pop Star

2009-11-06T09:39:00.001-08:00

I have to admit this Halloween was a bit tougher than usual, what with Amanda doing that really annoying thing... thinking for herself.

It was probably in July or August that we started talking about Halloween costumes. Amanda told me she wanted to be Hannah Montana and I thought to myself there's plenty of time to change her mind.

I wasn't particularly thrilled with that choice of costume for a few reasons… one being that my baby is far too young to be dressing like a teenage pop star. Another being that I'm rather old fashioned I guess, because I prefer easily recognizable costumes for kids, something more classic and timeless. And lastly, my BABY is far too young to be dressing like a teenage pop star. Yeah I know. I had to say that twice. Oh, and did I mention that the costume she wanted was $50? Fifty dollars for this totally cheap looking thing?!?

So for months I tried gently swaying her. Then I tried not so gently swaying her. I tossed out every single great idea I could think of, along with a whole bunch of not so great ones. But she wasn't budging. I like to get their costumes early, so I don't have to worry about it. But there we were only ten days before Halloween and she still hadn't decided. Well clearly she had decided, but I was still trying to pretend she hadn't. When I asked her for the 3,458^th time what she wanted to be for Halloween, her chin dropped and she said ever so sadly, "I don't know Mommy, I just don't know. Because there's only one thing I really, really want to be and you don't want me to be that."

Yep, I caved. Ordered the costume that day. And no, I didn't pay anywhere close to $50 for it. Which was good because she barely ended up wearing any of it. The leggings were see-through and the "dress" just barely covered her behind. The belt was awful and she hated the wig. So I insisted she wear a skirt and her own leggings. We used the dress as a top. The night before her Halloween party at school I discovered a huge rip under the arm on the jacket. Really? She'd only tried the thing on for a few minutes.

When Amanda saw the hole, she was seconds away from dissolving into tears so I put on my competent-Mom-face and told her I could fix it. No, I didn't actually believe I could fix it but I couldn't tell her that, could I? Much to the dismay of my mother, who is a master seamstress, I am completely unskilled in that area. Completely unskilled. So I did what the slightly less competent moms do and I got out the duct tape. Well they say you can fix anything with it, don't they? It worked too. Worked just fine until she put the jacket on and we heard this awful ripping sound. Her lip started quivering so again, I said, "Hey, no worries, I can totally fix this." Inside my head there was a lot of swearing going on but I couldn't tell her that, could I?

I finally managed to track down a needle but I couldn't find anything but black thread. When you're extremely bad at sewing, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to the fact by using the wrong color thread. I knew I had to have white thread somewhere but after a very long search and nearly giving up, I suddenly remembered... dental floss! Yup, I totally pulled a McGyver on the Hannah Montana costume from hell. It probably took me at least three times longer than it should have but I actually did a pretty darn good job on it. I'm not sure my mom would have been impressed but I totally was.

So Amanda was Hannah Montana… well no, actually she decided that without the blonde wig she would be Miley Cyrus. If you're not up on the Disney Channel and the whole Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana thing, just ask Amanda. If you wanna know about McGyver, ask me.

Alyssa was supposed to be the easy one this year. I knew anything pretty and sparkly and girly would make her happy so I was planning to put her in the princess dress Amanda wore years ago when Alyssa was just a little pea. It's been hanging in the closet for years, staring at me, just waiting to be worn again.

Except that when I went to get it so Alyssa could try it on, it had somehow managed to drop off the face of the earth. I couldn't find it anywhere. I was so desperate to find it that I reorganized the whole closet and every drawer in the place. If you know me at all, you'll sense the desperation in that move. But still, no princess dress.

Then one night I overheard Alyssa telling Scott that she was going to be Sleeping Beauty for Halloween because if she was Sleeping Beauty she could take a nap. Well that settled that. I didn't even know she knew who Sleeping Beauty was but I wasn't going to argue with napping logic.

So that's how we ended up with a princess and a pop star.

Four

2009-10-17T20:19:00.001-07:00

Four? How is that even possible? My baby is turning four tomorrow. Four is hard to deal with. It's as hard to deal with as Seven was except I was too busy telling you about the day Amanda was born to whine about Seven. I hope to get around to telling the story of the day Alyssa was born, but first, I'm going to whine about Four.

I'm not ready for four. Especially since, before I know it, four will turn into seven. And then thirty. Four is tough. It's so big girl-ish. So not a baby anymore-ish. So mind of her own-ish. I'll be latching onto Four for dear life because I'm certainly not ready yet for Alyssa to get any older.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I will adore Four. I have no doubt that Alyssa will be amazing at any age. She is happy and funny and completely fearless. She's also bossy and has a bit of an evil streak but we're focusing on the good stuff.

We went to the Renaissance Faire last weekend and there were people dressed up in scary costumes who would parade through now and then… witches, goblins, skeletons… The older kids would run away when they showed up. One of the other 7-year-olds we were with would cry and hide behind her mom's back, but Alyssa… she would walk right up to them and let them twirl her around. During the belly-dancing show, she went up and stood right in front swaying her hips until one of the dancers came down and danced with her and then another invited her up on stage to dance with them.

She still loves shoes, dresses and baby dolls. She would have three zillion baby dolls if I would allow it. This gives me great hope for a future jammed full of a LOT of grandchildren. They will mostly be naked though until she whines enough and I finally give into her demands to dress them. She plays endlessly with her baby dolls but she also plays with little people and Barbie dolls and she makes up the funniest storylines, complete with all different voices.

She loves to sing and dance and she is LOUD. I'm pretty sure she picked up these habits from Amanda. Sometimes our world comes to a complete halt while Amanda and Alyssa turn the house into their version of a Broadway musical. She can be very self-sufficient. She hardly ever wets her pants but when she does, she cleans up the mess and changes her clothes before she mentions it.

She's at an especially adorable stage too. She's constantly telling me she loves me, but not just normal I-love-you's. She does those too, but lately she's also starting to say she's sorry when she does something wrong and sometimes she seems to use the phrase "I love you" interchangeably with the phrases, "I'm sorry" and "I forgive you". So sometimes if she's unhappy with me for something or if I'm unhappy with her, she'll burst out with this very emotional, "I LOVE YOU!"

You'd really have to hear it to understand but she's just so dramatic about it, and sometimes the dramas play out so FAST that it makes me want to laugh but I can't because she's so completely serious. One second it's like her world is shattered because I've said no to a second cookie. She's clearly upset with me, but then a second later she lets out a very distraught, "I love you!" and then she flings herself at me in an embrace dripping with feeling as if she was mad, but all is forgiven. She loves me even if I don't get it right every time.

The other day she grabbed my hammer when I wasn't looking. Mind you, my hammer is pink, so it probably looks pretty harmless, but in Alyssa's hands it won't be harmless when she starts pounding on the furniture or her sister's head. When I asked her to give the hammer back to me, she refused and then sat on it as if that was a surefire way to keep it away from me. When I picked her up and took the hammer away from her she was LIVID. I mean seriously angry and she stayed angry for quite a while. She kept saying, "You won't say you're sorry!" and I kept saying that, no I wasn't sorry that I took it away from her, because she knows better than to play with a hammer and she or someone else could get hurt. She went on and on, really upset until finally I was about to tell her I was sorry if I'd hurt her feelings but… I didn't get as far as an explanation because as soon as I got the "I'm sorry…" out of my mouth she yelled out an ever-so-dramatic, "I LOVE YOU!" and flung herself so hard at me that she nearly knocked me over. She stood there clinging to my leg and I knew once again that all was forgiven. She still loved me.

Nope, I'm not ready for Four. It's just that I have loved Three so much. I'm not ready to let go of this stage when she acts like I'm some kind of magician when I do the simplest little things. She oozes with gratitude over tiny things. I can strip down the bed to change the sheets and if Alyssa sees, she will be overwhelmed with appreciation: "You did this? You did this for ME?!?" To her, I didn't just yank the bedding off and throw it in a pile on the floor. No, in her mind, I just turned the bed into a trampoline and the bedding/pillows into a soft landing place perfect for jumping into.

"Amaaaaaaaaaanda!!! Come see what Mommy did!"

And it's like that all the time. I never know what amazing feat I've performed until it has been declared magical by Alyssa. By the time Seven rolls around, it is much harder to perform magic. Seven is a tougher audience. I adore Seven. But I have to work a whole lot harder for Seven.

Alyssa told me yesterday that she's decided that instead of turning four, she is going to turn two! For a split second I tried to decide if we could make that work somehow. As if it was her turn to perform magic. Really? Would you? You would do that for me???

My little supermodels

2009-09-25T18:21:00.001-07:00

I'll be finishing the story soon but I'm too excited to wait on this.
Check out the front page of shutterfly! Click on the picture to make it bigger or go to the actual website: http://www.shutterfly.com/ Obviously that's them on the upper left, but they're also in the little Christmas card in the front.

Sorry, no photos! (on Random Photo Tuesday)

2009-09-22T17:40:00.001-07:00

I've never had professional photos taken of my kids. Nobody ever seems appropriately horrified when I tell them that. At the very least I expect a little gasp or something… at worst a huffy what kind of mother are you? lecture. But nobody even raises an eyebrow. Everybody says, "Oh but you take such great photos. It's not a big deal."

But to me, it's a big deal. If you know me at all, it's pretty obvious that photos are important to me. For the first year or two of their lives, my kids probably thought that big clunky black thing was just a part of Mommy's face. My kids have been photographed. A LOT. Just not professionally.

It's not that I didn't want professional photos. During the time my biological clock was ticking so loudly that it blocked out all rational thoughts, I saw cute baby photos everywhere I turned and imagined having those same photos taken of MY baby one day. I imagined all those photo sessions, with my adorable baby dressed in an adorable outfit propped into some adorable pose next to an adorable prop.

But as soon as the actual adorable baby was born, my focus changed a bit. Of course I still wanted cute photos, but beyond being consumed by the obvious stuff: non-stop nursing, burping, diaper-changing, never sleeping … We had suddenly become a single income household and suddenly the thought of staying home with this brand new baby had become critically important. Unnecessary purchases fell out of the budget. And though I'm fairly certain professional photographs felt like a necessity at the time, I eventually had to face the fact that they weren't an actual requirement.

I remember early on, thinking oh, we could just get professional pictures taken a few times and just buy a few photos and it wouldn't cost that much. But deep down, I knew that when it comes to photos, I have no self-control. The way that other women lust over shoes, purses, jewelry… that's how I am with photos. I'm impulsive. I can't even be trusted not to purchase BAD photos. This was proven to me years earlier in the event I shall refer to as the Glamour Shots from Hell incident.

This wasn't even the real Glamour Shots… It was some knock-off outfit visiting a department store… They lured me with a free sitting and I thought oh sure, why not? That sounds like fun! I can't say it was so much fun though, as it was agonizing, watching my transformation in the mirror and thinking Really? They call this Glamour? But I told myself they knew what they were doing and maybe somehow this would look better in photographs than it did in real life.

After it was all over, they sat me down for a consultation, where a salesman slowly went over the prices of the extremely overpriced packages. They had a huge gold-leafed tri-fold display of my photo proofs on the table in front of me… And I sat there like a deer in headlights, wanting to look away but finding myself unable to. The photos… they were... well what can I say? They were horribly embarrassing. I mean RIDICULOUSLY EMBARRASSING.

In some of the photos I look like I'm wearing my grandma's fur coat and I appear to be naked underneath. Let me tell you, my grandma would not be happy about that! And that thing I'm doing with my eyes... I'm assuming they were trying to get me to look sexy, but really, it's just disturbing. In others I'm wearing a black leather (well probably pleather) halter top, flashin' some naked shoulder and I have a black leather jacket on BACKWARDS… No clue what the backwards jacket was all about, but my head is somewhat resting on my hands, which seem to be clasped in prayer. I assume I was praying that I didn't look as ridiculous as I felt.

After looking at the proofs, I immediately thought to myself that this would be easy. I would not be buying any of these photos.

But the longer the sales pitch lasted, with the sales guy ogling over the obvious beauty that had been captured in those photos… and with the receptionist dropping by to mention that WOW my photos had turned out so gorgeous, some of the best she'd seen… Really? Ya think? You don't think I look completely ridiculous? Was it possible that they were seeing something I wasn't? (Yep, probably COMMISSION CHECKS, you moron!)

I mean it was such an obvious ploy. But my brain must have started to melt away as I sat there. I started to think well maybe someday I'll look back and be glad I took these. (It's been well over a decade now, and someday has not yet arrived.)

It started harmlessly enough and I thought well maybe I could just buy one or two photos… But then it was revealed that the price for even the smallest package was in the high $200 range, which was INSANE especially considering that I HATED THE PHOTOS. But there I sat, feeling guilty… not wanting to offend anyone… thinking that I had wasted so much of these peoples' time, not to mention my own. The salesman, with his long agonizing speech. The hairstylist, who had worked so hard curling and teasing my hair into that big, poofy, curly do that had been quite popular only a decade before. The makeup artist, who worked magic with blush and eyeliner… as long as you think harsh, obvious makeup is magic. The outfits they chose were so creative. I mean really… fake diamonds, feather boas, fur, leather, lace…sometimes all at once. The photographer, who worked tirelessly to bend me into the most painfully awkward poses imaginable. This amazing team had put a huge amount of time and effort into making me look like an incredibly awkward high-priced hooker. Could I really just walk away, ungratefully?

So yes, I bought the photos, cringing painfully as I handed over the credit card. I still have them. I keep them filed away in the painfully expensive lessons-learned category along with my first car (lesson: don't pick a car just because it's cute) and an ex-boyfriend or two (don't pick a boyfriend just because he's cute). I didn't actually keep the car or the ex-boyfriends, but I do have the photos.

I'm not sure I've ever shown the photos to anyone… maybe my mother, but I wouldn't give her any for fear she would proudly display them on the mantle. I did put one in Scott's Christmas stocking one year, seriously intending it as a gag gift. Like look at what a seriously hot mama you landed!!! Thank goodness I gave Scott the photo with the smiling pose rather than the trying-way-too-hard-to-look-sexy pose, because I will never ever forget the moment when many, many years later, I walked into Scott's office at PeopleSoft for the first time and saw that horrifying photo, framed and displayed prominently on his desk.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo! What's this doing here?" I asked , trying to quickly hide it in my purse. But he wouldn't let me. He said he loved that photo. Oh the horror.

So back to the baby pictures, knowing myself well enough to know I wouldn't be able to just buy a few photos, I started doing my own photo shoots at home. I thought I would save the professional photos for the milestones. I planned to have newborn photos taken and then I figured I'd have them done again for her first birthday. But I'm a natural born procrastinator. The problem with newborn portraits is that there is a very small newborn window. Somehow I didn't realize this. Turns out if you procrastinate long enough on the newborn portraits, you might be able to use them as senior portraits.

Really, try calling a photo studio to schedule a newborn portrait session. When they ask how old your baby is and you say something along the lines of say five or six… they will ask if you are talking about days or weeks. When you say, "years" there will be a cold silence on the other end of the phone during which they are deciding what to write about you in the margin of the appointment book… Crazy? Cuckoo? Loony? Pick your adjective. It doesn't matter. That icy silence tells you that they are scheduling your appointment with either the new guy who has ZERO photography experience or the photographer who everyone knows is hitting the crack pipe on his lunch hour.

So before I knew it, the newborn days had passed, and then I didn't get around to having photos taken on Amanda's first birthday. Pretty soon I'd totally missed the baby stage. Once I got on the no pro-photo-roll, I started thinking that when I finally got around to it, these better be some darn nice photos… which made me a little nervous. Nervous about picking the perfect adorable outfit, and doing her hair in some totally adorable style, neither of which I consider myself particularly good at… And then I'd have to find a good photographer… probably not the department store variety because we all know I'd spend a ton of money even if they were awful and then I'd probably be scarred permanently by the experience and it would be another five years before we went again. So I continued to procrastinate because really, it was just so much easier to take my own pictures.

Fast-forward to August 2009, when Shutterfly calls and asks if they can photograph Amanda and Alyssa. Umm. Gee that's a tough one…. YES, YES, YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Tune in soon (and when I say soon, don't hold your breath) for part two: "Amanda & Alyssa, Shutterfly Supermodels!"

The Best Birthday Gift Ever

2009-09-21T11:21:00.000-07:00

I’ve been meaning to post this for over a month. I got the best gift on the planet for my 40th birthday. My sister-in-law, Cara, put this photo book together with help from my family and friends. For more of the story, see the "Impatiently waiting..." post below.

Click here to view this photo book.

(Im)patiently waiting for my "surprise" birthday photo book

2009-09-21T11:16:00.000-07:00

Most of you know that I’m the photo book maker in my family. I’ve made gift books for several family members and friends over the years but honestly never expected to receive one as a gift myself. When I made Dan and Darin’s birthday books, my mom kept joking that when my 40th birthday rolled around, I would have to make my own book. I thought I probably would too. EXCEPT that at the end of April, several months before my birthday, I was accidentally blind-copied on an email from my sister, trying to track down email addresses of my friends for the photo book they were putting together in my honor for my 40th birthday.

I was totally shocked and excited because YAY! They’re making me a photo book! I immediately decided that I would keep the news to myself because the surprise element has always been one of the most fun parts of making a photo book for me. I didn’t want to ruin that for my family. So I did a little happy dance and prepared to wait patiently.

Except, as it turns out, I’m not nearly as patient as I thought I was.

The first person I spilled my guts to was my sister-in-law, Cara. She was listed on that first email so I knew she was involved. Plus we’re very close so I knew she wouldn’t rat me out. Her response: Huge relief. She said she was sorry the surprise was ruined but she had stories to tell and I was the only one who could truly appreciate them. Most of these stories revolved around the fact that…and I quote… “your family is NUTS!”

I hope nobody is offended by this… I adore my family, every single member… if you’ve seen my Shutterfly gallery you’ll know I cherish them, BUT they do come equipped with a normal amount of crazy. We’re just one big happy, though slightly dysfunctional family, like most families, I think. So when my sister-in-law said that, I just nodded my head and smiled a knowing smile. And asked her to tell me everything, of course.

It seems that when my sister-in-law received that first email, she responded by saying that she would be happy to help in any way. She could gather photos, edit text, whatever they needed. My mother responded by saying, she was incredibly grateful and ever-so-relieved and appreciative for my sister-in-law’s generous offer to MAKE THE ENTIRE BOOK.

HUH?

My sister-in-law said she reread her own email at least 50 times and couldn’t figure out how the mistake had been made, but decided that rather than argue, she would make the book. Not only that, but she decided that to make a book that I deserved (her words, not mine :-)) she wanted to make it in Photoshop and then print it through Shutterfly (of course!). My mom was even more thrilled when she heard that. She told my sister-in-law that she’d wanted to learn Photoshop for a long time so this was going to be great and she would love to sit with her while she did it. So yes, at this point my mom has managed to volunteer my sister-in-law to a) make my photo book and b) teach her Photoshop in the process.

Mind you, the photo book part is somewhat amusing because not only have I made more than one gift album for my sister-in-law, but also she has pushed off nearly every photo project that came her way on me in kind of a “ha ha… it sucks to be the creative one, doesn’t it?” kind of way. So the photo book part I didn’t feel that bad about… The teaching my mom Photoshop part however, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

I adore my mother, truly, I do. She is one of the most creative people I’ve ever met and watching her make amazing, funny, creative handmade gifts all my life is probably the main reason I make photo books now BUT I’ve spent at least 15 years trying to teach the woman how to “copy & paste” on her computer. Photoshop isn’t something she should attempt. It’s just not.

I gave my sister-in-law every bit of photo book/working with my mom advice I could think of, including “whatever you do, do not give her your phone number.” She said, “Funny, both of your sisters gave me that same advice”, along with my sincerest apologies, wished her well and then waited patiently for my photo book.

Except I’m not that patient.

The next person I spilled my guts to was one of my closest friends, Wendy, my photo-fanatic-Shutterfly-photo-book-making-friend. She said I should tell my sister-in-law that she would love to help. I said yeah that would be great. But whatever you do, don’t mention that to my mom. She was also oh so very “you just put this whole thing out of your mind” about it. Which was really no fun at all. I said, “As long as the surprise is ruined I might as well enjoy this right? And how better to enjoy it then with some behind-the-scenes-dirt?” But she said, “Just put it out of your mind and try to be patient.”

But you know I’m not good at that.

Luckily I would get an occasional puzzling call from my sister-in-law. “Do you know what alliteration means?” Umm… I think so… It’s when you repeat the first letter in several words in a…”

“Ha! I knew it! Your mom didn’t think… She’s just questioning every single thing I… no…I’m biting my tongue. I told myself I would bite my tongue until this was over. I’m biting my tongue.”

“Oh come on. That’s no fun,” I pleaded. “I’m really concerned that a lot of the very most amusing details could be forgotten by then. Or that you won’t be speaking to me… Come on. You can tell me.”

“Nope. I’m biting my tongue. You’ll just have to be patient.”

Of course. I’ll do that.

So then I went on vacation for a week with Beth, another close friend from childhood. And how could I NOT spill my guts to her? She was greatly relieved because she’d almost accidentally slipped at least four times on the ride up and did I know that my mom was contacting my ex-boyfriends and asking them to contribute to my photo book? I-yi-yi. Oh but only a couple of them. Ex-boyfriend A, who my mom detested and Ex-boyfriend B, who she adored (both from the high school/very young adult era).

I often don’t understand the way my mom’s brain works. The fact that she felt the need to contact ex-boyfriends at all is weird to me. After all, I am married with children now. The fact that she took the time to locate an ex-boyfriend she couldn’t stand? Even weirder. Then my friend tells me that, even better, she told Ex-boyfriend A (who she detested) that she didn’t like his contribution and asked him to revise it! Wheeeeee! This is fun. Please tell me she doesn’t have the email addresses of my former employers? Perhaps I should whip up a list of my worst enemies?

But by the time my sister-in-law called to ask how I felt about having ex-boyfriends in the book, I said as long as the contributions are tasteful and it’s not totally in-your-face that they are exes I would let it go. My husband isn’t a jealous guy. And she didn’t need another battle to fight with my mom.

Next I heard from one of my close friends that trouble was brewing… and they didn’t want to bother me with it but… “Oh come on YOU HAVE TO TELL ME NOW,” I insisted.

So apparently in an effort to prod my husband (her brother) into finally getting his contribution in, my sister-in-law had jokingly said something along the lines of, “Come on. How’s it going to look if all of her ex-boyfriends took the time to write but her own husband didn’t?” She thought he would be amused.

He wasn’t amused.

“Her mom is contacting ex-boyfriends?!?”

So then my sister-in-law and my mom argued over whether or not the ex-boyfriend pages should be in the book. Obviously my sister-in-law thought they shouldn’t be. But my mom was hell-bent on keeping them in. Because she was sure that I would want them in.(???) Well gee it’s too bad this is a surprise or they could ask me.

Eventually the ex-boyfriend pages were removed. And then I just went back to being patient.

Well my version of being patient. Which meant I tried my very hardest not to stick my nose into it at all… really, I did… because with my sister-in-law in charge I knew the book would be amazing. It’s just that now and then I would get curious. And sometimes I couldn’t avoid asking a question. Like the time I wondered aloud to one of my friends, “Gee I wonder if anyone asked my kids to contribute… probably, right? But you know how some people don’t think kids have… oh never mind, not my business…"

The very next day my sister-in-law called. I anxiously awaited some frustrated rant about my mother but instead, “Hey, is Amanda around?” Ah ha. “Sure. Just a second.” I said, pretending we both didn’t know what this was about.

Amanda took the phone and after a second, shot me a look, scurried off to her bedroom and shut her door behind her.

Darn it.

Several minutes later she returned to playing and I casually drilled her for details. “Hey, so what did Aunt Cara want?”

“Nothing.” She answered each of my questions either with that or something equally as informative. Clearly she’d been sworn to secrecy. How annoying.

But then there was this: “Oh, I told her that story about the time you had the toilet seat cover stuck to your butt.”

“You told her what? (pause.) What about the rule?”

“What rule?”

“You know what rule, Amanda. The what-happens-in-the-bathroom-stays-in-the-bathroom rule… or to be more specific the what-happens-in-the-amusement-park-bathroom-after-mommy-feels-like-she’s-going-to-puke-her-guts-out-after-riding-that-awful-banana-ride stays in the the-amusement-park-bathroom-after-mommy-feels-like-she’s-going-to-puke-her-guts-out-after-riding-that-awful-banana-ride rule.”

“Oh. Sorry Mommy!” she said as she returned to her Barbies.

No problem. I knew that story was totally making it into my book now. Which is perfect. Because I was wondering how I could get the Dione-with-a-toilet-seat-cover-stuck-to-her-butt story published in the Shutterfly Gallery. Awesome.

So then I started thinking… Amanda only talked to her aunt for a few minutes. How did that specific story come up so fast? CRAP. What if this book is "Dione’s Top 40 most embarrassing moments" or something?

Nah… they wouldn’t do that to me…. Or would they?

“Hey Amanda, Cara didn’t ask to talk to Alyssa?”

“Nope. I’m supposed to talk to Alyssa and then she’ll call me back tomorrow."

Perfect. That should give you two more time to come up with another embarrassing story. I’ll just wait patiently. My birthday is rapidly approaching. I can wait.

Except that at some point I heard that the book was complete…and honestly was washed over by the same huge amount of relief that I feel when I complete one of my own photo books... but that my birthday party… the one to celebrate my July 23rd birthday and be presented with the much awaited photo book…was expected to be held sometime in LATE AUGUST.

HUH?

Seriously. I’m trying to be patient but this is getting ridiculous. I explained to my sister-in-law that yeah, my family sees no problem with delaying things to a more convenient time so as not to disrupt schedules. We’ve even been known to put the occasional body on ice so that the funeral could be held at a more convenient time. No really, we have.

Normally I’m okay with this. I’m usually a “just roll with it” kind of girl. I can live without a party. Absolutely. But come on people. I’M WAITING ON A PHOTO BOOK HERE.

About a week after my birthday, Ex-boyfriend A (the one my mother detests) tracked me down on facebook, wished me a happy a belated birthday and asked me how I liked the photo book my mom had put together and asked if his contribution had made the cut.

Photo book? What photo book? I don’t know a thing about any photo book.

It was right about at this point that I told this story on my Shutterfly Gallery Guru message board. It's a small private message board, and I figured, who better to tell then a group of people who love making photo books as much as I do? I wish I’d posted the story earlier. They seemed nearly as anxious to see the photo book as I was, which was nice. Up until then, I felt like the only one on the planet who hadn't seen the book. Having company was nice.

A couple of days before my birthday party I started getting nervous that I wouldn't be able to act surprised about the book. I am NOT a good actress and at that point I figured it was going to take all of my self-control not to walk into the party and demand, "Hand over the photo book and nobody gets hurt!" When I told my sister-in-law I was nervous about it, she said, "No worries. All you have to do is cry."

Crying would be easy. I am a crier. Cara knew I would cry. I knew I would cry. My mother included a box of Kleenex with the book because she knew I would cry. I cry at complete strangers' books in the Shutterfly gallery on a regular basis. I nearly cried three times on the way to the party just thinking about my book. But with every eye on me, not to mention cameras and video cameras trained to capture my reaction, I, who desperately hates to be the center of attention, barely worked up a tear. I hope it was completely obvious that I was thrilled to itty bitty pieces though. Trust me, I couldn’t have been any happier. It's the best birthday gift in the universe.

When I woke up at 4:30am the next morning thinking about some detail from the book, I suddenly remembered that the book was now mine (FINALLY!) and I could read it any time I wanted. So I got up and bawled my eyes out as I read it from cover to cover while drinking coffee and eating leftover birthday cake. (Please don't tell my mom. I swear I didn't get chocolate on the book!)

Anyway, as I've already said, I LOVE the book. It's so much fun to be on the receiving end of a photo book. It was totally worth the long and somewhat torturous wait. By the way, I felt totally guilty lying to my mom when she casually asked at the party, "You didn't know, right?" so I ended up spilling my guts to my mom and sisters the very next day.
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Since the text is hard to read for some in Shutterfly, Cara was kind enough to put together a slideshow version. Hopefully you'll be able to view these pages a bit larger. It looks like only partial pages show up after I post this. I think my blog margins are too narrow or something BUT if you do want to see larger versions of the pages then click on the photo. The "view all images" tab may give you an error message, but clicking on the photo should take you to the album where you can zoom in and get huge versions of each page.

Seven years ago, part 2

2009-09-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

We arrived at the hospital around 9am maybe. A quick test determined that my water had indeed broken, and they admitted me to the labor and delivery floor.

I have a hard time remembering details… well certain kinds of details. When I hear other moms tell the stories of their labors and deliveries, I feel inadequate when they start throwing out very specific moment-by-moment facts, like by 3:42 pm my contractions were coming every 5 minutes but I was only 3 cm dilated, his head high up, 60% effacement but after they started the pitocin drip I was 10 cm dilated, full effacement, and his head fully engaged by 4:18. That kind of information does not stay in my brain for long.

I asked Darin to write down some of the details but of course I can’t find those notes now. I did run across endless emails written during my pregnancy and I may have to write another post with funny pregnancy moments, like the time a casual acquaintance at work asked me if I planned to breastfeed the baby. When I told her I was, she replied, “Well even if you don’t do anything else, I would strongly recommend that you start preparing your nipples now!”

I just smiled and nodded as if preparing my nipples was something that I had obviously given a lot of thought to and had completely under control. And then I ran from the room horrified. Who knew you had to prepare them? And how??? Should I be talking to my nipples? Warning them about what they’re in for? Should I get a puppy and let him chew on them for a while?

What I can tell you now, two kids later, both breastfed far longer than I ever planned, is that my nipples were completely, entirely, utterly unprepared. My nipples had absolutely no clue what they were getting themselves into. Once living a life of leisure they were forced into servitude. Endless hours of on-demand feeding. They were yanked on, chewed on, they’ve been through hell and back. Yet, even now, I still have absolutely no idea how I might have prepared them. Even if I had tried to warn them, they would not have believed me.

Oh but back to labor and delivery, I was saying that I don’t remember the technical details. I do remember other details though. I remember that my labor & delivery nurse had short blonde hair and made me feel totally at ease right from the first moment I arrived. I remember that she had two kids, named Amanda and Chase. Since Amanda was my chosen girl’s name and in the homestretch I still hadn’t decided on a boy’s name, I thought maybe it was some kind of sign and I was heavily weighing "Chase" as an option… not remembering that Scott had vetoed it because he didn’t want his son named after a bank.

I remember that the door to my room, along with several spots in my room were plastered with signs warning that it was a latex-free zone because of my latex allergy. When I casually mentioned that it seemed like they were making an awfully big deal of it, I got a very stern lecture from a nurse who explained that latex allergies are extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. She made it clear that if I wasn’t careful, one day I might drop dead, killed by a pair of latex-soled tennis shoes.

I can’t remember who arrived at the hospital first: Darin or Grandma & Grandpa T. When I was still at home, Grandma and Grandpa T had called to ask if we had a baby yet. I was annoyed at Scott, instantly assuming, that rather than sleeping as I had instructed, he had been in bed calling everyone we knew on his cell phone.

I reported, “Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving for the hospital shortly!” They were shocked. Turns out they’d only been calling to check in. As Grandpa stood by my bedside chatting with me, I had to stop talking during the contractions… to catch my breath from the pain…but I continued to smile, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. Nobody wants to see someone they care about in pain, right?

It was a relief when my sister Darin arrived. I think I invited her to the delivery when I was about three minutes pregnant. I seriously have no clue how women deliver babies without her there. I personally would not do it. Darin is like a one-woman show... a Swiss Army knife in sister form. She’s my mediator/counselor/PR person/personal assistant/birthing coach. And most of all she makes me laugh.

I wasn’t quite sure how Scott would handle the delivery room. An incident early on in the pregnancy made me think it might not go well. He’d gone with me to my second doctor appointment and nearly had to pull the car over when I casually mentioned that there was a possibility I might have another ultrasound and they might have to do it vaginally instead of the other way where they rub the instrument over your belly.

He FREAKED. “They’re going to do it HOW???

He seemed fine when we got to the office though and had all of the nurses giggling when he insisted on weighing me himself and loudly announcing my weight to everyone as I growled, “You’re never coming here again!” The nurse said she was surprised my blood pressure was so low after meeting my husband. Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.

Scott started to look pale when the nurse told me I would need to disrobe from the waist down for my ultrasound. He asked her if he could have a hit of nitrous oxide. Thinking it would distract him, I handed him the digital camera suggesting he do a video clip of the baby. But it was too late, he was already in full force panic, his face white, his forehead sweating. He said he’d taken one look at the medical equipment on the counter and got woozy.

“Umm, Sweetie…those are tongue depressors and Q-tips.”

He explained that it was just the whole doctor’s office thing. “You know they tortured me as a kid...I hate doctors… I can’t stay.” I took the camera away before he dropped it and was trying to figure out if he was going to pass out or if I was going to have to chase him down the hallway wrapped in this giant paper napkin… when the doctor walked in and Scott snapped back into manly-man-mode. I still can’t believe he tried to sell me on that whole, “I hate poop, you hate blood; you change the diapers, I’ll change the band-aids” routine when this is how he reacted to a routine doctor appointment.

Oh but back to labor and delivery…

I don’t remember how much I was dilated the first time they checked me. I just remember I wasn’t nearly as far along as I expected or hoped. I was irritated that Scott had rushed me because had I stayed home, I would have had time to reorganize my closet and clean the ceiling fans. At some point they started me on pitocin to help move things along.

The nurse showed me a chart similar to the one above to measure my pain. I remember Darin and I laughing about that chart. It just seemed ridiculous and completely inadequate. Was that chart designed for a child? Was it designed by a child? I mean I’m a woman. I've already mentioned that I smile through my pain. A woman can get a 104 degree fever and be in danger of coughing up a lung but as long as she can stand up, she will paste on a smile and go on as normal.

They might as well have handed me a chart covered with photographs of several smiling women and let me guess which one was in the most pain: The virgin Mary smiling weakly after having just ridden endless miles on a donkey before giving birth to Jesus in a manger… Maya Angelou, smiling serenely while transforming 80 years of pain into poetry… Mother Teresa smiling peacefully as she witnesses endless suffering and poverty…perhaps Martha Stewart smiling happily from behind glass in prison while holding up a beautifully calligraphied sign for her lawyer, saying “Get me out of this f*ing place NOW or heads are going to roll.”… Lorena Bobbit smiling brightly holding a knife in one hand and her husband’s severed penis in the other.

I thought a more helpful chart would have cartoon drawings of actual injuries:

A stick figure with a splinter, a stick figure with a skinned knee, one with a severed arm, one with a gunshot wound to the head… that type of thing. How would you rate your pain compared to these? I really think I could wrap my brain around those possibilities.

Early on in my pregnancy I watched dozens of episodes of TLC’s “A Baby Story”. Each show follows a pregnant woman from shortly before birth through labor and delivery. I noticed that women who were completely determined not to have an epidural during the pre-labor interviews, quite frequently ended up begging and pleading in a high pitch rage for them at some point during labor. So I decided very early on not to do that whole brave face thing myself. Sign me up for the epidural, please!

I can’t remember the magic number I had to choose on the pain chart before it was epidural time, but I really thought I’d have to suffer more first. I do remember falling head over heels in love with the anesthesiologist who gave me that epidural. We only spent a brief few minutes together, many of them with him shoving a ginormous needle into my spine. But I loved him, nevertheless. Somewhere there is a photo of him and me together. I’m in my hospital gown smiling a happy, giddy, suddenly pain-free new love smile… meanwhile he’s smiling that oh brother, another laboring woman has fallen in love with me smile…

My entire outlook changed after I got my epidural. The rest of the day is a bit of a blur, but a happy, mostly pain-free day. It was late in the day before I got to start pushing and it did seem like I had to push FOREVER.

Finally, at 8:33pm the baby arrived. I waited several long agonizing seconds before the doctor gave me the information I was waiting for: “She is perfect and beautiful.”
SHE!?! She??? … It’s a girl!!!

Amanda Noelle was 8lbs, 20 1/4 inches long and with a full head of dark hair. She was perfect and beautiful just like the doctor said. And I was happier than I’d ever been in my life.