In Which Muriel Declares Independence from England and Being One

You guys, where to start? It has been one heck of a long weekend. I took Thursday off to get ready for a visit from my parents and my 12-year-old nephew. They got in that evening around the spaghetti and meatball hour. Naomi had been very excited for their visit- she's a devoted fan of Gramma, and Muriel is mildly obsessed with Grampa, but unfortunately for both elders, the girls' little hearts were swayed by the cousin. They followed that poor kid around, called out for him if he left the room, and glommed onto him in every way imaginable. And he was the best sport imaginable, really- what pre-teen boy would be as kind as that to two little maniacs? He deserves a medal.

We engaged in some low-key tourism on Friday, nothing out of the ordinary. Also, it was extremely hot, and I found an inflatable squirty thing we got for Christmas (thanks, AP!) in the basement and made Naomi's day.

Saturday was Independence Day (if you missed that somehow), which meant another trip north for the Kirkland Fourth of July Parade.


Yes to the WWII POWs, yes to the Veterans of Foreign Wars, YES to the Veterans for Peace, the Unicycle Kids, the Blue Thunder drum line, and the beloved DeLorean Club. But Kirkland, PLEASE add some musical numbers to your parade! Besides the drum line, we had some kind of church youth group banging pails, a band of Indian youths who chose not to play as they went past us, and the Rainbow City band, playing, you guessed it, Thriller. Not that I didn't appreciate it. But that was it for the whole parade. It's like going to a party where there's not enough food. It's nice that there's a party, but before long, it's difficult to focus on anything else except how hungry you are. Kirkland, gimme a beat!

It is with some shame and resignation that I further admit that Naomi declared her favorite part of the parade this time to be the girls with the puff balls (a.k.a., the cheerleaders from a local high school). Sigh.

After some sternly enforced napping back at the house, we had some traditional Fourth of July fare (here's where I admit in a nod to my previous simile that I fear I underfed my guests- especially my nephew, who is used to eating what his family eats- because I am in the groove of feeding the four of us, and was constantly running out of everything) in the backyard. We had agreed to try to see some fireworks, the first time for Naomi, so she stayed up LATER THAN EVER in the interest of this outing. My mom, being the best toy buyer I know, had brought presents for the girls that included a set of beautiful silk pieces in rainbow colors. Naomi accessorized with them all weekend long, and that is the reason she looked like this at the fireworks.
Oh- my mom had also bought her a super cute wristwatch, and someone told her the fireworks would start when the little hand was on the ten. At some point I thought it would be a good idea to go to the bathroom before they started, so we hit the portable, which was unfortunately pitch dark inside. Yikes. When we were in there, she started to sound a little panicky, and I was all ready to calm her down, and she said "This was a terrible idea!" Ha! She explained that it was too dark to see her watch, and what if the little hand made it to the ten, and the fireworks started, while we were in there?! Fortunately we made it back to the blanket. We had a good spot, good luck with parking, overall the kind of fireworks experience that would make you consider going again. Naomi enjoyed them with her hands over her ears the whole time. Happy Birthday, America!
It was fun to have my folks in town. While out doing their own thing, my parents went to Fred Meyer, which is a store here that sells really just about everything with the exception of cars and houses. They loved it- my dad said it was like Walmart, but cleaner and nicer! Sweet. A woman helped them at the watch counter, and because my dad is that guy, he asked her where her accent was from. Tobago, she told him, and then she asked him if he knew who he looks like. Fidel Castro. Ha! She said it was OK, Uncle Fidel loves his people. When my parents told me this story later, I had a stomachache from laughing. My dad has gotten Burl Ives and the occasional Santa, but Fidel is a new (awesome) one.

The rest of the weekend was focused on Muriel and her big party. We decided to have a barbecue Sunday afternoon, which turned into a fried chicken-cue instead. Jim went and bought friend chicken at some place in Seattle that is ostensibly quite famous for it (it was good), and we threw down the usual accompaniments. The party was fun (I thought) and well-attended, and included our dear friends and a visitor they brought along, friends from Naomi's school, a friend from Muriel's school, and one of her teachers and his wife and beautiful baby girl (who is Muriel's darling- she loves that baby). Oh, and a coworker of Jim's. Having Muriel's teacher there was excellent, not only because he is so nice, but because he obligingly demonstrated his super niceness to my parents (who are not always so subtle in their opinions of my status as a working mother), and they really liked him.

Muriel clearly comprehended that the party was for her. She looked wicked awesome in her birthday dress, and even kept her hair clips in for a while.

What I should really do is devote a post or five to the girl of the week. Muriel is such a fantastic and complicated little person. She is clever and musical, sympathetic, quick to anger, quick to apologize. She likes to sing and dance. She likes to go along with her sister, and utterly thwart her sister. She puts everything in her mouth, but rarely actually eats anything (food included). She makes funny faces. She insists on having her "injury" kissed whenever the dog licks her (no thanks!). She shouts the lyrics to "Doe, a deer" as though they are a rallying cry for freedom. She is the life of the party. And now she has been around for two years- can you believe it? We're so glad to have her.

The Man, The Myth, The Father

I would be remiss, as I often am about so many things, if I didn't give a shout out to the other J. Khooler in the wake of his special role-appreciating day. He is a really good dad. He cooks delicious dinners. He puts pony tails in Naomi's hair in the morning. He reads stories to Muriel. He lets Naomi play CDs in his stereo. He attempts to explain scientific stuff to them. He queues up the Chicken Dance on his ipod. He plays the piano with them. He digs in the garden with them. Geez, what exactly have I been doing all this time?

For Father's Day, the girls and I attempted to use a fun garden stone kit to make Dad a special fun garden stone, only we (I) failed miserably and ended up with something that looked like a giant unbaked cookie with glass gems and letters white-glued to it. It is crumbly as hell and if we move it off the kitchen counter, it is likely to completely implode. Oh well. Naomi did a good job keeping the whole thing a secret, until I asked Dad where the big jug of bubble solution was, and he said it was in the shed, and she said, urgently and loudly, "Don't let him go in the shed, Mom!" Ha.

We celebrated, also, by going to the aquarium. Although Seattle seems like a candidate for a truly spectacular aquarium, the one they have is just OK. It's been improved by a giant wall of tank when you first come in, where you get to watch a chipper woman (on the outside) exchange banter with a scuba diver (on the inside) who is quite obviously freezing her flippers off. For me, the best part of the whole place is the octopus. It is a good-sized creature, and seems oh so very sentient, and (therefore?) really pretty menacing, in a way. Magnificent.

I also appreciate the mammals (seals and otters!) and the shore birds, including curlews and plovers and fancy puffins. All of which are fun to say. Also it was senior citizen day, so there were more than four occasions where I was compelled to scoot my kids out the way of an oncoming walker. Which I was happy to do. And of course because it is Seattle, there are many, many salmon.


Hi, fry!

I am not a great photographer, so Jim tries to position me before I take a shot (subtly, but I know what he's doing), so as to fill the frame optimally. But I still move in or out as my misconceived whim directs me. Oh well. Here's Dad on his day with his daughters, and the artificial orca tail.


Ah, and Saturday on Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, in a story about the world's most unhygienic tourist sites (culminated of course by the Blarney Stone), what else got a shout out but Seattle's spectacular Wall of Gum? Yea!


And finally, a couple of girls who really, really love their Dad.

Expand My Brain, Please

Here's a lofty request- I am looking for some great thinkers. It has come to my attention recently that I have a deficit in the great thoughts department. A friend and I were talking recently about the wisdom you get from your parents, specifically aphorisms that stay with you through adulthood. The ones I remember are so situationally specific (and sometimes kooky) that I cannot even count them in this survey. This is not a slam on my parents- I have already discussed the pragmatism that runs in my bloodline. It's good to have a little advice on hand about specific situations in life.

But lately, also, I've been kind of hooked on the Happiness Project blog on Slate.com. This woman has got the sayings in spades- all kinds of meaningful thoughts on happiness and what is important in life. I know she probably has access to helpful quote anthologies and the like (a good shortcut for me? hmmm), but still, it strikes me as so desirable to be able to turn back to some book I got a lot from once in my life, and revisit the ideas, and see what they can do for me again. But wait, you say, didn't J. actually study these thinkers? In KOLLEDGE? Doesn't she already have a stable full to ride around when she wishes? Sort of, is the answer. But there are a lot of writers I never read, or barely did, the non-fiction writers in particular. I have some ideas of where to start, holes I already know about, like Emerson and Thoreau. But what else is out there for me? What, people?

It doesn't have to be the classics, also. If you think Stephen Covey is a genius, for example, I'm interested in hearing that. If you like some ancient mystic or other, again, interested! Frankly, whatever you have liked lately, or whatever you have come back to, I am interested. Show me what you got. I'd also love to hear just the quote or just the line that you return to.

And for inspiration, I dedicate this post to Baby H-C. She was a long time coming for her new parents, and she is going to change their lives like no great thinker ever did. Best wishes to the H-Cs- wish I could be there for some overnight baby holding!

Special Guest Star!

If I have not rhapsodized previously (though I believe I have) about how much I love to have visitors, allow me to do so now. Or again. Whichever. This weekend I was treated to a visit by my old friend L, who lives in New York City and spends her professional time enlightening humanity on the classics.

How do I know L, you ask? I used to live with her when I first moved to the Twin Cities. She and her mom were looking for a housemate, I was looking for a dog-tolerant home for myself and my Luna, and the prairie stars aligned. At first L and I were just friendly housemates, coming and going and not having too much to do with one another, but then came the fateful day when I dearly wanted to see Chumbawumba (you're reading that right) at First Ave., and this dear, sweet (party-ready) recent college grad was willing to tag along. We had a lot more fun after that (including my first martini), though we were roommates for only about six months, and when she moved to Oxford to pursue her dream of sifting through the loose pocket change of people who have been dead for thousands of years, I visited her there on a few occasions for some of the best times I've ever had. And I don't just mean the cucumber sandwiches at the tea joint.

One of the most interesting things (for me) that came up in our conversation this weekend was the realization that she and I are photo negatives of each other in the career arena. L is a person who knew exactly what she wanted to study, exactly what she wanted to end up with, exactly what she had to accomplish to get there, exactly how to work to accomplish those things. Girl had goals! Lofty ones! And met them! Whereas I have had the goal of being employed, figured out something I could be employed at, the rest is kind of snoozy history. Interestingly, although she feels like her work has resulted in a job she truly likes for a number of reasons, her satisfaction is not necessarily tied to the achievement of all these goals. Should I feel a bit better about that? Doesn't matter- since I knew her before her her career kicked off, even I get a measure of satisfaction from the way she accomplishes her goals. This woman kicks ancient historical ass, and looks good doing it.


Right?


Of course we went for breakfast at the market. That is where we go when you come to visit! You can go too! Come and visit us!


The girls enjoyed terrorizing the tourists with their calla lily magic wands. Thanks, Auntie L!


Guess who we ran into at the comic shop?


We thought this was tea for White People. Oh, White Peony, OK.

If I have any regrets about the weekend, it may be that I was a little too relaxed with L's visit. I had a few plans, a few meals lined up, but other than that the poor dear had to spend a fair amount of time floating around in the pool of our family life, which does not always have the strongest current. And she was completely victimized by my tots, who made her read something like one hundred and fifty books to them.


As a bonus aside, L brought along sweet little water bottles as gifts for the girls. Muriel's had a stopper in place of the screw top, and Naomi's came with a carabiner for attaching it to a bag or a coat or whatever. Which she persisted in calling a "hooker" the whole weekend. Funny!

So. Rad.

You guys! You guys! My 20th high school reunion weekend was Tewtally Awesome! I would further describe it as bitchin'! This is a seriously long post so please skip it if you're in an impatient mood.

I flew to Arizona on Friday morning, but early. Lucked into breakfast with an old friend from college days, who is making the world safer from terrorists the old fashioned way- building legal cases against them. However impressively grown-up he is now, and even after not seeing him in at least a dozen years, it only took about a minute to feel like I was talking to the college era version of him. Funny (good funny) how that works.

Back to the airport to pick up my home girl E., then off to Tempe for a family lunch. It was so good to see them- I always have a dual experience with my family, the moment of yes, they are me, I am them, this is where I come from, of course, and then the Wow do I not so much fit in here. Stupid adulthood with all its complicated ideas and whatnot.

We had a room at the hotel hosting the reunion events, so back up to Paradise Valley for some relaxation (ahem, cheap Riesling) in the room in advance of the Friday night cocktail party. I had a rule for myself on this reunion, based on my behavior at the ten year, and it went a little like this: Drink less. I still drank, though, I'm just saying.

The Friday event was, in a word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Good turnout, lame appetizers, cash bar. I spent some time talking to a teacher I never had (who tried to convince me I was in one of his business classes?), and kept polling people on who would be coming the following night, so I could sign their Saturday dance card and move on. There were a few people I wasn't sure I would see that did show up- yea! I am not sure whether it was just the delight of being at a party I hadn't organized (sad, J.), or the whiskey and ginger ales, but I had a really fantastic time.

Saturday morning we managed to get all sunscreened up and head out to a local mountain trail for a hike. I had read that the summit trail on this mountain (we used to hike it a lot when I was first in AZ as a teenager) is the most heavily hiked in the nation or something, and I can attest that we were getting out of someone's way about once every two minutes. Rarely was it the other way around, I'm afraid. It's a steep hike. But the top affords quite a nice view of the valley, and some refreshing gusty winds. We also saw some badass lizards, who seemed not the least bit intimidated by the Manhattan sidewalk crowds of hikers.



If I felt my age a bit on the hike, I felt it in a different way at the place we picked for breakfast, cleverly named The Breakfast Club (and where you can get smart-alecky black t-shirts with quotes from the movie emblazoned on them). The food was fine (though seriously, who offers you eggs with toast on a menu and then only gives you ONE piece of toast?), but I kept thinking grouchily that the music could really go down a notch. Oops! Fogey alert!

In the afternoon we headed to a spa near the hotel. It was a swanky place, but so kitschily decorated that it was hard not to smile the whole time. Also, in addition to the big "relaxation space" with comfy chairs and high end chewy granola bar snacks and a wacky Van Goghish sky-painted glass ceiling, there was a little pool and hot tub in the side yard, that we were welcome to use (though we did not). Between that pool and the matching tan seersucker robes, it was a little like a kind of groovy cult we had temporarily joined.


Anyway, massage (ahhhh), facial (ooooh), manicure (enh), and after a quick but meaningful junket to Jack in the Box, back to the hotel to tart up for the big dance.

(In case you were wondering, yes, we were completely overdressed. And we didn't really care.)

In short, the dinner was not bad, actually, the group photo was silly, but kind of funny, I guess, the DJ had his year-range about right, we got a few dances in (why do people always bring up Elaine from Seinfeld when I dance?!), and the conversations were fun, fun, fun. When the event ended, we went to the lobby bar, when that place closed down we went to the hot tub (feet only, yo). I had a genuinely hard time heading back to my room at 2:30 or whenever it was.

I am giving this whole play by play in place of what was the heart, the essence of this weekend and why it meant so much to me. What a nice example of my writerly shortcoming (in turn maybe an example of my life-living shortcoming)- it's easy to write in the breezy voice about the things that go on, but one of the points of writing is to help you think about things, to help you figure them out. I know it would take me too long to get a post up on this weekend if I took the time to really write out what was so striking and emotional and wonderful about it (and maybe that thoughtful, reflective person could resist the urge to insert that perhaps I was so struck and emotional because I was drunk and sleep deprived!).

But for fun I'll take a breezy crack at it and say that first, when you (I) go through life wondering how much of yourself to show to the people you meet, and then come back into a group where the people more or less already know that you, from way before, wow! It's so easy! Second, you get a chance to ponder the threads you dropped, directions your life could have taken, and to appreciate in turn the ones you held on to. Third, you get the people, the nice, funny, interesting people who surprise you, or turn out to be wonderfully, exactly as you remember them.

I don't know if this assessment can explain the happy, emotionally split-open feeling I'm having even a few days later, and I'm guessing not everyone has the same experience at their high school reunion. I haven't even mentioned the wonder of spending the weekend with someone who knew me since I was thirteen (and has liked me all that time), sitting on a beautiful resort room patio for great long stretches, reading magazines and lounging in a chair, and participating in no childcare whatsoever (thanks, Dad!). Reunion weekend, I have a big crush on you. Call me!

Folktastic!

This is the third year we have attended the NorthWest Folklife Festival at Seattle Center, and the first when I think Naomi was really old enough to appreciate it. We left Dad and Muriel at home to increase our festival going efficiency (and to prevent having to leave for naptime). I had a feeling Naomi would appreciate some of the Asian dances (by which I mean, the costumes), so we stopped first at the Thai dance performance. The costumes were as beautiful as I had hoped, and the dancing was lovely (though- if you understand Thai music, such as it is, and can boil it down into a sentence or two- I am interested!). On the way to the next performance venue, we stopped to hear some shape note singing, which I have heard of but never witnessed. It was a "participatory event," but we didn't really participate. Neat.

The second dance venue we went to had Indian dancing, and we timed it perfectly to catch a dozen adorable (mostly white) girls in wonderful outfits performing two Bollywood dance numbers. So fun! I want to sign Naomi up for that right now. I thought after that, Naomi would be less interested in the classical Indian (grown-up) dances, but she loved those, too, and kept negotiating for a few more dances before we left to get lunch. We ate some food, wandered around, and even took a ride on the ferris wheel next to the Space Needle. Seattle-ish!

We were not the most adventurous eaters. In addition to the beignets we started off with, we had jerk chicken on a stick (me), hot dog (her), mango lemonade, and shishkaberries. Naomi pointed out a man in a skirt (kilt). She enjoyed the Scandanavian polka band (Swedish Pride!) and the ren-faire ladies handing out ye olde fliers. For my part, I wondered, can it really be true that one out of every three Seattle-ites is in a bluegrass band? And where do you get a washtub anyway?

It will be obvious from the pictures that our professional photog was not along on this event. Instead of beautiful and well-composed slice of life pictures, you get mom putting kid in ridiculous posed situational slice of cheese pictures. Oh well. It was a really fun day!

We got to the Seattle Center really early, about two hours before things got rolling. I wasn't that sure of the start time- I knew the performances started at 11:00, but I assumed (incorrectly) that at least "The Mighty O" (mini organic doughnuts, you may recall) would be open earlier. Wrong! Some places in the Center House were open, though, so we stopped for a pretend foot massage at this fifty cent foot massager (clearly not built for the shorter set- Naomi's feet were a good foot over the foot massaging metal plate). Shouldn't it be in the shape of a foot instead of a hand?
We also got steamed milk and beignets. Had to kick off the day with some unhealthy snack.
When I asked Naomi's favorite Thai dancer if we could get a picture with her, she was extremely gracious. I didn't give Naomi enough warning, though, so she wasn't sure how to handle it. We have since examined the picture many, many times.
Here, Naomi poses with young Zeus, who happened to be at the festival, all be-togaed and giving out samples of Greek yogurt.
After we got home, Naomi wanted to take some pictures. There is a weird close-up of my shirt that didn't come out perfectly, but she took a few cute ones. Muriel just said, Hey Naomi, do you like seafood? Good one, Muriel.

More on Goals, Plus Miscellany

I recently read an article about a study that looked at whether stating your goals publicly made you more or less likely to work toward and achieve them. The study found that going public with your goal made you feel like you were already on your way, and that goal seekers who didn't declare themselves didn't have that half-way there feeling, so they worked harder toward the goal. It was interesting to me, of course, because it has been and will continue to be a year of public goal setting. But my goals are small, and daily-ish, and accountability plays a big factor in this kind of habit-change goal-setting. I think the goals in the study were more about finishing law school and getting a good job, or something similar. I am not going to commit to anything like that in my new month resolutions...

On a slightly different note, I have read more than one article about how you should respond when people tell you about something difficult they are going through. One angle is that women tend to understand the importance of just listening and sympathizing, whereas men want to offer solutions to the situation. If this is true, I am definitely in touch with my masculine side, because I am all about offering unsolicited advice and trying (in my mind) to help create solutions. I think I have inherited a streak of overly-self-assured pragmatism, from my mom, her mom, even my dad's mom. This response, though, can mask the sympathy I genuinely feel. It seems like a lot of my friends are experiencing hard times right now- losses, illnesses, uncertainties. It makes me want to get better at just listening and showing I care without immediately forming a task force. Crap, now I have publicly declared my goal and am less likely to follow through...I am going to try, though.

Here's another public goal, related to the last paragraph- less complaining! I feel extremely lucky all the time, to have the friends and family and home and job and dog and so forth that I do. Good health. Health insurance. A well-stocked pantry (not now, but most of the time). A garage to park my reliable car in so I don't have to get soaked trying to get my kids out of their car seats. Car seats. Clean water that I don't have to walk miles for and carry in a big jug. A safe neighborhood. That bake-your-own pizza place three blocks away. Really, piles and piles of things go right in my life. So why do I complain so much? I'm locking it down. I know from endless work-related goal setting nonsense that I have to make my goal achievable, measurable, what was it... relevant? So I may have to frame this for myself a little more concretely. But I think I can get started without that.

On a completely unrelated note,

Bonus enrichments from Naomi's school experience:

Whacking herself on the face with an open palm over and over, in the world's most literal (though, not really funniest) manifestation of slapstick humor. Of course, Muriel also does it, always when there is food on her hands. Fun!

Derivative art. There is a girl in Naomi's class who draws really lovely flowers- lots of very uniform petals, always with a big swoopy rainbow in the sky above them. Now ALL of Naomi's art showcases flowers with a rainbow. In her defense, she does get a little Warholian with the image, making it small, making it big, putting it on the dresses of whatever princess she's drawing...

New vocabulary! I don't always feel like I'm the best mom I can be, that's for sure, but when Naomi came home from school saying that she "haked" something, I gave myself a hearty pat on the back. Because at the age of four, she wasn't familiar enough with the word "hate" to even say it properly when she finally learned it. Yea! Then of course I faced the dilemma of whether to correct her pronunciation. I hake it when my mom corrects my pronunciation.

Playing zombies. I can only imagine what this looks like on the playground, but at home it is just Naomi, saying "I am a zombeeeeee" in a not-quite-creepy-enough voice. Sadly, there is no walking with arms straight out (or is that only mummies who do that?), or twisty, sideways lurching like the zombies in the terrific movie, "Shaun of the Dead." She has passed this on to Muriel, though, so the other day they both had scarves draped over their heads, and were shuffling around saying "I am a zombeeee." Yes, I should have video-ed that instead of the twirling lesson. I know.

Finally, Mother's Day Recap

This year on Mother's Day, Jim left (in the morning) for a business trip to Minnesota, but not before racing to church to drop off my Sunday school lesson plans for whatever sub they could find, seeing as I had come down with some kind of pink eye-type thing the day before. Neat!

A few days before Mother's Day, I was grousing to my friend about how Jim sometimes relies on an offer in place of an action. Like saying, "I'll give you a foot rub," which is not the same thing as delivering a foot rub. The difference is subtle, but important, especially if you are the sort of person who always hears the silent escape plea in any offer. So when he said something late in the week before Mother's Day about me figuring out what I wanted to do on Saturday, just for me, or whatever, I was grumpy. I have to figure out my own treat! That does not count as forethought!

But of course I was completely mistaken. There was forethought, and planning, and secret keeping. Jim got Naomi out of school early on Friday, and they came home and baked me an apple pie. Not only was it delicious, it was beautiful (which my pies never seem to be). Jim said Naomi peeled the apples, and mixed everything up. Here is the evidence:




And here was another bit of fun over the weekend.

Happy Mother's Day!

To all my friends who are mothers, who will be mothers, who have mothers, and who mother others, love to you this Mother's Day!

Road Trip Redux

I think I used the title Road Trip on a previous post... but I am too lazy to come up with another one. Too lazy, also, to write much about it other than to say that last weekend we went to Port Angeles, on the Olympic Peninsula, and attended a jazz festival for geezers (and if I am lucky enough to be anything like these people when I am their age, I will be oh so grateful- except for that one grumpy guy on the dance floor). We ate doughnuts, played at a fantastic playground, enjoyed some room service, saw a beautiful lake and the top of some beautiful mountains, spotted some deer and some eagles and a chipmunk, and... I think that's about it. Good times, baby.
This wonderful place is actually called the Dream Playground. Dreamy!
This wonderful place is called Lake Crescent. Also Dreamy!
Muriel liked it when we called her burrito girl. She has a sense of humor about things.
Jim's giant crab omelet in the foreground. Sparkling Red Lion Hotel parking lot view in the background.
The girls stopped in a coffee shop to catch up on some magazine articles.
Naomi got the best tattoo at this place...
Senior Prom
Naomi and her friend Carmen commune with the Port Angelenos of yestermural.
Hurricane Ridge: Not too chilly for walking around, yet completely snowed over, so forget it. Pretty, though.
The ferry was windy, but you can see we had some nice sunny weather on the way home. Woo hoo! I'm ready for another trip.

Dragon Lady

We are on the last day (wah!) of a four day streak of beautiful weather, which has been a beautiful, motivational health tonic for the whole family. Dinners outside, garden planting, sandals, the whole shebang. I have even been getting the urge to clean out drawers and closets...something about the unusual appearance of our home with natural sunlight makes me want to sweep out the corners.

We kicked off the streak Saturday morning with a trip to the zoo. We headed off to the "Northern Trail," the one part of the zoo we had never managed to get to on previous visits. On the way we saw the Komodo Dragon, another stop we'd never made, and watched as he favored us with a weird giant lizard bowel movement and a slow march across his enclosure. Another mom assured us that this was indeed a special day, as she and her children visited the KD frequently, and it NEVER NEVER moved. So, woo hoo, I guess.

Muriel had specially requested to see an elephant, so we stopped there as well. This trip firmed up something that has been percolating lately- Muriel's fomer fearlessness is giving way to total Chicken Littleness. Just seeing the elephant from two hundred yards freaked her out. It only got worse at the brown bear enclosure. They had a window that let you peek into the nap cave, and we saw the two very large bears from about two feet away. Muriel was really unhappy with this. When we went around the corner to the glassed-in pond view, she enjoyed watching the fish down at her level, but when I picked her up to show her the front-side view of the sleepy bears, she said, and I quote, "No! No! No! No Bears!"

After the bears, we enjoyed a picnic lunch and a ride on the carousel. Good Day, Sunshine! Tomorrow the clouds and coolness are back, but it was a good ride.

Yea, potty jokes in the Komodo Dragon exhibit!

The Malayan Tapir- another gorgeous creature for Muriel to fear.

Cheesy chips make for cheesy picnic snapshots!

Naomi's not afraid of dragons!

And this one is just a funny picture. Jim was trying to teach Naomi how to do the wave dance- this was her final move.

The Mother Tongue

Remember when you were in grade school and your parents used to take you to the Saturday night "charismatic mass" at St. James cathedral, and there was that part where people began to pray their repeated chant-type prayers of humming adoration of our Lord, and before long all the people around you including your parents were speaking in tongues, or kind of singing in tongues, and you tried to get there, you invited the Holy Spirit in, but the Holy Spirit was otherwise occupied or just didn't feel like you were in quite the right place, Spiritually, and no matter how bad you wanted it, you never quite managed to hear whatever that was come out of your own self? And all you could do was stand there and sway quietly, with your hands raised like everyone else, trying not to feel disappointed?

Wait, you don't remember that? Hmm.

I bring it up because I am reminded of it all the time now, thanks to a little habit of Naomi's I like to call "Faux Hindi." I have maybe referred to this before, but a lot of kids at Naomi's school speak Hindi. It is a regular UN preschool- we are trying to coordinate a play date or whatever with another classmate of hers, and the girl's dad just texted me to say no can do, this weekend is Ethiopian Easter. Neat. Anyway, lots of real Hindi is spoken. So Naomi comes home, speaks a bunch of Hindi-ish gibberish, and tells us that it is Hindi. She does so with conviction, she does so with aplomb, but most of all, she does so constantly.

I was going to say half the time, I mean, half the time she talks she is speaking Faux Hindi (Fauxndi?), but I must acknowledge that is an exaggeration. It's more like a quarter or a third of the time, when she is playing, talking to us, talking to herself, talking to Muriel, singing, it is happening in Fauxndi. We are pretty blah about it- what do we care? Not like we don't know whether or not she has mastered English (mastered on a four-year-old scale, that is).

Muriel is a good sport too, although I feel a little bad for her as she is really learning to talk now, and always trying to understand what we say and clearly communicate what she's thinking. Must be a drag to hear her sister bend down and peer kindly in her face and say a bunch of sounds that she cannot possibly make any sense out of. She does love to repeat whatever Naomi says, which is great if Naomi is in the right mood, and which is tell-on-able "copying" if Naomi is in the wrong mood.

So, yeah, no evangelical church camp for Naomi- she will be hotdogging it all over the praying in tongues sessions.

On a completely different note- Naomi has been telling me ALL THE TIME lately how fantastic a mom I am. She has similar praise for Jim (except, you know, dad-praise). Don't get me wrong, it is gratifying to hear how great I am, how I make the best dinners in the whole world, and so on. But I sometimes get the feeling of being in an awkward, lopsided dating relationship, where one side effusively proclaims her love while the other side tries to keep up. Not that my love is not as effusive as hers, it is effusive beyond my own ideas of love. But I am a little more restrained than to tell her every moment how spectacularly amazing I find her. Since you asked, yes, all her love proclamations are in English.

But how swiftly opinion turns! This morning I was changing Muriel, and Naomi came in, holding the pair of socks I had taken out for her last night. She said, "It turns out you are not the greatest Mommy in the world- Look, these socks are actually Muriel's." Yep, best not to pay too close attention to the poll numbers at any given point.

Ahead 14 Years, Back Two Days

Today in the work kitchen I ran into someone I used to chat with in the kitchen at the old building. He now sits on the posh side of the building, overlooking the lake, and as I am an interior burrow dweller on the land side of the building, we haven't passed in the hallway or seen each other at all for months. He told me he had taken some time off during his daughter's spring break to visit some colleges. I said, "Wow, college!" or some nonsense, and he took that to mean that it seemed so far in the future that I couldn't get my head around it. "It'll be here before you know it," he said.

But no, it wasn't that I couldn't conceive of it, it was that I felt it, right there with me, when he told me about the visits. I know my kids are growing up. They really are nowhere near college age, I get it, but it is so easy for me to look back at the changes in Naomi since she was born, and think about another fourteen years of changes rushing past us. I always assumed that a parent is in a state of constant nostalgia, missing the past incarnations of their child. I thought that's how it would be for me. In fact, though, I am wild about each new incarnation. I loved the newborn version, the baby versions, the toddler versions. True, I got a little teary when I saw a picture of how super tiny Naomi looked the day she was born. But the girls I have now, it always feels like, are the ones I like the best.

So it's weird to me that my nostalgia seems to be forward looking rather than backwards. I guess leaving home is a bigger event, a bigger impact than the changes I embrace every day or every week. It's kind of THE event, in a way. Funny that hearing about someone else's kids getting ready to do it makes my throat catch.

Anyhoo, Easter weekend was fun and Eastery. We had an egg hunt at church on Saturday, which was rainy and way too easy, but enjoyable. The woman who organized the thing warned us parents that although tinies were welcome to hunt eggs too, the prizes inside might not be appropriate for them. How those words rang in my ears later that day when I came around the corner and was greeted by the sight of Muriel using the hot pink Easter-themed ink stamp (from one of the eggs) over and over on her forehead. That stuff did NOT come off.


After the church egg hunt, it was home for some egg coloring. Jim's was the nicest, as Naomi agreed.


On the way to church on Sunday, I rolled the dice and told Naomi the Easter story. The preschool cliff's notes version. No particular gospel leaning, just the facts. She constantly demands that I tell her stories when we're in the car, and there was a good chance she was going to hear about it in church (no Sunday school on Easter!) so I thought I would mention the bad news, emphasize the good news, and see what happened. She was fascinated, of course, by the part where the main character in all her Sunday school lessons gets killed. But she doesn't really grasp what it means, so it wasn't too disturbing, I don't think. Hmm. Oh, and also during the church part of the day...they like to welcome new members on Easter, so despite having attended there for two years or something, we got to stand up on the altar and have everyone welcome us. Welcome, us!

We had more egg hunting at home...


and still more at our friends' house, where we also had a beautiful dinner. That guy can cook, I'm telling you.


We brought the disturbing bunny cakes, which, covered with cream cheese frosting, sweetened coconut, and candy, were like a diabetes bomb. Kaboom!


And that was that. Our house is now slightly more full of candy, little gewgaws, and stickers, stickers, stickers. So, a little late, Happy Easter to you all.

The Past is Now

Every so often, I have this realization, usually when I'm watching a pharmaceutical ad, or seeing someone watch a youtube video on some little teeny hand held device, that the future has arrived. It's the gleaming future where a pill can calm your restless legs and you can see and talk to someone halfway around the world on your laptop computer, as we sometimes do with Jim's parents. Any question, no matter how trivial, can be answered with a few keystrokes and a couple of clicks.

So perhaps that is the reason I find it so fascinating that the big international news story the last few days has been about... pirates. I am as anti-pirate as that Ask a Ninja guy, and despite the accompanying stories about women moving to the coast over there to try to land a pirate husband, I certainly don't find the whole thing intriguing or romantic. It's just so...fundamentally retro, I guess. We are reading about (and watching, and listening to) the same kind of news story that people read and heard about two hundred years ago. Probably two thousand years ago.

The other day I made a new Facebook friend who used to be a coworker back in MN. She was tagged in some photos of a women-in-technology type group (I'm guessing) at my old place of employment. I recognized many of my old colleagues, and had an actual painful flash of memory of what it was like to have a job where I had friends, and where I looked forward to being at work, and being part of a group. Having meetings in person. Going out to lunch more than once every two years. I know it sounds like I am exaggerating... but I'm really not. So I felt sorry for myself for a couple of minutes, and then I remembered the Ghandi quote about...being the change you want to see in the world? I am fairly certain he didn't mean it in such a self-serving way, but the point for me is that if I don't like my situation, and I don't try to do anything about it, well, whose fault is that, then?

So, now that we're thoroughly settled into our new digs (did I mention I finally got a parking spot in the lot next to the building? Sweet!), maybe it's the right time to try to put something together, to get all the women of the company who are in disparate organizations, but all inhabiting the same fancy office building, into some kind of association. I just need to invent some mission statement, since the real one (help me like my job more!) is not exactly useful to the bottom line of the company. If you have any inspiring women-in-technology mission statements you don't need, send them my way! In the meantime, I am going to continue working out a way to make my own future look a little more like my past.

Another Month, Another Resolution....

I just know you have been anxiously awaiting news of how my March new month resolutions turned out. Turns out they turned out OK. The resolutions were... 1. Exercise for 30 minutes every day, and 2. Get three servings of vegetables every day. I was not as completely successful with these as I was with my don't buy anything new January or blog every day February. I would say there were probably 4 days (maybe 5) where I didn't exercise for 30 minutes. The veggie thing went a little better- there may have been a day or two where I was at 2-2 1/2 servings instead of three.

My main problems with exercising are... (I am noticing a numbers theme here...) 1. I have a job. 2. I love to sleep. And on that second point, I don't love sleep before I fall asleep (as Jim does, when he is on the couch, if sleep is anywhere near him, he embraces it immediately and irrevocably), meaning, I am just as willing to waste hours in the evening before getting myself to bed. No, I love love love sleep while I am doing it. Which means, when morning rolls around, the time when I was to be getting up to do my thirty minutes of exercise, all of my body and 75-80% of my brain are completely unwilling. On weekends, I really like to exercise- mid morning, in the afternoon. I am not groggy, I am ready to go. But first thing in the morning, ug. Even though, of course, it's the best time. If I exercise in the morning, right around 10 am, when I'm sitting at my desk, I notice that really good feeling. Hooray! But it's so hard to get out of bed!

The vegetable resolution has me feeling a little sheepish, because I realized that I really haven't been eating enough of them. It's easy to eat enough fruit, because you can buy it, transport it, have it on hand, and eat it quite easily. No prep required. I have a couple of apples sitting on my shelf at work. But even if you are going to eat fresh veggies, you have to do some preparation (though it does make me smile to imagine myself eating a broccoli head "out of hand"). I didn't rely on V8 more than a couple of days, I'm proud to say, though it is true that many baby carrots were harmed in the realization of this resolution. It was good to have a motivation to choose salad when I did eat out, or the vegetable sandwich. And I discovered that the good people at the Thai place at the mall food court we frequent will add extra broccoli to the pad see yew for a dollar.

I am going to try a little harder to make these two stick. The first two months were experiments, this last month has been a real effort to change my habits. I read an article recently that said just eating 2 1/2 servings of vegetables per day makes you healthier. (It was more specific than that- can't remember the details- helps prevent cancer, maybe?) I can manage 2 1/2. This month I'm adding another sort of "duh" nutritional resolution- getting three servings of dairy per day. Should be easy enough. I have already imposed a big gallon of milk on the super crowded shared work fridge.

The milk by itself doesn't seem like enough of a new month resolution. I am working on a few others...have to pick one soon if it's going to be a daily thing. Right now I'm leaning toward going a whole month without yelling at Naomi for her many prolonged lollygags, messes, water wastings, and so forth during her nightly toothbrushing time. It's weird that something so mundane makes me lose it so frequently. Yeah, that's as good a resolution as any, and hopefully will provide some zen Mommy ripples to the rest of my parental interactions...

OK, so three servings of dairy and zero servings of bedtime meanie. Done and done.