It Never Rains In California- Unless A Family From Seattle Is There For Spring Break (Northern Cal Pt 1)

 

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Napa Valley- one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Have you heard? They’ve been in a terrible drought. In the month of January they had .08 inches of rain and unseasonably warm weather.

The solution to a drought? Send a family from Seattle in desperate need of warmth and sunshine for a week’s vacation. The rain will follow.

Last year for spring break, we went to the Oregon coast. It looked like this all week:

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This year, following a pretty dreary winter here in Seattle that has led me to nearly overdosing on vitamin D supplements and buying myself a “happy lamp,” I decided that heading further south was the solution.

Funny thing-in the weeks before we arrived in Northern Cal it was warm. Two days after we left, the city of San Francisco, known for it’s foggy mornings and cooler temps, hit 80 degrees. The day we got there? High of 56 and raining. The highest temperature the entire week we were there? 60 degrees.

It’s a gift.

My kids didn’t really care though. There was a pool and a hot tub, so they were in it. Rain or shine. In fact, one morning they came back from the hot tub and I asked, “How was it?”

“Painful,” Parker answered.

“What do you mean?”

“The hail hitting me on the head hurt really bad.”

Jeff said, “At least you have hair to protect you.”

Plus- we are from Washington- we aren’t afraid of a little rain.

Thankfully our first full day was dry. The rain was supposed to come back the following day, so we decided to make the most of it by packing in a bunch of outdoor activities.

First up- California’s version of Old Faithful- the Calistoga Geyser.

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The nice thing about this geyser is that it goes off every 5 minutes, so there isn’t a lot of standing around waiting for it to happen. The bad thing about that is that after the second time, the fact that steaming hot water is being shot 60-100 feet into the air from deep inside the molten core of the earth begins to lose its impact.

Eh, there goes the geyser again.

We moved on.

This isn’t just a geyser, however, it is also a petting farm. I got pretty excited when I saw these signs. A guard llama? Fainting goats?! How exciting!

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Here is the guard llama:

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It appears to be guarding its spot under the tree.

How I imagined “fainting goats:”

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These goats won’t faint.

100_0695 Photo courtesy http://tanoryland.blogspot.com/2007/07/sonoma-day-7.html

The goats did like to fight, though. As they butted horns, Jeff started yelling “Kumate! Kumate!”

Every time I got near the fence, these two goats would go at it again.

Jeff said, “They’re fighting over you.”

I said, “Yeah, I have that effect on goats.”

One goat kicked a baby goat out of the feeding trough causing it to fall in spectacular style. I shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as I did.

I told Parker what happened and pointed at the goat that did it. Zoe disagreed, telling me it wasn’t the same goat.

“Well all of them look the same.”

“That’s racist.”

“I can’t be racist against a GOAT!”

So after about an hour at the geyser/farm, including a picnic, we were done. We weren’t scheduled for our safari tour until 4, and it was only about 1. We decided to go to the petrified forest.

Me: We need to turn on Petrified Forest rd. Parker do you know what petrified forests are?
Parker: No
Me: It’s when old wood turns so hard it’s like rock.
Jeff: Like What Cialis does.

So we toured the petrified forest. That took about 45 minutes. We still had a lot of time to kill, so we drove back to the resort, spent 15 minutes playing ping pong and pinball. (Just call me the pinball wizard.)

We headed back up the hill to Safari West. http://www.safariwest.com/

I have to say, this was probably my favorite part of the whole trip.

While I’m not a pet person, I love seeing the exotic animals. Our guide was entertaining, and I think the kids really enjoyed the experience.

You take a giant old jeep reminiscent of Jurassic park to tour the grounds. There is one bench seat on the top as well.

Some of the animals come right up to vehicle.

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We saw wildebeests (“I’m so hungry, I just gotta have a wildebeest”), Water buffalo (“everybody’s got a water buffalo, yours is fast but mine is slow”), rhinos, antelopes of all sorts.

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1538638_10152322173749089_7200453269321392577_n1483401_10152298275599089_1019736696_n Zebra!

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Oh my it’s a giraffe!

If you’ll notice, in the background of the giraffe picture, there are cabins that can be rented for overnight stays. I can’t imagine how cool it would be to go to sleep with giraffes and zebras wandering around outside your door.

After the driving portion you go on a walking tour. There is a bird sanctuary area that is filled with some of the most colorful birds I have ever seen. One of the cranes thinks she’s a person, and likes to interact with you while on tour.

 

1965015_10152298275459089_1048692922_n Parker wasn’t so sure what to think of this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xx4CT9dLfFU

This bird was not a fan of mine:

1897880_10152298291814089_1316944513_n“Whatchu lookin at?!?”

And then proceeded to do some sort of mating dance/fight sort of thing.

As the tour came to an end, we noticed that people were streaming in to the courtyard from the cabins. Apparently they do a nightly barbeque for those who are staying on site. We were hungry, and not allowed in, so we headed into Windsor to look for something to eat.

We ended up at Johnny Garlic’s, one of the restaurants owned by local celebrity chef Guy Fieri. The other option was his BBQ/sushi fusion restaurant. We figured this to be a safer bet.

When the kids menu arrived, I found it pretty amusing that all of the activities were Guy-centered: color in the picture of guy, see if you can answer these questions about Guy, draw your own face on an outline of Guy’s head.

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The food was okay- interesting for sure. They were out of fries, though, which seemed weird for someplace that serves fries with nearly every meal. I got something called “volcano chicken” which had some sort of spicy sauce. We had ordered appetizers of deep fried artichoke hearts and mozzarella sticks with pepperoni inside of them, so by the time my food came, I was feeling a little gross.

One of Guy’s kids attends the same school as Jeff’s niece, and we hear that the Guy on TV is the Guy you’d meet on the streets of Santa Rosa. Love him or not, at least he’s genuine to who he appears to be.

We had a pretty full day for our first official day in Northern Cal. The rain was coming back, though, so the plans for the next day were going to have to be indoors…

In the next blog- Parker takes on the streets of San Francisco.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Parenting- It Sucks When You Know You’re Sucking At It

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First, let me say that I am not writing this so that those who read it can tell me I’m wrong, reassure me that I’m a good mom and not to be so hard on myself. I don’t really want to hear that. Sometimes, you’ve gotta cop to what you’ve done, and how you’ve screwed up, and deal with the fallout. Sometimes it’s time to be real.

I’ll be the first to admit it- I have made a lot of mistakes as a mom. A LOT.

 

Some of those mistakes are from trial and error. Some are from personality flaws of mine. Some are from not understanding that just because 4 kids are growing up in the same house, doesn’t mean they should be parented the same way.

 

I was unkind to my daughter today.

 

I didn’t mean to be, but before I knew it, things were coming out of my mouth that made her feel terrible. As I have sat here thinking about why I said the things I did, much of which was truth contained deep inside the ugly delivery, I know that the root of all of it is a deep love for her and a fear and frustration with myself that I haven’t parented her in the right way, I haven’t given her all the tools she needs to succeed in this life. And I don’t mean just financially, I mean to be a whole person, a self- reliant person, one who is unafraid to face the world. I know that it’s mostly my fault. I know that I have no one to be angry with but myself.

I’ve had this strange parenting style that is a combination of fierce love, wrapped in a prickly outer shell. I’m not a soft parent. I’m not good at affection or affirmation. (That’s not just in parenting, that’s in my life in general) I thought if I was too soft, my kids would be wimpy, unable to deal with the harsh realities of life. So I taught them to “suck it up.” Be tough, so you can’t be hurt. I’ve been teaching survival at it’s most basic, with no path to thriving.

In the back of my mind, I feel guilty for not being softer, for not being more nurturing, so I give leeway where I shouldn’t. I do more for them, instead of requiring them to do for themselves. (Currently I am in a battle with myself over whether or not I’m going up to Zoe’s room to put her clothes away for her. She’s 10. She’s perfectly capable. And yet I feel compelled to do it. ) I feel guilty when I ask them to help, even if what I am asking them to do is clean up their own messes! So I often do it for them.

Somehow I have managed to raise kids who can suck it up and not cry when they fall and scrape their knee, but don’t know they’re perfectly capable of getting themselves a Band-Aid.

I have created independent thinkers who aren’t independent doers.

I have inhibited their personal growth in an attempt to assuage my own parental guilt.

Somehow I have never quite figured out how to balance encouragement with expectations, discipline with self discipline, nurturing not through coddling, but through creating opportunities for self sufficiency.

It probably doesn’t help that I have four very different personalities (The kids, not mine. I only have two), at 4 different stages of life and development. As a result, I am often all over the place with how to handle each child’s needs.

I’m harsh when I should be kind, enabling when I should be fostering self reliance, distant when I should be engaged. I have been lazy instead of proactive.

I do for them to gain love and respect, and then wonder why they are uncertain about which steps to take. In doing for them I have undermined their ability to build confidence in themselves.

When I don’t understand where they are coming from, I lash out in frustration, and then require less than nothing from them as my penance for losing my temper. “How can I ask them to clean their rooms when I just hurt their feelings? I’ll make it up to them by doing it for them.”

I do it not to hear the complaints. I do it because I am tired of having unfulfilled expectations. I do it because deep down, I feel I owe it to them as an apology for all of my failures.

I’m no dummy. I see it all for exactly what it is. I have read enough books to know that the greatest way to build self confidence in a child is to help them learn to do for themselves. Somehow I have emotionally bought into the idea that I am showing love through doing things for them, even though my head knows it’s simply not true. The greatest way to love your kids is to help them develop healthy personal habits, self-control, self discipline and a sense of responsibility for themselves and their community.

I just can’t seem to figure out how to get that idea from my head into my parenting.

 

 

 

 

I Managed To NOT Crash The Family Truckster. This Time.

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I meant to write this yesterday, I really did. However, yesterday I was a walking zombie. I had about 45 minutes around 1230 where the caffeine kicked in and I was able to function, but in general, I was pretty useless.

Today I’m still in recovery mode, but I have high hopes for getting things done.

We got back late Saturday night from a 9 day trip to Northern California. Notice my use of the word “trip” and not the word “vacation.” Vacation is what I call what I will be doing next month when my hubby and I head to Vegas for 6 days of eating and lounging by the pool in the warm sun with a book in one hand and a cocktail in the other. THIS was a trip.

In the coming days I hope to get my thoughts together enough to recap the entirety of our trip, but for today I will tell the tale of the car rides; 30 plus hours of driving with three kids in the back. I know what you’re thinking: isn’t that supposed to be a 12 hour drive each way? You would be correct.

We took two days to drive down to California. Our initial plan was to leave Friday morning, get to Ashland, Oregon by the afternoon, and have a nice relaxing evening. Instead, we found out that Zoe’s crush’s last day of school was Friday, and Nathan had some sort of presentation due. (Honestly, what teacher schedules a presentation for the Friday before spring break?)

We decided to leave after the kids got out of school. Leaving at 130 on a Friday afternoon sounded reasonable. We envisioned missing Seattle traffic, perhaps dealing with a bit of Portland traffic, but still getting to Ashland by about 9 or 10.

Hah.

We hit traffic north of Seattle, and it didn’t let up until we got south of Olympia. What had taken me 75 minutes the weekend before to drive to Zoe’s soccer tournament, took over 3 hours. The rain was relentless. The drivers were skittish. We didn’t get to Portland until 7 PM.

Because Jeff has a team that works events in Portland, and it’s part of his market, he knows the area pretty well. He often stays just off the Jantzen Beach exit, which is right past the Columbia river (the river is the demarcation of the boundary between Washington and Oregon.)

The following is an excerpt from our conversation about where to stop and eat:

Me: Can you think of a place in Portland to eat?
Him: Hooters
Me: They don’t have good food do they? I mean if you ignore the boob factor is the food any good?
Him: I can’t ignore the boob factor.
Me: You have to. I need to know if the food is worth it if you take out the boobs.
Him: I tried to take out the boobs. They don’t like that.

I made an executive decision NOT to take the children to Hooters for dinner. We ended up at BJ’s instead.

You can only imagine the amount of innuendo in that conversation.

We didn’t get to Ashland until nearly 1 AM. We had waited 25 minutes for a table at BJ’s, and then had a leisurely meal. Halfway through, we both realized we had made a colossal mistake. My realization came when I googled how many miles it is between Portland (the northernmost city on the I5 corridor  in Oregon) and Ashland (the southernmost) and calculated the number of hours it would likely take to get there.

You might be asking, well, why didn’t you just stop earlier? That would be a reasonable question, however, I had already booked and paid for our stay at a hotel in Ashland the week before.

The next morning we had the complimentary breakfast, wandered the town a bit (It’s a very cute town, I recommend visiting) hit a Starbucks and hit the road. We got a late start again, but we weren’t in any hurry.

Saturday’s drive was pretty uneventful, until we got to the area where you get off of I5 and get onto HWY 20 headed to Clearlake. At first it was scenic. And then it was torturous. That was one of the most winding mountainous roads I have ever been on. There is no shoulder at all. There is either hillside or cliff edge. I had to roll my window down because I was starting to feel car sick. The next day when we were discussing sights to see, I made a firm stand that anything we went to do would not include going back on that road. We talked with friends who live in the area about the road, and they say they will usually take the longer more southern route to I5 to avoid traveling that road.

So when the day came to finally leave and head back home, I was thankful that I was taking Jeff to Sacramento, thus avoiding the road from hell. He was flying out of Sacramento to head to a conference in Vegas, and I was driving the rest of the way home with the kids.

We left the resort at about 930, and spent the next hour trying to find a Starbucks that wasn’t inside a Target or a grocery store. Preferably one with a drive thru and easy on/easy off access. In our area, that’s nearly every exit. Turns out the wine country isn’t that way. I was becoming desperate, knowing that my caffeine addiction has rendered me a slave to a morning cup of coffee. I know that if I don’t have caffeine by 11, I likely will develop a headache that will last all day. With a long drive ahead of me alone with the kids, I was starting to panic.

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We finally found one, and all was right with the world again.

By the time we hit Sacramento, we were ahead of schedule, and I was still contemplating ambushing the kids with a trip to Sutter’s mill.

Jeff had entered the info for the airport into my Nav, and we saw the signs to the airport. We were close. And then the directions told us to get off at J street, which I thought was a bit strange, because that was the exit I had taken to go to downtown Sacramento for a conference several years ago.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that it’s taking us into this residential area?”

“Yeah, sort of. But I put it in, so it has to be right.”

I looked at the destination that was entered. It said, “Sacramento air… Quality management.”

He had started typing Sacramento airport, and the only thing that came up was this place. He didn’t look closely. It was taking us to a building in the middle of downtown.

We pulled over and he looked at his phone map. He about flipped his lid.

“It says we are an hour away.”

“That’s not possible. It’s the Sacramento airport. How can the Sacramento airport be an hour away from Sacramento?”

Turned out his phone still thought we were in Napa.

After we got back onto the freeway heading north, I remembered that I used to see the airport all the time when I would drive from Southern Cal to Washington every year. He didn’t think that information was helpful at that point.

We dropped him off with plenty of time for his flight, but as I looked at the directions to Sutter’s Mill (south on 5 for 9 miles and then east for another 30) I decided to scrap the gold mine and see how far north we could get.

Within about an hour, we passed through the spot where I rolled my car 5 years ago on our move back to Washington. I had been driving, as Jeff had already gone ahead of us to Seattle, and I had all 4 kids with me. We walked away with barely a scratch. This was the first time I had driven through since it happened and I felt my anxiety level rise in my chest.

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The accident had happened at night, and we were driving on a beautiful sunny day. It was difficult to exactly pinpoint where it had happened, because during the day it looked so very different.

The weather on Saturday was so nice, the first really nice day of the trip. It was perfect driving weather, and I had my music going, singing at the top of my lungs all the old classics.

We made a couple quick stops, but we were making great time. At our second stop, I calculated how long to get to Portland and the idea started formulating in my mind that we could make it the whole way. I brought it up to the kids, and they were all for it, particularly Parker, who was thrilled at the prospect of having a whole day at home before having to go to school on Monday.

We stopped off for dinner in Salem, Oregon at about 730. I could have made it to Portland (barely) with the gas in my tank, but Zoe had to use the bathroom, and it seemed like an easy place to stop. After getting food, I drove across the street to the gas station. Nathan got out to get something from the mini mart. I hopped out, swiped my card, and suddenly heard a voice behind me saying, “How are you doing tonight?”

My first thought was, “I’m being approached by some creepy guy begging for money or preying on women.”

Then I turned around and saw that it was the gas station attendant.

“Oh my gosh! I forgot I’m in Oregon!” I yelled. He looked quite startled. “I forgot. I forgot I’m not supposed to do my own gas. I’m sorry!”

He said, “It’s ok, you can do that part.”

I looked at the screen and said, “I don’t know what to do now.”

He stared at me like he was unsure if he was dealing with a lunatic.

“How much gas do you want?”

“I need it filled up.”

“Ok.”

I got back in my car. The attendant walked over to another car.

Zoe said, “He looks like Chris Brown. And he just checked you out.”

“He doesn’t look like Chris Brown. And he did not.”

“Yes he did. You were looking down at your phone and he looked over here at you.”

“He was probably afraid I was going to jump out again and start messing with the nozzle.”

After the gas was done pumping I drove over to pick Nathan up in front of the store.

I said, “I forgot we are in Oregon. You’re not allowed to pump your own gas in Oregon. I think I freaked the attendant out.”

Zoe said, “And he LIKED it!”

I laughed, “He did not.”

Zoe said, “He did too, And he looked like Chris Brown.”

“He did not. I think he might have even been Hispanic.”

Parker chimed in, “He’s Chris Brown because his name is Chris and his skin is BROWN!” And then burst into a fit of giggles.

Nathan said, “That’s racist. What’s wrong with you people?”

Parker whispered loudly, “You have a date with Chris Brown at 7! Don’t be late!” Everyone started laughing.

I chuckled, “God help me if I was single and you people were trying to help me find a date.”

About 15 minutes later, it started to rain. Up until this point it had rained maybe a total of 5 minutes all day. Within seconds it went from nothing to a complete and total downpour. I was driving in the far left lane, and suddenly I had zero visibility. Zero. That is not an exaggeration. I had my windshield wipers on the highest setting, and still I could see nothing. I began to panic, because, well, I couldn’t see the road ahead of me, and there were cars behind me. I slowly made my way over to the far right lane. There was a huge amount of water already pooling on the roadway. I figured anyone who wanted to go fast in this was welcome to, but I was not that girl.

I started to notice that part of the problem was that my windshield wipers were smearing. While the rain was heavy enough to require the highest setting, I actually had more visibility at the second highest setting because it wasn’t smearing the whole time. That was not my favorite time to figure out that I need new windshield wipers.

After about 10 minutes of white knuckle driving,

whiteknuckle

the rain eased up and I could start to breathe again.

As we traveled through Portland, however, we had another very close call when a car, going way too fast, tried to cut over without enough room, nearly hitting a car and the FedEx truck in front of us. Zoe, Nathan and I all shouted at the same time. “WHOA!”

That could have been very bad for all of us, especially considering that part of the freeway is a very high overpass.

I held my breath as we crossed the bridge back into Washington. I hate crossing bridges. Once we were on the other side, I felt like I was going to cry. I had made it through that scary rain squall, survived a near catastrophic collision and I was tired, but at least I was in the same state as my bed.

Unfortunately, that was not the last of the rain. That part of I5 is two lanes on each side with a median in between. As the rain picked up again, coming down in heavy sheets, I found myself in the spray zone of a giant oil tanker. Between the water coming down from the sky, the water coming up from the road and the spray coming off the rear wheels of this giant rig, my less than useless windshield wipers could not do a thing to help me. If I stayed behind the truck I was getting sprayed. If I stayed to the left of the truck, I was getting sprayed.

I attempted to move past him, and instead of helping me out and letting me pass, he sped up, so that I was completely getting covered in water. I tried again, same thing happened. I was terrified and frustrated and pissed off. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, on my third attempt to pass, I got through. The whole time I was praying “Jesus help me!”

I flipped the guy off as I went past. I know, Jesus isn’t happy about that part. But Jesus had a handle on the whole “making water do what he wanted it to do” thing.

Soon I was upon another truck, this time a two-trailer semi. Nightmare.

how I feel when passing a semi

I made several attempts to get past, and once again, the truck would speed up as I tried to get through. There were moments when I thought, “I’m not going to survive this.” I’m not exaggerating.

I’d like to take a moment and say, I appreciate truck drivers. They move stuff around so that I can have it. They drive in dangerous conditions, long hours, with little sleep. I get that. I do. But for the love of God, could you guys please remember that you are giant compared to our cars. Just because you drive in these conditions all the time, doesn’t mean we do. Driving fast through the snow and/or rain, kicking up water onto our windshields, and then not letting us pass, well, those are just dick moves. You don’t own the road. Since you’re the experienced drivers, perhaps you could make it safer on the road for the rest of us instead of more dangerous. Thanks.

Eventually another lane appeared, and I moved over. Having that lane separation made it possible to pass. I began to mutter, “I hate this f’ing rain. I hate it. I’m moving. I can’t live here anymore. I am so done. Done. D O N E. Done with the rain. Stupid state with your stupid rain.”

The rain began to ease around Tacoma, and then the rest of the drive was dry. By the time I got near my house, I had decided I deserved a treat for making it through that harrowing drive without dying or killing anyone. I stopped off at McDonald’s just after midnight and ordered a hot fudge sundae with nuts. When I got up to the window to pay, the kid working said, “Hey, so, we’re out of nuts.”

I stared at him, blinking, attempting to keep my eyes from tearing up.

“Of course you are. Fine. I’m sure I have nuts at my house I can use.”

I must have looked as much the disaster as I felt, because the look he gave me was similar to the gas station attendant, only a little more frightened.

So, 4 near-death experiences (5 if you include the almost-scuffle over the gas nozzle with the (not really) Chris Brown lookalike) in one day. Luckily, the sun is shining today. It’s pretty much the only thing preventing me from putting my house on the market and running away to anyplace where it is sunny most of the time. Rain is only romantic in the movies.

I guess I’m staying. For now. But I think I’m pretty close to hitting my limit. Pretty darn close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Can Lead A Pig To The Scene Of The Crime, But You Can’t Make Him Squeal

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I have a raincoat very similar to this one, and every time I wear it, my husband asks me if I’m getting ready to take a bite out of crime. He’s hilarious that way. Sometimes he’ll drop random questions into conversations and it will take me a moment to get where he’s coming from.

“Did you find any?”

“Did I find any what?”

“Clues.”

As a fan of mystery novels, I feel as though I have developed a decent set of deductive reasoning skills. Motherhood helps that as well. As a parent of four children who don’t like to take blame, I tend to subscribe to the Occam’s Razor way of looking at a situation- the simplest, most logical explanation is probably the truth.

Except with Malaysia flight 370- I’m sticking with the wormhole theory until I see a crashed plane.

When something happens in my house, and no one wants to cop to it, I typically apply the Occam’s Razor philosophy.

When I was about 5 or 6 years old, my  sister Shannon had a cough. My mother had bought her cough drops. One night, the bag of cough drops went missing. No one took responsibility for the missing cough drops. After scouring our room, the cough drops were discovered UNDER MY PILLOW. I swore it wasn’t me. My sister Shannon swore it wasn’t her- after all, why would she hide her own cough drops? My sister Colleen swore it wasn’t her. My father decided to get to the bottom of it- literally. He told us if the person who did it would just confess it would be over, but if no one confessed he’d have to spank us all. I’m pretty sure it was an attempt to smoke out the true thief, but the perpetrator chose to let the innocents take the punishment.

It wasn’t until about 10 years ago that my sister Colleen finally admitted it was her. ( I already knew that. I mean, I knew it wasn’t me, and it didn’t make sense it was Shannon.)

Last week, Zoe stomped into my bedroom upset because someone had taken all of the covers off her bed and thrown them onto the floor. She started accusing Parker of doing it, because he had been angry with her earlier over a video game. He got very upset at being accused. I told her that it was unfair to go around accusing people of things when no one had seen who did it. Truthfully, I knew it had to be him, but I was trying to calm him down enough to get him to admit to it.

Zoe went in to take a shower and I went into her bedroom. Sure enough, it appeared that someone had stripped her bed in a fit of anger. I remade the bed and went back into my room. I attempted once again to calmly get Parker to admit to doing it. I told him I had already cleaned it up, but that it was important for him to take accountability for what he had done. He was steadfast in his denials.

Zoe came out of the shower and started in on him again. He went full martyr, crying and stomping off to his bed, his heart broken over “always taking the blame for everything” and “everyone acting like he’s the bad guy.”

I have to say, if it weren’t for the fact that it made no sense for it to have been anyone BUT him, I would have bought it. He seemed to have convinced himself, and his wounded act seemed very genuine.

The next day I was packing them up for their weekend with their grandparents, and when I went into Parker and Nathan’s closet, I found all of Nathan’s clothes flung off the shelf and onto the floor. It appeared to have been done in the same sweeping fashion as Zoe’s bed.

So as I was driving them 90 minutes south to meet up with their grandfather, Zoe was on her phone in the very back seat, and Parker was sitting behind me looking out the window. I thought it was a perfect opportunity to get him to admit what he had done, but I knew I had to approach it in just the right way. Here is how that conversation went:

Me: So, funny thing. I kind of need help solving a mystery.

Parker: What?

Me: Well when I went to pack your stuff, I found all of Nathan’s clothes off the shelf and on the floor.

Parker: Hmmm.

Me: It was sort of like when I went into Zoe’s room last night and found all the covers on the floor

Parker: That I DID NOT DO!

Me: Well, whenever I’m trying to figure something out, I ask myself a lot of questions. First, who had the opportunity to swipe all of Zoe’s pillows and blankets onto the floor? Who had the opportunity to throw all of Nathan’s clothes on the floor? I think only the people who live in our house, right? So then we need to think about why someone would do it. Can you think of a reason dad might have done it? Does that sound like something he would do?

Parker: No

Me: How about me? Does it make sense that I would do it?

Parker: Well sometimes you throw stuff on the floor when you’re cleaning.

Me: Yes, but not this time. See I had already organized Nathan’s clothes when I spent several hours cleaning and organizing your room, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense that I would throw his clothes on the ground. And why would I throw Zoe’s bedding on the ground if I was going to have to be the one to clean it up?

Parker: I don’t know.

Me: Does it sound like something Sydney would do?

Parker: No

Me: You know, I already cleaned everything up. If you did it, you aren’t going to get into trouble, I just need you to be honest.

Parker:shaggy wasn't me

Me: Does it make sense that Zoe would throw all her covers on the floor and then come in upset that it happened?

Parker: Well, maybe she did it to get me in trouble, and she thought you’d make me clean it up. Maybe she thought you’d clean up her room, but you’d make me clean up mine.

Me: But I cleaned up both. What about Nathan? Why would Nathan throw his clothes on the ground?

Parker: Maybe because he was looking for something.

Me: I don’t know. I mean, it looked like it was done in anger, probably by the same person. Do you remember anyone being angry yesterday?

Parker: Well me, but I didn’t do it.

Me: Do you think it’s possible- I’m just throwing this out there- that YOU did it, but you were so angry, like the Incredible Hulk, that you blacked out and don’t remember that you did it?

Parker: That has never ever happened. Never.

Me: If you were me, who would you think did it, based on all the evidence?

Parker: Probably me or Zoe. But it wasn’t me.

Me: Well SOMEBODY did it.

Parker: Well it WASN’T ME!”

Occam’s razor says Parker did it, but Occam would have a tough time getting Parker to admit it, too. He’s so convinced of his own innocence, I think I’m going to stick with my Hulk theory.

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Is That A Pussy Willow In Your Ear Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

 

My mother gave me a gift the other day.

Or DID she?

I’m starting to think she might have a bit more of a sadistic sense of humor than I ever gave her credit for.

I mean, think of one of your greatest childhood traumas. Now imagine your mother giving you a kitchen towel with the source of that trauma emblazoned on it; Like that creepy clown from the circus that gave you nightmares, or a photo of the bad perm that had everyone calling you “poodlehead” for a month.

Of course, we all can laugh about it, now that it’s 35 years in the past, right? We should be able to, because in all honesty, it’s hilarious. And awful. But mostly hilarious.

Let me introduce you to the source of my greatest childhood trauma- The Pussy Willow.

pussy willow

Yes, I’m serious. Don’t let this furry ball of cuteness deceive you- it’s a menace.

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See that sweet little circa 1979 me? All innocent and naïve? Keep that face in mind when you hear the tale I am about to tell.

I’m the youngest in my family. The baby. As a child I loved the attention that brought. I’m not gonna lie. I was a bit like Parker in that I just thought the world revolved around me.

The problem with this, besides the obvious issues of narcissism, selfishness, and desire to be the center of attention, was that I didn’t like to share the spotlight, but I wasn’t the only child in the house. My sister Shannon would have been about 12 when this event occurred, my sister Colleen about 9. I was 6.

One day I came home from school to discover Colleen snuggled up on the couch with a blanket, some tea, and a book. She wasn’t feeling well, I believe she might have had an ear infection.

I was jealous of the day off from school, I was jealous of the pampering, and I was jealous of the attention. Also, I think part of it was that I wanted to be like her. She had something cool and different going on, and I wanted in on that action.

I noticed that my mom had set a vase of pussy willows next to Colleen on the coffee table. I also noticed that she appeared to have something fuzzy in her ears. What I didn’t know, was that the fuzzy things in her ears were cotton balls. There were no cotton balls on the coffee table. All there was, was a vase of pussy willow branches.

You see where I’m going with this.

I broke a couple of pussy willow seeds off and headed for my mother’s bathroom. I placed one furry seed in each ear. It didn’t look right. I pushed it in further to get the same look as my sister’s had, but still it didn’t look right. I tried to pull one out, but it wouldn’t come. I tried to pull the other out, and managed only to push it further into my ear.

I knew I had a problem. And I knew I was going to be in big trouble.

I have blacked out the confession to my mother. I know she tried several different methods of extraction, to no avail. She called the doctor’s office and made me an appointment.

My mom doesn’t drive, and my dad worked, so we had to take the bus into town for the doctor’s appointment. The doctor attempted to remove the pussy willows, but was only able to get one of them out. The other was so deeply embedded it was going to start sprouting in the spring if we didn’t get it out of there. (I hear ear wax can work as a fertilizer. That might be a wives’ tale)

The doctor referred us to a specialist, probably an ENT in the town over.

For a few days I walked around with a pussy willow seed in my ear. I was starting to wonder if anyone would ever be able to get it out.

We rode for what seemed like forever on the bus to the clinic. The doctor and nurse both gave me reproving looks when they heard the story.

The decision was made that the only way to get the pussy willow out was to lube up the ear, chop the seed up and suck it out. This did not sound like a good plan to me, but I had lost my right to an opinion when I shoved a pussy willow down to my eardrum.

I will never, for as long as I live, forget the sound of that pussy willow being sucked out, the feeling of him rooting around with that tube in my ear, the smell of ear wax and humiliation permeating the air.

When he finished, he gave me the standard, “Don’t ever shove a pussy willow in your ear again” talk. I don’t know why he thought that was necessary.

I’m not sure when the story became funny. As with most silly childhood traumas, time and distance gives perspective. But it did, it joined the ranks of “the Burgundy Cherry ice cream incident,” the “missing pack of cough drops” incident, and the “Katie fell off the edge at Deception Pass!” debacle.

 

A few years ago our church in Socal, Rock Harbor, did a series on the Sabbath and what it means to truly “Sabbath.” The suggestion was that they would do the same service two weeks in a row, and we were to choose one to attend, and the other to “Sabbath.”

I announced to my family that we would be participating, and we made plans to spend the day together. I did a lot of prep work leading up to that Sunday. As the mother of 4, the concept of a day of resting is a foreign one, and trying to figure out how to fill the needs of my family while still being able to rest myself was daunting. I bought stuff to make easy sandwiches for lunch, I made a breakfast casserole the night before so that all I had to do was pop it in the oven in the morning. I was going to rest and relax, dammit!

We chose to play board games, although I can’t for the life of me remember what we could have played that accommodated the ages of my children who were ranging in age from baby to middle school.

I do, however, remember very clearly when someone noticed that Zoe was making funny sounds with her nose. She couldn’t have been much more than 3. She kept acting like she needed to blow her nose. I suggested she get a tissue. Jeff decided it was worth a closer look.

There was something up there.

There was something shoved far up into her nose.

He grabbed a flashlight and shined it up, and shouted some sort of non-Sabbath-friendly expletive. It was a nut. Not a peanut. Not a cashew or an  almond. A nut. A metal nut, as in “nut and bolt” and it was almost to her sinus cavity.

My husband decided the best thing was to take her upstairs and attempt to get it out without everyone hovering around. After quite a very long time of delicately maneuvering tweezers around in her nose, and applying pressure from the outside to push it down, he eventually was able to get the chunk of metal out.

Any idea of relaxation had gone out the window by that time.

Of course, Zoe was so young, she probably doesn’t even remember, and certainly wouldn’t be offended if I gave her a dish towel with this on the front:

nut

These things happen. Kids shove things where they don’t belong. If you can’t laugh about stuff like this as a parent, you won’t ever survive.

Will I ever have a vase of pussy willows on display in my house? Probably not. Will I ever be able to look at pussy willows without shuddering and hearing the faint sucking and slurping of a vacuum tube? No. Can I hang a pussy willow dish towel in my kitchen for the Spring and a good laugh? Sure I can.

image

When she handed it to me she giggled and said, “I couldn’t not.”

I don’t blame her. If I were her, I couldn’t not, either.

 

 

 

 

Not Practically Perfect In Any Way

 

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So much for movie night at the school.

The kids begged me to go. I said, “you know it’s ‘Mary Poppins,’ right?”

 

Yes yes of course we do.

 

 

 

We get there and the place is already full. Parker insists on bringing a giant stuffed polar bear, which is the size of an actual polar bear, and Zoe wants to find a place for her 3 friends who aren’t there yet.

We find a small spot big enough for them, but not me. I end up in a chair on an aisle close enough for them to yell at me, yet  too far to communicate without bothering everyone in between.

 

Parker and his giant bear refuse to make room and when Zoe attempts to move him, her coke spills all over her pizza.

Parker is up and down, up and down. Popcorn, bathroom (twice), kid in front of him sitting on his knees, blocking the screen. I tell him to get Zoe to handle it, which she does.

I look over and he seems to be content double fisting the two bags of popcorn he bought, and then had equally divided his Kit Kat and licorice Into. I try to watch the movie with one eye and him with the other.

 

Mary Poppins has just finished “spoonful of sugar” (the movie wasn’t even half over) when Parker reappears at my side, telling me he doesn’t want to watch the movie anymore. He wants to go home.

I’m torn between forcing him to sit back down and getting the heck out of there.

Common sense wins out over my sadistic streak. Besides, sitting in that plastic chair with kids coming and going in front of me is not my idea of a good time.

I say “Fine, ask if Zoe can get a ride with Sophie, and grab your shoes, your two bags of popcorn, your sprite and your blanket. Leave the bear, it’s too big to try to drag out through all these people. ”

 

We finally get out of there, almost making it to the cross walk, when Parker looks behind us and lets out a whimper of fear.

 

I turn to see a giant polar bear running at us in the dark on tiny bare feet.

 

Zoe had hauled it out through the crowd and chased us down.

I wait and watch to make sure she doesn’t get kidnapped on her way back into the cafeteria.

 

On the walk home Parker says, “They let us vote on the movie but I didn’t pick Mary Poppins.”

 

I said, “Yeah, but you knew that’s what it was.”

 

“They didn’t tell us.”

 

“Yes they did. It’s on all the movie night posters. And remember the conversation we had tonight where I asked you three times if you really wanted to watch Mary Poppins?”

 

“No. Shhhh. The trees have ears. They’re listening. ”

Mary Poppins  would have strung him up by his toes and dropped him down a chimney, you know.

 

 

 

image

IIIIIII Love A Parade! (Sort Of)

parade 9

It was the best of times… it was the worst of times.

Ok, so maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but that was the phrase that kept echoing through my mind yesterday as I stood in downtown Seattle along with my two youngest children and about 700,000 other people in the bitter cold to celebrate our Seahawks winning the Super Bowl.

I’ve had a lot of people ask me the same question- was it worth it?

It’s one of those questions that’s not a simple yes or no. But if I had to pick one, I’d say yes. It’s a lot easier to say that while I am currently indoors with the heat blasting, but I will tell you, I know the exact moment when I realized that yes, it was all worth it. And I was still a human popsicle at the time.

Let me back up a bit, first.

OH MY GOSH THE SEAHAWKS WON THE SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s still a little surreal. Every once in a while I have to repeat that and pinch myself to believe it.

As I said in my post http://kbjackson.com/what-danny-bonaduce-guinness-and-colin-kaepernicks-eyebrow-all-have-in-common/ I have been a football fan pretty much my entire life. I became a Seahawks fan shortly after moving to Washington State in the late 70’s. I attended games in the Kingdome with my family. I cheered on Jim Zorn and Steve Largent, Dave Krieg and Kenny Easley. I watched my Hawks get into the playoffs many times in the early 80’s and lose to Oakland or Denver. It seemed we just were never quite good enough to take it all the way. Mostly, we were perpetual losers.

And then came 1996. The owner at the time moved my beloved team to Los Angeles. I’d like to go on record as saying that while I believe in general a business owner has every right to move his business elsewhere, it’s a nasty, awful thing to take a sports team away from its fans. We’ve had it done not once, but twice.

 

hawksmovehawksmove2Fans attempted to blockade the moving trucks with the Seahawks’ gear and equipment.images7T5OFS49david stern

Thankfully, that nasty old earthquake death trap Kingdome had an iron-clad lease that prevented the move from happening. Local Microsoft billionaire and homegrown boy Paul Allen bought the team, invested in the team, and is a huge reason why the Lombardi trophy is in Seattle.

We had a close one in 2005. We here in Seattle don’t like to talk about that Super Bowl.

So when the parade to celebrate this city and this team was announced, I knew I had to be there.

With a parade start time of 11am, I began to calculate the time we would have to leave home to get there. Turned out that was at nofreakingwaycouldIleavethatearly o’clock.

Plan B: rent a hotel room in Seattle.

I went online and rooms were booking fast. At one point, Expedia said “1143 people are also currently looking at this hotel.” Many of the reasonable, close hotels were booked. I switched to Priceline. They had an express deal they were calling “Downtown Seattle-Pike Place” 3 star for $99. I jumped on it.

Funny thing, though, apparently Priceline considers Capitol Hill Downtown/Pike Place. No matter that it’s nearly a mile and a half straight downhill to get to the market, and nearly a mile and a half straight uphill on one of the steepest grades in the city of Seattle to get back.

I got onto Priceline chat and the person I chatted with told me in no uncertain terms I was locked in. I said, “Have you heard of Sir Mix-a-lot? When he sings about his posse being on Broadway… THIS is the area he’s talking about. Capitol Hill is NOT downtown/Pike Place.”

She was not swayed.

Turned out the hotel itself is nice, and that area of Capitol Hill is a lot safer than I had remembered from my college days. It’s right across from Seattle University and Swedish hospital. Other than an empty bottle of vodka sitting on a wall that Zoe “accidentally knocked over,” it was pretty clean.

On our way down into Seattle, I looked up at the sky and as I looked at the clouds, I thought I saw an image. I snapped a quick picture.

parade13

When I posted and tweeted it, I didn’t suggest what I thought it looked like. I only said I saw something interesting. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who saw it, because soon the picture went viral.

image

I’m not sure if it’s visible, but as of this morning, the posting on the local news station’s website has over 3500 likes on the photo and over 2200 shares.

If you can’t see it, look at this, and then look at the cloud pic again.

seahawklogo

Like someone said, maybe you have to be a Hawks fan to see it. It doesn’t bother me if people think it’s a stretch. I thought some comments were unnecessarily rude. And it did make me realize that anonymity is a beautiful thing. With my name on the photo and people making not always positive comments, I felt a little bit like I had a target on my back. Turns out my skin is pretty thin. I may have to work on that.

Anyways, we checked into the hotel and then made our way down to the restaurant for dinner. Other than Zoe accidentally ending up in the men’s room, it was pretty uneventful. We went to the pool for a bit, met other fans who were there for the parade, and then headed back up to go to bed. Zoe passed out first, and Parker ended up discovering the movie “Spaceballs.” All day yesterday he kept saying, “Yogurt! I hate Yogurt! Even with strawberries!”

The alarm went off at 7am with “Can’t Hold Us” by Macklemore playing. Seemed an appropriate start to the day.

parade12wearing their championship shirts before covering them up in 4 layers

The kids were moving in slow motion, and by the time we got downstairs it was 8 o’clock. I saw a group of people sitting in the lobby in Seahawks gear. I said, “Is this the waiting area for the shuttle?”

They said, “Oh no. We aren’t waiting for the shuttle. It’s full until 9. We’re gonna walk.”

They gave us directions on how to get downtown.

I looked at my kids and said, “Well, it’s looks like we’re walking.”

We started heading down Broadway towards James. (I later found out we could have taken Madison and saved us a lot of time and energy) There was a homeless man walking across the street in front of us. Coming from the opposite direction was a tall black kid, maybe about 19 years old, carrying a backpack. As he passed the man, he held out some money, no words other than a “thank you” were said. I looked at Zoe and said, “That was beautiful.” She smiled and nodded her head.

Parker dawdled most of the way downtown.

parade110 He’s like my own Marshawn Lynch, only instead of Beats by Dre, he has on gingerbread man earmuffs

My thought was that once we got to 4th Ave and scoped out the crowd, we would find a place to get coffee and something to eat. I was not prepared for lines at the three coffee places in the center we went into to each have lines that rival Disneyland. Starbucks had like 75 people in line. The other two, maybe 30 each. I picked a bakery and got in line. I overheard one of the girls who was working there say “This morning we’ve already gone through as much coffee as we normally do in a week.” It was 9am.

I waited for about 30 minutes before getting my turn to order. They were already out of milk chocolate, so the only cocoas they were selling were white chocolate. I ordered a drip coffee for myself, plus two bacon and egg sandwiches and some oatmeal. Another 30 minutes later, and the food was ready. I found out at that point that the coffee was self serve and I could have gotten it right away. About 10 minutes later, the white hot chocolates came up. Both of my kids took one sip and grimaced.

We would never survive an apocalypse.

We found a spot that I considered primo- it was a fenced off area in front of a closed restaurant. It looked like the kind of area where they set tables out on warm summer evenings. I liked it because there was a permanent separation from the passing crowd, and if I needed to put Parker on my shoulders, I wouldn’t be blocking anyone.

Zoe wasn’t having it.

We walked closer to the start of the parade route, only to find the crowd thickening. I convinced her to turn back and go further south. Eventually we found a spot that was right behind two rows of chairs. People had been camping out all night for curbside seats. I put a blanket down on the ground, and stood behind the kids. They bundled up close and tried to keep warm in the 26 degree temps with a 19 degree wind chill. We stood there for a bit before three women and a boy showed up. They started moving in between me and the kids to get to a sport further up. I said, “You’re not really going to go in front of us are you?” Apparently they were surprised that I would actually comment. One of the girls stood with the boy in front of me, and another said, we just want to make sure he can see.”

I was trying not to be a bitch, but I wasn’t happy.

One of the women assured me they would make a spot for Zoe and Parker when the time came.

Then the rest of their group showed up. They began pushing in front of me also.

I said, “How many of your group are planning on getting in front of me?”

They looked stunned that I said anything. The guy said, “We just want to make sure he sees, I don’t really care.”

I said, “I get that. But we were here first and now all of you are trying to get in front, and it’s a little frustrating.”

Meanwhile, one of the girls, maybe 13 or 14, who was seated in the front row chairs, had taken it upon herself to start taking care of Zoe and Parker. I looked down and said, “Whose blanket is that?”

parade7

Zoe said, “It’s hers. She put it over us.” Throughout the morning, I saw the girl continually adjusting the blanket to make sure the kids were covered and warm. Faith in humanity restored.

 

Soon, a group of teenage boys were crawling past us, going onto the street. The people who had been there all night were getting upset because the police were not making everyone stay on the sidewalk, and crowds were filling in in front of their chairs. I watched several women kicking newcomers out of the area. Some moved on, some didn’t care what they said. They had shown up at the last minute and were going to get a good spot, regardless. It was starting to make me anxious.

I looked across the way at the courthouse building where I could see people looking out floor to ceiling windows. I contemplated getting myself arrested just to be able to watch the parade from indoors.

It was noon and the parade, which was supposed to start at 11, had still not arrived. My kids were miserable and cold. I made a decision.

“We’re going north. We’re going to try to find a spot as close to the start of the parade, so we can see it, be done, and go get warm somewhere.”

Parker stayed bundled in the blanket, and we started our journey. The crowds were like nothing I had ever seen before.

parade5Seattle City Hall

At 12:12, by the Governor’s decree, a moment of loudness commenced.

We were like salmon swimming upstream in a marijuana-infused stream. There were, as I heard someone say, a lot of people “smoking the state flower.”

At a certain point, though, everything came to a halt. There was no movement. I was getting pushed from behind, but there was a wall of people in front of me. Zoe was bumping into Parker, who in turn began punching her and elbowing her. I tried explaining that she wasn’t pushing him on purpose, but he was getting pretty angry. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of swearing, a lot of pushing. Eventually someone went hulk and made a path. We got pushed through and up onto a side street. There were hundreds of people on that street, trying to look onto 4th to see the parade.

I said, “I’m done fighting.”

Parker said, “I wanna go home.”

Zoe said, “I can’t see! Did we really do all this not to see the parade?”

I looked at her and I said, “Take your brother. Wiggle yourselves into a place where you can see.”

They made their way through the crowd to the intersection. I said a prayer that I would find them again.

Finally, the parade began.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfCifEpVx98

The first part of the parade was the team buses with no one inside them. After they passed by, I saw Zoe and Parker running towards me through the crowd.

“We got up front! We saw the parade!”

I said, “That wasn’t the parade. That was just the beginning. Get back in there!”

They ran back through the crowd.

Just as Marshawn Lynch made his way to our intersection, throwing skittles at the crowd, my phone died. I couldn’t believe it. I still had 30% battery life, and my phone shut down and said it needed to be connected to a battery.

Later I found out that this happened to several people I know. I have heard many explanations, such as overloading of the towers, cold temperatures affecting battery life, the 911 system not working properly so callers were being asked to limit calls.

None of these explanations satisfy me. It was 26 degrees, and if phone batteries shut down when it’s 26 degrees, does that mean no one in the Midwest or east coast has been able to use their phones all winter?

I wasn’t making phones calls, or on Facebook. I wasn’t even sending texts. All I was doing was taking pictures. I wasn’t zapping cell strength or tower strength.

And shutting down the phones wouldn’t help the 911 problem, it would create a new one- people unable to call 911 because their phones weren’t working.

I plan on getting to the bottom of this, you have my word on it.

So I didn’t get pictures of the actual parade. I got pre-parade pictures.

parade 10parade8

parade6

The good news is that a lot of my friends got great shots, including my friend Gretta Kosanovich who got these shots of the actual parade:

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parade3

But the best part was the look on Zoe and Parker’s faces when they came back in excitement to tell me about seeing Marshawn Lynch throwing skittles at them, Richard Sherman, “the coach” and everyone.

That’s what made it ALL worth it.

We walked with the crowds until we got to the street that we had come down in the morning. It loomed steeply before us, but we just started hiking.

Halfway up the street, we came across a rat. A squashed rat.

Parker insisted I take a picture, and I told him my phone had died. I pulled it out, attempted to turn it on, and well, whatta ya know? It turned on with 27% battery life left. Totally suspicious.

image I think in Parker’s eyes, this rivals seeing Marshawn Lynch. boys.

It took us an hour to get out of Seattle yesterday afternoon. We were starving so we stopped off at a Red Robin- 45 minute wait.

I piled them back into the car, but by then we were all craving Red Robin. Next mall closer to our house? 45- an hour wait. At 330 on a Wednesday!

I hear that in Seattle alone, 13000 students and over 500 teachers were absent yesterday. No count yet on the outlying districts, or the amount of people who skipped work. A woman next to me said to her boyfriend, “My boss said not to come in if I don’t feel good. And I don’t feel good- I feel great!” Over 700,000 people were at the parade yesterday, and only 650,000 live in the city. No one was arrested and people remained mostly in good spirits.

We were surrounded by people of all ethnic, racial, religious and political backgrounds, cheering together, united. This place is special, and I’m glad we were a part of it.

It was a long day. It was cold. It was frustrating at times. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it again if I had it to do over, but I’m glad I don’t have to do it over again.

It really was ONCE in a lifetime.

Go Hawks!

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Dear Diary: Musings From My 21 Day Social Media Fast (Pt 3 of 3)

sunshine

Day 15

Zoe left today for 6 days in Arizona with her Grandma. Packing her suitcase filled with swimsuits and shorts was strange.

The weather here is pretty gloomy and it made me think I need to be creating a little sunshine in my life. There are a few ways I like to do this-

  1. Buy a pineapple. There’s nothing like a pineapple to remind me of sunshine, summer, tropical places.
  2. Music. Make a playlist of songs that remind me of a warm vacation or a summer day. This is, of course, very personal. My playlist probably wouldn’t work for anyone but me. Songs that transport me mentally to warmer locales are songs that were popular around the time I went on my first trip to Hawaii in the early 80’s. “Let the Music Play” by Shannon, “Africa” by Toto, anything from Lionel Richie’s “Can’t Slow Down” album, and a lot of Hall and Oates. I know it’s weird, that’s why I said it’s a personal thing. General tropical or reggae music works too- Bruddah IZ, Inner Circle, Bob Marley. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaGUr6wzyT8
  3. Get some flowers. No roses- they need to be tropical. Here in the Seattle area we have the Hawaii General Store, and they sell freshly made plumeria and pikake leis. Sometimes I will make the 30 minute drive just to buy one to keep in my fridge. When I am feeling down or stressed, I open the fridge, pull out the plastic container and take a giant whiff of heaven. I also will grab a hyacinth if they are in season. Occasionally you can find mini pineapple plants at the grocery store. They don’t have flowers, but they make everything feel more exotic. Jasmine always smells yummy. 
  4. Another sensory thing I like to do is put on perfume or lotion that reminds me of the tropics. Kai perfume, Maui Rain perfume, ginger, plumeria, pikake, mango or coconut lotions. When you close your eyes and take a whiff it’s like for that moment you’re in an island paradise. Candles work too.
  5. My local frozen yogurt shop has limited edition sorbets that come and go on a rotating basis. Currently they have POG (passion orange guava, also available at the store in juice form) but my favorite is the Dole pineapple whip like you can get at the Dole Plantation in Hawaii or at the Tiki room at Disneyland. I also like to mix coconut froyo in with my chocolate to give it a summery taste. My husband calls that “ruining it,” but he’s wrong. it’s amazing.

imagePOG Sorbet

6. Movies/TV. “50 first dates,” “Just go with it,” “Honeymoon in Vegas,” “Lilo and Stitch” are some films with tropical themes. As with my music playlist, I have always connected “The Thorn Birds” with Hawaii because it came out around the time we went for my first trip. And of course, for TV shows,” Hawaii 5-0” and “Magnum PI” are two of my favorites. HGTV and National Geographic each have travel shows. A summery read can help you mentally escape also.

7. Bring color into my home. There’s nothing that gets me out of a mid-winter funk like bright colors. I think I may go hang out at the Tommy Bahama store for a while and just pretend I’m somewhere else, and then bring home a couple new throw pillows. Last year I painted a giant picture of a Caribbean waterfront scene.

8. Plan a vacation. ‘Nuff said.

Day 16

Sydney made curry again today, this time when she showed up at lunchtime with three of her friends. I was still in my pajamas. (Don’t ask me why I was still in my pajamas at noon.) I’ve noticed that even after the pans have been thoroughly cleaned, when I set an empty pan on the burner to heat up, the smell of curry comes wafting up again. Don’t get me wrong- I love that she’s teaching herself to cook, and that she’s experimenting with interesting foods. But I think I’m ready for her to move on to something other than curry.

I went in search of a new trash can today for my kitchen. I have had my current cans (I have a second for recycling) for 10 years now, and they are definitely in need of replacement, but I’m having a tough time letting go. You see, the trash cans I have are 18 gallon trash cans. They are tall, slim and rectangular, and they fit perfectly up against my kitchen island. But they don’t make 18 gallon cans anymore, and it’s getting harder and harder to find the trash bags that fit them.

The standard kitchen trash can is 13 gallons. Many are round or oval, which won’t sit flush against my cabinets. Plus, that extra 5 gallons of trash space means that’s how much less the trash needs to be taken out. I’ve resigned myself to the reality I will never find another 18 gallon can, but I refuse to spend $130 for a stupid trash can. Unless it takes itself out, I don’t see how they can justify charging that much. I didn’t see any today that I can live with. The search continues…

Meanwhile, my maturity level doesn’t seem to be improving on this hiatus.

Parker: Hey! You already had a cookie!

Me: So? Mind your own beeswax.

Parker: Well, that kinda means I can have another one too.

Me: No, it doesn’t mean that. I made ‘em. I can eat as many as I want.

Sometimes it feels good to use the phrase “mind your own beeswax.”  I think I will do it more often.

Day 17

I scheduled myself a massage for today. Before you start thinking that I’m some pampered housewife, you should know that I go to Massage Envy, which is like the Target of massage places. It’s typically found in strip-malls and for the bargain price of 39$ you can get a decent one hour massage. I originally became a member when we lived in Huntington Beach. After trying several different people, I finally found the perfect masseuse. About 2 months later we moved.

Since we relocated up here in Washington, I have gone through a variety and have yet to find the one I want to commit to. I went to see one guy for quite a while, but he liked to talk religion and politics and I always came out of my massages more stressed than I went in.

The next guy was amaaaazing. I think at one point during a massage he had a foot up on the wall for leverage. He did something to the base of my skull that was pure ecstasy. About 2 weeks after my first appointment with him, I called to make another, and was told he had transferred. I went into a period of mourning.

I did the masseuse merry-go-round for another several months, and ended up with a young muscle-headed guy who worked at a body building supplement store when he wasn’t giving massages. He liked to talk football and conspiracy theories. At one point, he tried to tell me that he found out through genealogy that he was related to King David. You know, David. Bathsheba. Goliath. That David. Sometimes I would make up conspiracies and say “have you heard about…” just to hear what he would say.

I took a break from Massage Envy for over a year while I was in physical therapy from my car accident, so this was my first massage there in quite a while. As a matter of fact, they looked me up in the system and found that I had 16 massages saved up (you get one per month with a membership.)

When I called to make the appointment, the first person they offered was the religion/politics guy. I said, “Uh, who else do you have available?” The said another name, which I didn’t recognize. I thought unknown was better than the “Why did you stop seeing me?” conversation I would have to have with the other guy. Besides, I really needed to be able to relax.

I will say the new guy gave a decent massage. He’s got some strange affected whispery breathy voice that I’m not a fan of, but I’m willing to give him another chance. When he whispered, “How do you feel about me working your abs?” I almost bolted. He didn’t smell like smoke or his lunch, which is always a plus, and he didn’t talk except to ask about pressure. The sound of his hands slurping together as he oiled them up was a little off-putting, and they were sort of cold at first, but they warmed up.  Since I have so many saved up, I’m going back in a week. Fingers crossed that I have got a keeper!

massage

 

Day 18

Have you seen the movie “About Time” with Rachel McAdams? If not, I highly recommend it. It’s a beautiful movie, and it probably didn’t get the attention it deserved from the general public. The premise is that a young man, Tim, is called into his father’s library to be told that the men in their family are able to travel back in time. They cannot travel forward, except back to the time they had come from, and they cannot travel beyond their own lives.

His initial goal is to use it to help him find a girlfriend. He does. And they create a beautiful life together. As time goes on he realizes the consequences of making changes in his choices. He has to be willing to let some bad events remain because in undoing the bad, sometimes it can undo the good in his life as well. We like to isolate incidents, but so much is connected, part of the progression of life. Like the domino effect.

It sounds like a silly movie, but in reality, it teaches a great lesson. After all that he experiences over the course of several years with this amazing ability, he says, “And in the end I think I’ve learned the final lesson from my travels in time; and I’ve even gone one step further than my father did: The truth is I now don’t travel back at all, not even for the day, I just try to live every day as if I’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”

I, of course, had tears streaming down my face by this time. I feel as though that’s the point of this whole endeavor I have undertaken these past three weeks. I want to be present in my own life, to experience it fully, not just in pieces. I want to really see the people standing in front of me, I want to appreciate the small details, expand my horizons and live in joy.

Day 19

Well, this morning when I got on my phone, I discovered that my Facebook app was open. Either someone has figured out my password and was looking at my account, or I did it in my sleep. At this point, I’d say either is a possibility. Are there many documented cases of Sleep-Facebooking?

facebook bed fbed2

If there ever was a day I wish I could be on Facebook, it’s today. The best part of Facebook is being able to share experiences with people near and far, and today I want to be cheering on my Seahawks with all my friends.

I bought a new jersey to wear- a Marshawn Lynch. They are so tough to come by I ended up with a youth XL. That a youth-sized shirt fits is great for my ego. That it has a giant patch on the front that says “XL,” not so much.

We are headed in a bit to the neighbors’ to watch the game. I went to the grocery store to grab stuff to make bean dip and it was a surreal experience. Except for two 49’er fans, every single person I saw had some sort of Seahawks gear on. There’s a palpable buzz in the air, everyone looking at each other with nervous smiles. Since the very last game of last season, we’ve all sensed this could be it. That finally, after all these years of disappointment, the refs gifting the Steelers a win in our only Super bowl appearance, this is our year.

Even Sydney is putting on a Seahawks shirt and heading to the church to watch the game on the giant screen.

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I can’t believe it. We won. We’re actually going to the Super Bowl.

I don’t know that I have ever watched a more stressful, aggravating, exciting game in my life.

I went from nervous eating to feeling nauseated.

I was sitting hunched forward. I was standing. I was up, I was down.

Parker had no clue what was happening, but when the other boys lost their minds with excitement, so did he.

When that ball tipped into the hands of Malcolm Smith it took me a moment to understand what it meant. My husband ran over to give me the double high fives and said “we’re going to the super bowl!” It was over. We won. There was screaming and hugging. I believe I launched myself awkwardly into the arms of one of my neighbors.

It was blissful, euphoric. A feeling relatively unknown to Seattle sports fans. And I savored every moment.

There’s been a lot of talk about Richard Sherman’s comments in his post-game interview. I have no intention of going into any long dissertation on the topic. It’s been talked about to death. I will only say, Richard Sherman is an intelligent, passionate player. He is a good man who gives back to this community and the one in which he grew up. I am proud that he is a Seattle Seahawk.

The end.

65676_10152148843024089_1913281331_n Me with Richard Sherman’s brother Branton

 

Day 20

Martin_Luther_King_Day2013_freecomputerdesktopwallpaper_1280

Today, we honor the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King jr.

Today, I am reading, Twitter is afire with racist tweets.

Sickening.

There’s a common misperception that racial hate always stems from ignorance. If only that were true.

It’s probably because when someone spews racial epithets, they sound ignorant. Stupid. Moronic.

Many times their sentences are riddled with grammatical errors.

Often, their posts on Facebook and Twitter are filled with misspellings. 

Unfortunately, if ignorance was the root cause, it could be solved with education.

However, when major university fraternities are hosting racially offensive theme parties, you start to realize it’s not just about ignorance.

Racists run the gamut from the least educated in our society to the elites.

The way I grew up, the environment in which I was raised didn’t prepare me for dealing with people who proudly, publicly post disgusting racially charged words for the whole world to read.

I continue to be shocked and horrified, and my black friends continue to be surprised at my shock and horror. Much to the contrary of the claims that people are constantly trying to cry racism even where none is intended, most of the racism that happens every day goes unreported. It’s just a part of life. It’s expected.

The outrage is reserved for naïve whites like me.

Somewhere along the way a contingent of our country decided that we live in a “post-racial” America. That we are so far removed from our past of slavery, segregation, institutional racism, that our having elected a biracial president means racism has ended.

It hasn’t. We’ve just gotten better at disguising it.

I hear people say they’re tired of this conversation on race. “Get over it already.” “It’s in the past.”

And then I see those who feel emboldened in their tweets, their Facebook postings, their interviews on international news channels.

I was going to post some examples, but I don’t want to give a forum to those people.

I don’t have far-reaching impact on the world around me. But I do have impact on my kids, and I realized a few years ago that it’s not enough to just not set a bad example for my kids, it’s imperative I set a good example. Not one based on platitudes, but one based on my deeply held beliefs regarding the value of all human beings.

I asked Parker if he knew why we celebrate Dr. King’s birthday. He said he couldn’t remember.

I tried to think of something that would help him understand, that he wouldn’t zone out while I was explaining.

“So, you know London’s parents?”

“Yes.”

“There used to be a time when it was against the law for them to be married. Because of the color of their skin.”

“You mean because his dad is brown?”

“Yes. And people would be mean to those who had brown skin. They forced them to do things they didn’t want to do. They didn’t let them live where they wanted to live, or work where they wanted to work. And you and London- people wouldn’t be okay with you being friends with each other. Just because his skin is darker than yours. That’s what Martin Luther King fought against. He fought for you to be able to be friends with London.”

His eyes got big.

He got it.

A couple of weeks ago, Zoe said ” I know what the N word is now.”

(Last year she came home from school saying that a kid in her class had told her there was such a thing, and she wanted to know if it was true. I said yes, but that we never use that word, and I didn’t feel she needed to know what it was.)

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, I had a black crayon, and my friend was looking at it. Under the word black it had another word. She said, ‘that’s the N word.'”

“Well. No. Negro is Spanish for the color black. Pronounced differently, it’s the term that people used to use when referring to the people who are black. No one really uses it anymore, it’s outdated and offensive. But it’s not the N word. The N word comes from that word though.”

“Oh. ”

I have to admit, I was relieved. She’s gonna hear it eventually, but I’m glad to know that time hasn’t come yet. Until she understands the history of that word, until she understands why it’s not ok, how it’s been used, it is meaningless.

I kind of like that the word has no power in her mind. I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

 

Day 21

Well, this is it- my last full day off of Facebook. I’m a little apprehensive, to tell the truth. I don’t know what exactly to expect.

I picked Zoe up from the airport this morning. I’m happy to have her home following her week in Arizona with her grandma. I took her to lunch and she told me funny stories about her adventures.

Afterwards we headed to the pet store to pick out a fish to keep Angel company. Now we have a new goldfish named Juicy, and Zoe has renamed Angel “Bruno.” She also got herself a beta fish that she has named “Cali.”

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A few people have asked me what I have learned about myself over the past three weeks. I wish I could say that I had this amazing life-transformative experience. It turns out I’m the same person I was 3 weeks ago. I have found that if I want to disconnect or mentally escape, I’ll find a way. I’d probably have to get stranded on a desert island without electronics in order to truly break myself of these habits I have created.

I did make more of an effort to connect face to face with people, and I have tried to really listen to the people who are talking to me. I have spent more time watching my kids, and engaging them in conversations than I have in quite a while. Most of Parker’s conversations have to do with video games or toys or something he saw on a show or a video game. But instead of just nodding my head absently and saying, “oh really?” (they have all caught on that I have been doing that when I am not really listening) I have tried to ask follow up questions. I’ve gotten insight into how they think and how they view things around them.

I’ve also noticed how much OTHER people use their phones and tablets to disconnect. I think that has been eye-opening, viewing others through the lens that I’m sure people have often seen me.

I’m not making promises about the future. I haven’t cured myself of my social media addiction. I do think I have learned to manage it a bit better.

I guess time will tell.

I’m excited to see what everyone has been up to. And what they’ve been eating.

Thanks for your patience during this experiment… And hopefully I didn’t lose you guys in the meantime.

It’s 11:55… Maybe I’ll just take a peek. What’s 5 minutes anyways?

 

Dear Diary: Musings From My 21 Day Social Media Fast (Pt2)

Day 8-

I picked out Parker’s clothes last night for him to wear to school today. He came downstairs wearing them and said, “I look like a DJ.” I’m not sure if that was a compliment or a complaint.

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I got my hair done today, which is often my favorite day of the month (well, technically every 5 weeks.) I get terrible reception in the salon, and usually it drives me crazy that I can’t get on Facebook while I’m there. Instead I read my kindle and got pampered.

Meanwhile, Facebook started sending me emails and messages begging me to post something, like a clingy ex-girlfriend. After all this time, did you really think I had simply FORGOTTEN to post? Silence means there’s nothing to say, get it Facebook, ya stalker?

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1:33 am? Really? Was it last call at the bar and you didn’t want to go home without one last try?

 

And now tonight I came to the end of Candy Crush. Again. I may have to take up knitting. Or drinking.

Or both.

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I decided to fill my night by building a bookcase. I’m kinda impressed with myself about now.

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I think the time equivalent for how long it took to put together is like 4 status updates and 15 games of Candy Crush. Yes, that’s how I measure time now.

 

Day 9

When I got home from the grocery store tonight I had the following conversation with my husband-

Me: There were an inordinate amount of people wearing camouflage clothing at the store.

 He: How could you tell?

I won’t tell you how long it took me for my brain to understand how funny that was. Let’s just say he’d already left the room by the time I got it and started laughing. They say you lose millions of brain cells with every kid. I have 4. (Kids not brain cells- although I do wonder sometimes…) You do the math. Seriously, you do the math, because I can’t do it anymore.

He went into the other room to do work on the computer while I made dinner and Zoe did her homework at the kitchen table.

Soon I heard him talking/kind of singing to himself.

J: No. I don’t want your number. No. I don’t wanna give you mine.

Me: (singing) And no, I don’t wanna meet you nowhere. No, don’t want none of your time.

Zoe: (singing)I don’t want no scrubs. A scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me.

Me: (singing) Hanging out the passenger side of his best friend’s ride, trying to holler at me.

J: (singing from the living room) noooooo scruuuubs.

Me: I’m pretty sure this is the first time a family has ever done a multi-room round of “Scrubs.”

Zoe: What IS a scrub?

Me: (singing) A scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fly. He’s also known as a buster. Always talkin’ ‘bout what he wants and just sits on his broke ass.

Zoe: That doesn’t help.

Me: A scrub is a loser.

Zoe: Oh. That makes sense.

Her homework for tonight was to write a “How-to” paragraph. She had a difficult time coming up with a topic, and didn’t care for any of my suggestions.

Me: What about “How to make a bed?”

Zoe: I can’t write on that.

Me: Why?

Zoe: Because the maids make my bed.

Me: First of all, you should be making your own bed daily and not waiting for the housecleaners to do it every other week. Secondly, I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth.

Zoe: Well it’s true.

I think I need to rethink some of my parenting strategies.

We spent the rest of the evening looking for northern lights through the rain clouds (no luck)  and watching Lego Bigfoot videos like this Lego Bigfoot wedding video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1ufkn3Ju5M

I never claimed we were a normal family.

Day 10

My husband: What were those two eels from “The Little Mermaid” called?

Me: Flotsam and Jetsam

My husband: I think that’s what I’m going to call your boobs from now on.

I don’t even want to know what he saw that inspired that statement.

flotsam and jetsam   

At least he didn’t compare me to Ursula

 

I took Sydney to the Mediterranean Kitchen today. Confession- it was my second time this week eating Shawarma. I may need a Shawarma intervention. Earlier this week I went to a place called” The Shawarma King” where a nice man named Mohammed made my food. I believe he was the aforementioned “Shawarma King,” but I didn’t have the nerve to ask him.

I now have garlic seeping out my pores. I don’t think there is enough mouthwash in this house to dissipate my breath.

Jeff told me the smell is so strong on my skin, my hair and my breath, if he closed his eyes and I started belly dancing and making jingling sounds, he’d swear he was in the Middle East.

Day 11

Today we got a sneak preview visit to the new community pool in my mom’s town. Because she works for the school district, she got special passes. We drove through a heavy thunder storm to get there and Parker said, “Good thing it’s indoor, or the pool would be cancelled.”

As we drove through the valley, we noticed dozens and dozens of snow geese hanging out on the fields. We drove across the river over the bridge and Zoe shouted, “Bald eagle!”

Parker looked and said, “It has brown on the bottom and a white head! It IS a bald eagle!”

Zoe: “And what’s that over there?”

Me:  “I think it’s a nest.”

Zoe: “Oh, you’re right. It is a nest.”

Parker: Yes, it’s a nest, Zoe. Good Zoe, you’re learning.

Me: How do you, at the age of 8 years old, have such a highly developed ability to be condescending?

Parker: I just do.

I blame his father.

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After the pool (which was very cool, by the way) we picked up fried chicken (Heaven Sent, formerly Ezell’s. As Parker said, “It’s my favorite kind of turkey!”) and headed home to watch the Seahawks play the New Orleans Saints.

It was one of the times when being off Facebook was extra difficult. I asked my husband to go and see what everyone was saying about the game.

“Well, I see a lot of ‘Go Hawks!’ but not a lot else. Oh and some lady posted a picture of her bright green tennis shoes with a caption ‘Oh yeah. Let’s keep this party going!’”

I knew who that was. It was my mother and her lucky Seahawk shoes.

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It’s only crazy if it doesn’t work, right?

In honor of the Hawks’ brilliant defeat of the Saints, I made bread pudding smothered in rum sauce. To my friends who are New Orleans fans- your team didn’t play well, but your food is delicious!

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Day 12

A week and a half remains of my fast. I’ve passed the halfway point, yet it still seems interminable.

I went to bed last night to the smell of Sydney making curry for her friend. I decided that I will continue my trend of trying new foods by making a visit to the Indian restaurant down the street. I am praying that it won’t destroy my intestines.

Sydney reheated her curry from last night, just as we had finally eliminated the smell from the house. I’m not sure, but the smells emanating from my house lately may be a violation of the HOA rules.

Tonight, my husband casually dropped this into our conversation-

J: What do you think of me wearing vests?

Me: What kind of vests? Three piece suit vests? Sweater vests?

J: Any kind of vest. I’m thinking of becoming the “vest guy.”

Me: You already were the “vest guy.” That was after your “Tommy Bahama Guy” phase.

J: I’m thinking of bringing it back. I might even add fishing vests into the mix.

Me: No.

Seriously, I’m doing this for his own good.

Day 13

Today I took Nathan to his quarterly appointment with the endocrinologist. He’s hit 5’5 and we are hoping for 3 more inches of growth. Considering how far off the bottom of the growth chart he was when he was first diagnosed as growth hormone deficient at the age of 2, 5’5 feels like a miracle.

When we came out of Children’s Hospital I gave my ticket to the valet who handed it back to me and pointed through the lot to where my car was parked. Thankfully they don’t allow tipping because he would SO not get one.

As we came closer to my car, I caught a glimpse of this beauty:

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Upon further inspection, I realized I was looking at a car completely devoted to hydroplane racing. Hydroplane racing is something I think about one day a year- Seafair Sunday. The rest of the year I forget it exists. But this guy- he lives it 365.

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I would think every time he got behind the wheel of his car he’d feel like he was in a race… that he’s losing. Badly.

After the appointment we went to Dick’s drive in. For those who don’t know, Dick’s is the place where the cool hang out. The swass like to play and the rich flaunt clout.

Before you start questioning my sanity, check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBPpy_SVV_0

Dick’s is a local fast food icon, where you can get great burgers and fries for not a lot of money. It’s a walk up, so we ate it in the car. I tried not to make eye contact with the guy in the car next to me as I shoved fries slathered in tartar sauce into my face. It’s all part of the experience.

When we got home, Sydney was in the kitchen beginning “operation curry- day 3.” I’m really never getting this smell out of my house.

Tonight was the second episode of “The Bachelor.” Parker posted up on the end of my bed with his head resting on his hand. Sometimes I wonder what goes through his head when he watches this show.

Jeff: You know what’s better than Juan Pablo?

Me: No.

Jeff: Two Pablo.

Me: You’re so wrong for that.

Jeff: You know, I just realized what my watch collection is missing.

Me: A Pacman watch?

Jeff: Yes! How did you know?

Me: What else could it be?

Jeff: I had one when I was a kid. It had a joystick on top, but it broke.

Me: I think mine only had buttons.

Jeff: Buttons would be way better. I’m gonna look it up and see if I can get one.

Me: I’d like to point out the mind-meld that just took place here.  It’s like we share a brain or something.

Jeff: Yeah. It’s kind of scary. Hey, do you know what the Bachelor calls his house?

Me: No, what?

Jeff: Juan pueblo.

Me: You’re killing me.

Day 14

 This morning I met my friend Lisa for coffee. We met up at 1030 and didn’t leave the coffee shop until 1. When I got there she said, “I’d like to know why my son is here and not in class.” I looked over, and sure enough, her 20 year old son was sitting at a table with his headphones in.

“Oh last week I asked Sydney the same question. It turns out they don’t have class on Tuesdays anymore.”

“Interesting. I wonder where he’s been going .”

“Probably here.”

“Probably.”

Kids these days. Sydney was gone at a church retreat last month and forgot to mention it to me. I posted on her Facebook page at 1AM asking her where she was and Lisa responded that she was probably at the retreat. If they weren’t such good kids, we’d wring their necks.

Her son came over to where we were seated and stood, towering over us. We looked down at his feet and he said, “Yeah, so I have two different shoes on today.”

She said, “I see that. How exactly did that happen?”

“Well, I wasn’t really looking, and I just slipped them on. “

We’ve all done that once or twice. I told her I can’t count the number of times I have discovered my shirt was on backwards or inside out. Or both. She told me she spent a whole day wearing one brown boot and one black boot before she realized. She said, “The crazy thing is they were two different heights. I hobbled around the whole day and it never occurred to me why I was uneven.”

I always love my time with Lisa. She’s funny and smart and insightful. She’s the real deal, and there aren’t many like that out there, so I’m grateful for her. And she puts up with my babbling.

I’m glad that my Social Media fast created more urgency for face to face encounters, because that 2 1/2 hours with Lisa was better than scrolling on Facebook any day.

coffee-talk-505

Dear Diary- Musings From My 21 Day Social Media Fast (Pt 1)

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Well, I’m back. You may not have even noticed I was gone, but boy did I miss you all. Today marks my first day back using Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram after a 3 week hiatus.  I’m not gonna lie- it’s been tough. Putting it in perspective, though, I’m sure there are things that people have given up that were more difficult than giving up social media.  My friend recently quit smoking. As “addicted” to Facebook as I have been, it doesn’t come close to the strength required to give up smoking. Others who participated in this New Year’s fast gave up sweets, meats, music and/or TV.

And I do have to admit, as the director of social media for our company, I didn’t abstain from social media completely. I did have to log in to our company Facebook and Twitter accounts, but I promise I didn’t enjoy it and I didn’t take a single peek at my own accounts.

The following are my journal entries from the days I was on the fast.  I don’t know if I made any monumental self-discoveries, but it has been an interesting three weeks. I spent more time doing things than reading about other people doing things, so that’s something, right?

I’ll be posting these in increments so as not to make for laborious reading.

Day 1– January 1, 2014:

Well, it’s New Year’s Day. My fast has officially begun. What’s 3 weeks in the scheme of life? It’s nothing.  A few years ago I gave up sweets for Lent- that was pretty tough. Six weeks without chocolate, without dessert. If I can do that, I can do this.

I’m sure the shakes will go away eventually.

In an ironic twist, I’m sitting here with no one to communicate with.  My first attempt to work on my real life communication by eliminating Facebook communication, and I’m left all alone.

Our New Year’s Eve was pretty uneventful. Zoe was at her aunt’s, Sydney and Nathan were with their friends, Parker spent most of the night playing games on the computer, and Jeff spent his time either working on his laptop or catching up on episodes of “Boardwalk Empire.” At about 10pm I popped open a bottle of Moet & Chandon Champagne. I forgot that you are supposed to cover it with a towel, so after loosening the cork, I watched it slowly work its way out, exiting the bottle in a massive explosion, ricocheted off the kitchen ceiling and landed across the room, nearly nailing Jeff in the head. I’ll work on better trajectory for next New Year’s Eve.

We feasted on crackers and cheese and sipped champagne until the ball dropped and fireworks came shooting out of the Space Needle. Parker had managed to stay awake, so he got sandwiched between us for our 21st New Year’s kiss.

After putting Parker to bed, we headed to our own room.  While I was in the bathroom Jeff turned off the light, and as I made my way through the dark, I managed to trip over something, my arms went flying, and so did my champagne glass.

Me: See?! This is why we need the lights on!

Jeff: Between the cracker crumbs that you dropped down the front of your shirt earlier and the cheap champagne you just spilled all over yourself, a person could take communion off of you.

Me: It’s not cheap champagne! It was $39 on sale!

Jeff: Yeah, you’re just like Jay-Z with your $39 champagne.

 

It’s going to be a long three weeks.

Day 2

I kept myself busy yesterday by taking down all the interior Christmas decorations. It’s nice to get the house back in order, and it kept me somewhat distracted from what I may be missing out on.

Sydney got a wild hair and decided to make pesto from scratch. We didn’t use a recipe and didn’t have a ton of basil, so it became quite an ordeal. In the end, we had dishes and appliances everywhere for what netted out to be about 3 tablespoons of pesto.

My mother-in-law came by to grab my leftover boxes from our flood remodel. One of her sister’s friends’ houses burned down a few days ago. It was a total loss. She was going over to see if there was anything to salvage. It sounds like most everything is either covered in soot or smoke damaged. Definitely a good reminder that no matter how many times I think about setting fire to my garage rather than cleaning it out, the reality of a house fire is devastating. I’m counting my blessings, messy as they may be.

Today I learned a new appreciation for working moms. We had our company yearly kickoff meeting, which required getting Parker up early, dressed and fed before dropping him off at his grandma’s for the day, as well as getting myself up and showered and ready to leave by 830. I know that for many of you, this is an average day in your life, but it’s not in mine, and I salute you for making it happen.

I started writing a fictional story today. I can’t tell yet whether it’s crap or not, but it has to be better than some of the drivel I have come across lately. FYI- don’t ask me what I’m writing about. I can’t talk about it or I will have to stop. It’s just a thing with me; probably why I have about 30 partially written stories over the years. My goal for 2014 is to actually get it finished and send it off somewhere to see if I can get it published. Hey- you never know until you try, right?

Day 3

This morning I awoke to the sound of Zoe and Parker loudly playing “Mario World 3D.” Not my favorite way to start the day. I had told my mother that we would make a trip down to the Pacific Science Center in Seattle to check out an exhibit on race in America (ethnicity, not fast cars) and today was the day. I was waffling about whether to wake Nathan up and have him watch them or bring them with me. I decided I would bring them.

Me: We’re going to the Science center today.

Parker: I don’t want to.

Me: I don’t care. I don’t want you staying home, sitting around doing nothing, playing video games all day.

Parker: (blank stare) How is that doing nothing?

 

Yeah.

 

The exhibit was great, although having the kids there definitely limited me on my ability to take my time and really absorb it.

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487 Parker looking through his skin

 

After we finished with that part of the exhibit, we headed for the rest of the Science Center. Of course, being the genius science-minded people they are, you have to go through the souvenir/toy shop on the way to the rest of the exhibits. We got waylaid there for a bit before, upon promise of a return, I finally dragged Parker out of there.

The kids ended up really enjoying the science center, particularly the animatronic dinosaurs

520He enjoyed this more than it appears

 

and the butterfly garden.

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That butterfly garden was amazing, not just for the flowers and butterflies, but also for the calm it brought over Parker. They emphasize you have to walk slowly and carefully, so as not to step on a butterfly that might be “resting” on the ground. He spent quite a while just watching the butterflies and the fish in the pond. Zoe figured out that the Koi liked to eat the lily pads, so she fed them. I’m pretty sure that broke about a dozen rules, but it was so serene I just let her.

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They also liked the body exhibit, and their favorite aspect was the aging computers. The program took a photo of your face, and then showed a natural aging process, along with aging that is influenced by smoking, obesity and sun exposure. They tried to get my mother to do it, but she said, “I already know what I look like old.”

578Zoe at 70?

 

When we finally got back to the gift shop, Parker decided on the Thor hammer. It probably wasn’t my smartest parenting move. Sitting in Seattle rush hour traffic, I eventually had to take it from him, as he was whacking the back of my seat and his sister’s fingers with it.

Overall it was a great day, though,  and I’m glad we went.

Day 4

I thought about Facebook a lot this morning. I miss it so much I felt a little queasy thinking about it. I’m trying to take my mind off of it by doing laundry and watching cheesy lifetime romance movies.

The last one I watched was about a woman waking up to find herself living the life she had dreamed of, only to  discover the reality of the fantasy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Not a novel concept for a movie, but it did make me think- be careful what you wish for. Many times what we believe is a step towards a better life is really just exchanging one set of problems for another set.

You know, like in Jay Z’s song “Holy Grail.”

I noticed today that Candy Crush keeps trying to get me to send extra moves to two friends who passed away last year. “_____ has been stuck for 164 days. Send them extra moves.” It was a sobering experience. Two vibrant young women whose lives were cut short by cancer, and I’m spending my time playing Candy Crush. I’ve given up Facebook and Twitter, but that doesn’t mean I’m doing anything other than biding my time until I can get back on. The whole point of this fast was to improve myself and my life. I know it’s only day 4, but I still don’t think I’m getting it.

On a side note, I’ll bet Heaven has unlimited Candy Crush lives.

Day 5

Delirium has set in. I keep hearing voices…

 

Turns out it’s my children talking to me. I wonder how long that’s been going on.

 

On the bright side, I’ve figure out how to get Parker interested in football. All I needed to do was sit him at the kitchen table with his homework in front of him and the game on TV. Suddenly he can’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

Day 6

The kids went back to school today. Hooray!

Zoe isn’t feeling well, but I told her to suck it up and go to school. I can’t tell whether I’m the meanest mom ever, or I’m teaching her good life skills.

I took her to the walk-in clinic, which turned into a 2 ½ hour ordeal. I’m sure we’ll both end up coming down with some horrendous disease from sitting amongst all those sick people.

Tonight was the official first night of the “Bachelor.” I have been watching this show since it began in 2001. I think that technically makes me an expert.

Case in point: I picked the girl most likely to have a meltdown simply based on her intro segment. Not only was I right, she completely came unhinged before the end of the first cocktail party on the very first night.

Jeff said, “You were right. You spotted the crazy. I think you were tuned in to her frequency.”

I pretended to ignore his implication.

I always wonder what the friends and family of these emotionally fragile (unstable) women are thinking by encouraging them to go on this show. They should be in therapy, not plying themselves with booze and thrown into a houseful of catty women, just so they can be rejected on national TV.

And yet, this is why we watch.

Oh, and the quest for true love, blah blah blah. I think after all these years I have developed a healthy cynicism for the whole endeavor, in spite of my inner romantic wanting to believe in fairy tale happy endings.

The limo pulls up, and the girls begin to shriek and giggle. I mumble to myself, “Girls are stupid.”

My husband responds, “Oh like you never acted like that?”

After a long silent stare I said, “Do you even KNOW me at all?”

Trust me, I’ve never been the type to titter and flutter around a man. I’m more the “punch him in the arm” type. Less Betty Boop, more Lucy Van Pelt.

As these women pour out of the limo, they’ve already imbibed more than enough alcohol to enable their truly awkward introduction shenanigans. Hint to Juan Pablo- Any woman who shows up on the first night with a fake baby bump talking about having your baby…run! As fast as those nice little soccer legs of yours will carry you. Run far away.

I did like Andi the attorney, though.  I said, “She’s cute and smart. She’s a prosecutor.”

Zoe: “She’s a prostitute?!?”

This is how nasty rumors get started.

I’m a little stunned by the reaction of the girl who received the first impression rose. I don’t think anyone in the history of the show has ever answered the question, “Will you accept this rose?” with a grimace, a long pause and a terse, “Sure.”

This, of course, means she’s likely to be the one he will chase after the whole season. Mark my words.

Day 7

I’d have to say the most frustrating part of this whole experience is the fact that I’m not cheating, but everyone has taken it upon themselves to try to catch me doing what I said I wasn’t going to do.

Now, if I had said to them, “I don’t think I have enough self-control to do this on my own without supervision. Please harass me several times throughout the day to make sure I’m not on Facebook,” then I could understand. But I didn’t. This was my choice, and if I fail, I am the one who has to live with it. I’m not a fan of being babysat.

Today at school pickup my friend said to Parker, “Thanks a lot Parker. Now that you have an Instagram account, MY son wants an Instagram account.”

I looked at him.

“You have an Instagram account? Since when?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

I looked at Zoe.

“Did you help Parker create an Instagram account without my knowledge or permission?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t posted anything yet.”

I’m only off Social media for a week and I have one of my kids creating Instagram accounts, and, so I hear,  a Facebook friend using a close-up photo of my t-shirt (boobs)  as his cover photo.

Fantastic.

One week down, two to go.

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