Rox and Roll

Putting 2008 -- and my Vox blog -- in the rearview mirror

I think that when I'm 90 -- and since my great-grandmothers lived to nearly a hundred, I'm betting I'll make it that long -- I'll look back on this year as one of the craziest years of my life.  2008 started with our whole lives up in the air, and it's ending with our feet back on some solid ground.

In January, we still thought we were probably relocating somewhere along the Main Line in Philly; by mid-January, we had decided that we loved our little NJ town and wanted to stay put.  So, since we were staying put, we adopted our beloved guinea pigs, Cinnamon and Oreo.  And then in February, the Guv's company decided to go ahead and open an office in Silicon Valley, and we started packing our bags.  We celebrated at some friends' Mardi Gras party with a whole lot of Goldschlager and an ice luge.  We had wanted to live in California at some point for a very long time; we were excited that our dream was becoming real.

Blessedly, our New Jersey home sold quickly; our house hunt on the Left Coast took much longer.  The real estate lessons I learned (and the bidding war in which we triumphed) shock me to this day.  The Guv says he loves our new house 29-30 days out of the month; on the 30th or 31st day, he writes the mortgage check.  And then there's the little matter of our red cottage in Vermont, from which I'm writing this post.  We wouldn't have bought this place had we known we were moving West; but, after two full summers and now two Christmases here, we can't imagine not spending some time in these Green Mountains each year.  Both California and Vermont are home now, and I feel that we're in perfect balance at long last.  In California, the Guv has a five-minute bike ride to work as opposed to his hour-long one from NJ to PA; in Vermont, the kids are healthy and happy with summer camps and summer friends (or, in the winter, an awesome ski school) -- some stability, in case California isn't our last stop (though we're fairly certain it is).  I get my mountain time; the Guv gets to be in the mix in Silicon Valley.   I get to spend the school year with my mommy blogger friends; the Guv gets some premium summer golf.  Everybody wins.

The greatest victors of the year, though, are Dash and Petunia.  Dash started 2008 with chronic ear infections and with absolutely zero weight gain over the year; he's ending 2008 with ear tubes, some significant progress in curbing his constant sickness, a better appetite, and six pounds more in weight to show for it.  He is happier, better behaved, hyper-athletic, and still All Boy.  As for Petunia, she "wows" us every day with her flexibility and kindness, above all else.  We expected the move West to be more traumatic for her than it was.  She eased into our new West Coast life like I ease into my favorite pair of jeans -- like it was a comfortable, familiar place in which to find herself.  She maintained contact with old friends while making a ton of new ones.  She has seized a lot of opportunities to serve her new community, especially the homeless population -- something we didn't have in our little NJ town and which she has found distressing but not scary.  I marvel at her fundamental goodness every day, no matter where in the world we are.

As for your humble scribe, I find myself in a better place psychologically than I've been in a long time.  I'm lucky that I don't really get depressed, but I wasn't exactly happy in New Jersey -- not because of the place (though it's not lost on me how much healthier the kids and I are since we left), but because we couldn't have the family life we wanted when Daddy's commute time exceeded two hours each day.  Now, the Guv is home for dinner most nights -- and if he's not, it's either because we've walked to his office to meet him for dinner or because he's having fun with some friends in the industry.  He has time for a few more beers now with no pressure to come home -- and, from my vantage point, that has made him a lot happier, too.  We're all ending the year more happy, more healthy, more fit (all that CA biking!) and more together -- and that's the best thing any of us could've resolved for 2008. 

To celebrate the end of a marvelous year, I'm launching my blog on Typepad -- still Rox and Roll, now at www.roxandroll.com instead of on Vox.  Typepad offers more features, like the ability to save posts in draft mode or to upload posts at a scheduled time; the all-at-once Vox posting doesn't allow me to delve into subject matter in a way that I'd like on the new blog... Visit me over there, and you'll soon see what I mean!  For now, you'll just find some posts called "Best of Rox on Vox" -- just my favorites from my seventeen months on Vox -- with more to come in the New Year.

May your health, happiness, and joy exceed even mine in 2009.  See you then, on the all new Rox and Roll!

Best of Rox on Vox: Overheard at Starbucks

Barista to Mexican lawn guy: "May I have your name for the cup?"

Mexican lawn guy: "My name is Democracy.  My name is America."

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox on my 35th birthday, September 20, 2008.

Best of Rox on Vox: Obama at Wesleyan

Obama at Wesleyan

Click here to see future President Barack Obama's commencement address at my alma mater, Wesleyan University.

Click here to read the text of the speech.

My favorite excerpt:

"Each of you will have the chance to make your own discovery in the years to come.  And I say “chance” because you won’t have to take it.  There’s no community service requirement in the real world; no one forcing you to care.  You can take your diploma, walk off this stage, and chase only after the big house and the nice suits and all the other things that our money culture says you should by.  You can choose to narrow your concerns and live your life in a way that tries to keep your story separate from America’s.

But I hope you don’t.  Not because you have an obligation to those who are less fortunate, though you do have that obligation.  Not because you have a debt to all those who helped you get here, though you do have that debt.

It’s because you have an obligation to yourself.  Because our individual salvation depends on collective salvation.  Because thinking only about yourself, fulfilling your immediate wants and needs, betrays a poverty of ambition.  Because it’s only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realize your true potential and discover the role you’ll play in writing the next great chapter in America’s story."

***

That right there, that's why Obama has my vote.  He makes me want to be a better person -- a better American, and a better Citizen of the World.  I have two good hands, a strong heart, and an educated mind, and maybe, just maybe, there's a bigger use for them than I dreamed when I graduated from Wesleyan over a decade ago -- when, admittedly, all I thought about was how I was going to pay the rent.  It's time to do more, because I can, and you can, and the Presidency and our government can...

And this all makes sense to me, because, for years, I've taught my kids that "can't" is a bad word.  They can swear all they want, but they can't say "can't."  Maybe it's time that our government learned that when it comes to health care, education, poverty, etc.  And if anyone can convince both sides of the aisle of that, it is Barack Obama.

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, May 27, 2008.

Best of Rox on Vox: Was that dino smart?

Originally titled: "A post by Petunia, with postscript"

(Note: Petunia's school teaches "phonetic spelling" -- and I'm keeping her story true to form.  This story was not a school assignment; she crafted it during free time.)

Dino's

Dinos are gigondor lizirds.  my fafrot is the Apatosurus.  the Apatosurus had a strong tail and a strong hart.  so sometime's thay one agyenst meat eaters.  was that dino smart?  yes it was!  that's yhi it one somtimes agyenst meat eaters.  thay where nice to.  thay ate grass and trees.  thay would be kind to pepol to.  thay lived on the grownd.

***

This neatly printed story came home on Tuesday, and I shared it with the Guv on Wednesday evening.  The Guv then said what is perhaps the nicest thing I've ever heard him say: "Sometimes, I just want to tell her to climb on my back, and just stay there, stay there for the rest of her life."

And I say that sometimes, one can spend nearly two decades in love with someone and still find reasons to love that person just a little bit more.  Sometimes, I realize just how lucky, and how happy, I am with my family.  Sometimes I need that reminder.

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, December 13, 2007.

Best of Rox on Vox: Petunia and Dash, sick in bed together

Originally titled: "Stuck between a Petunia and a Dash"

Petunia is now sick.  Here's an excerpt of our pre-bed conversation:

Petunia: "Mama, I'm freezing!"

Mama: "I know, Petunia, it's because you have a fever and the medicine isn't working yet."

Petunia: "Mama, I have chicken pox!"

Mama: "I'm quite certain that you don't have chicken pox, Petunia."

Petunia: "Duck bites!  I have duck bites!"

Mama, intrigued: "What are duck bites?"

Petunia: "THESE! (pointing)"

Mama, giggling: "Goose bumps, Petunia, you have goose bumps."

Petunia: "Goose bumps, duck bites, WHATEVER, I just want someone to warm me up!"

And with that, we ALL climbed in my big bed -- a feverish Petunia on one side, a still-fighting-a-cold Dash on the other side, and Mama in the middle.  We've never attempted this before, and I must say that it was very sweet while it lasted.  I never woke up to post last night because with Petunia asleep on my left shoulder and Dash asleep on my right, I was quite stuck.  Petunia sang Dash to sleep, and they were reaching to hold each other over me.  Since Dash doesn't ever want Petunia near me or near his sleeping quarters, this was a very special time -- like he knew she was sick and needed me too. 

But, as I said, it didn't last the night -- as Petunia's fever broke, she started tossing and turning and talking A LOT in her sleep, waking Dash who demanded FiFi and cried for Daddy-hold-you.  So, at 2:30, I asked Petunia if she could go back to her bed -- especially because I hadn't yet gotten a wink of sleep.  I expected a fight, but instead?  She said, "Thank goodness, that baby's been keeping me up all night."

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, November 16, 2007.

Best of Rox on Vox: The Guv hates surprises

Truly, I love the holiday season.  I love the feeling of joy in the air, the smell of real Christmas trees, and the expectation of the New Year at hand.  And I love to shop for that Perfect Gift for my loved ones and closest friends. 

Except for the Guv.  Shopping for him is most unpleasant.  Why?  Read on.

First, he asked for a Garmin Nuvi, which he bought for himself on Black Friday because it was on sale.  Then, he said he'd like this golf game.  When it arrived in the mail today -- I hadn't ordered it -- I expected him to walk in and say "hey, my Christmas present arrived!" at which point I'd whisk it away and wrap it up for Christmas morning.  Surprise!  And then I went to put Dash to bed, and, when I came downstairs, there was the game, all set up on my den floor.  Now, he says he wants a 100 Grand bar from me and a Snickers from the kids, and that's all. 

I'm torn on this one.  Perhaps that's all I should give him, as he's pretty much seen to his own "needs."  Yet, I know that "Jesus is the reason for the season" and all, but, darnit, I want to buy the Guv some presents that he knows nothing about -- and, more than that, I want them to be things that truly surprise him and that he loves getting.  I want him to get into the spirit of the thing.  He could even make a long wish list on Amazon from which I could select items... but going out and buying himself all of the good stuff he wants?  That's just not cool.

So now, I'm thinking of doing the holidays the Guv's way.  I'm going shopping tomorrow to buy my own gifts.  When he reads this, he may require medical attention, because this year he's buying me this and this.  SURPRISE!

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, November 29, 2007.

Best of Rox on Vox: Petunia, age 7

Originally titled: "Lucky Seven"

At 12:17 this morning, Petunia turned seven years old. 

Last night, while I was tucking her into bed, she wanted to hear the story of her looonnnng birth just one more time.  I love how she can't get enough of hearing about it and wonder when Dash will be old enough to want to hear his story.

Here's Petunia's: The Guv and I had been together for ten years (married for three) when Petunia came on the scene.  She was to be born at the start of his second year of graduate school, due on September 11.  Due to mild PIH (high blood pressure during pregnancy), I went on bedrest Labor Day weekend.  Unfortunately, September 11 came and went without me having my own Labor Day.  Shortly thereafter, my Very Nervous Mother arrived.  My 27th birthday, September 20, came and went as well.  On September 22, a routine doctor's visit showed that I was actually having contractions, but they were so far apart that she sent me home.  One of our friends was hosting a birthday party a block away.  I gave myself permission to walk over there.   I told him that his present was that I might just have this overdue baby in his apartment.  He started boiling water.

On the morning of September 23, I woke up still unaware that I was having contractions.  The doc suggested that I come into the hospital so that she could speed things up with induction drugs, which she slipped into my arm around 9 am.  The Guv and I walked laps around the hospital for hours.  Around noon, my knees buckled when I felt my first contraction, finally.  Petunia was posterior (facing the wrong way), which adds a lot of pain to the delivery process, so, after five more hours of unsuccessful and incredibly painful contractions, I opted for an epidural at 5 pm.  No matter how the anesthesiologist adjusted it, it still only numbed my left side.  When I started throwing up from the pain, the doc suggested a C-section.  I told her no, this baby's coming out the long way, and that she did: I started pushing around 10 pm, and, after almost two and a half hours, Petunia grudgingly came into the world at 8 pounds, 7 ounces, 21 3/4 inches long.  She smiled at her dad before being whisked away to the NICU to be deep-suctioned (NOT by the med student that the Guv had ordered from the room after noticing that they had the same student ID!).  An hour later, she was in my arms, all big eyes and rosy cheeks just like she is today. 

After I told Petunia that story last night, I watched her fall asleep, and it is not so hard to remember her as a small baby.  Dash is special too, of course, but there's something about a first baby that can't be replaced by others.  As she thanked me sweetly this morning for ironing her special birthday dress, I couldn't help but get down on my knees, look her straight into the eyes, and thank her for teaching me how to be a mom.   It's been a real pleasure navigating parenthood with such a sweet little girl by my side.

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, September 24, 2007.

Best of Rox on Vox: Launch Post, August 2007

Originally titled: "Entering the fray"

Why blog?  my husband, the Guv, asks.  Why not call someone you'd like to get to know better and ask them out for coffee?

I sigh.  An avid reader of blogs since they were so named, it's high time I enter the fray.  While the Guv prefers to perform for a live audience, I struggle in the suburbs to find my place among the alpha-moms.  Most days, I wake up wanting to scream "Something is not right here!" but know that my cries would fall on deaf ears.  So, blog I will, and perhaps a new, invisble audience will help me to make some sense of this bizarre life.

Here I am.  I am Roxane, 34, SAHM to 7 y.o. Petunia and 2.5 y.o. Dash.  We spend our school years in the NJ suburbs and our summers in the Green Mountains.  The Guv spoils us all rotten, in part to make up for his strenuous work schedule in private equity land.  As for me, I am trying to take up tennis again and entertaining the idea of returning to outside-the-home work, preferably something in my field of higher education administration.

Petunia will start the second grade this week, no doubt wearing a pink dress with perfectly coordinated accessories, a big smile, and charisma that rivals her father's.  She is as tall as a 10 year old, smart, articulate and beautiful.  She'll play piano, tap dance, and start tennis lessons.  Teachers and kids alike will love her to pieces.

Dash will start preschool for the first time this week, too, no doubt wearing the breakfast that he didn't eat all over a shirt with a picture of Something With Wheels on it, a big smile, and a King Of The World attitude that rivals his father's.  We pray that he lasts at least a week before expulsion.  We have a pool going.  Don't worry, he won't hurt another kid.  He'll either a) climb something and remain out of reach; b) escape and not be found; or c) run, run, run away.  He IS faster than a speeding bullet, underweight, freaky-smart, can out-talk someone twice his age, and is adorable enough to avoid punishment for his fiendish acts.  We have no idea how teachers and kids will react to him.

Soon, I will start writing of my mommy-angst, my desire to find a place somewhere between the alpha- and beta-moms, my inability to get Mac to sleep or eat, my struggles to find time and place alone with the Guv, my desire for friends who'd rather go for beers than go shopping... But tonight, I merely say good night, and thanks for making space for me in cyberland.  I hope it's a nice place to play.

Originally posted to Rox and Roll on Vox, August 30, 2007.

Saga after saga

In addition to our travel woes, I had quite a scare yesterday; I left my purse hanging on the back of a chair in a Starbucks in East Palo Alto.

I have never in my life lost a wallet or left my purse anywhere before.  To leave it in EPA -- not the best of 'hoods -- was extremely unwise, to say the least.

When I realized what I'd done, my blood pressure hit the roof, I was hyperventilating and crying and dizzy all at once, and I could barely get out the words to tell the Guv what I'd done.  He high-tailed it back there as I called the store and explained the situation.  We were still a good fifteen minutes away.

"I don't see anything," the barista said, "but hold on a minute... Oh, wait... Is your name Roxane?"

They had my purse.  When I showed up to claim it, they even had put it in the safe.

After thanking them profusely, I dropped a nice tip in their bucket and headed back to the car, my faith in humanity restored.  I had left my bag in an extremely poor area for half an hour, and, not only were all of my belongings, credit cards and money in there, someone had put it in the safe for me.  That Starbucks has been a family favorite since our move, and especially since this story, and now?  I'll be a loyal customer for life.

Of course, this is a Rox and Roll drama, so it couldn't end there.  I met my friend P at the Four Seasons this morning for breakfast, and, when the check came, my wallet was missing.  I almost started hyperventilating again.  My first thought was, "I must've been pickpocketed in the City yesterday!" followed by, "At least I have a passport so I can still get on the plane..." followed by, "Wait!  I paid for takeout last night, so my wallet has to be somewhere in Palo Alto!"

Followed by my trip home to find my wallet sitting on my kitchen counter...

I thanked P for breakfast and will owe her one... meanwhile, our flight to Houston's delayed a couple of hours.  The kids are super-excited to be heading to Texas, but I don't think they understand that we'll be there for all of six hours if we're lucky.  But since the return of my purse, I'm looking at things on the up-side: if they have a good attitude, and boy do they right now, the trip will go well for all involved. I hope so; Santa's watching!

When you can't get there from here

Another late night, another new set of plans to arrive at the North Pole our barn-red cottage in Vermont in time for Christmas Eve:

Instead of a Christmas Eve departure landing us in Vermont in the wee hours of Christmas Day, the current plan is for us to depart on Tuesday evening, the 23rd, for Houston, Texas.  After a six-hour sleep in the airport hotel, we fly to Newark, New Jersey, arriving at noon on Christmas Eve. 

From Newark, we planned to pick up a rental car and drive five hours to Vermont -- but there are no one-way rentals available anywhere in the greater New York area.  The Guv offered to return the car to Newark and then train back up to Vermont, but that would wreck a whole day of his vacation -- so no thanks.  There are some one-way rentals from other locations in New England, so the Guv is working on getting one of Santa's elves (also known as grandpa) to drive us from Newark to someplace in Connecticut, where we'll pick up a rental car, stop for some groceries, and get to Vermont in time to put up the tree and some lights so that Santa can find us.

This is so very, very complicated, and the Guv and I have questioned multiple times if it's worth it.  Should we stay home and promise to adopt an outdoor cat instead?  Would the kids like to see Vegas?   Tahoe?  LA? 

But in my heart, I know that, like me, my kids love having a white Christmas in Vermont.  When I see their faces light up as we drive down our long, snowy drive, and when I hear their squeals of delight on the first sledding run of the season, I'll stop questioning whether or not all of this trouble was worth it or not.  We're packed and ready... just one more day to wait!

When life hands you lemons, make peppermint hot chocolate

This morning, the Guv and I woke up at 4:30 a.m., ostensibly to load the car and hustle the kids out the door at 5 am for the airport.  I showered quickly, dressed, packed up a few last things... and at 4:47 a.m. had the genius idea to check the flight status.

Cancelled.

Huh?  Other flights to the East Coast were operating as scheduled.  Weather delays looked possible, but we'd even called Continental at 11 pm last night to find out the status -- thinking and fearing that our plane might have been the one that veered off of the runway in Denver.  Continental said "weather" was the cause.  We said, "from where was our plane coming?  Because we're on the first flight of the day, and that's the one flight for which the plane is usually sitting there ready to go."  [The Guv should know from his seven years of commuting out here!]

Continental refused to provide the origin of our plane -- something they've always done in these situations.  Was it the ill-fated Denver flight?  We don't know.  (Our hearts go out to those affected by that horrible accident.)  But we are mad as all get-out at Continental, because we are increasingly of the mindset that we could've been rescheduled last night and avoided what we're looking at now: arrival in Vermont near midnight on Christmas Eve.  Near midnight -- when the rental car counter is closed, when the grocery stores will be closed, when we'll wake up Christmas morning happily in our house but foodless.  We're not quite sure how this is going to pan out. 

Being the hero, the Guv tried to buy us some one-way tickets to New Hampshire; we'd be on that flight right now.  They were high, but not sky-high -- and since we could travel home on half of our tickets previously purchased with reward miles, we thought we could do it in order to get to Vermont for prime, uncrowded skiing.

Then Continental kiboshed us again.  Reward tickets (purchased with airline miles) must be used round trip -- even when half of the flight is cancelled.  The Guv is a Continental "Star" -- the highest level of frequent flier status -- but that mattered not at all in the end.   We decided not to lose both north of a grand and a hundred thousand miles and, instead, took the Christmas Eve flight.

Since it's supposed to snow again at Christmas, we're hopeful, but doubtful.  We may miss Christmas in Vermont, courtesy of Continental Airlines.  There are so many points in this saga where Continental could've given us other and better options that we're pretty bitter.

So a big "Bah Humbug" to the airline that still uses high fuel cost as an excuse to charge for checked baggage.

Meanwhile, we just had a nice "afternoon tea" of homemade peppermint hot cocoa, waffles, apples and cheese, and we're heading to the movies.  Tomorrow's another day -- a day in which we'll try to figure out how, God willing, we'll get both groceries and a ride to our Vermont red cottage in the woods.  I believe we can do it -- perhaps by hitching a ride on Santa's sleigh?

Dash 2: Parents 0

In the car leaving Fresh Choice for home:

Dash: "Mama, I want milk."

Mama: "Whoops!  Dash, I forgot to bring a milk sippy... We'll be home in a few minutes and get some then, okay?"

Dash: "Mama, I'm going to Doot Doot you."

***

In the car in front of Petunia's friend Zee's house, as Petunia and I delivered Zee's Christmas card and a little present:

Dash: "Daddy, I want to get out of the car."

The Guv: "No, Dash, you're not getting out; Mama and Petunia will be right back."

Dash: "Daddy, you're just getting ruder and ruder."

Remembering the reason for the season

Dash and I stopped in Whole Foods to pick up a case of soy milk drink boxes for our upcoming travel.  The store didn't have his preferred flavor ("Very Vanilla") in stock, but they did have buckets of Feed 100 bags for $25.  I've been looking for some small, appropriate gift for Petunia's third grade teacher, a tree-hugging surfer dude.  The bag!  It'd be perfect, I thought, as I put it into the little cart Dash was pushing.  Here's what ensued:

Dash: "Mama, what's that thing?"

Mama: "It's a reusable grocery bag."

Dash: "No it's not."

Mama: "Actually, it is.  It is a very special reusable grocery bag, actually."

Dash: "Why is it special?"

Mama: "When you buy this grocery bag,100 hungry school children in a faraway country called Rwanda get some food."

Dash (stunning Mama): "Rwanda is in Africa!"

Mama: "Wow, dude, I didn't know you knew that!  Cool!  Rwanda is in Africa, and there are lots of hungry children there, children who don't have healthy food and clean water like we do.  So when I buy this bag for Petunia's teacher, some of those kids -- a hundred of those kids -- will get some food.  It's magic!"

Dash: "It's a magic bag!" ... pausing, then walking over to the bucket to pick out two more bags tied with green bows ... "And now we have to get this one for my teacher Meg, and this one for my teacher Liz, because they will like to have magic bags to help Africa too!  For Christmas!  From me!"

Well, I was going to bake them cookies, but how in the world could I say no to that?!  We bought three bags, and the store rang a bell -- then announced over a loudspeaker that a three year-old boy just bought bags that'll feed 300 school children in Rwanda.  I don't get choked up often, but I admit that I'm still a bit tearful thinking about Dash's unbridled joy at picking up those two extra bags for his teachers.  And it's not lost on me that he didn't ask for one for himself, either.  I work pretty hard trying to teach my children how to be socially conscious, caring citizens of the world -- and on these days when I can see one of them understanding how it all works, it's like getting a big fat bonus check.  So no more cookies from my house... I think that Dash has set a standard that we'll keep up over the years.  As the Guv pointed out, everyone wins: kids in Africa get fed, teachers get a present, kids in my house feel good about doing good, and there's no messy kitchen for he and I to clean up!  A magic bag, indeed.

The post in which Santa and Mrs. Claus are not on the same page

Update: Shipping our two boxes was going to cost $170!  So we're checking the luggage full of "stuff" after all.  And the Guv reminded me to stop stressing out about stuff like this.  Then I reminded him to stop stressing me out about stuff like this.  I think this means we're back on the same page... or at least in the same chapter of the same book, which is close enough!

Last night, Santa and I were packing two boxes of gifts to ship to Vermont for the kids' Christmas.  In past years I admittedly have overshopped by a mile.  This year, I did buy things off of their "Santa lists," but I kept the quantity reasonable and contained -- and their main gifts from us parents are the free items I received at a Leap Frog party plus the experience of ski lessons.  In other words, I feel like I've exercised a huge and successful amount of control.

As ever, Santa thinks it's too much stuff anyway.

On the one hand, I can understand Santa's irritation that we have to ship stuff, an option we exercised because our airline charges for checked baggage, making the cost a wash.  (I do think we'll be able to carry most, if not all, of the stuff back, though.)  Santa thinks it's not environmentally friendly to have stuffed shipped here, then there... and he's right; we've wasted some oil, and that sucks.  On the other hand, we have two children, and it's Christmas.  I want their eyes to marvel at their little piles of the stuff from their Santa lists under the tree on Christmas morning.  Especially because I had to figure it out all myself on top of everything else I do to keep the house running with neither a babysitter nor a housekeeper, I didn't have time to plan exactly how and when and where to ship it so that the environmental impact is lessoned.  I could have held off on most of the shopping until arriving in Vermont, but our shopping options there are blessedly limited.  I wanted to be able to carefully choose a small quantity of good, special stuff  -- since, after all, if we are going to buy some "stuff," I want it to be good stuff, not junk.

So, here I am, in the same place I usually find myself a week before the holidays whether here or in New Jersey or in Vermont.  I've bought all of the gifts, wrapped and sent packages, ordered/addressed/signed/mailed cards, prepared gifts for the teachers, worked my tail off...

And what does Santa bring me for this?  Environmental impact lessons?  Hand-wringing about the quantity of "stuff" when it's the smallest quantity in family history?

Mrs. Claus has learned a lesson.  Mrs. Claus is no longer going to discuss holiday budgets, preparations, or any other holiday-related item with Santa or involve him in any way at all in future Christmases in the Claus household.  He can wake up on Christmas morning and find out alongside the children what has happened.  This new plan will help to ensure that Mrs. Claus does not have homicidal tendencies toward Santa in future years.

And now, Mrs. Claus is leaving for Target to shop for a big, fat lump of coal for a special someone's stocking.

Buying snowboots in California, and missing NJ just a little

Snowy House

This afternoon, Dash and I picked up Petunia from school.  After they spent their usual 45 minutes chasing their friends (brothers in 3rd and 1st grades) in circles around the redwood trees, I informed them that we were going out to buy snowboots.

They stopped in their tracks.

"Do they even have snowboots in California?" Petunia asked.

"I called this store called Big 5, and they claim to have boots in both of your sizes," I replied.  And so we went, but I had a stomach full of knots.  I'm a big Dick's Sporting Goods fan, but the nearest one was in Denver.  And while I usually embrace change, I do not like to shop for "stuff" that is not in book form.  That's right: I do not like to shop.  Especially for shoes.  Especially with children.  I took two Motrin figuring that this errand would involve a great amount of suffering and crushed fingers and probably crying from all involved.

Surprisingly, the errand went pretty well .  They had exactly one pair and style in Petunia's size, and exactly one pair and style in Dash's size.  Both fit well enough -- after all, they're for playing in the Vermont snow pictured above, not for summiting K2 -- and so we went to the cash register, where I presented the boots and a "10% off total purchase" coupon that I printed on-line.  (If I have to shop, I want a deal out of it!)  And that's where our troubles began.

The boots were $24.99 and $29.99 respectively.  When I received my receipt to sign, it was clear that the coupon was unused, an error I pointed out to the clerk.

"I entered it," she said.

"Apparently the entry didn't take," I replied, still smiling.

"Well, I'm sorry," she said.  Period.  Sorry.  Not, "let me try that again."  Not, "let's re-ring it."  Just "sorry."  After a few awkward moments of silence -- and with a line mounting at this point, I still hadn't moved.

"M'am?" she asked.

"I don't think you understood me.  I expect my coupon to be applied to this purchase," I stated.  "As in, I've been overcharged by about $5.50, and I would like for that to be refunded."

"I'm sorry, what are you asking me to do about this?" the nitwit asked again.  "I can't make it work.  And how do you know it didn't?"

And then, I lost my cool a bit.  "Let me give you a math lesson, honey," I said tersely.  "$24.99 plus $29.99 equals $54.98.  What's 10% of that?  Why, it's $5.49!  That's the amount by which you overcharged me by failing to enter the coupon I presented.  I brought that point up before you ran my credit card anyway.  I will NOT sign this receipt.  I EXPECT for my coupon to be used!"

She stared blankly at me.

"Would you please call a manager?" I asked, trying to plug my ears so that the steam didn't come pouring out.

She called the manager over, and she basically said, "This woman claims her coupon didn't work."  So, I explained the situation again.  After I finished illustrating the problem, this misguided clerk found it necessary to add, "It's only five bucks."  In. Front. Of. Her. Manager.

"Take a break," he told her...

... and realizing that my children were still standing next to me, I grabbed my head to keep it from exploding.  The manager silently helped me complete my transaction properly.  He said, "Thank you, and have a nice day."  And I left.

I will not shop at that Big 5 store again, both because it pretty much sucked (small, dirty, no selection) and because apparently it staffs up with incompetent employees.  In this economy, they could -- and should -- do much better.  I only regret that I didn't take the time to explain to that very misguided girl that $5 actually does matter -- to my family, to her family, to the homeless guy down the street who could buy food for a week with that money. 

Meanwhile, yesterday, a friend asked me if I miss NJ at all.  "Surprisingly, no," I told her at the time.  "I miss some of my friends, especially my former neighbor and another friend I made through Dash's preschool last year, but I'll see them again... but the place?  I don't really miss it."

I take it back.  I do miss the place.  I miss Dick's, which met all of my sporting goods needs.  Dick's would've had a ski/sled helmet in Dash's size.  Dick's would've had a better snowboot selection.  Dick's would've entered my coupon right.  I also miss DSW, my one-stop shop for my own shoes (because of all the shopping that I loathe, shoe shopping tops the list!), and I miss Sumo Susho, and Masala Grill, and Vito's Pizza, and... a lot.  A lot of places.  The train ride to New York.  My God, the Rockettes!  Maybe it's the season.  I miss my familiar stuff, and I'm feeling a little lost here again, all of the sudden.

As for my $5.49, I'm dropping it in the first Salvation Army bellringer's bucket that I see. I just read on-line that a Salvation Army in North Carolina has 500 more families to provide for before the holidays, and they're out of supplies.  Five bucks will matter to them, and, to prove that it matters to me, I'll give up five bucks of take-out this week. 



 

Braving a movie theater with Dash

Yesterday morning, the Guv suggested that he take Petunia to see Madagascar 2 in the late afternoon.  The kids both attended a mid-day birthday party at Pump It Up -- a totally crazy but awesome venue for a party -- and we figured they'd both be worn out afterward.  They were!

I looked up the movie and saw that it was only an hour and a half long, so the wheels started churning... Dash loves movies.  Maybe, just maybe, we could all go... of course, we didn't take Petunia to her first movie until after she was 4, and she was the well-behaved one!  But if I stocked enough M&Ms and offered the reward of a Fresh Choice dinner afterward for good behavior -- maybe a trip to the Barnes & Noble too -- then I thought he could do it.

We bravely forged ahead, to the most immense and gorgeous movie theater I've ever seen.

Tickets for family of 4: $35.

Snacks for family of 4: $20.

Sitting through a movie in which Dash's behavior exceeded our expectations*: Priceless.

*Except when any of the characters said, "Butt."  He had a repeat that, loudly and with raucous laughter, every time.  Funny, I never noticed how often the word "butt" comes up in a G-movie before...

Where babies come from, according to Dash

While his grandmother and aunt were visiting, Dash informed Grammy that "Mama bought me at a yard sale for seventeen dollars."   We all had a laugh over this one, especially because the only thing in my house that's ever come from a yard sale is the pink flamingo in the back yard -- courtesy of Petunia and Grandpa hitting a yard sale right after we moved here.  The thing is just so ridiculously tacky that I leave it staked in the back yard.  I'm thinking of buying it a Santa hat and giving it a a name, even.

In any event, Dash thinking that babies come from yard sales was funny to me until last night, when we were sitting in a booth for some fine Mexican food.  Several times lately, Dash has asked for a sibling.  First, he wanted a "brudder."  Then he wanted another sister, as he's rather enamored of an almost-two year old that comes to his preschool with her big sister and bigger brother.  Last night, he asked -- deadpan -- "Mama, can we go to a yard sale and buy another baby?  For $17?  Because then you could have TWO baby 'brudders' -- and that would be totally, totally cool!" 

"It's not that simple, Dash," I replied.  "Babies take a long time to come into being.  Nine months, actually.  You can't just go to a yard sale and get a new one."

"Okay, we can go later," he replied.

My fear is that he's so smart, he'll remember nine months from now!  We'd better adopt the dog by then...

Bedtime rudeness

One of Dash's least endearing qualities is his sleep -- or, more like, the lack thereof.  Though Petunia would still nap today if she could, Dash gave up naps over the summertime.  At age 3, he apparently has better things to do with his time; after all, he might miss an opportunity to run really fast or squash a bug or some such thing if he slept too much!

Case in point, on the way home from San Francisco yesterday, around 4:30 pm, he took an hour-long nap.  Bedtime, usually 8 pm, was pushed back until around 8:30 pm... but by 10, he still wasn't asleep.  The Guv, who had been trying to put him to sleep, came into the room where I was working just after 10, saying, "Your turn!"

When I entered the bedroom, Dash was sitting straight up in the bed.  "Mama," he sighed with great exasperation, "Daddy is being rude about my sleeping!"  (This was especially funny, as Dash pronounces "rude" as "whooooed.")

"Dash, it's very dark outside," I replied.  "It's way past your bedtime.  It's time for you to sleep, right now."

"But I don't want Daddy to be in here anymore," Dash replied, "I amn't [am not] going to sleep if Daddy's being rude."

"Well, Daddy's gone, and I'm here now, so sleep, m'k?" I answered.

A few minutes pass, and Dash demands another sippy cup of soy milk.  He sucks on it for about twenty mintues before telling me that he's all done, rolling over, and falling asleep.

The story is cute, but the problem is far from it... We need to take steps to get Dash to sleep on his own, all night, without us and without his milk.  It's much easier to put up with things as they are -- and much harder to fix them.  So, as soon as visiting Grammy and TiTi (his aunt) leave, we'll start at square one again with refusing to give him milk in the bed.  [Side note for the judgmental: giving Dash milk at night used to be a necessity when he was grossly underweight and required supplementation at night, and he's not that far out of the woods for us to curtail his milk consumption yet.  We can, however, alter the time frame -- and will.]  The remaining steps -- sleeping all night, then transitioning (again) to his own bed, will be hard.  Those will happen after we visit Vermont for Christmas.  They have too -- I'm just too tired to do it anymore.  So, wish us luck -- and wish that it's not all a "rude" experience!

Wolfgang's Vault

Check out Wolfgang's Vault!  There are FREE live music downloads from concerts long past and totally awesome vintage concert memorabilia.  I could spend hours on this thing... where to start?  Led Zepp?  Dylan?  Hendrix?  Devo?  Modern English? So many choices, I may just be on-line all day...

Thanks to my brother, Wonder Boy, for the heads-up!

Having an existential crisis?

Well, then, check WikiHow, especially the article titled "How to Deal with an Existential Crisis" -- including my favorite tip: #10, Problem Solve.  In other words, if you have an existential crisis, fix it.  If that doesn't work, there are 15 other steps, a handful of tips, and several warnings.

If your problem is not the furniture of the mind but, rather, party decor, you can learn how to make an origami balloon.

If my dairy-allergic son is coming to your party, you can make him some dairy free ice cream.

If you stain your shirt with that ice cream, you can make your own laundry detergent.

My God, what did we do before the internet???

Wii had a fun Black Friday!

Airstream

Instead of getting up super-early and engaging in the Black Friday shopping rush, we slept in a little before heading up to AT&T Ball Park for a fun media event with Nintendo.  (This seemed especially appropriate, as the Guv spent the wee hours of Black Friday morning last year waiting in line to score a Wii.)  The event piqued my interest when I heard that it was to be held in an Airstream trailer, which was super cool!  It was tricked out with black leather sofas against the chrome walls, which were sparsely stickered with Mario, Kirby and the like.  Petunia (age 8) and I were the designated testers, though the Guv and Dash tagged along to check out the trailer and to launch stomp rockets in the parking lot.  

The first game we checked out was Personal Trainer: Cooking for the Nintendo DS Lite.  This “game” is actually a cookbook that lets you enter ingredients on-hand, then gives you recipes from which to choose.  Further, it offers step-by-step video instruction – good for folks like me who aren’t really sure of the difference between mince and dice, for example.  (I can bake anything, but cooking… not so much my skill set!)  It can also rattle off an ingredient list for you to keep handy (on the DS of course) at the grocery store.  My favorite part of this software, though, was the search by country for recipes.  I pulled up the U.K., not known for its food, and one of my very favorite dishes – Welsh Rarebit – appeared.  I checked the ingredients, and it’s spot-on.   Pretty cool – and lots of variety.  The down-side is that I’m not sure how I’d use this, as a mom who doesn’t have (or need) her own DS… I could borrow Petunia’s while she was in school, I guess, but then I’d forget it in my handbag and be accused of running down the charge, and where was that power cord again?  Oh well – this game’s probably not for me, a cookbook collector and ’net recipe aficionado, but I will recommend it to my bachelor brother and bachelorette sister.

The rest of the games we tried were on the Wii, starting with Wii Music.  I expected Petunia to be very excited about this one, since she’s asked about Guitar Hero and like games a few times.  She played the sax to my drums for a set, and we learned how we could’ve recorded a video of our jam session.  I figured out how to make my maraca-player jump, but to what end, I wasn’t sure… We then conducted for a bit, which was neat – when the conductor holds notes, the orchestra stares at you.  All in all, though, I wasn’t super-excited about this game, as I thought I would be, and neither was Petunia… it’s a little tricky for an eight year-old (and a mom) to figure out, but, again, I could imagine my twenty-something brother having a ball with it with his friends.  

Next, we launched Wii Fit.  I’ve heard the hype about Wii Fit, but I’d never seen nor tried it.  Petunia was the first to step on the Fit board, and here’s where we hit a real glitch: the super-nice guy helping us to test out the demo calculated her BMI, which is a huge no-no for children.  (Nintendo has heard about this from parents before.)  I didn’t see it coming, and, fortunately, Petunia didn’t really catch that her BMI exceeded their standards – but I had goofed, too, being short on her height by a good two inches.  (What can I say; the kid won’t stop growing!)  I didn’t want to lose the teachable moment, so, back at home, the Guv and I showed her how a BMI is calculated, showed her that hers is perfectly within normal range for her age – and just to make sure she believed us, pulled out the data from her recent 8 year-old well visit to show her that her doctor feels she’s tall and healthily proportional for her age.   Her response: “What’s the big deal?  I know I’m just right.”  Well, then – we’ve done a great job in making sure she’s self-confident!  

In any event, snafu aside, I wonder if Nintendo will ever sell a version of Wii Fit for kids that leaves out the BMI option (and “fitness age” for that matter).  Mainly, I think it’s up to parents and doctors – not a machine – to tell me if my kid has a weight issue.  I really, really loved the Wii Fit for myself (more on that in a second), but I’m a little bit hesitant to purchase it now because I wonder if Petunia will fixate on that BMI/fitness calculation part of it.  She’s not the type to do so, but one never knows as adolescence approaches…

With regard to the Wii Fit as a game, I thought it was totally awesome.  We tried a balancing activity, a soccer game (heading a ball, avoiding shoes and panda heads), and hula-hooping.  Petunia decided she’s not that excited about it, but I think that’s because she wasn’t very good at it (or maybe that BMI threw her, who knows); then again, she’s 8.  I, on the other hand, want to see if I can do four hula-hoops at once in real life, because I was rockin’ them on the game.  If we had more time, I’d have loved to try the yoga.  Meanwhile, I'm thinking about putting the Fit on my “Santa list” – concerns aside, I could keep it tucked away someplace and use it when the kids are at school or after bedtime.  I like to try new fitness activities, so this fits that interest and my Wii-love well.

Lastly, we tried (and dashed out to buy) Animal Crossing: City Folk.  It’s sort of like Sim City but much more interesting for kids (and, I think, for the whole family).  The best part about it, though, was something we didn’t try, which is using the internet connection and the Wii Speak microphone to play with other households.  (By the way, the Wii Speak has to be purchased separately from the game for about $30 – my husband didn’t buy the bundle, which would’ve saved us $10 – whoops!  There is a texting option for the mike-less.)  I envision trying to talk my former neighbors the Cleavers into adding this to their Santa list, or even working on my brother to grab up a bundle; they all live far from us now, and it’s be cool to have the kids game with them in a way that allows for conversation, too.  That said, only one controller/one character at a time can be used – so it really is only a one-player game, though the mike will pick up all the conversation in the room.  I’m wondering if my kids will someday be fighting over it… In any event, I can imagine Petunia inviting her former neighbor Wally to come over to her town and go fishing!  Positive interaction with neighbors, keeping a clean environment, and working to pay down your mortgage (with bells serving as money in the game) are among the things that are important to the smooth functioning of the town – a great message for kids!  Also of note, I was highly impressed by the security in the game; they have to obtain a code from a friend in order to invite that friend into their town and vice versa – so no strangers can happen upon the kids’ town and start texting them.  Beyond that, I can’t even describe this complex game in more detail (especially since Dash is asleep on my arm, and Petunia’s been playing it in the basement for two hours already), but I can say that value-wise, I think that this is the best game I’ve ever seen.  You could play it for thousands of hours and never run out of fun, seriously. That’s why we stopped at Best Buy on the way home to pick it up.  The Guv and I will be playing it after the kids go to bed at night.  Wheeee!!!!  I mean, Wiiiii!

Last note: Thanks to Nintendo for hosting such an awesome event in a super-cool Airstream.  Readers should know that I was not asked to provide a review of their games or products.  I am writing this only because I feel like it, as our family really enjoys our Wii and finds game reviews valuable.  We also did not receive the games we played in exchange for our participation.   We just did it for the fun, and fun, Wiiiii had!

*****
Update: Since writing this post initially, we've played Animal Crossing: City Folk off and on for a few days.  We are still amazed at this game and can't recommend it highly enough!  Some highlights: When my character unearthed a fossil, I was able to donate it to our town's museum.  The curator told me some facts about the fossil ("Peking Man," so a real fossil!), and it's on display in the museum along with subsequent ones.  When I donated a fish to the museum's aquarium, I learned the difference between two kinds of carp.  Neat!  Petunia and I visited the museum cafe on Saturday night at 8 p.m., at which time every week (the game runs in real time) online musician K.K. Slider plays.  He gifts your character with a song that can then be stored on the boombox in your character's virtual house to be replayed at any time.  We're still discovering lots more, and this is only day four!  Happy gaming!