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November 29, 2005

Only 2:30?

Bliss! I finished payroll and other bookkeeping tasks for my brother's companies. I ordered Christmas candy from The Squirrel's Nest (their chocolate covered marshmallows are divine and they even have red and white candycanes that aren't dyed with artificial red!) I ordered a new stroller to replace the one the airlines lost. I gathered the receipts from the old stroller to complete the airline's claim form. I wrote evaluations of the college candidates I interviewed. I wrote all my thank-you notes from my birthday. I deposited a check.

And it is only 2:30PST. I feel like I am ready to go to bed and the wet and dark weather outside makes it look like the evening. But I am glad to be kicking back a little bit, catching up on bloglines and flickr.

The Cat has been well behaved all day. I believe he will get his toy trains back from when they were taken away after he peed under his train table. He has been polite and sweet. He has spent the majority of the day watching The Polar Express. He had seen it several times when it was in the theater, so we knew once the DVD came out that his life would be consumed. Indeed.

And Spliggle is doing his own consuming. After that week or so long bout with the stomach flu, Splig has decided to pack on the lost weight and then some. Several times he has hijacked food while I am eating. Husband saw him swipe a biscuit right out of my hand the other day and asked, "You're gonna blog that, right?" Pretty much every meal has now become a cause for him to scavenge. It doesn't matter if it is halfway in my mouth or on the floor; he grabs it and goes! A happy squeal with a cock of the head, he approaches with glee, but then is gone in a flash with his meal.

I'm going to go wrap more presents!

Posted by karianna at 02:31 PM | Comments (0)

Battery Banshee

Last Wednesday, I was giving college interviews for perspective students, shopping for my yam and green bean dishes for the potluck Thanksgiving, cleaning the kitchen in preparation for the cooking, picking up mail from the office, distributing paychecks at the office, and sorting through emails.

One email was from Husband, informing me that on Monday a few of his colleagues would be at our house for a conference call.

“Huh. Gotta remember to clean the house,” I told myself, but pushed that email to the back of my mind as I scanned for more urgent messages. At that moment, the house was a mess, but my priority was to make delicious dishes to bring to my cousins’ house the next day.

Thursday had the usual hectic pace of attempting to prepare food and realizing that it either takes longer than anticipated, is more complex than anticipated, or both. I made a mess of the kitchen while doing my last-minute round-up which included packing a separate dinner for the Cat (and baking biscuits that were safe for him to eat) and beverages for both boys.

Friday through Sunday is somewhat of a blur. I tried to be lazy, and succeeded in sleeping in until 11am on Friday morning, plus caught up on many TV shows throughout the weekend. I read lots and cuddled with the kids. I pushed the work “to-do” list off, deciding that this was Thanksgiving vacation and I was going to take it as vacation!

Several times, I scanned my email in-box to make sure nothing was urgent.

“Oh yeah, clean the house Sunday night for that Monday conference call,” I reminded myself briefly on Friday (or was it Saturday?) “And maybe get some cheese and crackers to serve.” But Sunday was so far away, there was more time to veg before having to gear up for the week ahead!

I wasn’t completely unproductive over the weekend: I did make a couple phone calls, and I did a web update, though dated the confirmation email for Monday morning so my client wouldn’t think “Gee, she’s working on the weekend; let’s give her more work!”

But my overall theme was to relax. My secondary theme was to decorate for Christmas! Last year, we were a bit tardy with our decorations, so this year, I wanted to be festive earlier in the season.

On Sunday, I did some preparation for the next day, such as baking bread for the Cat’s sandwich. But my main accomplishment was wrapping a mountain of gifts. Alas, I ran out of wrapping paper, ribbon, and packing tape.

Packing tape? Well, the presents I purchased for the nine child cousins are large enough to be packed in moving boxes. The heavier cardboard necessitated extra reinforcement to keep the boxes closed.

That $40 worth of beautiful wrapping paper I purchased from the neighborhood boy for his school fundraiser? They were supposed to be “jumbo rolls,” and for the price I was paying per roll ($10) I assumed they were. Alas, they were shorty-rolls. They aren’t as wide as the traditional roll of wrapping paper. As a result, I couldn’t use them to cover the large boxes that I had prepared for the cousins. Perhaps they are longer than traditional, but absolutely not as wide or wider. The paper is lovely, so I will use it for smaller presents, but for the large boxes, I was left empty-handed.

I strung the house lights, helped the Cat stake some little lighted green trees in the yard (close to too cheesy, but the Cat really wanted them!) and bordered the main windows overlooking our street with various lights. I put green glittery garland on one banister and green lights on the other. Little tchotchkes are now positioned on the mantel, sofa, and various bookshelves.

By the end of the day, the house was decorated but messy. The kitchen was a disaster, but satisfied that I had a perfectly productive plan for the next day, I wasn’t concerned.

I would bring the boys to preschool, go to my dentist appointment, run errands, and pick up the boys from preschool. Picking up the dry-cleaning; purchasing stamps; obtaining additional wrapping paper, ribbons, and extension cords; buying and then writing thank-you cards for my birthday gifts; and picking up mail from the office would all be done by the time preschool was done. Then the boys would be tired! The Cat would play while Spliggle took a nap. I would clean the kitchen, vacuum the family and living rooms, clean the bathrooms, and put out the garbage and recycling for the collection the next day. I’d then do the bookkeeping duties for my brother’s companies and any other work-related tasks that had appeared in my email box. I would write up the interviews I gave last week and do a few solicitation calls for my alma mater. I had a perfectly productive plan!

Monday morning came. I got the boys to preschool on time. I went to the dentist. I ran all my errands. I stopped by my parents’ house to write my thank-you notes, but my parents were home so I chatted with them instead. (My parents live near the boys’ preschool, whereas I live about a half hour to 40 minutes away.) I figured I’d write the notes when I got home. After all, the afternoon was going to be productive!

When I drove the boys home, I was surprised to see Husband’s car in the driveway. I told the Cat to be quiet in case Daddy was sick. I was concerned.

Daddy met us at the door and said something about, “Oh, they want to see the kids anyway!”

The conference call. I had completely forgotten. Cleaning the house had been pushed down to a lower priority than all my errands.

I was mortified.

Husband assured me that he had done the dishes. But our guests were sitting in the kitchen on the chairs that my kids had dotted with pen, food and beverage. Partially emptied grocery bags lined the kitchen counter. The toaster used that morning remained on the counter covered in crumbs. There were crumbs in the living room, entry hall, and family room. The stairs had little pieces of ribbon and broken garland. The front bath had been sprinkled by a boy with imperfect aim and the mirror had been the canvas for some soap finger-painting.

I put Splig to bed; he hadn’t napped at preschool, so was perfectly primed for slumber. Thankfully, the Polar Express DVD had arrived in the mail, so the Cat went upstairs to watch it. Neither boy would make noise over the conference call! I quickly cleaned the front bathroom, finishing at the precise moment that one of Husband’s colleagues had to use it (she didn’t see me cleaning!) One small complication was that the Windex was in the kitchen and I wasn’t going to show that I was tidying-up by invading their call to obtain cleaning products.

I was hungry, too. But again, I didn’t want to enter the kitchen while they were on their call. After cleaning the front bathroom and picking up bits and pieces downstairs out of sight from our guests, I went upstairs.

My computer is right by the kitchen table. I couldn’t do any of the bookkeeping, web work, or other computer-related duties. I couldn’t write up my interviews, nor could I order Christmas candy and a new stroller (since U.S. Air still hasn’t given us any sort of update.)

I folded laundry instead. I cleaned the upstairs bathrooms. I emptied the garbage from upstairs. I ended up being as productive as I could upstairs while wishing desperately that I had remembered to clean downstairs.

All the while, my heart was pounding as though I had been caught naked in public. My dirty house was on display.

I remember one similar situation where my (very perfect, beautiful) cousin had called me saying she was five minutes away and would it be okay if she and her son dropped by for a play-date? I was pregnant with Splig at the time, and very behind on housework.

We lived in a very small house that became cluttered easily. I very quickly pulled the grown-up version of “shove everything in the closet,” but this version was “move everything extraneous into the Master Bedroom!” I then quickly vacuumed the great room, put the remaining toys on the shelves, wiped down the kitchen, and cleaned the second bath.

For the majority of the play date, everything was great. I may have even managed to serve some snacks. Then the Cat decided to go to the bathroom. He was potty-training, so I wasn’t going to discourage him. Simultaneously, his cousin had to go. They are the same age, and he similarly couldn’t be asked to wait. My cousin pleaded with me, “Is there another bathroom in the house?”

Yes. The Master bath.

She saw the Master bedroom, piled high with all the toys that didn’t fit neatly into the shelves. She saw the blankets I had simply thrown on the bed. Most importantly, she saw the disastrous Master bath where I had done the majority of my morning sickness vomiting and other not-so-glamorous parts of pregnancy.

I was shaking with embarrassment. When we moved into our new home and this cousin came to bring me a meal after Splig was born, I was sure the place was spotless!

Yesterday was thankfully not as bad, especially because I had managed to clean the front bathroom before anyone used it. Also, Husband kept reminding me that two of his colleagues have grandchildren and understand the clutter of kids.

I inhaled the last two slices of the pizza left over from the conference call and sat down at the computer. I worked several hours straight, updating things right and left, getting through the list of emails (snorting when I found Husband’s again.)

I didn’t get to my thank you cards, solicitation calls, or interview write-ups, and I haven’t done the online shopping that I need to do shortly. But that is on today’s to-do.

I ended up being fairly productive.

When I went to bed, I really wanted to sleep. But I was tossing and turning. Then I heard a beeping sound. At first Husband thought it was the TiVo. Then I thought it was someone’s fire alarm. I opened a window and confirmed that it was louder outside. Husband went downstairs and into the back yard.

It was a toy left in the rain with empty batteries. It was shrieking the way toys left on with dead batteries do. It was a battery banshee, screaming the way I wanted to when I realized I had reversed the priorities on my to-do list and should have cleaned the house Sunday night before the conference call.

But thankfully, a screwdriver stopped the screaming on the toy. As for me, I think I accomplished quite a lot yesterday even if it didn’t turn out exactly perfectly productive. (Besides, the boys are making an enormous mess right now, so I guess it is good that I didn’t clean yesterday.)

Posted by karianna at 08:56 AM | Comments (0)

November 25, 2005

Thanksgiving Tales

Thanksgiving included the following:

Truthfully, this Thanksgiving was more chaotic that I would have hoped, but it was definitely nice to see family and wonderful to have excellent food. Our post-Thanksgiving day has been lazy, which is nice. But then I went into super-clean mode to take care of all the preparation dishes from yesterday. Husband went into fix-it mode to fix our side yard gate and purchase a couple green lighted trees for our walkway. I put the Thanksgiving decorations away and replaced them with some of our Christmas decorations. Husband is now preparing hazelnut chicken for us AND he is making stuffing!!!!!

I caught up on my shows for this week and was excited that the Weavers from Amazing Race were last, but disappointed that it was a non-elimination round. But I was especially sad to see Kim from America’s Next Top Model and Gary from Survivor say their goodbyes. Both were my favorites from their respective shows, so it was a blow to have them both go away this week! I still have half an episode of Lost left, plus Veronica Mars.

Hope everyone had a happy Turkey Day and have remained safe in their trips back home. I was lucky to have everything local.

Posted by karianna at 06:41 PM | Comments (3)

November 24, 2005

Happy Thanksgiving

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Happy Thanksgiving! May you enjoy friends, family, and feast. Safe trips for all those traveling!

Posted by karianna at 07:44 AM | Comments (0)

November 22, 2005

Three Martini Plan

For my birthday, Husband and I went to a restaurant that has a copious “martini” list. Technically, they aren’t martinis, but they are served in a martini glass and use vodka in some form.

I was excited that I would get to try several of the martinis since Husband was driving. I selected first a mix of raspberry vodka and champagne, deciding that my next would be their version of a Brandy Alexander, and the final would be a chocolate-mint concoction.

While I drank the raspberry vodka-champagne, we had crab cakes, steak brochettes, and warm fresh rolls with tons of creamy butter. The service was impeccable, and I soon received my second “martini” as the appetizer plates were cleared.

Husband had a prime rib with garlic mashed potatoes while I had ahi tuna in a brandy sauce with winter vegetables and shoestring potatoes. Every bite was heaven. It helped that I also had that Brandy Alexander right next to my plate. Mmmm. Brandy! (I am making Brandy Yams for Thanksgiving!)

Towards the middle of the very first martini, I was feeling the effects, much to my horror. I knew at the start of the second that my third would have to wait for another time. I had started on an empty stomach, and now I was filled with lots of delectable goodness.

I was stuffed, but felt obligated to have dessert. I selected a Frangelico cheesecake with a custard filling. Husband would share, for he was too full for an entire dessert. We were lucky he didn’t order more, for they soon arrived with a candled chocolate blob for my birthday, so we ended up with two desserts after all.

The chocolate ball was essentially the largest truffle I had ever seen. It was dense, but smooth and oh-so-chocolately. The richness of the blob perfectly juxtaposed the more butterscotchy cheesecake. The few last sips of my Brandy Alexander Martini were the perfect accompaniment.

It was a fine time, although I was too wimpy for that third “martini!”

Posted by karianna at 10:57 AM | Comments (1)

November 21, 2005

Symphony of Smells : Hockey Game 7 Recap

Game Six was Friday, but since Spliggle was vomiting and I was stressed, I decided to abstain. Sometimes, hockey is exactly what I need in those situations, but for Friday I wanted to climb in bed and watch TV for awhile instead. But for Sunday, the physical activity is what I absolutely craved! So even though Spliggle was still vomiting, the Cat was “off,” and I felt I had lots of work to do, Sunday was the perfect hockey day!

Driving to the night game was eerie. I turned on the radio to discover songs that hadn’t been played since the 80’s, and they weren’t those popular songs that keep cropping up. I felt as though I was back in junior high or high school. I thought it was creepy that I was listening to a soundtrack of my childhood. True, I have been musing about my earlier days, especially in light of the interviews I’ve been giving perspective students for my college alma mater, but I didn’t think my thoughts could control the radio station!

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the fifteen minutes of eighties and was relieved to soon hear some up-to-date selections. I arrived at the game with enough time to change comfortably. I did leave my purse in the bathroom one brief moment, and had flashbacks to when my purse was stolen back in January. But more striking was carrying a little purse in to join my big bulky bag of hockey equipment. My coach laughed since it was a disconnected sight.

The game itself was great. I was back to forward and played with one of our best Centers. She ended up scoring a fantastic break-away goal. She set up so many shots for me, yet I didn’t connect with any of them. It was both exhilarating and frustrating to know I had come “so close.” I blame the defenders from the other team; they were excellent at roughing me up and lifting my stick. My coach made some terrific pointers about drawing them back, but I didn’t succeed in actually scoring this time around.

We ended up tying 2-2. I was 0 for the game, which leaves me at -1 for the season. No G, A or P.

The ride home was odder than the ride to the game. During the game, my sense of smell and taste shut down. Once in awhile, I’ll catch a whiff of a teammate, or notice that my water bottle tastes like swamp, but most of the time I am focused on breathing, skating, hearing my teammates, and watching the puck.

On the way home, my sense of smell rebelled. At first it was pleasant. I smelled lots of fireplace fires, sometimes mixed with pine, although that may have been a figment of my overactive imagination and eager heart for Christmas. Coming across a section of freeway in the City, I smelled a combination of Skintamate Raspberry Rain mixed with Chinese food. Fortunately, the fireplace fire and pine smells returned briefly, later replaced by roses. I smelled wood. I smelled my stinky self. Then when I drove through our “rival” town, I smelled poop. Yes, the rival town stinks of poop! Soon the poop turned to scorched rubber and I saw a car fire on the side of the road. Fortunately, by the time I reached home, that smell had disappeared. My neighborhood had a cold, crisp spicy fireplace smell. As I entered my house, I discovered a new smell: a freshly baked cake for my birthday! Yay Husband!

But the smells were not the craziest part of the ride. It was the radio again.

The station played song A, then B, then some commercials, then C. Then there was a wacky commercial that may have been a drunk DJ mumbling while the microphone was on. Song B was played again, followed by Song A. Four songs later, Song C was played again.

Either the DJ was truly incapacitated, or they have a very short play list!

I was shocked when two songs later, song A arrived again. That means Song A was played three times in an hour! That song was “No Such Thing” by John Mayer. Oddly coincidental given my thoughts recently.

Posted by karianna at 06:05 PM | Comments (0)

Youth is Wasted on the Young

I vividly remember studying for an exam one night in the Science Library at my college. I was on the verge of tears, frustrated with endless reading and unanswered questions. I was scared that I wouldn’t do well on the test, and more importantly what that would mean to my class grade or my ability to graduate from school. I kept thinking about how adults say that college was the best years of their lives.

“If these are the best years of my life, then what is there to look forward to?” I wondered angrily. I was frustrated that adults would look down on me thinking that I was partying and dating rather than studying. Where was this “freedom” that adults said college kids have?

If I had a blog back then, I would have composed a rant about that concept instead of actually studying for my exam; my future was troubling me that much. Instead, I will write the rant ten years later, but from a slightly different perspective.

Of course I understand what those adults meant. After all, being “tied” to children definitely takes away the “freedom” that college kids have. For those with a paying job, reporting to one’s boss takes away the “freedom” that college kids have to skip a class on a whim. Being in school means having the opportunity to go into any career possible, to make decisions that could lead to further exciting choices.

But those decisions are the antithesis of freedom.

If I could return to college now, I would have more freedom than I did before. This is because I have learned that committing to scientific research was a mistake. I learned that what I studied for nine years would be for naught. In other words, I would know that even trying to “pick something” and stay on the straight and narrow would not guarantee success. I won’t say I “failed” because although I sometimes feel that way, it wasn’t a “failure” to pick neuroscience as much as it was an innocent mistaken choice. It was the wrong choice, but not in the way that partying too much, drugs, and alcohol overindulgence are “poor choices.”

If I could return to college now, I could enjoy my classes. Instead of being so afraid of picking a major and being dedicated to it, I could take a variety of classes and really figure out what made me happy. Instead of trying to be responsible, I could be adventurous.

But I have the luxury of hindsight. I know that I eventually get married and have kids. I know that I end up having food and shelter. But my college-self doesn’t know that. The person studying in the Science Library doesn’t know if she will ever find love. She doesn’t know if anyone will want to hire her, or whether she’ll end up having to move back home. She doesn’t know what will prove to be most important to her: family, career, or money. All she knows is that she has to succeed at something. What is the meaning of life? Who knows, but my college self wants to excel at it.

I don’t think that the college years are the best years of one’s life. I think that the opportunities that they present and the ability to be “free” without familial responsibilities can be enlightening, but it can also be constricting. I think that the college years and what they provide would definitely be empowering to someone who has made mistakes and can take advantage of choices that a college student’s life allows without being burdened by those choices.

Essentially, the college years could be the best years of one’s life if lived by someone who had already graduated!

Along those same lines, I haven’t forgotten what it felt like to be a child. Sure, I didn’t have much responsibility, but I wanted respect and freedom. With freedom come the choices and the responsibility. College is the precise intersection of these which is why it can be so wonderful and so horrible all at once.

I do wish I could talk to my college self studying in the Science Library and tell her to just chill: to sit back a little and enjoy the view. But I know it wouldn’t matter. She is too dedicated and serious at age 22.

Happy Birthday to me. I am now 32. :)

Posted by karianna at 07:01 AM | Comments (4)

Allure

I am not a girly-girl who hugs and kisses everyone she meets. I am not dressed in head-to-toe pink, nor do I have a tiny dog. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t a sorority girl. I don’t have a high voice or a convertible. I don’t speak with a tremendous amount of slang and when I do, it sounds forced.

Mother Goosemouse posted about forced and assumed intimacy, and it made me think a lot about my social cues and expectations. I don’t feel comfortable being embraced with an open-armed squeal. Instead, I am self-conscious and don’t wish to be touched. A firm handshake is sufficient.

But, the truth is that frequently I wish I were more of a girly-girl. I wish I could sling my arm around a friend with abandon, or giggle to a group of gals about nothing. I have started to wear pink more frequently. I tried out for cheerleader both in junior high and college. I made the finals for both. But in the end I was told that I was more of a dancer than a cheerleader, and we didn’t have dance teams for either school.

In high school, we didn’t have cheerleaders, but I started a spirit club and bought a black pleated tennis skirt as the closest approximation to a cheerleader skirt that I could find. Our colors were yellow and black, so that would have worked, except my other spirit-mates thought it would be cooler to wear white T-shirts and plaid boxer shorts. Then the steam hissed out of our club when it was apparent that many of the interested girls couldn’t dance (and I didn’t want to exclude them because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings!) but most importantly because one of the most enthusiastic girls got into a car accident that paralyzed her.

I thought about rushing a Sorority in college, but the people I met at Rush absolutely ignored me. I clearly didn't fit in. (Why? I wish I knew!) Fortunately, one of my upperclassman advisors brought me to the Rush for his co-ed Fraternity and I felt right at home there. That is the Society for which I had a Convention weekend before last. These people welcomed me warmly and I felt comfortable.

But sometimes I daydream about if things had been different. I wonder if what would have happened had I made cheerleader, or made a friend in a Sorority. Would I feel more comfortable around other women than I do now? Or would I just have felt uncomfortable because I am not a girly-girl?

What is the allure? Why would I even want to become something with which I am not comfortable?

I guess it is because the more exclusive something is, the more attractive it becomes. Those blonde convertible-driving Sorority cheerleaders seem perfect. I know their lives probably aren’t, but from the surface everything seems fantastic. It appears that many of them grew up to be the mothers at my son’s preschool. I feel the same disconnect with them than I did with the “popular kids” back in school.

When I look at pictures of my college-self during Society cocktail parties, I look the part. I am attractive with long blonde hair and a hot body. Alas, I went to college during the grunge days, so my everyday attire wasn’t flattering to the body that I wish I still had. When I didn’t make cheerleader, I started playing hockey. When I wasn’t dressed up for a special event, I was pretty androgynous.

But appearances only get you so far. I wonder what it is that makes one comfortable with the physical contact and open glee. I’ve always been more “serious” and less “frivolous.” But I have wanted to dabble in the fluffy. I read silly magazines like Cosmo, Glamour, and Lucky. I watch TV shows like Laguna Beach, the Real World, and O.C. But when approached in a touchy-feely way, I back off. It is uncomfortable to me. And yet at the same time, I want to be part of the fold.

Perhaps it is because while I was growing up, I thought I had to be serious to get a good job and earn good money. But now that I am a SAHM, that means to an end no longer exists. I’ve gotten my degrees. I have a resume. But I change diapers instead. So already, I am questioning my identity, so why not question my social stance as well?

I don’t grapple with these questions in a heavy way very frequently. They don’t keep me up at night. I just think about it rather superficially as I watch my guilty pleasures, or observe kids at my alma maters. I do interviews for both my high school and college alma maters, and it is frequently surreal to remember myself in their shoes.

Last weekend’s trip back to college of course stirred up many memories, and this week I am doing interviews for prospective students. Then since I am on the Board of Trustees for my high school, I am frequently out there on campus and will be doing interviews for them in a couple weeks.

For the most part, I do live in the present. But since I have heavy involvement to aspects of my past, I can’t help but reminisce sometimes, especially when it correlates to something someone has already written, like Mother Goosemouse’s musings.

UPDATE: I did some more thinking about this. There are definitely people that I enjoy embracing, and not just family members. People who I feel comfortable with in conversation can be people I am comfortable with greeting in a physical way.

One of my highlights of BlogHer was getting a hug from JenB. It was wonderful and comfortable to me because I felt as though I knew her through her writings. There are several other people about whom I would feel the same way, just based on our online friendships.

Of course, we get to know each other more quickly online than we would in person, so it makes sense that this comfort level would exist, but it is funny nonetheless since there are many "in person" friends who I enjoy as talking buddies but wouldn't necessarily want to be locked in a hug with!

Posted by karianna at 06:04 AM | Comments (3)

November 20, 2005

Like Minds

Husband and I frequently purchase gifts for each other that we have already purchased for ourselves. For years, Husband would buy a book or video game just a few days before his birthday or Christmas, and it would nearly always be exactly the gift already wrapped for him.

Last year, I bought him America. He bought me America. Fortunately, my dad wanted it, so we gave him the extra copy.

Just now, the Cat and Husband returned from a trip to Staples. It was really a trip to Staples and Barnes & Noble. Within moments of coming home, the Cat announced, “We got a green book for Mommy, and I got a green book!”

Husband slapped his forehead. “Uh, yeah, that was supposed to be a secret.”

“Let’s go get the green books!” the Cat continued.

Yesterday, I did some holiday shopping. I bought something for Husband (which I won’t reveal here for obvious reasons) and for the Cat. I also included The Grimmerie to be used as a gift from Santa to me. I figured this was obscure enough that Husband wouldn’t think to buy it for me. (Well, except it is on my Amazon.com wish list, and I should have removed it immediately once I decided to buy it from Santa.)

It is a green book.

Now, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow, but I have a suspicion that I have done the very thing that I have told Husband not to do: right before a holiday bought something I wanted that is scheduled to be given to me for said occasion.

If that is the case, I guess I’ll have a book-returning trip tomorrow and Santa will have to figure something else to give me. However, I will be very impressed that Husband has paid attention to what I would like.

If it is not the case, then at least I’ve had a laugh thinking about the possibility, I will have obtained a different green book, and Santa can still give me the original gift.

Either way, I’ve won in some way or another.

UPDATE: Yes! It was the Grimmerie! This means Santa has to find me something else. I have already enjoyed paging through it and highly recommend it to any Wicked fans.

Posted by karianna at 04:42 PM | Comments (1)

Spinning

Last night was definitely a "so good, so bad" type adventure as the rest of the past week has been.

Spliggle continued to vomit. He walked around the kitchen spewing his dinner (thank goodness it wasn't on the carpet!) He went to bed early, and I cleaned the floor.

I then sat down to watch "Bewitched," but the DVD was having some trouble. Nonetheless, I fast-forwarded through the scratchy parts and was glad that the Cat wanted to snuggle a bit. At one point, the Cat jumped over the sofa and went to his play area. I heard strong urination. I was horrified to realize the Cat was crouched under his train table, peeing away.

The next half hour or so is a blur of shock, carpet-cleaning, taking the Cat's toys away, attempting to get a straight answer as to why this was a good idea, and anger. Husband and I were outraged and at a loss as to what to do. We sent the Cat to bed after attempting to discover his reasoning. He immediately fell asleep.

It is this sort of thing that leaves me completely confused. Why make the effort to get into the play area and go under the table? Why not just walk to the bathroom?

The pee stains that I have discovered on the carpet upstairs I had attributed to middle of the night confusion. While the toilet was broken, I knew the Cat had been peeing on the floor to avoid that toilet, but I thought we had discussed it with him and that he was using the Master toilet. But I had found some new pools recently, but wasn't sure what to make of it. But this under-the-table situation was a completely cognizant act.

I have not heard of other kids doing this, aside from in my developmental psychopathology course in college when we discussed severely disturbed kids who had failures for parents. I suspect that mentioning it to any behavioral psychologist that we may end up seeing will elicit the big-sigh-knowing-nod look that I have seen so often before being told, “Yeah, he needs lots of help.” (But I won’t tell you how to obtain the help.)

In the aforementioned course, the “reason” for the “acting out” was nearly always because the parents were distant, didn’t discipline the child appropriately and so forth. Either that or it was a kid who ended up being institutionalized. I may be in denial, but I don’t see that in the Cat. I don’t think he is peeing on the floor to punish me. But maybe I am wrong. He doesn’t try to strangle the cat, nor does he empty the refrigerator of all its contents. His difficult days involve throwing or spilling his own toys, and refusing to participate in preschool activities. The peeing is the only defiant behavior that is truly over the top.

Once the Cat was away and Husband had done several passes on the carpet cleaner, I went back to "Bewitched" to discover the rest of the DVD was broken. I put in "Revenge of the Sith." Husband and I attempted to enjoy ourselves, but of course I was distracted.

I fell asleep midway through the movie, but kept awakening in an attempt to keep watching because I was so eager to see it. I was fully awake for the last portions, but immediately fell asleep after it was over.

This morning, Spliggle continues to vomit. The Cat is attempting to be a good boy to earn his trains back, though he is pretty upset that his toys are gone. In a few minutes, I will go outside in the backyard so that the Cat can run around. Tonight I have hockey. I hope to get some aggression out.

I am truly spinning. I absolutely don’t know what to do about the Cat because his actions are so divided. He can be relatively “normal” for days, and then do something like last night to shock and confound me. This entire week he has been wild and “off,” and I don’t know the cause(s). If he were always a disaster, I would feel better about attempting something like medication or a series of therapies, but because he has shown normalcy, I am confused because clearly he is capable of behaving appropriately.

The “professionals” don’t believe me when I explain this. They figure that if he is “off,” he is always “off.” This also lends credibility to the assumption that the problem is me, not him. If he is capable of behaving appropriately, then it must be parental interference (enabling) that causes the wild periods. Well, I don’t think it is so black and white. I will be happy to consider suggestions for various techniques, but I don’t appreciate the blame and condescension.

Posted by karianna at 09:59 AM | Comments (2)

November 19, 2005

Early Morn

After the emotional day yesterday, it was nice to snuggle up with the Cat last night. I wanted to catch up on some TiVoed shows from when we were gone, and he wanted to be held. He was peaceful and affectionate. Of course he fell asleep rather quickly, at which point I was able to switch from Extreme Makeover Home Edition to Reunion, then Lost. Other Cat-friendly shows include Amazing Race and Survivor. He loves to tell me about the things he would and wouldn't be willing to do on those shows. But he particularly likes Home Edition, which he calls "the building show." He has told me that he likes our house, but wishes that it had a bridge (balcony.)

I love Reunion. I don't hear about it much in the entertainment magazines, so I expect its one of those shows that wasn't embraced as much as expected. I know it is cheesy, and it is probably a bit too twist-oriented, but I am enjoying it. I then started watching Lost from the night we left on our trip (so I am two episodes behind.) Alas, I was too tired, so had to pause it midway through. (So no giving away anything!)

Both kids awakened early this morning. (Ack! I want to sleep!) Splig seems happier (he had vomited more last night.) The Cat is in good spirits but his nose is running full-force. This means we will be unable to go to my parents' for dinner.

Last night, I learned that my Grandma would be unable to make what was supposed to be a joint-birthday-dinner. Her health is failing. I hope she gets better for the holidays.

So my plan was to go to my parents' this afternoon, then before dinner go alone to see my Grandma for a little bit and bring her a potted plant. But now that the boys aren't feeling well, I am uncertain what to do, since I might have germs on me to which my Grandma shouldn't be exposed. I'll call my parents when they get up to ask their opinion since they know what my Grandma's situation is and whether it would be prudent for me to visit or not.

In the meantime, the Cat has been drawing in a little green notebook. He has created little stories like "The Cat is Hungry" (which is a silly title given that he dislikes eating!) and "The Cat and the Ball in the Rain." He loves to draw and tell stories. Often, we can explain a situation to him by telling a story. The playacting worked well as preparation for the airplane trip. Perhaps if we get advance notice on preschool events we can try a similar approach.

Husband and the Cat are making waffles while Spliggle breaks into the refrigerator to obtain water for squirting fun. We finally tightened the "child-proof" lock on the pantry such that it actually is child-proof. We need to do the same for the fridge, and find some other type of "child-proof" lock for the china cabinet. Most cabinet locks are easily manipulated by Splig's agile hands, or at the least, broken out of stubbornness. (Those two pronged cabinet locks can bend and snap when a determined little boy pulls on them!)

Perhaps we'll go stroller and camera shopping today. We'll see.

Posted by karianna at 07:06 AM | Comments (0)

November 18, 2005

Fly Turkey, Fly!

I hate that if you complain about something, it only makes it worse. Vulnerability is shown if you break down and cry. That weakness is then proof of greater limitation.

I cried today at preschool. I almost broke down on Wednesday, but instead left with the kids as subtly as I could, attempting not to make a scene as the Cat wailed and Spliggle attempted to jump out of the difficult-to-maneuver stroller we have on loan from U.S. Air. They lost our stroller and haven’t yet returned it to us, nor have they phoned to make an apology or update.

Thursday was fairly nice; I had moments where I was quite happy, though even that day had its down-points. I have ColdPlay’s “Fix You” and the Goo Goo Dolls “Better Days” on heavy iPod rotation. I know I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself; there are so many people having a truly rough time right now, but a lot of little things have added up to frustrate me. I don’t want to be defeated, but this week has been tough.

I had signed up to bring mashed potatoes to the preschool Thanksgiving Feast. The Cat’s teacher then strongly suggested that I be one of the parent helpers at the actual feast so that I could dole out the appropriate food on the Cat’s plate and so that I could be around to mediate what she expected would be a stressful situation for him.

I have mixed feelings about being present for such events because sometimes I think he “gives up” faster if his mom is in the room. If I am there, he can put on a show for me. He can expect to leave early (which we did.) And I knew it would be tricky to have Spliggle around. However, I agreed to be there.

Husband made mashed potatoes. He used six potatoes, which we both thought would be fine. When we have potatoes for ourselves, we use fewer and end up with enormous quantities of leftovers. Somehow, these six shrank into a paltry helping, so Husband made another six. I made biscuits that the Cat could eat, since I knew other parents were bringing instant-bake type biscuits that would have preservatives in them. We were running late, and I didn’t have time to put on makeup or attempt to look put together in any meaningful way.

Someone else also made mashed potatoes. I was running after Splig while trying to eye the mashed potatoes to make sure I knew where “mine” were at all times so the plate I made for the Cat would contain those potatoes and not some that might potentially have artificial margarine or something in it. I was also making sure that the plate I had set aside (far away on a piano) wouldn’t accidentally have cranberry sauce or gravy put on it. I hid the biscuits I made until I could put a couple on the Cat’s plate. Then I put the rest out for the other kids.

I heard the screams before I saw the Cat, and knew it was him. The children all marched in with Pilgrim hats and collars. All except the Cat, of course, who was shrieking. The teacher looked at me as I called out, “Hey buddy, ready for a feast?” and said to me, “We even put green cats on his collar, but that obviously didn’t help.”

I had strapped Spliggle in his stroller and put him in a corner with a biscuit and some milk. I had a hard time attending to the Cat while knowing that Splig was also unhappy. Yet if I let him out, he would have run out of the room and towards the construction zone as he had the entire hour preceding the feast.

The other kids lined up on the wall and were joined with the three year old class who had been dressed as Indians. (Yeah, we aren’t very PC, but it was cute!) Every three year old was dressed as an Indian. Every four year old was dressed as a Pilgrim, except the Cat. All the kids smiled to have their photograph taken. The Cat was standing next to me, whimpering.

The kids sat down. I directed the Cat to a place near one of the kids he enjoys. He was skeptical, but obeyed. I brought him a plate with corn, mashed potatoes, and two turkey-shaped biscuits. He screamed. Apparently, the mashed potatoes that Husband had worked so hard to make and I had guarded so carefully were offending him. They had to be scraped off before he would touch his biscuit. (The corn didn’t disturb him, but he wouldn’t eat it.)

The Cat squirmed, ate a little, cried, complained, turned around in his seat, looked for me, grabbed Spliggle’s stroller to race him around the room, screamed when I directed him back to the table, and the cycle repeated again.

I sat down with my lunch, took Splig out of his stroller, and started feeding him. I figured I’d ignore the Cat for a bit in the hopes that he would continue sitting with his friends.

One of the moms said, “Oh, this is supposed to be fun!” while she looked over at the Cat. He then ran up to me and jumped in my lap.

I was angry and disappointed at the Cat. But I was also sad for him and worried about how scared he was. But most of all, I was selfishly jealous. All the other kids had dressed up. All the other kids had their picture taken. All the other kids were sitting nicely. All the other kids were participating. None were crying. The other mothers were all beaming at their little angels.

I am thankful that none of the other mothers made negative comments or nasty looks or anything like that. I imagine they just assumed it was an isolated bad day. Or maybe they knew that he is frequently “the odd one.” I didn’t feel pressure from them that I was a failure, but I felt it from myself. I blew everything out of proportion: Why were the other younger siblings quiet in their strollers or wandering around within their proper limits whereas Splig would have run far away and was now screaming in his stroller? Why were the other kids just so “perfect?” Why were the other moms made up so perfectly and how come they have tiny waists and exquisite hair?

I collected the kids and exited as quickly and quietly as I could. It was an hour before preschool was to end.

Once I had loaded everything and everybody into the van, the Cat announced that he had to pee. I was frustrated already and doubly-so because as the Cat spoke, he was kicking off his shoes. I told him that he shouldn’t have taken his shoes off if he expected to go to the bathroom. I started to drive away. He screamed. I explained calmly that if he asked me politely, we would go to Grandma and Grandpa’s to use their toilet (I really didn’t want to put his shoes on and use the preschool potty when I had been so eager to get out of there.)

He asked properly, so I drove to my parents’. My mom was there, and started doling out advice about the Cat’s behavior. It wasn’t the right time, and I was frustrated. Given how mobile Spliggle is, and how wild the Cat was Wednesday, my mother shook her head and explained that she would only be able to baby-sit one of them while I went to a luncheon the next day.

The luncheon Thursday was the annual charity holiday fashion show that a posh woman’s organization throws each Thanksgiving. My aunt is a member of this society and enjoys buying tickets for all of the women in the family. Typically, my mom goes along with me. This year, she announced that she would baby-sit the boys and forgo her spot.

But now she was reneging on it. She explained that when she had made the original promise, she had suspected that my dad would be around to help her. (My dad is semi-retired, so although he works, he makes his own hours and can typically help out for a few hours.) But she remembered that while all the women go to the festival, all the men go out to lunch. She didn’t want to make him miss The Guys Traditional Lunch.

She asked if perhaps Husband could take one of the boys.

I froze. I was already sad about what a disaster the preschool feast was, and I was looking forward to having a couple hours to go to a fancy luncheon. But now I would have to ask my husband last-minute to watch one kid while my mom watched the other? I didn’t want to rely on either of them, and figured I would give up my spot to my mom. Why inconvenience two people just so I could go to lunch? I wanted to scream. I hate being in this position. (I’ve tried finding local sitters, but my friends don’t have recommendations, and I am distrusting of simply calling up random teenagers. And teenagers aren’t available in the middle of the day.) Yet I know that even if I had a nanny, that person could call in sick. I am never completely off the hook.

Thankfully, as I drove home, my mom called to let me know that my dad would help with the boys. I was glad, but I knew what had happened: for me to go to the luncheon, my mom was missing it herself, and my father was missing the annual guys’ lunch out. Guilt.

But I pushed the guilt aside, and woke up Thursday morning ready to take on the group of diamond-dripped women. I dressed up in a satiny green shirt with fake jewels and a swishy pair of black pants that looks like a skirt. I wore green jeweled shoes and elaborate earrings. I felt fancy. As I floated into the event, I saw some people look twice. One lady complimented me, saying my shirt looked like one she had seen Oprah wearing.

I enjoyed hanging out with my aunt and cousin. (My other cousins had various excuses for why they were absent.) Lunch was delicious: salmon, roasted vegetables, and a creamy risotto. We had tiramisu and See’s candy for dessert while we watched the elaborate fashion show with its empowering and festive music. I had essentially a front-row seat on the runway and felt wonderful. My aunt purchased a centerpiece for me, so I lugged home an enormously heavy mirrored box that had been stuffed with greenery (along with gold leaves.)

For those short hours, I had a wonderful time!

When I returned to pick up the kids, I got more advice from my mom: time outs on a stool, stricter discipline, make him wear sweaters that aren’t green, read him a variety of books. And I got a call from my brother that a client of mine wondered if I had received his email (because I was so swamped, I hadn’t responded yet.) And I got more emails from other clients with updates. I was so overwhelmed!

But I pressed on, and got a lot of work done last night. I then tackled the kitchen, and finally the play area that had been a disaster even before our trip. I knew I had to vacuum up the decorative corn that the Cat and his friend had strewn about during my packing day.

I was angry and at a definite breaking point. But once I vacuumed the play area, Husband swooped in to finish vacuuming the family room. He knew I was at the brink and thankfully stepped in so that I could go to bed.

I thought today would be okay. I have some work to do, but not extremely urgent. My dad is picking up the Cat from preschool, so I figured I would have a bunch of time this afternoon since I wouldn’t have to worry about him. I envisioned going grocery shopping, and perhaps stopping by the mall to find some Thanksgiving outfits for the kids (and me.)

When I brought the Cat to preschool, his teacher looked at me wearily and asked, “Did he calm down after Wednesday?”

I didn’t want to think about Wednesday.

“Um, no not really.” I tried to be dismissive and to look busy as I put his belongings in his cubby.

“Because something is really wrong with him. He needs help. His social skills are lacking.” She announced.

I looked up from the sign in sheet and went through my spiel: yes, I know he needs help, yes we have tried to get help, yes I know early intervention is best but nobody seems to be able to help us.

“Early intervention is really important. Have you talked to his pediatrician?”

Yes, duh. Did she not remember how there had been a psychologist observing him in class two weeks into the school year?

“Kindergarten will be really difficult for him. Thankfully, these kids don’t shun him. They like him. But next year will be different.”

She went on to ask which school system he would be in, whether we had pursued private help, and so forth.

I didn’t want to have this conversation and this time. I didn’t want to continue to hear how my child is so different from the other kids and how it will be a “disaster” next year. There are times when I want to have a serious conversation about specific examples of how he is different, but this was not the time.

I started to cry. I felt so embarrassed, both for my child and because I was crying in front of the teacher and the other parents. Forget it, I am done pretending like everything is okay! Those other parents in their size-0 jeans and fancy jewelry now know that I have been defeated. I shouldn’t care about what others think, but I do. I hate that my child is the odd one, and because of that, I am also in a different class. And for me to cry, well that just proves I am unstable and not put together like those other women. At least that is how it feels, even though I know it isn’t true.

In book club at the beginning of this week, one of my friends explained how she had gotten so frustrated and sad that she went driving once her husband and children had fallen asleep. She told her husband she’d be gone for awhile so that he would know, but then she just drove around to think and to get the anger out of her system. She says she ended up in Barnes & Noble in the “I am a bad parent, so I need a parenting book” section.

I feel that way frequently. I love my kids, but sometimes I just have to get away.

As I wheeled Splig to the van, he vomited all over the cheap loner stroller. (I find that kind of amusing actually, since I hate it and wish to wring the neck of U.S. Air for losing my Maclaren.) I put him in his car-seat and he christened that as well with large white globs of sour milk. So much for my shopping idea. He is now in his crib, sleeping intermittent with loud screaming.

And I had to rant. Sorry. ;-)

So as to leave this post on a happy note, here is what I am thankful for:


Posted by karianna at 01:14 PM | Comments (6)

November 15, 2005

Messes and Photos

You know you are in trouble when your child gleefully announces, "I am going to make a big, big mess in mine area, okay!"

Indeed, it has been a day of messes, from the toilet overflowing this morning, to Splig's chocolate milk dump, to some pitching of fries and pasta off the highchair (who gave Splig the entire bag of fries?)

When I went to transfer the wet towels from the washer to the dryer, I was a bit surprised to smell that the chocolate one still smelled of chocolate (and of course looked no different than when I stuck it in there.) I didn't even want to think about the towels I had used for the toilet. Was I so scatterbrained that I forgot the soap? I don't think so; but I programmed in another cycle (careful to add soap) and I am crossing my fingers that the towels are actually clean when the machine stops.

But before attempting any more cleaning, I wanted to do some picture downloading. So I have created a little Flickr photoset of some images from our trip. The unfortunate news is that our camera died shortly after arrival. This photoset is a combination of the now-dead camera, my Treo, and my in-laws photos.

Calling All Bloggy Friends: Y'all take great photos. Please recommend a nice camera to replace our dead one. It must be digital. And it must not require vast amounts of knowledge to operate.

Here is a little story tangentially related to one of the photos:

The Pirate a Cappella was hilarious. I was originally skeptical that we'd be having such a group perform at one of our dinners, but it was great. Alas, the dinner itself was not great. Don't patron Wes' BBQ in Providence, RI on the basis of meanness. (The food itself wasn’t bad.)

The woman who arrived with the food was quite late. She said she hadn't been given directions. The truth is that my friend who organized it had given them a very detailed map. The woman arrived alone, and required several of us to help her set up (veeeery slooooowly.) My poor friend attempted to carry a large pan of hot water up a flight of stairs. She had to ask others to help. That is something the caterer should have done.

But then the particularly nasty thing about this woman is that she was rationing out the food and there wasn’t enough to begin with. I was near the end of the line. There were only two pieces of chicken left. I opted for a pork rib, but was eyeing the rice and veggie kabobs. When I started to get a kabob, the woman yelled at me, saying they were reserved for vegetarians. My friend (who was SERVING food with this woman because Wes’ BBQ apparently determined having only one representative would be enough while the caterer said someone else had to help her) intervened to tell the lady there was only one vegetarian in the group. The woman snapped that the order had been for ten vegetarians.

There were only ten veggie kabobs. Do you think a single small veggie kabob would have been adequate food!?

Typically, we order a larger number of “vegetarian” dinners for two reasons: in case there are more vegetarians than had indicated so, and so that non-vegetarians can select a vegetarian option if they are in the mood.

So this situation was doubly-bad. If there had been ten vegetarians, they would be starving. As it was, there were not ten vegetarians, but the woman wouldn’t take my friend’s word for it, so would not allow any non-vegetarians to touch the kabobs.

There wasn’t enough chicken. There wasn’t enough corn bread. And yet we had a plate full of veggie kabobs that nobody was allowed to touch because they had already touched either the chicken or pork ribs and were therefore branded “non-vegetarian.”

Finally, some people approached and pretended to be vegetarian so they could grab some kabobs. Some took them while the woman wasn’t looking.

In the end, there were two kabobs left. Rather than packing them up in the serving containers like the woman had with the majority of the leftover beans and pork ribs, I saw her put them on a plate along with a helping of beans and a pork rib. I have a sneaky suspicion that she ate them. Funny how her taking of a pork rib didn’t mean she couldn’t have a kabob the way it did for me.

Thankfully, two friends ordered some Indian food and allowed me to snag some of theirs since I was so hungry. (Yes, I could have had more than one pork rib, but they weren’t that great. The veggie kabobs looked good; I wanted one.)

Don’t go to Wes’ BBQ.

Posted by karianna at 02:02 PM | Comments (4)

Recap and Return

I am back!

Overall, my trip was a nice mix of business and pleasure. There were frustrations with lazy individuals who aren’t proactive, excitement over seeing old friends, pleasure at meeting new friends, thankfulness for people who pulled off amazing feats in the midst of logistical nightmares, and drunkedness (well, not too much) in the midst of pool-playing and general revelry. I learned that a Starbucks card, although decorated with similar colors, cannot open a room at the Crown Plaza.

It was nice to be back on my old stomping grounds, and a bit surreal to be showing off my kids in the Society House where I had spent my college years. I felt simultaneously young again and very old. Similarly, the trip was both long and short; the packed days led to exhaustion and the feeling that the conference was much longer than it was, but the social time spent with friends was over much too rapidly.

You’ll be happy to know (or maybe you won’t if you are a meanie!) that the return trip was much more pleasant. We gave Splig some decongestant before each flight and before the landing of the second flight. He slept a bit and was definitely more comfortable.

At first, we thought we were doomed.

Splig was screaming in the airport even before we checked in. Husband was trying to work an overflowing luggage cart that was broken and I was juggling the carry-ons and kids. When we checked in, the airline no longer had us all in the same row. Panic! But by some miracle, they had back-to-back seats available, which ended up being a terrific solution. Two of us sat in front of the other two, so Splig could kick the back of the seat all he wanted!

We decided to take the risk and bring Splig’s car seat. Although a similar experience a few years ago with the Cat kicking the seat in front led us to believe sans car seat would be better, we determined that Splig’s spliggly nature would be such that having him contained in the seat would end up being better. (Trying to contain him on the flight out had led to a cut in my mouth that is still quite painful!) Despite the bulk of having it as a carry-on, it was worth it.

The man sitting next to Spliggle on the first return flight had a nine-month old. So he understood the screams and sudden arm movements. Thank goodness! Unfortunately, the landing proved difficult, so Spliggle was screaming for a good fifteen minutes or so. But for the second flight, the landing was not a problem. Whew! Also, one man sitting near us told us he had children ages two and four, so he also understood. We had a small child sitting in back of us who screamed more than Splig, so it was fine!

Then one saving grace was Husband’s “Milky Way Plan.” We had trouble getting Splig to drink or eat during the takeoff and landing of previous flights, but Husband reasoned that Spliggie couldn’t resist chocolate. Plus, Milky Ways are chewy, so promote lots of jaw-mashing ear-popping action.

We had a bit of difficulty with the Cat. He was exhausted, but also wound-up from the activities earlier in the day. He was sad to be saying goodbye to his grandparents (they had been in the adjacent hotel room so they could spend time with the boys while Husband and I went to our events.) He was probably also nervous about the flight a bit. So he started to become aggressive and loud. He kicked the seat in front of him (mainly inadvertently, but sometimes as a point.) He even used some objectionable language that typically does not come out of his mouth. He growled and made claws with his hands, “hmmf”ing at us and telling us to go away. Finally, he was so angry at us that he fell asleep for the remainder of the flight.

Another potential disaster was that the milk I packed for the boys went sour. We discovered this while sitting on the tarmac before the 6.5 hour flight. The Captain announced that we were delayed and would be sitting for awhile. We soon learned that airplanes don’t have milk on them. When I saw the omission on the beverage list in the in-flight magazine I reasoned that surely they might have milk for coffee? Nope. No milk for kids. No milk for coffee. By some miracle, Splig was happy with some water, and I remembered I had some juice boxes of milk that the Cat happily drank. They slept long enough that they weren’t thirsty.

Relieved that the kids had made it through the flight, we then began another series of potentially trying events. We touched down much later than expected. We lost the Cat’s sandals and were scouring the plane before discovering them in Husband’s carry-on. Splig’s stroller wasn’t at the gate but we were told it must have been taken to baggage claim. I had to carry a spliggling-Spliggle all the way to baggage claim while also juggling my carry-ons.

They lost the stroller. They say it was never loaded onto the plane. After a search and some paperwork, we left with a cheap loner stroller. Hopefully our actual stroller will be returned to us shortly.

When we got to the parking lot, we discovered that navigating our belongings would be more difficult than anticipated. We had flown United out, but a US Air flight (by United) back. So we were in a different terminal in the middle of the night. The latter matters because it appeared the AirTrain was no longer running (though it may have been) and because if we had wanted to find help, it would have been tricky to find assistance. We knew where our car was, but the way the parking lot was set up, there were concrete barriers between each terminal type. It would not be a problem for a fully mobile person with luggage he or she could carry, but for a baggage cart, stroller, or a wheelchair, it would be impossible. We wheeled the luggage cart up to one barrier. I unloaded the cart to the closest portion of the United section while Husband drove our car closer.

At 2:45 am, we arrived back home. I went to bed at 3:30am. We awakened at 7am to prepare for Monday.

Amazingly, the kids did fine at preschool yesterday and maintained their sleep schedules. The Cat had a long nap yesterday afternoon, but then he awakened this morning at the regular time. Splig is happy, not congested, and back to a normal sleep schedule.

I am still exhausted, and I have a bunch of little things to do (and how they add up!) The laundry is almost done, the unpacking is done. I have some follow-ups from the Conference to do, and other such things. Then this morning, a second toilet overflowed (the first had right before our trip) and the sink wasn’t draining properly. So the plumber just fixed both toilets, a sink, and is now working on our slow-draining tub. While awaiting the plumber, Spliggle dumped a carton of chocolate milk on the floor. I know one isn’t supposed to cry over spilt milk, but oh did I want to given that I had just mopped up toilet water.

But things are returning to normal, and the recovery from the trip should be complete in another day or so!

Posted by karianna at 10:14 AM | Comments (0)

November 10, 2005

Busy Days

(all links are to Flickr-photos)

Earlier in the week I was going to tell the whole story of how busy Tuesday was. But by definition, it was so busy I didn't have time to actually write about it. Then Wednesday ended up being pretty busy in its own right, along with its own stories.

There is so much to tell, yet not so much time in which to tell it! Such a dilemma! So I will tell all stories at once. Yippee!

I am currently back east at a conference for the co-ed Greek Society I joined as a college student and for which I am currently a Governor. It is much fun to be back on old stomping grounds to see old friends and meet new ones. Husband and I met the first time at this conference in exactly the same location ten years ago. At that point, he was a graduate member and I was a college student. It wasn’t until three years later that we “met” again and started to date.

Tuesday was packing day for our back East trip. We had never flown together as a family of four, though we had done several flights when we were three. The Cat didn’t remember his last plane flight and had been very concerned about going “too high” in an airplane. We were worried that he might make a scene while frightened. A combination of talking about it, purchasing a little airplane play-set, and reiterating that the goal was to see his grandparents (who are staying with us at the hotel so they can have grandson-time while we attend our conference) was our strategy. Although the Cat kept explaining that he was nervous, he slowly came around to the idea of being on an airplane.

I had set up a play-date for Tuesday at noon at the boys’ favorite park knowing that I would want to distract the boys as much as possible. I wanted to get them out of the house so as not to create new messes, and then get them tired out so that I could clean and pack while they napped. (The Cat will nap every few days, so it isn’t a given, but after a particularly physical day he will crash.)

Alas, my plan backfired in that it was raining Tuesday morning. The boys had already been at my play-date’s house, so it was “my turn” to host. I cheerfully told my friend that she and her son were welcome to spend lunch at our house. I was glad to get the break, but panicked about what that would mean for my cleaning and packing strategy.

The day before, the Cat informed us that his toilet was broken. We had a similar difficulty a few months back that had been helped by a particular bacteria-clog-eating drain de-clogger, so we poured that in the toilet. I had flooded the bathroom flushing the (uh, er, number-two filled) toilet while trying to get the toilet to work, so it took awhile to clean up the mess. Nonetheless, I had cleaned the whole bathroom and then left it to let the magic bacteria do its business. The plan was to flush it the next morning.

As I prepared for the unexpected play-date that next morning, I noticed that there was a slightly damp towel in the bathroom in question. I figured Husband had flushed the toilet and it had overflowed just a tad. I flushed again, hoping that everything would “level out” at this point and we’d be back to status-quo.

Instead, the whole thing flooded again. Big Time. So all the towels I had washed and dried the night before ended up on the floor surrounding the toilet.

But in the grand triage, it was the dishes-filled kitchen and the crumb-infested playroom that were most visible to our guests. So I did my downstairs cleaning duties before attending to the upstairs bathroom.

The next order of business was food. Splig was asleep, so I couldn’t go to the store. The bread that I otherwise would have used to make sandwiches had already been cut funny and for some reason I couldn’t get it to cut straight again, so that was out. Luckily, I found some carrot and zucchini sticks, crackers, and cheese, making a spread of snack-able things. I added some bananas to the mix. But that wasn’t enough. I made up some microwave veggie pockets and cut them in an attempt to look pseudo-fancy.

Luckily, my friend also brought along some food: some rice with black beans, chicken, and onions. It was a perfect thing to scoop up with the crackers! The boys ended up having a fabulous play-date (the Cat was so happy to be the host!), and I really enjoyed hanging out with my friend. Sure, I didn’t get any packing or cleaning done (for the cleaning I did in a rush right before the visitors ended up being for naught since the boys spread cracker-dust all over,) but the break was fine. I did have one freak out moment when I saw a bunch of corn on the table. I recognized too late that my decorative corn for Thanksgiving had been completely shucked and strewn about.

Both boys fell asleep at the end of the play-date, so I got my chance to pack and clean. I didn’t get everything done that I would have liked (such as the play-area in back of the couch,) but I did the vital things!

Wednesday morning, we left for the airport in good time. But traffic was much worse than anticipated. We made a panicked route change that I believe saved us a bunch of time. Thankfully, a delay meant that we didn’t have to rush to get to our gate.

Nonetheless, we were greeted with long lines at the check-in (so went to a sky-cap!) and were jostled around by the security screeners. We were next in line for one screener when he told us that since we had a stroller and since he was doing “double screening” that it would be easiest if we went to the opposite end of the security section to join a different line. A couple minutes later from our new line, we saw the people who had previously been in back of us sail through our original line. It was at least ten minutes more before we were cleared.

But we arrived at the gate with time to spare. Thank goodness for the delay! It gave the Cat the opportunity to view some planes in action, too, which helped.

What we didn’t anticipate was that Splig would be a problem.

Spliggle is a good-natured kid. But he was congested. He squiggled around (like his name) and tried to interact with other people on the plane. It was extremely difficult to hold him down. (We had forgone the car-seat because our earlier experience with the Cat flying had been that the airplane seats position the car-seats way too close to the seat in front such that even a child not intending to kick the seat in front in a malicious way will end up disturbing that person.) While eating, he was fine. But then he wanted to explore and be busy.

Then the ear-popping began, and he started to scream. He could not be pacified. We tried many methods, all to no avail. Finally, he napped for a tiny amount.

We had a layover in Chicago. If our next flight hadn’t have been delayed, we would have missed it. But our new flight was delayed, too.

Unfortunately, our delays ended up being on-the-tarmac delays in addition to the simple boarding-late delays. This meant having to entertain the kids in an enclosed space for even longer amounts of time. It also meant that we didn’t have time to procure food during our layover. The kids had crackers and such, but Husband and I were ravenous (and of course the plane didn’t have any food other than pretzels.)

When we lined up to board our second delayed flight, one guy said, “Yeah, I’ll let you board first because you have kids.” I thought he was being nice, so smiled and thanked him. He then repeated himself, amending his statement to “because you have the nerve to bring kids on an airplane.” I just continued to board. Husband later told me that this guy (who shall henceforth be referred to as “AM” for “asshole-man”) had been on our San Francisco to Chicago flight, so had been witness to Spliggle’s screams.

AM sat in front of us. In specific, he sat in front of Spliggle’s seat. Crazy Couple sat in the other two seats in front of the Cat and me. Also in row 13 were old-childless-man and younger-glare-boy.

In Aisle 15 was I-will-kick-your-seats-because-I-dislike-you man and aloof-woman.

Spliggle squiggled around and tried to flirt with Aisle 15. I yanked him down and tried to distract him with chips, a blanket, a book, a DVD… anything. He sprang up, holding the top of AM’s seat, then patting AM on the head.

I was mortified and immediately said, “I am SO sorry” and held Splig down again. He screamed, “OH JESUS!” and another person apparently said something about needing peace and quiet, to which the Cat parroted, “I AM being peace and quiet!”

The whole flight was hell.

Spliggle screamed for most of the flight. Glare-boy kept glaring at the Cat (who was simply watching a video, doing absolutely nothing of remark) and more specifically, ME, because I am the mother of the loud noise. Husband held him tightly several seats down from AM (since there is NO way we were going to risk his wrath again!) But since Husband was sitting next to two people, it was difficult to keep Splig from kicking those people in his row. All of row 13 was hostile, as were the people in back of me in row 15.

Husband did a heroic job of keeping Spliggle from causing physical kicking/jostling of other passengers, but unfortunately the screams could not be stopped.

It was mortifying, humiliating, and frustrating.

I have been in airplanes with screaming kids before. At the least, I have looked over to see what the problem was. Since I’ve had kids, I’ve made an effort to either smile at the child or give a sympathetic look to the parent.

I have not glared at a screaming child. I have not made loud comments. I have not sworn. I have not made histrionic physical gestures to indicate my disapproval.

Rows 13 and 15 did all of the above. They were guilt-tripping the hell out of me and Husband. We were doing the best we could. We are not evil. Our kids are not evil. Rather, we had a very well behaved 4.5 year old (who held my hand during take-off and landing, asked many questions, and articulately talked through his fears) and a congested sixteen month old.

Yes, the screams were hell. Spliggle’s discomfort became many other passengers’ discomfort. But we were not taking a red-eye flight. We had set up our schedule in what we thought would be the best configuration.

A little boy in the back of the plane also had difficulty. I could hear his screams, but they were somewhat muted. The typical airplane noise is so loud that other noises become muted. So I know that probably only a third to a half of the plane heard the screams to the ear-piercing extent to which Splig was doling them out. Still, it was as though I was hitting everyone in the plane on purpose.

Old-childless-man called his wife on his cell, loudly recounting that an inconsiderate family had brought a screaming baby on the plane. The male of Crazy Couple kept turning around to glare at Splig and me. The female of Crazy Couple kept throwing her head in her lap. AM sighed loudly every few minutes.

When we landed, we were delayed on the tarmac because the jetway wouldn’t operate properly. We had to wait for an old-fashioned staircase to be wheeled up. Several passengers yelled things like, “This is icing on the cake!” “We’ve already had the plane-ride from hell!” and so forth, while taking the time to stare us down.

Sure, I agree with them. Spliggle’s screams were absolutely not fun. The delays were not fun. But we had not forcefully caused our child to scream. We were not sitting back doing nothing. It was obvious that we had our hands full and that we were pulling out toys, food, milk, and other distractions.

We let the others deplane before we gathered our belongings. A couple people gave us advice on what we should have tried. When we got down the jetway we had to go back upstairs, but there was no elevator. I had to lug Spliggle in his stroller up the staircase while Husband carried three large carry-ons. It was not fun.

While Husband picked up the rental car, someone passed by me and made a comment while sneering at me, but I was checking my voicemail (because another friend and fellow Convention-goer also had been delayed) so didn’t hear his remark.

Hopefully, we will see none of those people again in our lives. We have given them a great story about the plane ride from hell and possibly have made some decide (Crazy Couple, in particular) that they don’t want to have children. Husband says that we’ve done humanity a favor if that is the case. Still, it was embarrassing. I would like to think that I wouldn’t have been so overtly angry, insulting, and heartless as those who chose to guilt-trip me. But I know that my child was loud!

Splig will be pumped full of decongestant / anti-histamine on the way home.

But thank goodness that the Cat did a spectacular job of conquering his fears!

We got lost from the airport to the hotel. Ugh. (GPS to the rescue!) And then by the time we arrived, room service had just closed. Husband and I were ravenous. The only thing around was Wendy's. And I didn't realize they put mayo on their burgers. I HATE MAYO.

But today was much better: friends, drink, fabulous food, great conversation, and the boys love spending time with their grandparents!


Posted by karianna at 08:30 PM | Comments (4)

November 08, 2005

Haunted Houses and Polling Places

I am sporting my super-cool-patriotic “I voted” sticker today. If you live in California, go vote!

On my way to the polling place (which was empty: go vote!) I passed by a street on which we had looked at a house eighteen months ago while we were home-shopping.

The house in question is huge. My father had seen it on the MLS and was shocked that it was priced differently than others in the area. The street name is the same as a popular retreat center of which he is a fan, so I think that appealed to him as well.

He begged our realtor to look into it. She reported that it was a foreclosure that had to close much quicker than is typical (which would probably mean a stunted inspection and so forth,) and that the commissions would be dramatically lowered. (Or perhaps it was that if they didn’t sell it in three days, then it would be foreclosed, or something like that. I don’t remember the actual details and I was pregnant with Splig, so my memory is faulty.) Of course, the commissions issue would only affect her, but she brought it up to make me aware of the situation in a moderate guilt-trippy way. (She was a great realtor and very kind, so I don’t think she was full-blown guilt-trippy, but I think she wanted to give me the entire picture.)

Overall, it seemed like a pressure situation, but one that could potentially have great benefits. The house was priced much lower for a quick sale.

After a series of back and forth calls between my realtor and the seller’s realtor, we finally got the go ahead to take a look. The extent to which we had to beg to actually see the house should have been a red flag. If they wanted to sell, why not let us look? But instead, they were saying another buyer was interested, the woman was sleeping and didn’t want to be bothered, the woman was going to be gone and therefore couldn’t let us in, and so forth.

We went to the house and found it locked (as expected,) but the key wasn’t where the seller’s realtor said it would be (what happened to a good old fashioned lock-box?) We went through the side yard to check out the backyard before our realtor arrived. My dad was excited by the large windows and the potential of the back yard. There was a little waterfall area that would have to be cleaned (and probably removed for safety around small kids,) but it definitely had potential.

I noticed that the sun was skipping over this particular backyard. Perhaps it was the time of day and the placement of the house, but the neighbors’ yards were bright whereas this one was in dramatic shadow.

The Cat slipped on some rocks and split his lip wide open. That should have been another sign for us to leave. But we pressed on. We saw the large living room from the back windows, and saw a nice mirrored wet bar. It looked lovely from the outside!

Our realtor arrived, and then a few minutes later the seller (not the realtor; rather, the actual seller!) arrived in a velour jumpsuit in her shiny new red sports car (wonder if that was eventually seized?) She was chatting on her cell phone, but let us in with a look that expressed fear, relief, and skepticism.

Meanwhile, my mom pressed handkerchiefs on the Cat’s lip and tried to convince him that it would be a fun project to look at a house that might be his!

When we entered, I was simultaneously impressed and wary. The family room seemed sterile, white, and cold. The light streaming in from outside was white-fluorescent harsh rather than warm and sunny. On the wall was an enormous photograph of a stern looking man.

No pictures were in the rest of the house.

The wet bar was classy, but again had a sharp feel to it rather than a celebratory or simply sophisticated atmosphere. The kitchen was pretty standard with decent appliances, but the floor squeaked in a strange way. It moved a bit, causing me to trip. It tripped my realtor too.

The living room and dining room both had massive ceilings and were grand. The previous owners’ possessions were in boxes stacked in the living room. My realtor looked a bit freaked out and stayed downstairs with my mom. I wasn’t sure if her lack of enthusiasm was because of the potential reduced commission or that the kitchen had attacked her.

Frankly, I was already feeling uncomfortable. The vibe was creepy.

The staircase was completely straight. My dad thought it looked beautiful. My husband looked terrified, worrying about our sons sliding down the banister and/or falling from the top.

There was a gorgeous area at the top of the staircase, enclosed by glass double-doors, one of which was broken and off its hinges. Fixed, it would be a beautiful office, or enclosed further would create an additional bedroom. The potential kids’ bedrooms were nothing special, but the Master was amazing. The ceilings were double-high in the bedroom and Master bath. It felt like a palace. There was a sitting area in the Master bath where the owner had her perfume collection. The bathtub was enormous. The entire area was again lit in a white-fluorescent way, but in a bathroom it was luxurious rather than cold. The sterility against porcelain seems clean, whereas such an effect in a family room where one wishes to play board games with one’s children is eerie.

I was taken by the Master and accompanying bath, but was uncomfortable about the rest of the house. As I left the Master suite to go downstairs, I noticed the framing of the double-doors entering the suite was severely damaged.

It was obvious that abuse had occurred here. I thought of the sinister portrait in the family room and the looks the woman had given us as we came in.

Perhaps it was the petite wife beating up her gruff looking husband? Who knows?

But what I did know was that the house made me uncomfortable.

My dad kept telling me that with some warmer carpet, the proper lighting, and repairs to the offending doors that we could make our own vibe. He said the price was outstanding, and we’d end up far ahead in the long run.

But I was frightened. The house just felt wrong. I wanted to like the house. It would have been a tremendous investment, and that Master bathroom was to die for. But not really To Die For.

We went on to find our current house, which has a spectacular kitchen (ironically enough, white with silver and glass doors, which would have matched the Creepy House perfectly.) But our house is filled with warm colors, ceilings that are high enough to feel spacious but low enough to feel comfortable, and a sunny backyard where no blood has been shed.

I wish I could give some dramatic ending to the story, like the people who bought the Eerie Abode had ended up getting in an accident, or there was a house fire, or that it was back on the market again. But I haven’t seen that address in the paper, nor have I driven by to see what the neighborhood is like at this point in time.

I was tempted to drive down to take a look, but instead I went directly to the elementary school to vote. And I drove home again without detours.

(Oh, and I do have a story to tell about some cursed plumbing in our current house that just wreaked havoc on my morning, but I must attend to the last minute cleaning for a play-date that was originally scheduled for the park, but it is raining! No food in the house, except on the floor, and overflowing toilets. They arrive in 40 minutes. I’ll leave it at that for now. Cheers!)

FREAKY COINCIDENCE OF THE DAY: I do HR for my brother's company. We just got a new employee. I picked up her paperwork today on my trip into the office. I just looked at her paperwork. She lives 8 houses down from the one I discuss above. The office is about forty-five minutes away, so it isn't as though it is a super-convenient commute in which such a coincidence would be commonplace!

Posted by karianna at 10:35 AM | Comments (1)

Fall/Winter 05-6 : Game Five Recap

The title is misleading, for this is the fourth game I have actually played. For Game Four I was sick, but my team won, so that is good!

Unfortunately, we had our fist loss. The final score was 1-0, and embarrassingly, I was playing D when the opposing team scored the goal.

I am not really sure what I could have done to prevent it other than to have been faster. I suppose I was too deep in our offensive zone, so I wasn’t quick enough getting back out to catch the breakaway. (It was 2 on 1; my partner had been back properly.)

This was the first time I had played D in a few years. The first couple shifts were definitely rocky. I had to orient myself and remember positioning. The aforementioned goal-against was during my second shift.

Starting at my third shift, however, the old rhythm returned and I remembered how to defend. I got a bit too aggressive, however, and earned my very first career penalty. Frankly, I was shocked. I have done plenty of penalty-worthy things in the past without getting caught, but this time, it was a legit stick-stuck-in-someone-accidentally. Really. I was trying to lift her stick, it got between her legs, and she pivoted and tripped. So I was called for… tripping!

At first, I was devastated. The whole “go to the box and feel shame:” I was feeling the shame. Plus, I was afraid of the mocking that Husband would give me after the game (which actually never came.)

The rest of the game, I played fairly well. I was extra careful not to get another penalty, though my team ended up getting several. I ended up being on penalty kill a couple times and rocked it tremendously. We almost got a shorthanded goal.

During the third period, the game slowed down for me. I could anticipate where people were going, and I seemed one step ahead. Everything felt floaty and fluid. But then after a couple really successful shifts, I actually thought about how I was getting the hang of it, and of course that broke the concentration and my final shift was a disaster (but didn’t result in any goals-against!)

My captain was pleased with my performance: “You rocked, Kari!” and noted what I had: that the first couple shifts were crazy but then I got into the groove.

My guess is that they will have me play D again, even though I was the main contributor to our first loss. We’ll see!

Stats: Yeah, okay, so I have 2:00 penalty minutes for Tripping. And I am a -1 (both for the game and for the season.)

Posted by karianna at 08:53 AM | Comments (1)

November 06, 2005

The Cat's Wing

During the last week, the Cat has taken to sleeping in the guest room. I am not sure why, although there are many theories: away from the front window that tends to have more noises, larger bed, fluffier comforter, one room closer to Mommy and Daddy, a brighter overhead light.

I got him a new, fluffy green comforter and have reassured him that the noises are just the wind, but he still prefers the guest room. He has requested that we paint it green.

This morning, I asked him to get some underwear. He responded, "From my green living room?" Chuckling, I asked him to clarify, knowing what was coming next. Apparently his old room (which is green) is now his living room. Since Splig isn't big enough to use the big potty yet, the Cat has his own bathroom. And the guest room, of course, is his bedroom.

He has an entire "wing" to himself!

Posted by karianna at 11:56 AM | Comments (0)

Chuggling Chocolate

While I was on the computer, Spliggle opened the refrigerator and started chugging chocolate syrup.

I think he may be on to something.

In the last week, my waist has shrunk (a little) despite the addition of Halloween candy in my daily menu. Perhaps it is not the chocolate that is the hero, however, but rather my increased vigilance in not eating other fattening foods while downing my Snickers (plus it really does satisfy!)

But then also, I’ve been drinking a glass of wine a day and therefore haven’t been hitting the beer as frequently.

Husband came home with some Delicato wine-in-a-box. Now we all know that boxed wine is typically synonymous with crap, Styrofoam cups, and college pseudo-classy dinners. Plus, I am from California, so have a little wine snob in me.

But this stuff is great. In fact, I hear it is becoming the “new thing.” Instead of awaiting a night when Husband and I are up to polishing up an entire bottle by ourselves, we can simply use the spout on the wine box. The system is air-tight, so the wine stays good for 30 days. When I want a glass of wine, I can “pour” (dispense?) myself one without sacrificing a bottle.

Instead of water coolers, we can have wine dispensers! Wine-in-a-box can be taken camping!

The trickle in the glass leaves some bubbles initially, but in a few minutes the surface is clean as any sophisticated pour. I was expecting a thin, watery feel with a weak (or bitter) finish, but instead this wine serves a full-bodied experience with an enjoyable after-taste.

Snickers and Wine in a box = the Karianna Diet!
Open-throated Chocolate Chugging = the Spliggle Diet!

Posted by karianna at 11:55 AM | Comments (7)

November 02, 2005

Flickr Fun

Awhile back, JenB asked us to post happy-flower-baby-animal pics, and so I went out and snapped a photo of the lone decent-sized flower in our backyard (surrounded by other little flowers.) I thought I might pick up a baby-horsie stuffed animal to stick in there, but then it rained and the flower isn't looking so hot anymore. (Besides, I can't compete with Jen's backyard, anyway!)

flower.GIF

But then today, a friend of mine told me about her brother-in-law who was just diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, and another friend-of-a-friend who is about to have surgery to remove a (thankfully "benign") brain tumor. And bloggy people are going through cancer, and then Jenn S. wrote an incredibly well-written tear-jerker today about her ongoing difficulty with facing her mother's terminal illness. So I remembered my little photo. Above is my tiny offering of a little happy flower pic, taken with a cameraphone that decided to go bonkers after the sync.

Today we had a beautiful sunset. Of course, photos do it no justice, but it is another small offering of happy/calming photos. (Why is it that those stupid inspirational posters always have silly sunsets on them? Ah well, I will join the cheesiness...)

11 2 sunset.GIF

Meanwhile, I am fortunate that everyone in my family is healthy and happy. The Cat, in fact, decided to entertain himself by posing for my cameraphone with his silly faces (click for more on Flickr:)

funnyface.GIF

Posted by karianna at 08:51 PM | Comments (1)

November 01, 2005

Stunned

I asked the Cat, "Hey, you want to eat a chocolate cat?"

He shook his head. I expected this. He doesn't want to actually eat the cats. He likes to look at them.

"A chocolate marshmallow? A peanut butter cup?" I wanted to reward him for being such a good boy today. Well, and also I wanted to eat some candy.

"No, Mommy. I can't eat candy at night."

Stunned, I asked, "Does it make you stay up?"

He nodded. "It is hard to sleep. But I will feed you candy!"

Posted by karianna at 06:35 PM | Comments (3)