Our Original Fires...

Book Challenge 2011

2012-02-18T23:23:00.000-08:00

Took me long enough to wrap up the year in books!

Total books read and logged here: 18 books. Missing letters: G, J, K, Q, R, U, X, Y

Stace's recommended reads from 2011:
* Obviously, The Hunger Games trilogy. The series is well-written, provocative, and fast fast fast.

* Top novels: "The Elegance of the Hedgehog", "Cutting for Stone", "The Paris Wife", and "People of the Book." Add them to your list if you haven't already.

* My goal for 2012: read at least 10 books -- it looks to be a busy year!

A: Amy Wilson. "When Did I Get Like This?" (I should note that the subtitle is: "The Screamer, the Worrier, the Dinosaur-Chicken-Nuget Buyer & Other Mothers I Swore I'd Never Be) So, that pretty much sums it up. More than anything, I needed some folks on the mommyhood team to say that all of what I'm feeling and experiencing is normal. And guess what? It is. This here's a read for all the moms out there who need a little pat on the back and another martini. (253 pages; May)

B: Brooks, Geraldine. "People of the Book." I read her book "Year of Wonders" last year and really loved it; this release did not disappoint. The root of the story is a centuries old holy book, the haggadah. Brooks parallels the present archivist's thoughts as she uncovers the text and then seeks to understand it. The parallel story is the various hands through which the haggadah has passed, from modern times back to the 1400's. A fascinating story, one that is partially based on fact. (372 pages; February)

C: "Catching Fire" by Suzanne Collins. Book 2 of the Hunger Games trilogy. Without giving anything away: just as good as the first book, so once you start be prepared to hunker down to finish. Collins writes this book so well -- you connect with the characters and care about what happens to them. A fast read! (391 pages; July)

D: David Nicholls, "One Day." Ok, you've all seen the cover because it's "Now a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE" and all that jazz. If you can get past the Anne Hathaway kiss on the cover, then you might just be able to enjoy the book. But in all truth, this book is basically a chick flick in print. Romance, longing, loss, heartbreak, triumph at last (which I'm quite sure you didn't see coming from page 10). It was a quick read. Well-written and easy to read, I'd call this a summer beach read if it wasn't October already. (435 pages; October)

E: "The Elegance of the Hedgehog" by Muriel Barbery. I don't know why I resisted reading this book, but it sat and collected dust for nearly a year. Now, after the final page has been turned, my review is that this text is nothing short of miraculous -- and I don't say that about too many books. It's part of my permanent top ten, and is a book that I'll likely keep to read again. The depth of everything in this book is purposeful, meaningful, and truly thought-provoking. Nevermind the staggering emotional power behind the characters and their motivations, what they discuss is substance enough. In fact, it's almost too much. Many books try to operate like an onion, which is to say in layers. Most do so unsuccessfully, but not this one. It isn't a light read, but it will move you in unexpected ways. I loved it. (325 pages; June)

F: Fey, Tina. "Bossypants." If you like Tina Fey's comedy and dry wit, then you'll love her book. If you don't... if you found her Sarah Palin shtick offensive... then keep on walking past this book. For those Palin sketches on SNL -- did you love those? Read the book. It's funny. And she loves footnotes. (275 pages; June)

H: "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins. Caution: start this book only if you a) have extra time in your life, or b) are content living a sleep-deprived life for a few days. This book is addicting, start to finish. The premise: a futuristic world, dominated by an unscrupulous capitol, holds an annual Hunger Games where each district (think: state) sends two teenagers to join a group of teenagers to fight to the death for entertainment's sake. The point: stay submissive to the powers that be. But ooooh, the suspense. The protagonist -- a girl! The story-line: clever and well-written. I can only see sleep-deprivation ahead: this book is the first in a trilogy. Bring it! (374 pages; July)

I: "Incendiary" by Chris Cleave. Based on the first few pages coupled with the reviews, I thought this book would be great. I thought it would be fantastic, actually, and original. But it wasn't. I thought that it would redeem itself by the end, but it never did. Reminded me of "The Road" -- more and more of the same. Don't bother with it! (237 pages; June)

L: Louise Erdrich. "The Plague of Doves." If you've never read an Erdrich novel, be ready and start here. Her earlier works (namely "Love Medicine") are intricate works of art; this one is no different. But, this one grabs the reader from the beginning which makes a huge difference. When this book comes out in paperback, buy it and enjoy it. But don't let too much time lapse in between readings -- you will lose momentum in this book. Here's my favorite quote: "When we are young, the words are scattered all around us. As they are assembled by experience, so also are we, experience by experience, until the story takes shape" (268). I didn't love this book, but I deeply appreciated its beauty and depth. (Feb/March, 311 pages)

M: "Mockingjay" by Suzanne Collins. The third book of the Hunger Games trilogy. As many people have noted, this book takes a different turn. I can't say anything here that won't spill any beans, but you're in for a great trip if you start the series. (390 pages; July)

N: "Nurture by Nature" by Paul and Barbara Tieger. I know, I know: it's a parenting book. On the Book Challenge. Certainly, a line has been crossed somewhere. But, I did read it and while I don't buy into everything it suggests, I do think the authors made some valid points. If you believe the thinking behind the Myers-Briggs personality testing (I'm an ENFJ), then you'll understand the idea behind this book: identifying your kids' personality styles and addressing their individual needs based on their personality. With three kids and three very different personalities, I agree a bit but like I've said before -- I'm no short order cook and everybody can't get what they want or need all the time. That said, the book did provide me a glimpse into some tenets of my kids personalities that I had not considered. (273 pages; July-August)

O: "One Amazing Thing" by Chitra Divakaruni. I had vowed not to buy any new books this year, but of course for me, most resolutions go down the dark path to failure and this one was no different. I love Divakaruni, so bought the book and devoured it. The premise of the story is this: in San Francisco, a group of people trying to obtain visas to India are trapped in the basement of a building when an earthquake hits. Their circumstances go from bad to worse with each aftershock, so to "jolt" them back to reality, one character asks each person to tell the story of one amazing thing that has happened in their life, something nobody else knows. The book is the compilation of those stories. It really is beautiful, compelling at times, and a story that begs you to think of your own "amazing thing." (220 pages; February)

P: "The Paris Wife" by Paula McLain. A fictional account of Hemingway's first wife, this story is told through by such a powerful female voice, I'm not sure how men would enjoy the book. The story is compelling -- Hemingway's rise to fame as seen through the eyes of his wife. But the story is entirely hers and the voice is undoubtedly that of a woman. I enjoyed it doubly after having studied Hemingway as part of the Masters; so many of the little anecdotes connected with his short stories I studied. I would recommend this book first to the ladies. For men, I might direct them to Hemingway's retelling of the same time period, in his text "A Moveable Feast," which will be next on my list. (314 pages; August)

S: "So Long a Letter" by Mariama Ba. Let me start by saying that this book probably would have had a much different impression if I had read it more quickly. As it was, this 90-page text was read over nearly two months' time. As a result, I walked away with a fragmented sense of its wholeness. The letter, from one woman to another, ostensibly discusses personal life and turmoil but the subtext offers a much deeper read into African culture and relationships in general. Interesting though it was, it is not a book I will likely read again. (89 pages; March - May)

T: "The Summer Without Men" by Siri Hustvedt. I picked this book up (along with the other one I'm reading) at an independent bookstore. It was recommended by the staff - I am a sucker for the "Staff Picks" section. And while this book was good, like a B/B+, it wasn't great. the premise is essentially a woman finding herself after her husband has an affair in their 30-year marriage. Obviously, the title gives the bulk of the text away. I'm not sure I'd recommend it, and come to think of it, now I'm not sure why it was even a "Staff pick." Wouldn't be mine. (182 pages; Nov-Dec)

V: Verghese, Abraham. "Cutting for Stone." Easily one of my top picks for the year, this book sat neglected on my shelf for over a year. I kept trying to pick it up but it was never the right time. If it's sitting on your shelf, make it the time now, it is such a good book! The story revolves around a set of extraordinary twins born into extraordinary circumstances. What happens to them and through them is drawn out by a suberb storyteller who spares nothing when it comes to the emotional tide of the book. I loved it. (658 pages; Aug-Sept)

W: Waters, Sarah. "The Little Stranger." What a great book to start the year. It's a gothic page-turner if you can imagine that. Dickens with a twist. The story is slow-moving but engaging so that you feel like you just have to know what happens next. But, of course, you don't because it isn't Dan Brown -- the plot doesn't depend on the next thing. The plot depends on how the characters respond, and that's the stuff of good writing. Not the events but the people. Richard Russo excels at this form of fiction, and so does Sarah Waters. If you liked her earlier novel "Fingersmith," you'll enjoy this one, too. I certainly did. (January, 510 pages)

Z: "My Horizontal Life" by Chelsea Handler. I'm giving myself a "Z" for this one because a) there's a "z" in the title, and b) this review should appear at the bottom. I don't know what's funnier: that I read a Chelsea Handler book, or that it took me nearly three months to do it. I read this for my book group "autobiography" selection; I so wanted to read Sting's autobiography but nobody local had it in stock, so Chelsea it is. If you've ever seen her stand-up or her show, the book is the same thing but less funny. She's not a writer and her voice strains on the page. The book, however, does chronicle her sex life and let me save you some time here by saying: she does have quite a prolific sex life. Of course, you'd know that since she wrote a book about it! A chapter devoted to each person. I'm sure there are sequels in the works, but I considered my time done. (213 pages; Oct-Dec)

Last gratuitous lice post

2012-02-11T20:59:00.000-08:00

There are actually a few things funny things coming out of the whole lice thing.

You know all those toys lurking in the kids' rooms that you just want to purge? The pile of princess dresses, the mounds of stuffed animals on the bed and on the floor... the extra clothes lying everywhere? Lice means they are gone from the room. Just like that: GONE. Relegated to the garage where they will sit for longer than three days.
Now you get to look at the living room, or wherever you keep all the toys, with a new eye: where's the fabric, the stuffed animals, the blankets? Put them away and enjoy the extra square feet.
Think about all the things you need to do that actually never even make the to-do list. Like, for example, getting your car washed and vacuumed. That's been on my list since, I don't know, September? Guess what: got lice? Done.

The not-so-funny part about lice.

It's lice. Lice, in itself, is not funny.
Have you seen the movie "Contagion"? If you have, then you know exactly where I'm headed with this. Before the kids went to bed after their lice treatments on Thursday night, we gave them each a shower; I was in charge of Sara's shower. So I'm giving her a shower and to dry her off I use, of course, a towel. Her towel. It doesn't dawn on me right away, but I swear when it does. Then I go to brush her hair and I use my comb -- my comb. My comb. My blond hair plays a role here, I'm convinced, because I'm just not thinking. Suddenly I'm certain that what I should have done was start at the beginning of every day and start the quarantine there. Kitchen towel, brush, bathrobe, ponytails, car seat, car, and on and on and on...where has the lice traveled? I was convinced that Sara was leaving lice wherever she went, like a twisted bug trail that never leads to a gingerbread house.

We'll see.

Don't Worry: It's Only Lice

2012-02-09T22:48:00.000-08:00

So sayeth the man holding the nit comb. Allow me to rewind:

It's a Thursday: the babysitter is coming an hour early so I can get a full four hours' work in. I have left the house in her able hands. I'm at the library booting up my laptop when I receive her call.

"Hi Stacey."

"Hi Meena."

"Sara has lice."

"What?!"

"Sara has lice."

"What?!" (I'm laughing now as I write this; I made her repeat it twice because I literally could not believe it.)

"I was putting her hair up in ponytails and saw them crawling around on her head."

Enter guilty mom moment #1: when I put Sara's hair up in anything, I'm always also doing something else, so I rarely ever actually inspect the scalp.

Note to readers: inspect your child's scalp

So now I'm packing up my stuff, heading to CVS and calling my gal pals to vent at how shocked I am that I have LICE in my house. LICE. My thoughts immediately go towards Taya and her beautiful, thick head of hair and I'm almost in tears there in the middle of CVS. I know, it sounds funny, but we've all heard horror stories about lice. The infestations, the quarantine, of course the stigma, and the bugs themselves...ewwww!

After telling the babysitter to go home (and giving her some combat lice pay), I called a local "nit" agency. These folks have got it going on: they come to your house and basically de-lice you, your kids, and tell you how to take care of your home. It was the best $140 I've spent in a long, long time.

As it turned out, Sara was the primary culprit: she had "adult" bugs over three weeks old living in her hair. I was shocked and mortified -- it's hard to tell which one was more -- until our nit-catcher Adam informed me that three weeks is about the time when the bugs are big enough to see without a microscope. So she's had lice for three weeks. He could also see the next two generations: two weeks old bugs and one week old nits. But, he took them all out, gave her a creme rinse, and put her in a shower cap for an hour. Taya was next and amazingly, she was completely lice-free. Alex, too. I had one louse in my hair, and that's it. Chris was clean, too. Right now, our bodies are nit-free.

So for those of you who are worried about lice or who suspect its presence in your home, I can offer the following tidbits of information:

* Lice need a human host to live; they don't live more than 48 hours without one. Bag up everything fabric-oriented for three days.

* Vacuum the couch and then cover it with a sheet for three days; lice can't burrow through fabric.

* Place all hair ornaments, ponytails, and brushes in a ziploc and freeze it overnight to kill the bugs.

* Vacuum car seat covers and wipe down the leather or whatever upholstery you have in the car.

* Clothes, bedding, stuffed animals for sleeping: dry in a dryer on the highest heat setting you have for 20 minutes.

An hour and a half later with all three kids way past their bedtime, Adam from Nit Control left the premises and we proceeded to shower and put to bed three very tired kiddos. I could have waited until tomorrow for the de-lousing, but tomorrow is a very important day in Kindergarten: the 100th Day of School; and in Sara's preschool class, Valentine's Day. And now they can attend lice-free.

P.S. I had to call the preschool to inform the director that Sara does not only have lice, but that she's had it for three weeks. As I was talking, I felt the social stigma that comes with having lice and feeling like you are "admitting" it to another person.

P.P.S. Adam, our de-lousing agent, informed us that at least in the Bay Area, lice is predominant in kids from affluent families. (Note: we are not affluent!) Why? Because those kids are likely to be involved with more after-school programs and are thus exposed to it more frequently.

P.P.S. My final question to Adam was how to prevent lice -- it might help to know that we had already been using tea tree oil, which obviously did nothing. He said that for the girls, try to make sure that when they go to school, their hair is up off their shoulders (think ponytail).

Is it wrong to think "shaved head?"

The Revolving Door of Sick Kids.

2012-02-02T22:32:00.005-08:00

Today marks Day 10 of having one or more kids home sick from school.

Let's say that again, just for kicks: day 10. Kids sick. Home from school. All day. Now before I proceed, let me also say that I am extremely fortunate to have kids who are healthy much of the time. We don't get hit with every bug that enters the classroom, at least not until I just typed those words, and when the kids do get sick they recover pretty quickly. I attribute this last bit entirely to Costco children's vitamins, so expect them to be sold out tomorrow. But anyway, the kids are generally pretty healthy.

Whatever this cold/fever/stomach cramp thing is that is going around lasts forever and has rotated its way through all three kids at least 1.75 times. Last week, Taya and Sara were out, then Sara, now Alex, and Alex and Sara. I feel like we're in some crazy fairground fun house where you're never sure who's going to pop up next. Surprise, Mom! I've got a 101 degree fever and get to stay home -- yeehaw!

The dynamics of our house have shifted dramatically and traumatically with sick kids. The thing is the kids are just sick enough to not attend school, but not so sick that they lay on the couch all day. In truth, that would be easier: three kids laid out on the couch? No problem: all three get a hefty dose of Advil, chicken soup, and as many Disney movies as I can cram into a day's time. But to have just one sick and the other two stir crazy with cabin fever? Day after day after day? Well now, that's just ugly and mean.

Let's take a look at the dynamics:

Alex and Sara home sick: this morning, Alex told Sara that he was ignoring her (except he said "annoy" by accident, which made the exchange that much funnier). She feigned tragedy; then he touched her leg; she decried that as bloody murder and demanded an apology which he whispered which she then demanded that he say louder. Let's call it a fun morning.

Alex and Taya home sick: This one was easy: "Leave me alone!" "No, you leave me alone!" ad nauseum. Good times.

Taya home sick: The easiest of the three by far and had the highest fever for the shortest amount of time. This was a chance to have one-on-one time while everyone else was in school. Plus, since she was the first to go down of the three, she held this dear. In fact, the afternoon of the second day she stayed home from school last week, Sara started running a temp. Taya, my lovely Taya, threw a knock-down drag-out fit where she actually lunged at Sara as if to hit her, threw herself down on the ground, and screamed herself into a tantrum. Why? Because she didn't want Sara to get sick so Sara would get all the attention. Uh, ok... but really?

Sara home sick: You might think this would be easy. That maybe you could sit with a cup of coffee off to the side, hold your sick daughter, maybe watch some "Sesame Street" and see the latest puppet spin on Dancing with the Stars or whatever, but no. Sara's sick looks more like a rare form of schizophrenia. One minute she's up running around, putting on shorts and a t-shirt (because she does, in fact, have a fever which she's come to understand as being "warm" in the forehead which also means that she must be warm all over her body... last week it was a bathing suit, so I felt grateful at the promotion to shorts and a tee). Anyway, clothes on, clothes off. She's coloring, then she's crying, then she's watching tv to fall asleep, then she's asking to bake cookies while the "big kids" are in school. Seriously: I'm tired.

Alex home sick: By far the hardest, and here's why: he had just enough fever to stay home at 99.8. By all accounts, he seemed pretty ok, but since the fever had been going around by the time he caught it, I felt like it was the "responsible" thing to do to keep him home. But he wanted to play, build stuff, sing and dance and ride bikes and all the rest of it. And here I'm thinking, "No way can a sick day be a day of pleasure" (especially if said initiator of pleasure-seeking activities has kept this author up all night beforehand). So off he goes to bed for 30 minutes (good thing he doesn't yet know the difference between 30 and 60 minutes) so he can rest (aka: so I can work).

Taya and Sara home sick: The pairing I was most worried about was actually the easiest. They were amiable towards each other -- a little distant, but actually played Barbies together really well. Because they were both a little rundown from not having slept the night before, they were less at each other's nerves than if Alex had joined them.

All kids who are sick take a page out of the manual of "how to whine effectively," memorize it, and use it incessantly for three days before finding another page. Yes yes, I know: they are sick. And they are, fever-wise, and they are, for not having slept, but in every other way, they seem pretty ok to me. I lose my patience when I've been up from 11-1 am and then again from 3-5 am with one of these "sick" kids to find that they have all the pep of the Energizer bunny while I'm on my third cup of coffee still propping up my eyelids with toothpicks.

The other (selfish) piece to this puzzle is that having sick kids at home means no babysitter which means no work. No work in one of the busiest weeks of the year for me. So not sleeping yet staying up late to meet deadlines has (ahem) not been pretty.

Oh, and that other fella who keeps walking around the house? Yeah, that's my hubby (aka: roommate) who I haven't seen for over a week because I've been in the beds of sick kids.

Good times.

A Startling Discovery about Baby Alive

2012-01-21T16:40:00.001-08:00

She isn't, in fact, alive.

The on/off switch, which Sara knew about.
I know that Sara knew Baby Alive was just a doll. Yes, she "ate" and "peed" and "pooped" (by the way, thanks doll manufacturers for that. The peas were especially fun.) But because she did all of those bodily things, she entered this weird fantastical role for Sara.

And then Sara decided to undress her.

And removed her arm, which wasn't an arm at all but a wire attached to a sleeve attached to a hand.
Yeah, you can imagine the shock.

So of course the legs were next. White plastic levers attached with, you guessed it, more wire. I'm a little bit surprised at how easy it was to uncover the wires, actually... don't we discourage kids from playing with wires?

When the surgery was done and over, Sara looked at her doll like she was re-evaluating its worth.

And then she walked away. It hasn't been removed from the crib since.

Startling discovery indeed.

On Why Justin Bieber is on the iPod.

2012-01-10T22:15:00.000-08:00

Yeah, go ahead and read that title again. Let it sink in.

I'll tell you, I thought long and hard about it. I may have vomited a little. But then I remembered something my dad's fiancee said last year that has stuck in the back of my mind. We were playing some trivia game and the question was about the Spice Girls. She blew us all away by naming them all and their top song hits. I was thinking, "Who are the Spice Girls again?" When we asked her how she knew all of that, she said that music was the way into where her kids were. She was always familiar with the music her kids listened to -- she knew the albums, the artists, the lyrics. She played the music in the car. And in that way, she was accessible to them...there was a common thread. At the very least, she played what they wanted to hear and that opened up the line of communication. Let's just say that it stuck with me. That thread has got to start somewhere, and damn but that thread had to be Justin Bieber.

I'll say, the Biebster put me to the test. Do I really want to hear endless repetitions of "Baby Baby Baby, ooooh...." or "Someone to Loooooove"? (Hell no) Do I really want the kids' early musical influences to be stained by this pre/post pubescent boy who thinks he's a singer? (No) BUT, Taya has been influenced. She told me all about Justin Bieber and how she thinks he should be a movie star. I asked her why she thought that and you know what she said? "Because he's on all the T-shirts, Mom." Great. That thought was immediately followed by "In Kindergarten? Really?"

So, Bieber is on the iPod and played only on request. We do the iPod rotation in the car when I'm driving: whoever's day it is gets the first song pick, then the next kid in line gets the second pick, third kid third pick, then Mama's pick. We have everything in the car from a cappella groups and Rolling Stone to Linkin Park and Dora the Explorer, The Fresh Beat Band and Barenaked Ladies to U2 and Kings of Leon. And now Bieber.

Sigh.

2012? Bring it.

2012-01-05T23:24:00.000-08:00

January rolls in like the fog, obscuring everything you once thought was clear. I'm fairly certain this is reason why New Year's Resolutions were created: to try to wade through the muck that clouds your thinking at the end of the year and start of the next. The New Year is no different than any other day really, just another box on the calendar. Any day you choose could be the "start" of something great.

I'm not being negative, but what makes the "new year" so amazing that we need to up and decide to make resolutions in its honor?

And yes -- of course I've made some resolutions. I think this is the role we play in the game... it's the same reason we buy Hallmark Mother's Day cards and the same reason why we secretly want someone to send us a valentine. Because we're supposed to.

I hate resolutions because I never keep them. Last year I (comically) resolved not to buy any new books to read because I already had too many sitting on my shelf; that resolution was blown completely out of the water within the first month as I started my book stockpile for Australia. I have tried in years past to stop buying anything featuring a recipe (it's a sickness), but that fails every time I stand in line too long at the grocery store. This year... well, this year I haven't decided yet. Check back in a few more weeks. Who knows? There might be some big changes on the Miller horizon.

Holiday 2011 Musings

2012-01-05T22:48:00.000-08:00

It's funny...how time flies and all.

You think you're in the middle of December and then BAM! It's January 5th, the holidays are over, and you can go ahead and buy your Valentines at the store. Phew: and here I was worried about my Christmas cards. Good thing I have Valentines to choose from now.

As they always do, the holidays took a long time getting here. Each day, the kids' Christmas list got longer and we started re-thinking holiday purchases. Damn the Toys 'R Us toy catalog! No more Sunday newspaper ads for you! But of all things, Santa is benevolent and kind and apparently knows exactly what the kids want; everybody got something from their wish list, which I see as nothing short of a miracle. Were we the only ones begging for Christmas to finally get here?

In the end, I cannot complain, not one bit. We spent the holiday together in our own house where Santa left the stockings propped up on the hearth, where warm coffee cake was baking after the present-opening-extravaganza, where in the evening for Christmas dinner, we gave the kids their first fondue dinner. It was all good. The day reminded me in so many ways just how lucky I am.

The Science of Gift-Giving

2011-12-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

Let's admit it: there is one. There's a science. You don't just go into a toy store and buy anything; you think about what you're buying for your kids. It's a science.

The problem is that there are multiple levels of this science. Let's start with the sheer number of toys at your house. If you are like me, you have too many toys. We've tried hard...oh, so hard... to limit the number of toys in our house. We're not anti-toy, but we're not "bring your toys here" either. We just have stuff. Christmas brings you to your knees with an interesting choice: "do I want to bring more stuff into this house?" Why am I buying more things that will either be a boom or a bust? And perhaps you're feeling like you need to purge some toys sometime in the next two weeks. Out with the old, in with the new, right? Go ahead, I dare you: ask your kids to give away toys that they don't want any more. Yeah, I chicken out and do this at night (when I have the time). But who has the time right now? Not I, said the fly.

The other problem is what your kids need, which is probably nothing. What to buy, then? Do you buy something you know your kids will love, something that might have no value whatsoever? (Sara wants make-up sets, for example). Do you buy something that isn't on their list but which you know they'll love (and something that might have redemption value?). Or, do you shoot for the middle and try to get something that will last and something that will be more than just a plaything? Truly, it's a science.

Example:

Alex asked for a drumset, to which I immediately said hell no (to him I said politely, Ohhhh honey, our house is too small...). Compromise? A guitar, which he'll love.

Taya asked for Holiday Barbie, a doll costing upwards of $50 to which I also said hell no (when was the last time I bought myself a $50 toy?)... Compromise? A Pet Vet center, which she will absolutely adore.

Sara asked for another Baby Alive, to which I said don't you already have twenty babies? Compromise: an art spirograph, which she'll love because she's artsy and loves all things crafty.

It's a science -- I'm convinced. Now excuse me while I complete the toy purge of the Christmas season...

The Electric Slide.

2011-12-12T22:27:00.001-08:00

I'm pretty sure that's what they call that fast thing you walk on in airports between terminals, you know the one that makes you feel like a million bucks walking fast, passing everyone, wind blowing through your hair... oh wait, is that just me? You know what I mean: I'm on that. I haven't blogged since November? Sad.

And here we are in December!

Our tradition: Advent socks. One sock per day... each kiddo has four pairs, so (here's English teacher math for you) three kids times four pairs of socks = 24 socks. :)
Nothing too exciting: Chapstick, socks, tights for the girls... all good stuff, all surprises which is the point.

The Christmas boxes came down and for whatever reason, I could not talk Alex out of wearing the stockings. He's so (ahem) practical.
Desperate times: the kids play "sleigh ride" with an IKEA plastic box. Modern equivalent of "kick the can"? You be the judge.
While Chris hung the lights outside and I started sifting through the Christmas boxes, the kids did any number of the following things without adult supervision:

Just Dance Kids on the Wii. I think they're dancing to old-school Madonna here.
Laid around in the sun.
Tried to do yoga in their pajamas... it was pretty stinkin' cute.
Triangle poses.
And the almost "what's supposed to go where?" pose.
More later... promise.

The tree.

2011-11-27T23:04:00.000-08:00

Every morning on the way to dropping the kids off at school I pass this tree. It sits on a nondescript corner in our neighborhood, maybe 1/4 mile from our house.

I love this tree.

Yeah, yeah, I love trees in general. I don't go around hugging them, but I do appreciate them and their majesty, their beauty, and their determination to survive. But that's not why I love this tree.

Every morning as I drive by, I note how slowly this tree is changing colors. So many other trees go from green to yellow to brown and then boom! They're on the ground being swept up into recycling bins. But this one - it's like this one is resistant and unwilling to change. That fight...well, that's my love.

See, here's the thing. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately...about my life, about my family. About where we're all headed, where we want to go, where I want to go and how to get there. It's all very vague, I know, but in thinking about change there's this desire to get it done now now now -- make changes as fast as you can when you can. But then, there's this slowness too...this tree. Do you ever feel resistant to change? Again, I look to the tree: change is inevitable. The leaves will eventually turn brown, fall to the ground, and be used as mulch for my backyard chickens. Change will come, whether we like it or not. I can choose to act now or later -- that's the beauty. And of course, good things will come -- I do believe that. Spring brings bloom back to the branches and wakes us from our winter sleep with new leaves, new choices, new opportunities.

Tomorrow I'll pass by the tree again after a week's hiatus from the daily ritual of drop-offs and pick-ups. I wonder if there will be any leaves left. I suppose it doesn't matter: change is a good thing, and I for one need to keep that in mind.

Tooth Fairy Rides Again!

2011-11-27T22:39:00.000-08:00

You know, the tooth fairy has a funny way of arriving at our house. To date, we haven't had any of the "oh, you have a loose tooth...wow, it came out!" moments. Nope. Not here. We took Taya to the dentist because she, like Alex, had two nearly-in shark teeth that weren't wiggling at all.

Taya's a trooper: even though her brother had gone through the same procedure not even a month before, she was brave especially because her bottom teeth weren't moving.

And take a look at them! The dentist said that they weren't coming out any time soon.

Have you ever seen teeth like these with the roots intact? I'll admit: it was pretty cool. (Not cool watching them get pulled, though...)

Taya's claim to fame: two gaping holes in her mouth.

I think I wrote about this when it was Alex's turn for the Tooth Fairy visit, but the "first" visit from the Tooth Fairy (which equals one gold dollar coin, by the way) initiates a tradition that will be carried out for years to come, so it can't be thought of lightly. For example, if you start with a $5 bill, then what's next? Ones maybe... If you start with whatever's in your purse or wallet, be aware: your kids are taking notes and they know.

Our tradition: write a note to the Tooth Fairy (she likes the reading material, don'tcha know). Fold it up, with the tooth, and put it in a sealed envelope under your pillow. Honestly, I don't know how my mom and countless other parents actually searched for teeth under the pillow of sleeping children. Grabbing an envelope was hard enough -- a tooth!? Yeah, I don't have that kind of nighttime tooth-finding stamina in me. Plus, the girls in particular are light sleepers. Anyway. Taya's first letter to the T.F.

So begins Taya's dental journey - congrats!

"Our Family History" -- a Kindergarten Assignment.

2011-11-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

I'm so incensed by this assignment that finding a logical and rational starting point for this blog has taken some doing.

When this paper came home last night (and with Chris out of town), I didn't have time to really look at it until this morning while the kids were eating breakfast. Since then, I've been stewing both about the assignment and about how to present it to my daughter in a way that honors all of her family ancestry.

That's the nice way of saying W-T-F. I mean really -- why would any assignment ask "I wish I could meet my relative..." Why? Not just for adoptive families, but for families where maybe the kids don't know who their moms or dads are. I mean come on! For adoptive families where the kids can't meet whomever they'd like to meet on the birthfamily side, that question is the most insensitive question in the world. Oh, you'd like to meet your birthmother/birthfather/birthsibling/anyone related to you by blood? Well, too bad: you can't. Why ask a child that question? ARGH.

And then to ask how your ancestors came to this country? Ok...let's play this game. I'm in California and it just so happens that my parents and I just crossed the Mexican border by crawling through sewage pipes. Am I going to write that? Let's say that I hitched a train from Canada; am I going to answer that question with, "Well, it's actually a funny story now that you ask." Henceforth: WTF.

Like I said, I'm angry. Incensed, actually, which doesn't happen all that often. How can Taya and I discuss these questions while honoring both sides of her identity? I also don't want to be a parent who sends the homework back to the teacher with a lovely-written note that says, "With all due respect, we decline to complete this homework assignment." That would fall on Taya's shoulders, not mine. I also learned today that the teacher will be retiring at the end of the year, which pretty much eliminates the private note that I was going to write her.

In the end, here's what I did. I photocopied the homework and labeled one "Mom and Dad" and the other "Guatemala Birthfamily." At first, I thought that I would focus on the Mayan people in general (since we suspect that Taya has strong Mayan roots), but that doesn't work when asked "They came to this country on..." or "My parents are..." And talking about what it means to be Mayan was not an easy task, let me tell you. I tried to explain how amazing the Mayans were - how much we learned from them about time, about the planets, about the calendar. Mind you: I'm having this conversation while Alex is also trying to do his homework -- working on printing letters which is high on his list of frustrating activities -- and Sara is in the tub. It was less than ideal.

My guess is this assignment dovetails into a larger discussion on Thanksgiving and family. In talking about ancestry then, I'm not sure how to make it any easier, except to maybe not ask for those conversations in Kindergarten. Not of families, anyway. I understand that family tree assignments are in our future -- that's fine. It's enough for kids to think about where their families are from in a general way, isn't it?

"You Will Eat Three Bites of Your Dinner..."

2011-11-06T21:54:00.000-08:00

You know the scene. You might even know it personally. A child, perhaps an extremely stubborn one, refuses to eat one bite of dinner. Not one bite let alone three bites.

So you say the words that were once said to you: "You need to eat three bites of dinner. If you don't, this will be your breakfast."

Sara held out a long time. She put a bite in her mouth, chewed it, then spit it out. She poked it around, "it" being dinner of Spanish rice and pork...mmm, tasty. (No, really.) She poked at the food like a science experiment, willing it to move off her plate and into the mouth of the begging dog we don't have.

Finally after an hour, dinner was over and the bedtime ritual was greeted with a "but I was still eating" tantrum. Good times.

This morning we did what our parents did: we reheated last night's dinner and gave it to her for breakfast. Three bites -- that's all we're asking for. THREE BITES (as in, please for the love of all things holy in this world, please eat three damn bites). Funny enough: she ate them without one bit of complaint. Now, as much as I'd like to attribute the immediate conversion to her overnight thinking process, I suspect that she saw what the big kids were having for breakfast and compared it to her leftover dinner, deciding that she might as well eat the inevitable and get it over with. I also suspect she was starving.

Here's the funniest part: as the words "you will eat this for breakfast" were coming out of my mouth, I was taken back to my childhood. I don't think my mom ever made me eat my dinner for breakfast, but man, every now and then (tater tots) she would give me something (tater tots) for dinner that I absolutely loathed (tater tots and succotash). I know -- tater tots are supposed to be a primary food group for kids. I hated them. I remember -- to the soundtrack of the tv shows "Dallas" and "Cheers" no less -- intentionally gagging on tater tots, just to avoid eating them. Why should I expect Sara's experience to be any different? That's for the reminder, small fry.

Using the word "adopt."

2011-11-01T21:58:00.000-07:00

Many, many adoptive parents I know have already been down this road, so I've read about using the word "adopt" before. You know, "adopt-a-pet" or "adopt-a-family." The word is thrown around with near impunity. Which is fine, right?

Tonight at Taya's first Daisy Girl Scouts meeting, our troop leader talked about maybe "adopting a family" for Christmas, and for whatever reason tonight that word hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sitting there in the circle thinking about adopting a family for Christmas while simultaneously envisioning Taya turning to me and asking me, "Mama, if we adopt a family, where will they sleep?"

Yes, yes, I understand: depending on the circumstances, the word means different things. But at the heart, it all comes down to permanence. When I approached our troop leader, first I apologized for being so picky about details, and then explained how I was feeling and asked her to use a different phrase, maybe something like "take care of a family" or something. When we use "adopt" in our house, it means forever. How then has the word come to be known as something temporary?

I do understand: language changes, the needs change, all that. But when I'm trying to explain to my daughter that she is my daughter forever, I want the infrastructure of the word "adopt" to support that thinking. You don't "adopt a family" unless you are planning on helping them throughout the year, not just at Christmas.

So to all of you readers out there, my request is this: be sensitive to how you use language. We make far too many assumptions in this world; tonight, I had a taste of just one.

Halloween 2011

2011-11-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

Alex: Bumblebee Transformer. Orange hair. Cool.

Taya: Ariel.

Sara: Rapunzel.

The Dynamic Duo...wonder twin powers, unite!

Triple threat.

The photo that didn't make the Christmas card this year.

Post-Halloween candy sorting -- aka: how to turn "Mom's checking the candy" into a "Kindergarten sorting and pattern-making activity."

Week o' Candy

2011-10-26T22:16:00.000-07:00

Say it with me: Halloween Candy.

I was at Target a few days ago and I could smell the Halloween candy section from the middle of the store. And then when I got there? Taller than me. There's something to be said about rows of candy overpowering you with smell; that the candy is taller than you, well, that helps too.

This year like all the others, I stood in that smelling-like-heaven aisle figuring out which candy to buy and decided that Halloween presents several different dilemmas...

Dilemma #1: What candy to buy. Do you buy what you like to eat or what you hate? The better question is what you want in the house...choices, choices.

Dilemma #2: What do you do with the kids' candy? Last year we hauled in something close to ten pounds. Of candy. Some of it good candy, the best kind, the kind that you want to buy but you don't because you don't want three pounds of it sitting around your house. Yeah, that kind. Last year, we switched out the kids' candy and replaced it with what we bought. This wasn't so much because we were afraid of razors; we didn't want to tell the kids "no" to Gobstoppers a dozen times when we could say "yes" to Hershey Kisses. Last year, we forced the kids to say "no" to a lot of Hershey products. (Come on: you do it too)

Dilemma #3: What candy do you keep? How many of you keep a stash of Halloween candy "because it's already in small increments"? Be honest. The small increment was not made for children (they want LARGE increments!), they were made for us.

On Why I Hate Earthquakes

2011-10-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, I know. But we had two today, pretty decent in size. And yes, today was the annual CA Shakeout geared to remind us all about earthquake preparedness. (By the way, I only knew about that one because of the kids and learning how to "dunk and cover.") It's serendipity.

Here's the funny thing: I grew up in what I consider to be earthquake central: Mojave desert, miles from the San Andreas fault. Did you know that the Palmdale hospital (the old one, that is) was actually built on the fault line? And did you know that while driving on Highway 14 as you come into the Antelope Valley, you're actually driving on the fault line? Thank me later for those little bits of AV trivia.

I have profound memories of significant earthquakes. I remember walking to middle school (go Sage!) one morning, through the strip mall on the way. I remember the quake not so much for the shaking of the ground but for the shaking of all the windows and the glass. I remember earthquakes when I was living with my grandparents because the shaking would cause the grandfather clock to chime.

That clock? Now in my living room. It chimed twice today because of today's quakes.

I was at Cal Lu in Thousand Oaks for the big Northridge quake...going from dorm living to living in the parking lot for 24 hours is quite a trip. I remember spending the next three days in shelters in the Valley volunteering with the Red Cross. When the aftershocks hit - we're in big school gymnasiums - people were so terrified because they had lost loved ones, homes, livelihood: everything.

My greatest fear here at home is experiencing a big earthquake by myself with the kids. It really is my biggest fear. You'd think that with my past earthquake "experience" I'd be fine and prepared and ready.

Truth?

Prepared, yes: I have two huge bins in the garage that I purchased and packed myself. Everything fresh, everything new, everything ready. But mentally, I'm slightly terrified. And I need to be the sane one, right?

Mama goes to Kindergarten.

2011-10-18T22:48:00.000-07:00

And gets scolded by the teacher. Again.

No really, it's true.

Thanks to the gracious help of our dear friend (he's family, really) who hangs out with Sara, I'm able to volunteer in Alex and Taya's classroom every alternating Tuesday. Today was Taya's day. Two weeks ago when I was in Taya's classroom, I was running late (a scheduling snafu) so missed my initial volunteer "center" instructions. Halfway through I was, shall I say, "reprimanded" that I was not having the kids do enough in the allotted time. Sigh. It sucks being scolded by another teacher, especially a Kindergarten teacher!

So today I entered her class with renewed vigor, determined to follow the rules and fulfill whatever needed fulfilling.

In one word, let me tell you how I was derailed in my goal: ART. It was the art table that undid me. Allow me to describe what I needed to accomplish with eight children every fifteen minutes for an hour:

* On an 11x13 piece of white paper, draw a ghost.

* Cut it out.

* Use black paint to paint the eyes.

* Write name on ghost.

* On separate small pieces of paper, write name.

* Choose favorite color, paint on hands, make handprints on small pieces of paper.

* Wash hands.

* Return to table to cut out handprints.

* Glue handprints to ghost.

Done.

Now, I consider myself to be pretty damn good at multitasking; generally speaking, I can do a lot of things at once most days. But this? I was able to finish everything except the last cutting and gluing of the handprints. By the second rotation of kids, I was sweating as I ran around trying to make sure that nobody was painting the other person, or cutting anything that wasn't theirs. It was crazy. And then the teacher approached me and said, "What are you planning on doing with the students who did not cut out their hands?" I'm thinking to myself bad thoughts, thoughts that run along the lines of why in the hell would you give anyone a project so involved that even the kids ask "why are we working so fast?" but I don't say anything. I say, "I don't honestly know." Because that's true: I don't have a plan. I have a plan for refreshing my paint and getting ready for the next group of kids. So she helps by cutting out the hands for the kids. Though this should help, it actually puts me behind for the next group and I'm right back where I started.

When the whole class was finished -- I was only there for an hour -- I had to laugh at myself. I knew that when people asked me about how my day was, this would be my story. "Oh, I did this crazy ghost craft thing in my daughter's class..." and so on. I immediately sound domestic beyond reason. Don't get me wrong: those Kindergarten classes are intense. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't survive the structure of one now. Look here, recite this, stand up, sit down, green square, blue group, madness!!! And I'm keenly aware of how fortunate I am to be able to experience Kindergarten at all. The most important thing, of course, is that the kids have a remarkably good situation and whatever I experience is secondary. So go ahead: paint me during art (I had it in my hair today for starters) and make me write the letter "m" until my fingers get sore (harder than it looks for the little guys). I'm ready. But next time I'll wear my apron first.

Alex Turns SIX!!!

2011-10-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

Alex turned six.

I know, it's hard to believe: we now officially have two six-year-olds in the house.

Yeah, my sentiments exactly.

By the time we get to Alex's birthday, we've already had Sara's birthday, Taya's birthday, and the big birthday extravaganza. Alex's birthday came on the heels of the pumpkin patch field trip, soccer games, and swimming. We needed to find the birthday energy! Here it is.

That's right: six, baby.

Alex's birthday started with the breakfast of his choice: scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee cake, pancakes, apple juice. It was a feast.

On to presents. In otherwords, all things Star Wars. The funny thing is that Alex has never actually seen Star Wars. We have a few books...he knows the major players... but the real deal? Not quite yet.

But the best thing about birthdays is the birthday surprise. His came in the form of a two-wheel surprise.

Total shocker he didn't see coming. I tell you, we are gooooood.

My handsome little man.

By the third birthday, one thing that I became proficient at was making weird cakes. Mermaid cake for Sara; rice krispy cones for Taya; and a rock-climbing cake for Alex. It was...challenging.

I know, it's a firefighter. I couldn't find a rock climber. But the cake is four layers high and is held together with two tubs of frosting and various jellied animals along the base. Good times.

By the end of the day, our little boy turned six. He celebrated by eating all of his favorite things opening presents that truly surprised him, and being surrounded by people who absolutely love him. A good day.

Defeat

2011-10-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

It comes in many forms.

Mine came in the form of the obnoxiously-yellow "Mom Calendar." You know the one you see at Costco and think to yourself "Thank God I don't need one of those" or "I don't ever want to be so busy that we actually need one of those." That's the one.

It's hanging in my kitchen right now.

I didn't want to want it. I didn't want to need it. It happened when Kindergarten happened, and playdates with different people for different kids, and homework, and preschool, and who's wearing what color on what day madness.

In a word: necessary. In another word: defeat.

I think as parents we want to believe that we're better than these organizers and calendars. We walk by them in the bookstore and think no way, not me, but you know what: it could be you. If it isn't this crazy calendar in your kitchen, then maybe it's the calendar on your phone (mine wasn't big enough, by the way), or the Yosemite calendar on your wall (boxes too small). Life gets bigger and requires more space and, I contend, more organization.

I'll admit that when I bought this calendar I felt the same way as when we bought the van. It was one of those "you've got to be kidding me" moments. But you know what? I love the van now. Don't get me wrong: any opportunity I have to drive my little stick shift around town and blast my own tunes, I take it, but the van? Yeah, not such a bad car. And this calendar? Not so bad, once you get the hang of it.

But I refuse to use the stickers. A girl's gotta draw the line somewhere.

Party of the Year

2011-09-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

In true Miller style, we celebrated all three birthdays at once. Mind you: this took place last Saturday. It has taken this long to recuperate!

So, for all you party planners out there, here are the ingredients for a proper party.

Ingredient #1: Yes, get a jumpy. And spend the extra $50 for the one with the slide. Trust me when I say it will extend the life of your jumpy's presence -- kids never get bored with the slide. Added bonus: if you are serving alcoholic beverages at the party, there will be at least one adult going down the slide ;)

Ingredient #2: a face painter. Before I went through the catalog of all small, breakable plastic things made in China (aka: Oriental Trading Company), I really thought about what I wanted to give-away. We had been to several parties in the last few months and have been given trinkets of all shapes and sizes, candy the kids should not eat (how young is too young for a Jolly Rancher or a Jawbreaker?), and small bouncy balls that once bounced are lost forever.

I offered the kids a choice. Pick out a few things from the catalog or hire the face painter from Farmer's Market. We had seen her before so knew that she was good. Really, really good. Face painter it was. She rocked. (Note: I have pics of nearly all the kids, but don't want to post them here w/o permission!) Alex got a dragon...

Sara, a unicorn.

Taya, Hello Kitty. And the best thing? Parents thought it was totally cool -- score a few points for the Miller Mama. :)

Perhaps the most important thing of all: food. All told, we went through 80 (yes, 80) Capri-Suns, 1 case of beer, a doubled recipe of Sangria (this was, after all, a party), 2 bottles of wine, 1 case of sparkling water, 1 case of regular water, 32 hotdogs, 14 polish sausages, 40 chicken thighs, a tripled-recipe of pasta salad, a watermelon, a fruit salad, three bags of Pirate's Booty, and a full sheet cake from Costco.

Did I forget to mention that there were 71 people?

Here's the thing about having a party. You have to decide if the party is for you, your kids, or a blend of both. Then you need to decide if the party is for the other kids, the other parents, or the other families. For us, it meant a full-family event: our family inviting your family. It wasn't hard to reach 70 people. And it was a total blast.

The kids had an amazing time, and asked us after the last person had left when they could do it again. I'm pretty sure this is a good sign :)

[Sidenote: Blogger! You've changed your interface and how pics are uploaded and rearranged on the page... BLAH!]

Baby Girl turns SIX!

2011-09-09T22:12:00.000-07:00

It's funny: time slogs by but goes so fast.

Somewhere in that slogging and speeding, Taya turned six. It was a busy day for her: third day of school, Picture Day, and the first birthday in class = a whole lot of uncertainty for someone who relies on it. She had a good day at school since the first birthday does carry with it a good deal of clout, and then we hung out at home and played.

Baby girl loves the sand.

Sara played the role as admiring baby sister, trying as ever to steal the spotlight.

And Alex, forever with a gleam in his eyes.

It's this picture that moves me, though: she's so sensitive, so emotional, so soulful. (sidenote: the teenage years are going to be very, very rough!)

She did get her birthday dinner: "octopus" hot dogs with goldfish in shells.

And the dessert that she asked for: rice krispy treats in ice cream cones. Who can say no to that?

Good stuff.

And presents, oh the presents. Taya has always been very clear about what she wants. I gave her a Toys R Us Sunday ad a few weeks before her birthday and asked her to circle what she would like.

She circled everything; a few things, she circled two and three times. Better to cover your bases, right?

But she got things she wanted, and then even things she didn't know were on her radar.

Hit of the night: Wedding Barbie.

When 7:30 rolled around, it was all we could do to keep her upright long enough to crawl into bed, she was so tired. She's the oldest of our trio in so many ways, and yet in others, the most innocent. How to keep the childhood innocence until the next birthday -- that will be the trick. Until then, I'll try to keep her smiling; it might just replace electricity some day.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

Kindergarten Sucks! Post Two.

2011-09-05T22:59:00.000-07:00

Oooooh, Kindergarten.

Three and half hours?

Starts at 8:00? Wake-up happens at (are you kidding me?) 6:30?

Monday envelopes, homework folders, reading logs, healthy snacks, forms, forms, forms and schedules, schedules, schedules: all different. I'm ranting here. It would be different if Alex and Taya had teachers with the same basic schedule, the same basic way of doing things, but the two are so, so different.

It is going to be a year.

And here's what I know to be true: it's just the beginning.

(Sidenote. Don't get me wrong: I am so excited for them to be starting this journey, I really am. But I didn't fully comprehend what it would look like. That's funny, right? I'm a teacher -- I should have some idea of what the school experience should resemble. That's true of high school, not kindergarten. This here's a whole new ballpark. And I need to learn how to play ball.)

Kindergarten Rocks! Post One.

2011-09-05T22:21:00.000-07:00

Kindergarten is fantastic.

Alex and Taya started last Tuesday, on what appeared to be an ordinary day, but it was far from ordinary. Going to "big kids school" is a big deal. I even turned on the party lights for breakfast :)

I think they were getting nervous by the time we found parking for the school. They carried their book bags (school-issued) like champs as we found the kindergarten line amidst the never-ending lines of elementary-age kids. I think it might have been here, separating for each class, where they finally really understood that they would not be in the same class. With Sara in his arm, Chris stood with Alex in his line amidst all the other parents; I stood with Taya.

It's funny: I could see immediately who the "newbies" were versus the seasoned school parents. There were parents with misty eyes, with crying kids, with confused looks reading "Where the hell am I and where am I going?" (because, let's face it: unless there's a line on the cement with a sign for the class, at elementary school the parents really don't know where they're going.)

Alex was amazing. He walked right up to the classroom like it was no big thing, walked in, and began his academic career like he was walking into any other experience of his life.

Taya held on until the end: she smiled, she said all the right things, but when it came to the "goodbye hug" in front of the kindergarten door, she lost it. She held on and cried. And then, just like that, it was like an out-of-body moment I think most parents experience at some point: I was at once hugging her and consoling her, and at the same time slowly walking her towards her teacher. The teacher, to her credit, embraced Taya saying "Come here, pumpkin."

And there I was, standing outside the door watching experience after experience of beginnings. It was pretty awesome. Congrats babies, on the journey beginning.

Small Fry turns FOUR!

2011-08-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

It's true: she's four. The baby of the family.
Who is happier? Sara with her presents or us that we survived the first four years?Or Alex and Taya that we blew up the "big" pool so they wouldn't be overcome with present jealousy?

Shiny packages wrapped with ribbon trump just about everything.

And of course, cake. She wanted a "surprise" cake, which means "Surprise! I found this in the cupboard!"

I'm not sure what the highlight of her birthday was. A good part of it was probably shopping at Toys R Us; never underestimate the power of a gift card in the hands of a four-year-old girl. Of all things, this little girly-girl of mine chose a set of cosmetics. Fake nails. Lip gloss. Hair extensions. So while we were busy with the BBQ and getting that together, the uncles helped her "get ready." I see this happening in about ten years for prom, too :)

When she crashed into bed at 7:30, I was reminded ever so gently of how slow and yet how fast time goes by. Someone once told me about the summer, "The days are long, but summer is short." It's true. In so many ways, days are long but years -- they can be short. Happy Birthday baby girl!

Getting Ready for the Big "K"

2011-08-26T06:26:00.001-07:00

Next Tuesday. I made a calendar for the kids, so every day they can see what we have going on, see what celebrations are coming, whose birthday is when, and most of all, when Kindergarten starts. We count the days to the rainbow filled day on the calendar that says "First Day of School."

I'm pretty sure under the surface, my kids are both exhilerated and petrified.

We're "Early Birds" which means a) Mom needs two cups of coffee in the morning, and b) Kindergarten starts at 8:05. I know some schools start earlier than this...why, I'm not sure. My kids aren't done with their farming chores until at least 9:00 every morning -- I suppose I should readjust my agricultural needs schedule more closely to the school schedule. The early time means getting out of our house by 7:45. This week we've been practicing.

Do you ever have times when you plan something and you're really not sure how it's going to fly until it does? You want to gloat a little, be proud for tossing out an idea that actually works? That's how I'm feeling today about rising early all week. It was a good idea -- a really good one. The timing has helped me, too, to figure out when to serve breakfast, when to brush teeth, etc.

But it has been painful on all accounts. Imagine walking into your kids' room at 6:40 in the morning, not to check on their angelic sleeping little faces and not to cover them up from the morning chill but to wake them up. It just seems so wrong. A little funny perhaps, but wrong. Our kids are typically fairly early risers anyway (usually around 7:00) so I didn't think that fifteen minutes or a half hour earlier would warp their world like it has. Oh, it has been ugly...so ugly. By 3:00 or so, all three of them are melting down in their own way and as for me, I'm pretty sure this justifies (yet again) the retro photos of all those 50's moms with afternoon cocktails. They were implementing kindergarten training.

Yesterday we headed to the school for the final round of registration and (basically) to get hit up for money. I'm sympathetic of course, being a teacher: yes, you need funds. Yes, I'll buy a T-shirt. Yes, I'll volunteer for gift-wrapping/cookie dough/teacher appreciation. And yes, I'll sit on one of those fold-down-from-the-wall cafeteria benches with all the other parents and use a barely-working pen to tell you so. The schools really do need help, even the schools with large parental involvement, like ours. We had to win a lottery to get into this public school -- a good decision to try it in the first place since our neighborhood school closed in the spring. Sidenote: vote yes on school parcel taxes!

After registration and the checkbook workout, we wandered over to the Kindergarten classes and learned who was in what class; Alex and Taya are going to be separated for the first time. I'm sure they haven't grasped the scope of the separation yet, although we've been talking about for a few weeks now. I think they won't really get it until Chris takes Alex to his class on Tuesday while I take Taya to hers. Then it will sink in. I fully expect Tuesday to be an emotional day. Instead of focusing on the actual day -- it causes Taya to suck her hair with epic force -- we focused on the playground. We walked all around the fenced-in playyard...the play structure, the bikes, the lines on the asphalt for racing, hopscotch... a small nicely tended patch of grass. Remember those days?

So we have four more days of Kinder-prep wake-up calls. One more quick round of who needs what for clothing. Maybe another day of driving by the school on the way to the gym just to let it all sink in. In so many ways, it feels like such a momentous beginning.

On Tooth Fairies and Shark Teeth

2011-08-22T06:28:00.000-07:00

If I stop and think about all the places I'd rather not take my kids, the dentist ranks pretty high on the list. Not as high as DMV or the post office during Christmas season, but fairly high. Thankfully, I adore our pediatric dentist, so our latest journey ended up not being much of a trial at all.

Let me first start by saying, I did not want to be one of those parents who, upon seeing that her child has "shark teeth," immediately calls the dentist to have the baby teeth pulled out. Sidenote: who started calling those permanent teeth that come in behind the baby teeth "shark teeth" anyway? When Alex learned that he had not one but two shark teeth, he freaked out. Come on, folks... at least we could come up with something a little more, shall we say, 'kid-friendly' for terminology.

Anyway.

The funny thing was that I didn't even know Alex's permanent teeth were in. Call me a neglectful mom if you will, but it's not every day that I ask Alex to open his mouth to say "Ahhhh" so when I was reading stories to him a few weeks ago and just happened to see in his mouth, I was the one who nearly freaked out: two permanent teeth, nearly halfway in, right behind his barely wiggling front bottom baby teeth. In that instant, two things happened simultaneously: first, I started to wiggle those baby teeth, and I mean wiggle. Second, I stopped wiggling and realized the Tooth Fairy is not ready for teeth to come out yet. It was kind of a funny thing, seeing the reality of the situation -- those baby teeth need to come out -- yet realizing that the idea of the imaginary fairy who leaves surprises in exchange for teeth must be upheld. Another one of those parenting conflicts.

So Alex began his task of wiggling those little suckers out and I began my task of ensuring the legend of the Tooth Fairy. God love him, Alex is not a good tooth-wiggler. He just isn't. Two weeks later, those teeth had the same amount of "wiggle" as before, so I knew it was time to make the call.

This is why you go to a good pediatric dentist: "Hi Alex! Looks like you have some big teeth coming in! Well, we're going to give you some magic air (laughing gas) to help tell those baby teeth it's time to come out. Then we're going to put some sleepy juice (anesthesia) on your teeth, and while they're sleeping, we're going to creep right in and wiggle them out. What movie would you like to watch while we're doing all that?" Wall-E, says Alex. And there he goes, horizontal on the chair, face mask on for the "magic air" (which was scented strawberry, by the way), and the anesthesia -- harder for me to watch, but he didn't even flinch. I'm telling you: our pediatric dentist is really outstanding. So, while Taya and Sara wandered between me and the television around the corner (also showing Wall-E), Alex's teeth were pulled out. Ten minutes later, we were feeding the ducks down in the plaza with duck food from the dentist. No big deal Mom, really.
Two teeth later, we were home and Tooth Fairy preparations were made. If you had a Tooth Fairy in your house, what did he/she leave? This is the thing: Alex's teeth marked the first lost teeth in the house, so whatever I started with the Fairy I knew I'd be doing three-fold for the next however many years. So, with that in mind, here's what I created: First, Alex wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy; I transcribed it for him, but he was the one who added glitter because he thought the fairy would be "glittery."
Then, he folded the letter, placed it in an envelope with the two teeth, and sealed it. The envelope went under his pillow. How my mom ever found our actual teeth under our pillows I'll never know, but I took the easy route. The tooth fairy left two coins in little satchels: a gold Susan B. Anthony coin (shiny!) for his first tooth and a half-dollar for his second. When Alex saw them, he asked if they were hundred dollar coins! Yeah, not quite. I figured, three kiddos, how many lost teeth? This cannot be a bank-breaking deal. (Funny note: it is quite a trial trying to find half-dollar coins...our bank had to order them! The upside: the fairy is prepared for the next few years of tooth loss.) Everything said and done, the Tooth Fairy's first visit went smoothly. Alex doesn't mention that the dentist pulled out his teeth when he tells the story, just that he had teeth from a shark and his little teeth were wiggly and didn't want to come out. Oh, and that he got a gold coin worth a hundred dollars.

So you have a few peaches, do you?

2011-08-07T21:33:00.000-07:00

That's right, folks. It's time for this year's obligatory homage to all things peach.

I must say, this year our peach tree was not up to snuff. As in many cases, this was entirely our fault. We forgot to spray our tree for a little not-so-nice fungus called "peach curl." And this year, with all the rain, the curl was really, really bad. Because of the curl and our pruning neglect, we only ended up with about a quarter of the peaches we usually get. Of course, this still means well over about 200 peaches, but when you're used to nearly 1,000 on one tree, 200-ish peaches seems a little small.

With that said, I'm jamming again and cooking with peaches enough that my kids are starting to ask at each meal: "Are there going to be peaches again?" The answer: yes.

A few years ago I posted a few tips and recipes -- you can click here at A Tale of Two Peaches for a refresher. My all-time favorite peach crisp recipe is posted there (it must be served over vanilla ice cream, in my most humble opinion).

This year's peach recipe winners so far:

Peach Mojitos (Cooking Light)
Oh yes -- and they are so, so, so tasty.

3 cups coarsely chopped peeled peaches (about 1 pound)
1 teaspoon grated lime rind
1 cup fresh lime juice (about 4 large limes)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup packed mint leaves
2 cups white rum
4 cups club soda, chilled
Crushed or cubed ice
Mint sprigs for fancy garnishing

* Place peaches in a blender or food processor; process until smooth. Press peach puree through a fine sieve into a bowl; discard solids. (Note: I skipped this step and the mojitos came out fine.)
* Combine rind, lime juice, sugar, and mint in a large pitcher; crush juice mixture with the back of a long spoon. (Note: the idea here is to crush the mint, not so much to mix everything together.) Add peach puree and rum to pitcher, stirring until sugar dissolves. Stir in club soda. Serve over ice and garnish with mint sprigs if you're feeling like Martha Stewart. Makes 10 servings (but I drank 5). :)

Bourbon Peach Cobbler (Food Network)
(For the first-time cobbler maker, this is really easy.)

8 peaches, peeled and sliced (6 to 8 cups)
1/4 cup bourbon
3/4 cup sugar, plus more for sprinkling
2 Tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, plus more for sprinkling
1 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 sticks cold unsalted butter (I never said this was a low-calorie cobbler)
3/4 cup heavy cream, plus more for brushing
Vanilla ice cream :)

* Preheat oven to 375. Combine peaches, bourbon, 1/4 cup sugar, cornstarch and cinnamon in a large bowl and toss to coat.
* Sift the flour, the remaining 1/2 cup sugar, the baking powder, and salt into a bowl. Cut 1 1/2 sticks of butter into small pieces; add to the flour mixture and cut it in with a pastry blender (what is this?) or your hands until the mixture looks like coarse crumbs. Pour in the cream and mix just until the dough comes together. Don't overwork; the dough should be slightly sticky but manageable.
* Melt the remaining 1/2 stick of butter in a skillet over medium-low heat. Add the peach mixture and cook gently until heated through, about 5 minutes. Transfer the mixture to a 2-quart baking dish, or leave in the skillet if oven-proof. Drop the dough by tablespoons over the warm peaches. There can be gaps because the dough will puff and spread as it bakes. Brush the top with some heavy cream and sprinkle with sugar and a little extra cinnamon.
* Bake in the oven on a baking sheet (to catch any drips because there will be drips) until the cobbler is browned and the fruit is bubbling, 40-45 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream.

You can thank me for both of those little gems later.

Trumping Mom.

2011-08-04T23:29:00.000-07:00

I'm not talking about the card-playing ever-sneaky trump -- think Hearts or Pinochle here. I'm talking about the trumping of the parent. Today, I got trumped.

Like most parents, I knew this day was coming; I just didn't realize it was coming so soon or, oh I don't know, so blatantly. So harshly.

Today at library storytime, we heard a story about robots. Good stuff. So on the way home when the kids were asking the hourly question, "What are we doing today?" (because library storytime is not enough), I thought to myself: let's make robots. Yes, I tapped into that lurking crafty person who remembers seeing robots made out of tinfoil and sold that to my kids. They were thrilled. Sara, who didn't want to be a robot, opted for being a fairy. I'm thinking: tissue paper wings, pipe cleaners, a glue stick smudge here and there with some cotton and bam: fairy. We head to Target (which kills an errand off my list), we load up the cart, and we're homeward bound.

Yeah, I'll admit. I'm feeling pretty good. I'm about to turn my kids into foil robots and tissue paper fairies. (I do realize, however, that this statement also marks the total plunge I've made into maternal domesticity. Thanks.)

So we're home. I'm preparing. And out on the front sidewalk, here comes seven-year-old Taylor from two houses down the street. On her battery-operated Jeep Barbie car. It's pink. It's loud. It might as well be a worm on a hook my kids bite so fast. And suddenly, I'm not even in the same room. All three of them are out the front door, sprinting to Taylor and her shiny Barbie car and I am standing in the kitchen holding rolls of tinfoil and separating cotton balls.

Let's just say: it was a moment.

It's funny how sometimes you see and understand so much in a moment. We've all heard that your life flashes before you when you're dying...in one moment, you see all there is and was to see in your life. Shift that perspective to parenting and now imagine it. Even that description doesn't suffice for what I felt as I watched the kids run out the door.

Some milestone has been crossed. Watch out: there aren't any road signs for this one. I didn't see it coming.

As the afternoon progressed, I came to realize several things:
a) First, Barbie Jeeps driven by older neighborhood kids trump just about everything.
b) You just have to let them go. It wasn't my drive to make the robots and fairies, mind you; it was their "turning away" and "turning towards" that I was most keenly aware of.
c) They came around and by then it was too late for foil and pipe cleaners. The moment had passed anyway. And new moments began, with and without me.

And so it is.

The cranky pants...they were tight today.

2011-07-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

They were on tight today. Do you ever wake up and just think this is going to be one of "those" days? Today was that day. I knew the tone of the day was set when Sara crawled into bed next to me, smelling of her wet pull-up and wanting only to cuddle, and all I wanted was a cup of coffee and some quiet time in my robe. I did not want to be a parent today.

And you know what? I think it's ok to say that. Today, I didn't feel like being a mom. (Please leave your comments in the box below)

But the day began, as it always does, and off we were to swimming. To the gym (a workout but mainly a shower). Home for lunch. And by that point I was fried. Put me back to bed and give me a martini fried. Instead, the kids reenacted one of our country's minor wars and I realized that, in fact, bed was not an option and that in order for everyone to make it through the day relatively unscathed, we needed to get out.

Thirty minutes later found us at the Tilden Park carousel - the kids love it and I, well not that it matters, but I tolerate it. Merry-go-rounds are not my thing.
This year, the carousel celebrates 100 years...

The dome inside the building -- pretty architecturally cool.

And the kiddos -- they turned around, even if Mama was dizzy.

From there we made our way to the steam trains where we rode the steam train around the park.

In an inside car -- it was cool outside.

Views from the train. Typical Bay Area fog.

Small potato -- for once today, not throwing a tantrum.

And Alex, for once today, not pestering his younger sister.

And Taya, for once, not sucking on her hair. Ooooohhh, that really gets me. Mama button #37: Taya sucking her hair. Slurping it, actually. It will be a miracle if she is able to grow out her hair before I cut it. I like to consider myself a patient person (generally speaking), but for whatever reason, Taya sucking her hair absolutely sends me over the edge. And I know on a very logical level that every time I mention it to her, I am validating her need for attention. Grrr...being a parent SUCKS sometimes!

It's 9:15 now. The kids are in bed. I have a glass of wine in my hand, and despite that I have the second book of the Hunger Games eagerly awaiting my ready eyes, and that I am also trying to keep up on the Tour de France, I have eked out a few minutes to write. Point for me.

A tale of nine chickens.

2011-07-16T21:08:00.000-07:00

This is one of those, "it's actually a funny story" kind of blogs.

Rewind a bit: so there we were, Chris and I, at a colleague's house outside of Melbourne, Australia. In his yard, he had chickens roaming around, pecking at the ground, just chilling. No big deal. We look at each other and think, Hey, we could have chickens.

Fast forward a few weeks. We're back home, mostly acclimated, and some random afternoon in the first week of March finds me with the kids at the Alamo Hay and Feed store. To buy chicks. The day before I schlepped the kids around Home Depot buying the storage tubs, heat lamps, wood shavings, and all the "stuff."Note to self: while the kids had a blast, three youngin's should not be invited to fill (aka: play) a container with wood shavings. Ever. That's my kitchen in the background; I'm pretty sure it's still having nightmares.

So then we buy the chicks. Now, I claim to be so-called smart in a few areas in my life, but anything chicken-related isn't one of them. I have in mind that I will buy three chickens, one for each kiddo. In talking to the one and only "chicken man" at the feed store, I realize too quickly that three aren't enough. Baby chicks are fragile creatures... "don't be upset if you lose one" kind of thing. Being the logical person I am, I realize that we will be walking out with six chicks: one for each kidlet plus one extra each. Six chickens.

I let chicken man pick out three egg-layers: they're the Rhode Island Reds. And then I let the kids pick the next three: a white one (white cochin), a yellow one (brown leghorn), and a reddish one with a stripe down her head (New Hampshire red).

We now have six chickens. All of them have names which means we can't eat them. The Rhode Island Reds - we can't tell them apart -- are named Dinah, Honey, and Speedy (although this last names changes every day). The last three are named Marshmallow (the cochin), Sunny (the leghorn), and Nigel (the New red) -- why Nigel? That's the letter the kids were studying that week in school. And ironically enough, Nigle ends up being the funniest chicken we have.

At home, the chickens reside in their storage tubs in our living room. What's funny is that also residing in our living room is the "appeared in our backyard" rabbit. So, we now have six chickens and one rabbit in the living room. The very idea is funny. And the kids love the chicks. They're so little and fragile at first, I'm hesitant to let the kids get too friendly... but I do have backup chicks, right? Our tabby cat, Doc Marley (Doc from the Disney movie "Cars" and Marley from Bob) reminds us of yet another reason why we should have a) grates over the crates; and b) the need for backup chicks.The next week, someone makes the mistake of mentioning the Easter egg chickens. To which I say, "what?" Kind informant says, "Yeah, you know. The chickens that lay the green and blue eggs -- kind of like Easter eggs." And with that, I know that I will go buy three more Easter egg chickens, "Americaunas," forgetting completely the reality that I already have six chicks at home. Whaddya know: later that week finds me and the kids at Concord Hay and Feed for Americauna chicks. These gals are different: they're black chicks. And they, too have names (so are spared from the spit): Olive, Bella, and Coco.

There you have it: nine chickens, one rabbit, two cats, three kids, and two adults in 950 square feet. Let's just say: it was a long spring. Here's what the cage-cleaning day looked like:

And on nice days, we took the whole brood outside. Yet another reason to keep the baby gates. When it was time for the chickens to get moved outside, we opened another bottle of wine and toasted to their independence -- and the return of our living room. Chris built the chicken coop -- a "hoop coop" for folks in the know. Fantastic. Complete with a roost and nesting boxes, the feathered ladies couldn't ask for anything more -- and if they did, the answer would be no.

They love it outside. We give them food scraps every day (although I cringe the days I give them leftover chicken or scrambled eggs...it just feels wrong.) They pluck around the yard, give themselves baths in the dirt, and run to greet anyone who comes through the gate. It's sweet, actually. Before we left for camp, we gave all the girls a feather-cut by clipping one side of their flight feathers to keep them from flying out. As we found out today, that wasn't enough so we'll have to clip the other side as well... Never, and I mean never did I imagine that I would get so worked up about chicken feathers. You cut a blood feather? The chicken could die. You cut the wrong feather? The chicken could bleed out. Are you kidding? Anyway.

We came home from camp last Sunday to find four beautiful eggs in the nesting boxes. Small, but beautiful. If all the girls start laying, we could have nine eggs every day. I might open a stand in front of the house; be sure to stop by.

Here's the funniest truth about owning chickens: they are a little zen garden. For whatever reason, I find the chickens peaceful. They're funny: for the first time in my life, I understand the phrase "pecking order" because I can see how it works. They're always aware of each other, these silly chickens, and I enjoy watching them. I don't get much of an opportunity to do nothing, but every now and then, I glance out the girls' window to the backyard and just watch them. I'm certain this falls into the category of things I never thought I'd say: I enjoy watching chickens.

Musings on Camp Concord, 2011

2011-07-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

(Sidenote that wants to be a preface: click here on the Camp Concord website to see our family picture from last year that made the Concord Activity Guide and all the local publications about Camp Concord.)

Today we got back home from four days cabin-camping up in South Lake Tahoe.

I suspect I'm not alone in what I'm about to say: It takes a departure from the norm to realize that sometimes, we all just want the simple things.
* roasting marshmallows on a stick at campfire
* glow bracelets at dusk
* Fruit Loops for breakfast
* sharing a tire swing with a new friend
* hula hoops on the beach

* being chaffeured on a body board down the lake

This type of simplicity is true for me, too, and as with the kiddos, it takes a separation from the hamster wheel to see it. The delicate sound the wind makes as it breezes through the aspen leaves. The water diamonds reflecting the sun as they dance on the lake. The glistening snow on the distant slopes in July, marvelous.

What I love about camping is its connect yet disconnect from life. From routine. From yourself, in many ways. This year was the marathon of not-showering. We came home smelling like a professional blend of Tahoe dirt, bug spray with DEET, and sunblock. There was sand in places where there should not be sand. It wasn't our intent to be filthy for four days, it just kind of happened. Something that would not have happened here at home. As disgusting as it was, it was also kind of nice. Funny, that.

Camp Concord is pretty much the Cadillac of camping. If you have kiddos, you should absolutely go. Even if you're down in So Cal, it is worth the drive. For what you pay, you get your own cabin; all meals are paid for; all activities are covered; and twice a day, camp counselors take your kids for an hour to play.

With all that said, I'm glad to be home. Tonight I breathe more deeply of the night air, so unlike the air in Tahoe, and yet so much the same.

"So, are they real sisters?"

2011-06-29T22:04:00.000-07:00

Asked at Costco the other day from a woman (I'm not judging here) in charge of Vaseline lotion samples. I had Sara and Taya sitting side by side in one of those two-seater Costco carts. They were snacking on jelly belly samples I think. And I, with the dry hands, stop for a lotion sample.

"So, are they real sisters?"

Of course, I'm taken off guard and it takes me a minute to realize she has just stepped into my private world that apparently has lost its "Keep Out" sign. Taya, however, is tracking every word.

I nod and say "yes, they are sisters."

Privacy Invader lotion lady, apparently not catching the hint, says, "Oh, same mom, same dad, different mom, different dad?" and then cocks her head to the side like some hungry puppy waiting for a snack.

What can I say? Remember: Taya is watching. I feel like she's taking notes not just on what I say but on how I say it.

The truth is, I don't really want to answer the question -- at least, now here, not now, and not like this, so I say "Yep." I'm rubbing my hands vigorously with lotion by this point, and turning to walk away when she explains how she "understands how it is" and how she has a Filipino husband and how she runs into this problem all the time. Yeah right, I think.

As we're walking away, Taya's eyes look through me and I understand that I can't blow this off. We have a kids book at home called "The Colors of Us" -- it's a great book for talking to kids about race and different-colored people -- so I ask Taya, "what do you think she was asking about?" Taya's response: "Because we look different." She understands far more than a five-year-old should. So I go back to the "Colors" book, and we talk about the colors of us, the color of her, and how sometimes, people don't always understand that families can be lots of colors and how in the end, it doesn't really matter what color we all are. We all love each other.

And then we're at the checkout. Sigh. Done.

The next day, it happened at the Oakland Zoo's baboon exhibit. We were sitting on some shaded benches eating a snack when a man with his son and wife smiled at us and sat down. He gestured towards the baboons.

"Nice, huh?" I reply, "Yes, pretty interesting."

He gestures to the kids: "Oh, so you're here watching the neighbor's kids?"

Umm... nooooo.
I reply, "No, they are my kids."

Another total oblivion moment: "Oh. All of them?" To which I reply, "Yes, all of them." And as he's eyeing the kids (who, of course, are listening) and pondering his next privacy-invading question, I pack up the magic backpack, round up the kids and head towards the warthogs.

But this one can't be ignored; I can't just wave it away on the way to checkout. We maneuver to a shady spot with the animal warthogs in sight (though I feel like we've just been talking to one) to have "the talk."

I think this is also how the sex talk happens or any other "talk" that adults generally get nervous (or think a great deal) about. They happen where they happen. Ours happened between the baboons and the warthogs at Oakland Zoo.

What is most interesting to me is that the kids know -- they seem to understand why people have questions. They don't understand that people (aka: privacy invaders, some of them) don't seem to have the language to ask the question: "Are they adopted?" or assume that that question is ok. People don't know what to make of a racially-blended family and so they assume that I'm the nanny (which I get a lot) or that my husband is Latino (because, well, I'm whiter than white). The words "adoption" and "family" are rarely spoken together, but the kids seem to intuitively understand this. So we talk about that under the zoo's shady trees. We talk about how people look at our family and aren't sure what to think, how they don't know how to ask if the kids are adopted. And I talk to them about how, as they get older, talking about their adoption will be their decision.

And then, before I know it, we're on to the warthogs and I'm left standing in the in-between wondering if I've just experienced something surreal.

On the drive home, I realize that this summer, I need to get my "shtick" down before kindergarten starts. I need to have my responses in line and be prepared to respond accordingly, especially to those folks who assume that asking really personal questions is acceptable. It isn't. And if you, dear readers, want to ask -- ask with a purpose beyond mere curiosity in mind. And then, ask without asking: "Oh, what a lovely family" is a great opening, much better than "Oh, so you're the nanny, then?"

Because this is what you do...

2011-06-28T21:18:00.000-07:00

...when it is pouring rain outside. In June. When we were running the air conditioner a few days ago. Today? The heater. And hot cocoa, of course.

Kindness

2011-06-27T21:58:00.000-07:00

"Kindness"
~ Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

When in Doubt, Blame the Media.

2011-06-18T21:51:00.000-07:00

I think this should be our mantra for the 6 to 10 age range. Kind of like the 0 to 2 age range: when in doubt, blame teething. Come on, didn't we all? Oh, you're cranky honey? Must be the teeth. Have some Tylenol. Oh, up at 3 am? Teeth. Not eating? Teeth. Teething became my one all be all answer to just about everything in infancy. The almost hysterical thing now is how Taya is cutting her six-year-old molars... the adult ones. And you know what? She's cranky. Yep: teeth.

But that aside, this post is about the royal wedding and yes I know it's late. Sue me. The media spent weeks and weeks leading up to the big event, and while we don't watch too much regular tv when the kids are around, even PBS was running specials on Princess Di and life in the royal family.

It was no surprise then that by the time the actual day (or night) arrived, my little princesses-in-waiting were totally ready.

It was also no big shocker when the royal wedding, in its truncated form thankfully, became a common reenactment in the living room, the backyard, and in the grocery store.

Here, Taya as Princess Kate (gotta love the Princess Minnie ears) and Sara as Pippa (in the whitest dress she could find).
I'm telling you, with those eyes, we are in such dire straits.

Alex, as Prince William. The closest thing he could find to prince attire is his Nascar footie that is two sizes too small. Look at the smiles.

I told both of them to enjoy this while it lasts :)

Alex took care of the royal wedding security.

And Sara as Pippa... well, let's just say we need to work on the gracefulness and style that Pippa embodies.

Complete with escort and everything. It was sweet to watch -- and I applauded, of course, being a commoner.

Then again in the backyard a few days later.

How cute is that?

So is this blame or thanks for the media?

To the Aliens Who Have Returned to Our House

2011-06-18T21:32:00.001-07:00

Step away from the three-year-old. Readers might recall that you aliens have been here before, in September of 2008. Please refer to the post "Aliens in the Home" as proof.

And so I say, please step away from the three (almost four) year old. She is slowly being abducted by you, and having witnessed this abduction once before twofold, right now it's just plain annoying. For this go 'round, I offer a glimpse into a tantrum: Sara, Evidence #1.

While you're at it, step away from the (almost) six year olds; I can see you are trying to welcome them into the non-human fold. To that, I say stand down and step away from the kids. You are dealing with a woman looking at a summer full of empty calendar days with three children in a house smaller than your average closet.

DO. NOT. MESS. WITH. ME.

Here's a video to remind you of her innocence and beauty: Sara's Skip Hops. Return the girl over breakfast and please tell her to eat this time.

Sincerely,
The Mom

The Last Day

2011-06-06T23:25:00.000-07:00

...of Pre-K that is.

Yes, yes, I know -- blog, you've been neglected. I've been in a funk. Get over it. I'll redeem myself. After all, summer is here and it's 50 degrees outside: I might even peel off the fleece. I mean, I only had on two layers for the end-of-preschool carnival today, geez! If it had snowed on Mt. Diablo, I would not have been surprised.

Weather aside, today was a big day for the big kids: today they graduated from preschool. Well, they didn't so much graduate as much as finish and bounce their way (a la jumpy) out of Pre-K. Unlike some other mamas out there (ahem), I didn't cry my way through the day. That might happen later, like mid-July when I'm knee-deep in summer, but for now, I celebrated along with the kids that yet another milestone in their life has been reached.

And you know what? They're ready for kindergarten. I can't begin to say how many people moan and groan at kindergarten and the beginning of school which has been likened to the "walking fast track" at airports: you're walking along and before you know it, you're at the end and all you have to show for it is some extra air through your hair for having walked so fast. Let's hope that their walking through the school years is more like a waltz, one I can only hope they truly enjoy.

But for today, everybody moved up in pecking order. Alex and Taya are in-line for kindergarten, and Sara is next for Preschool 4, or, as she calls it, "The 4's" like they're a new band or something. And BOOM! I'm already out of the loop. Damn.

The bittersweet thing about today is how the kids didn't really understand that their classmates weren't going to be in the same kindergarten class. None of them really "got it" and the funny thing: none of us parents were going to be the ones to tell them. There was some kind of tacit agreement amongst us all that we wouldn't say anything until much, much later... like the day before the first day of school.

It was a good day for the kiddos and a wake-up call to Mom: summer starts tomorrow.

Holy shit. I am so not ready.

Soccer Moms, You Got Nothin' On Me

2011-05-15T22:37:00.000-07:00

No offense, soccer moms of the world, but I don't get it. Really, I don't. Why the bumper stickers? Why the label "soccer mom?" Now that I'm immersed in the world of softball and baseball, I feel like a sherpa every time I leave house. I can't get out the door without the bat bag including cleats, hat, batting helmet, glove, ball, bat, water, and snacks. Then there's the snacks for Alex and Sara, toys for them to play with during the game, wipes for all the dirt they will undoubtedly cover themselves with while Taya plays, and a flask that one day I'll actually bring to the game. I am Stacey: call me Sherpa o' the field.

We (stupidly) started the season enrolling both Alex and Taya in the league. Alex was so much more insistent; Taya was hesitant but motivated so we figured, why not? Here's Alex, proud in his uniform for the first time, playing for the White Sox.
And then here's Taya, dressed in her uniform for the first time, playing for the Orioles, sobbing and throwing a tantrum.

And who dropped out first? Alex. I had a sense it was coming after the first few practices. Imagine this: Alex, sweet little Alex, trying to hold a bat in the proper form. The assistant coach pitching to Alex, looking for his "sweet spot" which he said was "20 degrees down and to the left." Ok, I laugh to myself. Alex is learning how to hold a bat; I'm fairly certain he doesn't have a sweet spot. But Alex goes with the flow -- he learns how to swing the bat, how to field, how to throw. And after two months of practice, when Taya's team is cheering for each other win or lose, hit or no hit, Alex's team never gelled, never came together, and he called it quits. And we let him. This is supposed to be fun, right? Not fun when there are more tears than laughs, more gnashing of teeth than excitement about going. So we let his decision stand and we pulled him from the team.

Since then, we have learned that not only is the team still fragmented, but second to last in standings and one of the more abrasive parental teams in the division. The Pee-Wee division for this league has suffered more parents brawling during the games than I care to believe. Parents brawling over six-year-old boys playing? Please.

In the meantime, although Taya's experience in softball has been a gradual one, she is finally starting to come around and enjoy it. This may be because she's hitting the ball :) I chalk it up to the total support of her coach who is amazing, and a very positive group of girls who are supportive of each other. Their chant: "Who are we? The Orioles. We will rock you down, shake you up, like a volcano, batter up." I sing it in my sleep, I hear it so often. It's even funnier when Sara sings it because she can't get the words quite right: people are in volcanoes and rocks are falling from the skies.

Sign-ups are taking place now for fall ball, so we'll see about that. For now, we're hanging on to the end of the season, which ends in just a few weeks. With our recent spat of wins, we're likely to make playoffs. And after all that's said and done? Alex and Sara both asked to do the community little T-ball game over the summer (run by college students and not so much a skill base but a fun time). Taya? Her response was "no way." I laughed out loud.

Here she is fielding the ball.

Taya at bat.

Swinging -- she's actually got a killer swing when she watches the ball.

And my little sweetheart (who will inevitably break my heart ten years from now)... happy now in her uniform...

...and her hair finally long enough for a little pony tail -- we call it a "ponette."

My last thoughts about being a softball mom:

The learning curve here is steep. I was sent to get a baseball bat, an "11" for Alex and "something higher than a 12" for Taya. I'm no dummy: I'm out of my league (pardon the pun), so here I am at Sports Authority with all three kids in tow looking for baseball bats. A) They're expensive. B) I'm asked a slew of questions about what these numbers mean, funny questions because of course I have no idea what they mean. C) I buy one bat just to return it a few days later ("of course that's not what I meant when I said 11!") and then another to hear that it still isn't right. I'm now convinced that there should be some type of guidebook for baseball and softball virgins, one that explains the differences between the boys games (5 pitches, one base runs) and the girls games (3 pitches not including foul tips, grand slams ok); one that explains just how much money and gut you'll need at the snack shack; and how to embrace the "ring pop" as a food group.

The funniest thing of all?

Alex begged us. We just signed him up for soccer in the fall.

Thoughts from Mama-ville.

2011-05-08T21:43:00.000-07:00

On this day, the ultimate of all Hallmark holidays, I thought I'd come out of my seeming writer's hole and think out loud about being a mom in search of herself.

First, of course, I hope all the parents out there had a fabulous day. Moms, of course, but for those folks who act as a mom, you're important too although I'm fairly certain I won't be able to locate a card for you.

As I enter what I think might be the beginning of a mid-life-crisis, I've had some time to think about what it means to be a mother and what being a mother does to, well, a woman. To a self. To a career. To a marriage. To everything. And, of course (because this is after all my blog), to me.

I often hear people say that being a parent is hard, or that being a stay-at-home parent is hard. From the front lines I'll say -- it is. Parenting isn't easy. Parenting at home all day and every day isn't easy. I know there are folks who would give anything to be able to stay home and be with their kids -- family members, I'm talking to you here -- but I was never that person, so staying home has taken a different kind of toll. A toll I think I'm realizing in force now that I try to re-enter a world that doesn't look too kindly on people who have been out of it. Being a parent means giving and giving and giving.

And the phrase goes "give and take," but what's there to take that you aren't already giving in some form?

Parenting means receiving, not taking. Laughter, random skills (like how to get Vaseline out of hair and crayon off a gloss paint wall), a joy beyond all other joys and heartaches that keep you up at night.

But being a stay-at-home mom, well now that just brings all these elements to the front of the battlefield every single day. There have been days when I have caught myself standing at the sink with tears in my eyes trying to pass the moment off as another lost battle with allergies. There have been early mornings when I try to send my resume off to another job site, hoping for another chance to get my feet back into the water where I really long to be.

I'm not cut out for stay-home parenting. Some people are -- I'm pretty sure those folks have tv shows on TLC. I'm not. I have friends who swear they don't want to go back to their "old" life. Yep, not that person. I do love my children -- that goes without question. And I loved what I did before they came into my life. The hard part about parenting is its required flexibility; in this, I have always been far more flexible in all things child-rearing. But now, in this attempted return to work and a life outside of mommyhood, I am not flexible. I can't see myself in a high school classroom again. And so, mid-life-crisis, hand me a martini and invite me to sit down: I'll be here a while. And to my children: let's reintroduce the midday nap again, shall we?

Dear Easter Bunny...

2011-04-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

Thanks for hiding a few eggs inside the house... and for leaving baskets for collecting them.
Thanks for stuffing the baskets with cool treats: Jolly Rancher jelly beans, circus peanuts, Whoppers Mini Eggs, stickers.

Mom and Dad, thanks (I think) for letting me eat all that I want of my Easter candy.

Easter Bunny, thanks for putting my new favorite things in my basket. Sara: a few dresses and shirts and a Barbie; Taya: a couple of necklaces, nightgowns, and a Barbie; Alex: a train magazine, a Trio BatMobile, and a Star Wars T-shirt. Good times.

Dear Weather.com: Damn the rain! A few eggs inside, done. Breakfast, done. Hidden baskets inside the house, done. Eggs outside? Put on the rainjackets and boots kids, we're huntin' for eggs!

Alex turned out to be the expert egg-collector.

We had to give Sara a two minute lead and Taya a 30-second lead.

Look at that face :)

All eggs and baskets were collected and mostly consumed by 9:00 a.m.

First stomach-ache at 11:00 a.m. It took all my will not to say, "I told you so..."

All in all, the kids had a great morning, a good day playing (and recovering from the sugar high and subsequent sugar coma), and the parents survived by building a chicken coop (more on this later) and planting tomatoes.

Happy Easter!

Day 14: Final Day, Final Oz Post

2011-04-20T21:54:00.000-07:00

I have been waiting, stalling really, to write this post. I haven't wanted to do it. I don't want to look back at the photos one more time and write the last word about the trip. Somehow, writing the final farewell to Oz is closing the door on the trip, a trip I'd really like to try to keep in my mind as long as I can. But the world moves on and there are things I need to blog about now in that present reality: baseball, softball, and chickens, for starters. So here goes.

How ironic it is that while we spent the entire trip together, our final day in Sydney -- in Australia -- we spend the day apart, exploring the city on our own. It was a good way to end the trip, honoring what we wanted individually. Chris took in the docks, a hands-on science and tech museum while I took my way around a few bookstores, a few cafes (my last chance to eat Aussie food), and a few souvenirs for the folks back home. With a mid-morning flight back home the next day, we ended the night before midnight, said one last goodbye to all the hookers in the neighborhood, and toasted to a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

Random thoughts, bits and pieces, and final musings on the trip:

People have since asked me what my favorite moment was, or what the most impressive thing was in Oz. My answer is two-fold: my favorite "spot" in Oz was definitely the Twelve Apostles. There was something about the day, cloudy and chilly, that led to an almost surreal viewing of the sandstone. It was real but it wasn't. I was standing there but I wasn't... I was down on the beach, I was on top of the sandstone, I was swimming in the ocean. Being there held a real power over me, one that wasn't replicated anywhere else during the trip. The other part of my answer is totally selfish in nature: another favorite moment in the trip was rediscovering myself. I know, I know, it sounds cliche. But right now in my life, I have lost a sense of who (and what) I am. I'm like the picture of the tree below, twisting and twisting to find the light but ever-twisting back into the protection of the trees. Being far and away helped me reclaim some of that light, that knowledge. It also served as a reminder to me to keep tabs on my own needs more often. Not the "oh I'm in need of a pedicure" need, but the deeper need that gets a band-aid by volunteering on the preschool board, or fundraising for the club, or going back to grad school. I need to do better. And chances are, I'm not alone in that. I took a lot of pictures that looked like this one: blurred, taken at top speed so most things aren't in focus, but taken because there's a moment here that I wanted to capture. Oz has reminded me to slow down and focus...

...even if what I want is as incomprehensible to me as the ocean.

As for the kids, I was reminded often of their immense and defining presence in my life by images like this. The playground, to be sure, but all of the playgrounds I saw during our time in Oz sported covers like this -- to protect kids from the sun and provide much-needed shade. By and large, we don't have these in the States and I can't figure out why. Note to self: be my kids' sun-shade.

I've written a fair amount about all the spiders we saw in Oz, and even of those we didn't see but sensed. I'm not planning to keep those creepy-crawlies any closer to my heart, but I do hope to gain a deeper perspective for nature in general. I'm pretty sure it has started with the nine chickens now residing in the garage.

Random pic that I love: a church displaying a rainbow flag. I'm not sure if this display was in response to the upcoming Mardi Gras Pride event or not, but either way, it was a welcome sight.

The environment.

I could go on and on about how much Australia is doing for the environment and how little we are doing here in the States. My Reader's Digest version:

First, notice this picture, taken from a ladies bathroom stall:

See the line down the middle of the knob on the left? There were variations on this theme in every single bathroom (including the hotels and B&B) I occupied in Australia. Australia is the inventor of, among other things, the "half flush." You know, because you only need the "full flush" a small fraction of the time you need the half flush. It was standard, and it was a simple way of saving water across the board by not selling any other alternative than this one.

Electricity: I took this picture in one of the hotels, but all the sockets were the same, including those in the private homes we visited. Notice the switch difference on the right versus the left.

The right plug is "on" so when you plug something in, it's live. The left one, nope. Gotta flip the switch. So easy and so simple... why isn't this our standard practice?

Something else: solar panels abound, and nearly every private residence maintains a rainwater collection unit on the side of the house to be used for watering lawns, gardens, etc. That's standard. Woz looked at us quite comically and asked, "You don't use city water for watering your lawn, do you?" To which we sheepishly replied, yep. Something else the Ozzies don't understand about us: clothes dryers. "Why would you waste electricity on something that nature does for free?" My answer: Because we are lazy and pathetic. Now pass me the remote.

Seriously. When it comes to the environment, we haven't even dipped our toe into the pool where Australia has already been swimming laps and they still call themselves "behind." In the words of Wayne and Garth, "Shaah, right."

Among other things, people have asked about how our little kidlets did while we were gone. All told, they did amazingly well. From trips to museums and zoos, lunches and dinners with grandparents, and being totally spoiled and doted upon for two solid weeks, I'd say they made out. Taya cried every time we called, and then about once every day. But otherwise, she was fine: the three musketeers perservered. And prospered. Here was the calendar I made for them to count the days both leading up to the trip and during the trip.

So I went from planning and more planning to unplugging in Australia. My advice: if you have the chance, unplug if only for a day. If this trip has taught me anything, it has taught me how to relax and let go. It has been said that folks in the world down under know how to live and work to live. By contrast, under the stars and stripes we live to work. Admit how true this statement is. Our culture has not been molded around the fostering of personal or communal pleasure any more than it has encouraged people to play, which is to say, very little. When was the last time you did something "just because." Here, that type of behavior is never a question but a matter of course. So cheers to Australia, an amazing trip. Cheers for helping me get a little bit closer to myself. Cheers for three sets of grandparents who came together and helped make it happen because without you, it would not have been possible. And cheers for "just because" - may we always remember that we don't have to have a reason for everything. Sometimes the answer is "just because."

Australia, Day 13: The Blue Mountains

2011-04-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

We switched around our weekend in order to visit Manly on a sunny day (Saturday) and the Blue Mountains on a not-so-rainy day (Sunday), so here we are. After combing through all of the travel books, we decided it would be worth the money to splurge on an actual tour. We didn't have a car and wanted to see the major sights and sounds of all things blue; it was an excellent decision. So we were picked up at six-something Sunday morning -- an ungodly hour for a Sunday morning in any country. By a scruffy looking guy in holy jeans and a faded bandana. I thought I had made a mistake, but this guy turned out to be the best tour guide I had ever had. He was awesome. He had been giving tours to the Blue Mountains for seventeen years... as quirky as he was, he was personable, informative, and friendly. Two hours later in a tour bus surrounded by people from France, Sweden, Ecuador, the U.K. and Eastern Australia, we were greeted by this -- our first lookout to the Blue Mountains.

The mountains are called blue because the mountains are populated with a certain type of eucalyptus tree. When the leaves of that tree break, they release an oil in the air that at certain temperatures appears "blue." It was cool.

From there we were taken by our trusty tour guide on a hike. Now, I've taken hikes before but this was like a hike over all hikes. On the whole, the hike was at a good but quick pace taking about two hours. The trail was, shall we say, a tad bit intimidating. We walked through overhangs that required some serious "ducking" and on trails that seemed like we were the first to make a footpath. Good, scary, wonderful, a tad bit terryfing = a good hike.

The views were pretty amazing.

Here's the view of the falls from the top.

After hiking for over an hour, we had a choice of hiking down to the base of the falls or not. We did. Ten minutes down; at least twenty coming back up. These stairs were steep: take note of the cable on the right side here, rail on the left. Each step was probably about a foot high.. by the time I hit the bottom of the stairs (this stairwell was one of about ten), my legs were Jello. Note to self: it's difficult to hike back up the stairs on Jello-infused legs.

The view from the bottom of the falls.

The spray from the falls was just enough to keep us cool.

We emerged to see a view of the Three Sisters rock formation.

Here, you can see just how blue the mountains really are.

At the top of the tour, in a village called Katoomba, we saw this tour van. Chris thought it would be the "best tour ever."

Random fact about ferns:

Pick a vertical row on any fern trunk, count each notch by a count of three all the way to the top (3, 6, 9...) and you will discover how old the tree is.

We ended the tour by stopping off at the Sydney Olympic Site, actually almost a full half-hour away from the heart of Sydney.

We were told initially that each of these poles represented a volunteer for the Sydney Olympics.

I saw all of those poles and thought to myself, wow, there weren't very many volunteers for an Olympics! But, of course, each pole is engraved with a hundred names. Yeah, I'm pretty much a rock star.

A poem statue...

And random facts of a little touristy thing we did in Katoomba.

Nearly twelve hours later, we arrived back at the hotel, tired and hungry. So what to do? Shower and then eat, of course.

We hit a restaurant around the corner from the hotel: $5 pizzas and $5 cocktails? Who can beat that? Well, we arrived just before 8 to find a line of people waiting (officially called a "queue"), much more dressed up for a Sunday pizza night than I would have ever imagined. And people were being screened for clothing! I was wearing fancy black flip-flops; luckily, she couldn't see the back "flip" of my "flop" so I got in, but the gal in front of me who was so clearly wearing flip-flops was turned away.

The pizzas? Good. Not super, but for $5? Good. Cocktails, fine. I almost won myself a shot of tequila by throwing a coin into a canister, but it bounced off the rim... alas. Here's to bouncing off the rim, most days.

Australia, Day 12: On Bikinis, Sharks, and Jellies in Manly

2011-03-25T20:50:00.000-07:00

Today we start feeling that the end of our trip is near...the length of the vacation has given us a rare privilege of truly experiencing the "getaway." You know, you get a weekend, maybe, but it's never enough time to feel the distance. I can't speak for Chris, but for me, I felt the distance on the plane so by the time we arrived in Oz, I was already far from home.

At the last minute, we rearranged our weekend plans so we could hit the beach before the coming storm. We started by, of course, eating breakfast (don't be silly), and then walking down a mile or two to the Paddington neighborhood where our new friend Chris owned a cafe. Here's a funny thing about meeting people on vacation: you just do. Or, at least, I just do. I'm a sociable gal. Chris works the concierge/reception desk at the hotel, so I asked him about everything: where to eat, what to see, questions about Sydney life in general. We got to be friends. And whaddya know: he and his mother co-own a cafe in Sydney called "At Perry Lane." A cute little cafe, the place occupies a small space in an alleyway -- the same kind of alleyway cafe that populates alleys in Melbourne. Cool. What I find remarkable about Chris (the friend, not the husband) is a) his youth, and b) his experience. He's maybe in his twenties... he's spent a few years in London, a few years in school, owns part of this cafe, and when it finally sells, he plans on spending time in Fiji "unplugging" his life from the main grid. I don't know very many twenty-somethings with that kind of life drive. It was impressive. I contributed to his cause by eating some homemade granola and yogurt at his cafe... I figured it was the least I could do. From Paddington we took a bus down to the Circular Quay (pronounced "key") where all the ferries depart. After figuring our way through the ticket terminal, we boarded a huge ferry bound for the infamous Manly Beach. Ferries here make the Bay Area ferries seem like child's rides. They are bigger, faster, and made for large quantities of people. Impressive.

We caught a pic of this bird against the bridge... funny.

The day was beautiful, absolutely stunning, and the bay was filled with boats. This, too, makes the Bay Area waters pale in comparison.

The bay filled with boats made this skyline picture that much more picturesque.

We docked at Manly and began the short walk towards the beach.

Bathing suit factoid: the one-piece swimsuit along with its equally perplexing "tankini" is an American invention. It has to be. There are women here from all over the world and they seem to have no need for such ample covering. Bikinis are the norm for everybody. If that wasn't enough, for whatever reason female Sydney-siders join the European masses in believing that even the butt must be tanned and lovely. Alas.

The Manly beach overall feels like a trip to the living UN -- various skin tones mix with a rich blend of language to create a veritable smorgasbord experience. If it wasn't for the occasional Aussie flag, I'd forget where I was.

We decide to walk along the water's edge, enough to say we were in the water without actually being "in" the water. We just didn't feel like swimming.

Halfway down the shore we hear a high-pitched alarm and within minutes, most people are out of the water or close to it. People magazine reader that I am, and because sometimes I am just plain nosy, I ask one of the dozens of lifeguards. You know, somehow I knew our trip just wouldn't be complete without a shark sighting. We, of course, didn't see the shark, but someone did. Lifeguards on powerboats canvassed a wide swath of water where the shark had been seen. People played on the shoreline, volleyball mostly, waiting and patient enough. But after about fifteen minutes, a daring few ventured back into the water before the all clear was sounded. Their defiance of convention -- not to mention stupidity -- made me think they were American.

Farther down the beach we saw our first blue box jellyfish washed ashore in front of a kids surfboarding class. The instructor deftly picked it up, showed everyone the stingers, and then buried it in the sand. Not even five minutes later down the shoreline, another one washed up just in front of our feet. We didn't bury it. After a few hours beach-combing, we headed back to Sydney and caught some outstanding views of the city.

You'll have to forgive these opera shots, but from the water view, we couldn't ignore just how majestic it is.

After we docked in Sydney, we headed back to the Cross to get ready for dinner. Chris let me be the guide on the way back to the hotel, so I decided to take a different path, one through Wooloomooloo on a different street. And lo and behold, look at the sign I found... HA! Love it.

We made it back to the hotel by dusk, got dressed, went down to have a drink, and then on Chris' recommendation, walked down to the Opium Den (Thai food) for dinner. The lowdown: fantastic food but one of the loudest restaurants I've ever been in in my life, no joke. Even after moving tables, the place was loud loud loud. And that's before you take into account the music!

After a fabulous dinner at a typical "BYO" restaurant (typical for Sydney that you bring your own wine and are then charged minimally for it, maybe $5), we head back through the Cross and play the "Hooker or No" game. On Saturday night? Lots of yes'es. It was a colorful journey through Sydney's hotbed...quite a lasting image for the night.

Australia, Day 11: Sydney, Opera, and Pancakes on the Rocks

2011-03-23T20:26:00.000-07:00

Unlike in Cairns where the heat woke us first, my stomach growling functioned as the alarm clock. My insatiable appetite became the constant joke in Sydney: I was always hungry. When we went to bed the night before at 2 am, I ordered room service for this morning to arrive at 7 am.... yeah, I knew I'd be hungry. And, of course, I was. Funny thing, jet lag. (It's no wonder, then, that I came home seven pounds heavier, but I digress.)

We decided to explore Sydney on foot and had been directed towards the botanic gardens as a start. Off we went through The Cross in the mid-morning... a very different kind of place. Empty streets full of trash, deserted doorways and hallways, and the morning stink of a well-partied party. Though we (read: I) ate a little snack in the morning, we actually ate breakfast at a hip little place called Zinc in Potts Point. The fountain outside the restaurant.
Great little place which served breakfast (for me, a second breakfast). From there we meandered around a path that led into "the" Sydney botanic gardens.

Honestly, I'm not much of a botanic gardens fan. I have crazy allergies and walking amongst the flowers, however much I enjoy their beauty, is not my thing. But the idea of the Sydney botanic gardens with this kind of greeting, yeah this is my thing.

I will walk on the grass, thank you very much. As far as signs go, the gardens had quite a few. This one below was my favorite: look closely and you can actually see the cane.

Ha ha ha! I'm fairly certain that is the greatest sign in Australia.

Outside of the signs, obviously the botanic gardens were amazing. We didn't delve into the gardens, but stayed to the edge which also bordered the water. Among other things, what I was struck with was how many people were out on the trail mid-day. Dozens upon dozens of runners passed us -- to say that it was impressive would be underestimating the amount of people out on the trail.

I took this pic because, like a few others, it reminds me of good days and "other" days, no matter how strong your roots are.

And then the twisty trees...there were many.

The trail outlining the gardens comes to a point a at Mrs. Macquaries' Chair, a viewing spot where some male leader's wife used to sit and look out on the water. Despite the funny name, it lent some amazing views to the city.
We were able to see the opera house for the first time. Even from a distance, it was amazing. Chris was able to take some beautiful panorama shots from here.

The opera house was our next stop. You know, it's funny how perspective can change when you see something up close. The opera house from a distance is stunning, but up close and especially once you're inside, you feel like you're in, well, and opera house. Reminds me of seeing people you want to date or who you think are attractive: you see them from a distance and think, Wow, he/she's the ticket. But then up close, not so much. Anyway, the opera house: impressive. Both ways, really.

They called these "sails" which I thought was interesting. We headed into the opera house to see the sights and came out with tickets for the evening performance of "Barber of Seville." There were standing seats available, and who can say no to opera in Sydney? We didn't.

With the idea of an evening opera in mind, we continued our walk around the opera house and then up onto Harbor Bridge. The bridge climb was a bit steep for our pocketbooks, so we skipped it and opted for walking partway across the bridge and back. We had already walked quite a bit, and with the cost, the climb just didn't make our "to do" list. The netting was still up for when Oprah visited and her big "O" hovered over mid-bridge. It must have really been something, and from what we've heard from locals, her appearance here caused quite a stir. Our pics from the bridge are less inspired, but a little funky.

Here's one of the pillars at the base, taken from the bridge.

I'd call this one "precautions."

And then, of course, "the view." Based on this picture alone, I can understand why people climb the bridge. I'm not afraid of heights, and I suppose if money and time were not an issue I might have considered it. Even though it's one of those "once in a lifetime" things, for me, it wasn't one of my "once in a lifetime things." Random note: you know what's on my bucket list? Squishing grapes with my toes. It always has been. I want to go to a winery of some sort and be part of grape squishing with bare feet. That'd make the top of my top ten list every time. Anyway, here's Sydney.

And then a panorama from the bridge.

After the bridge, we actually pushed our luck and ventured on to the Museum of Contemporary Art where we had seen signs for an Annie Leibovitz exhibition. Despite our growing tiredness, we spent nearly two hours there soaking in her photography - photography that, unlike any other I've ever seen, truly captures elements of the human spirit. I was a fan before, but I left feeling a deeper fan, one who knew something of the artist, too.

After a quick bite to eat (come on now, you didn't think breakfast would last that long, did you?), we began to head back to the hotel. And on the way back to the hotel, my favorite one and only pair (and by one and only, I mean I only own one pair) of walking sandals broke. The strap just flat out broke. Irreparable. Shoes, I know, but I was sad. I bought those shoes in 2005 before travelling to Guatemala the first time to learn/study Spanish...those shoes had seen many things. And they croaked after walking a day around Sydney. Alas. (And thus ends my shoe tribute...long live Tevas.)

So we limped our way back to the hotel, grabbed a quick bite to eat (stop counting the food stops), showered, and grabbed a taxi for the opera house. We had some some extra time, so grabbed a martini at the infamous Opera Bar outside the opera house. Let me tell you: this is "the" happening place in Sydney on a Friday night. We drank our martinis standing, not having the opportunity to sit, but it didn't matter: the views were so spectacular and the energy so vibrant, our feet didn't seem to hurt as much. And then we ventured over to the opera.

Having never been to an opera before, I wasn't sure what to expect; the only opera scene I've ever seen is the one from Pretty Woman, and well, I felt pretty certain that that wasn't going to be my experience. Our seats were "standing" in the back, which ultimately translated into standing at a bar above the other seats. Let me just say: these were fantastic seats. Not one obstruction, nobody's big hair blocking the view. Yes, you're standing, but for a quarter of the price, who can beat it? Plus, at the intermission, we were allowed to sit. Nice. One thing I thought was interesting: there's a digital translation bar at the top of the stage relaying everything into English. Fascinating. And Barber of Seville? A fun first opera for this opera virgin.

After the opera was done, we walked over to a restaurant called "Pancakes on the Rocks," another recommendation from a friend we had come to know. "Pancakes" as it is commonly known, is a one-stop shop that looked a lot like a late night Denny's in the States; when we were there at 11:30 at night, it was busy. The restuarant serves pancakes and primarily pancakes, but unlike IHOP's pancakes that are all essentially the same, these pancakes are uniquely different and fantastic. We ate a chocolate pancake with all kinds of ice cream and brandied cherries... yum. And like Denny's... ah, home. Here's our attempt at a night picture of the opera house after dinner.

We walked back to The Cross from the restuarant -- at least a mile if not more -- around midnight. We weren't concerned at all; the streets were so packed, it might as well have been midday. And once we started getting closer to The Cross, we saw more and more, ahem, hookers. It was on this night that we started our game "Hooker or No?" Some were easy: yes to the lonely girl standing at the bus stop not getting on the bus, yes to the skanky chic in the train entryway with runs in her pantyhose (ewww), no to the high school girl who had made an unfortunate choice in evening attire. It got to be pretty interesting.

By the time we were horizontal, the clock was telling us just how late it really was. Funny, isn't it, how time loses its power on vacation? I was almost completely unplugged in Oz, including not wearing a watch. No computer, no cell phone (except for the company's which the family could use), no watch. It was liberating, especially not knowing that bedtime had gone from 11 pm to 2 am in a matter of seconds. Alas. That's what vacation does to you!

Australia, Day 10: Cairns to Sydney

2011-03-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

We woke up to rain, rain, and more rain. Folks here identify the seasons by the amount of rainfall; that is, their summer is the wet season, commonly known as "The Wet." I'm fairly certain this slang would never fly in the States.

Where we were staying in Cairns - Nigana Bed and Breakfast. The view from the deck was beautiful, and the room was just right.
One funny thing, though: the toads. At night, they come out in droves. They are everywhere. Imagine this: walking back from the car on an unlit path, and all you can see are these little silhouettes of "things" jumping back and forth in front of you - sometimes even landing on you by accident. Needless to say, we started asking to borrow a flashlight (also for the spiders, as I've mentioned before). The toads, though: they were funny.

Three here on the step to our room.

And the spiderweb: luckily, our headlights caught it in the light otherwise we would have walked right into it.

And the photo shots I meant to include earlier. This first one is the passenger side. I could get over not having any of the controls on my side, but the weird part was at night when, in what would have been the driver's seat, the dashboard is pitch black. Now that was odd.

The driver's side.

Dropped the car off mid-morning, grabbed a ride to the airport and away we went to Sydney, last stop. Clouds welcomed our arrival into the city, so we didn't get a glimpse of Sydney by air. And we didn't really have a way to get from the airport to our hotel. A cab would have cost $40-$50 (unbelievable!); the train/metro was an option, but having never used it before and then with luggage in tow did not work in our favor; so, someone suggested using the good ol' airport shuttle, the one that would take you "right to your door."

And it did. Nearly 90 minutes later. The one thing I can say is that while the shuttle was busy dropping off all the other guests, we were given a cheap tour of the city. My first impression of Sydney was its sheer size. More than Melbourne and certainly more than Cairns, Sydney felt like a city home to millions of people. It didn't have the sprawling feeling that Los Angeles has, nor did it have the crammed-in-like-sardines feeling that some San Francisco neighborhoods have, either. Sydney is both, and we certainly saw our fair share on the way to the hotel.

And when we arrived, oh how funny that was. First, it's important to note that Sydney is actually a conglomeration of neighborhoods, each with a very distinct feel and crowd. The same is true in many big cities, but I've never felt it so palpably as here. So when I booked the hotel, I was told it was in a neighborhood in Sydney called "Potts Point," an area known for its cafes and such. Perfect. I knew that Potts Point shared a border with "Kings Cross" or "The Cross" as it's known to locals -- the area of town where, let's just say, you could find someone to go home with, ahem. The neighborhood that never sleeps. The mini-Vegas. Turns out that our hotel is at the veritable HEART of King's Cross and is, in fact, right behind the iconic Coca-Cola sign that faces the city. Advantage: hey, at least we wouldn't get lost and if we did, there would be plenty of people on the street to ask. All joking aside, the room was fine and ironically quiet given how close we were to the action. The little balcony we had overlooked the main street, so we were able to create imaginary conversations (aka: transactions) with the people below. Ah, to be kids at heart.

Since the shuttle ride took so long, once we checked into the hotel we changed and then were met by friends of a good friend of ours, Daniel. These two gents, Richard and Andrew, took us on a bit of a walking tour around our neighborhood and beyond a bit. Before the sun went down, we were able to snap a few pictures... the first, another road sign, but this time on the ground. Apparently, these appeared throughout the city just prior to the Sydney Olympics to remind folks to look the right way. I thought the signs were humorous until I forgot to look in the right direction and nearly got mowed down. Good plan, Sydney!

The first of many sets of stairs outside the real Potts Point... during our time in Sydney, we saw too many staircases to count. The people here apparently enjoy stairs! What's more interesting, though, is how the stairs contributed to a larger whole about integrating exercise into the daily shtick. Climb a flight of stairs? No big deal. How many staircases are in your city?

So we're walking and talking, the four of us. We've never met each other but know this one person in common, so we start with the basics as you always do with new people, and work from there. Turns out Andrew has worked with flowers, so we chat for a bit about this flower that you can see everywhere in Australia. In the States it is called Plumeria, but here in Oz it's known as Frangipani, and for whatever reason, I thought it was the sweetest looking flower.

We walked out of Potts Point, through Wooloomooloo (not a joke) and over to the docks where we landed at Water Bar for a drink. Now, if I had known that Water Bar was "the" bar to visit in Sydney, I would have stepped up my game and brushed my hair from the flight. I mean, if Russell Crowe's apartment is housed in the same building, shouldn't I be prepared? The ambiance was nice, the drinks tasty but a tad overpriced, but who cares? We're in Sydney with new friends.

And these friends took us to Harry's Cafe de Wheels for dinner. Harry's is one of those places you must visit whenever you're in Sydney. Here and only here, you experience the true meat pie. Like I mentioned before, we ate a meat pie with Woz over in Melbourne, but it was not like this, oh no. This one needed a fork, a spoon, a bowl, a plate, and a stack of napkins and wet wipes. But you were given a paper plate and a plastic fork, which by the way, was used only if you were a meat pie virgin.

Be prepared. This is a typical "tiger" pie: the meat pie itself (I think I had beef), covered in mashed potatoes, then mushy peas (think split peas a la oatmeal), then gravy. Here you go!

And I hate to tell you: it was good. I feel like the kid in the 80's 'Life' commercial: "Hey whaddya know? Stacey liked it!" It looked absolutely over the top, and while I didn't want to be rude, I wasn't sure I could handle a tiger pie. But it was very surprising and good, so don't knock it. I might even try to replicate it -- on a much smaller level -- here at home. Look for the invite coming soon.

From there we walked back to the hotel, through "The Cross." At night. And then we understood. And started to count the number of prostitutes each block contained. It rivaled the Tenderloin in San Francisco, and just about any other red light district I've ever seen. More on this later. Our final pics of the day, a la Coca Cola. First, our wonderful hosts, Richard and Andrew. Hopefully our paths will cross again someday.

And then us, all illuminated by the Western icon itself, Coca Cola.

Australia, Day 9: Rained out in Kuranda

2011-03-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

Our last full day in Cairns we spent on a trek up to a rainforest village in Kuranda. Ok, this was a touristy day doing touristy things: I'll admit it. We took the Kuranda Scenic Railway up to Kuranda and then the skyrail back down to Cairns. We had heard from several people that both the railway and skyrail offer some outstanding views, and since we weren't really up for driving the twisty mountainous roads to get ourselves up to Kuranda, the train and gondola were an excellent alternative.
Click the link on the railway to see the history behind the train (I know you will, G.F.!). The building of this railway was done with dynamite and a whole lot of manpower... that knowledge made the trip along the rails humbling.

The map of the trip reveals hairpin turns, tunnels, and steep, steep inclines. And, of course, the views.

Because we were in the rainy season, there were waterfalls everywhere.

Here's the spray off of one, the water volume was so high.

Some were hidden a bit.

While others were out in the open. This set of pictures (I know, there are too many) is of Barron Gorge. It was huge and beautiful, full of cascading water.

Barron Gorge is a hydro plant, so the folks in Oz are using nature well here. At its peak it can produce up to 60 megawatts of electricity, which I'm told is quite a lot.

One of the bends... don't look down.

Barron Gorge from a distance... Wentworth falls is there too, but I mixed up the pictures!

Another favorite sign. (I know, it's a tad geeky but it made me laugh.)

About an hour after boarding the train we arrive in the rainforest village of Kuranda. An interesting place, this town represents the conflict that many little villages in Australia are fighting -- the battle between incoming capitalism driven by tourism and the local culture. I spoke with a few art gallery owners about it here (I was determined to buy some kind of little artsy piece) and the battle over the town is actually pretty dramatic. So far, the local mom and pop owners are standing firm, but they don't have the money that the tourist-driven capitalist shops bring.

At any rate, we had about four hours in Kuranda so decided to take a walk/hike around the town first, then pack it in for lunch. We were told the walk would take about an hour, it was a few miles long. No big deal. Here's Chris' "Blair Witch" photo to start the DEET-covered, sunscreened trip.

Beautiful trees... amazing trees. Especially for this tree-hugger.I love how this tree interwines itself from the beginning.

And, of course, spiders. Lots of spiders.

And you know, the occasional wild turkey.

Lizards.

Cool little mushrooms and plant life.

We should have known by all the wildlife coming out and then immediately going back into hiding that rain was coming. But, you know, we didn't "read" the animals. About halfway through the hike, it started raining buckets. We're in a rainforest though, so what do you do? Hide under a tree. That lasted all of five minutes...maybe. We were soaked through the bone. Of course, we hadn't brought any of our rain gear (we are bright stars, I know, travelling to a rainforest) although I was wearing a hat. So we decided 'to hell with it' (what else are we going to do?) and get back on the trail. The rain didn't let up until we got back into town. Obviously, no pictures on this leg of the trip. By the time we hit the latter part of the trail, we were crossing streams and huge pools of water. Here's the thing: I was absolutely certain that I was going to find a snake in one of these pools, so even though we were walking at warp speed (not running in the mud), I was stepping gently. Luckily, no snakes. By the time we got back to the town, we were wringing out our shirts and shorts. Here's a picture of the rain from a shelter.

We were wet. Based on our host's recommendation, we grabbed some good German brats and a beer at a brathouse in town, attempted to warm up (there was no drying off), and then headed over to the skyrail for the journey home. My initial thoughts about this: a) gondola. b) in the rain. Interesting. Don't get me wrong -- the scenery was beautiful. But the storm was a whopper and we felt a good bit of wind as high up as we were. These pics are all taken from high, high in the air.

A tree I thought was cool.

Yeah, over rivers, over trees. The rivers helped give a sense of just how high we were; it was impossible to see the ground through the trees.

Just getting on the gondola in Kuranda, a pic.

The machinery... it was pretty cool!

The rain and the view as we started the descent in Cairns.

Storm clouds -- not a joke here.

Needless to say, after our rainy day in Kuranda we were beat, so headed back to the B&B for a hot shower, warm clothes, and food. We ate at a bar in Cairns called "Rattle and Hum" -- gotta love U2's reach in the world -- and ate barramundi for the first time. Unbeknownst to me, you can actually find this fish here in the States and I'll certainly look for it now; man oh man, it is tasty.

If I had the trip to plan over again, I'd add at least another day or two in Cairns. It's not so much that there's so much to see as much as it is so much to chill. If I'm taking anything away from Cairns, it's the ability to sit with your 'flat white' coffee, maybe read the paper, maybe not, and just relax. Do nothing. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Australia, Day 8: Cairns, the Reef, and Facial a la Electricity

2011-03-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

Five a.m. and the heat wakes me before the sun. Already a sticky 80 degrees makes getting dressed for the day a task in itself. By 7 we're eating "brekky" and out the door by 7:20 in the morning behind the wheel of the car -- on the wrong side of everything. I'm convinced the main reason why Aussies (pronounced Ozzies) drive left with the wheel on the right is to laugh at Americans. Seriously, driving this way just feels wrong. Another day with a clean windshield.

One thing Oz does have right is its prolific use of traffic roundabouts. Amplify any piddly roundabout we have in the States by tenfold and you'll get an idea of what it looks like. These diversions are clever, efficient, and truthfully pretty cool once you get used to them. Even in a city the size of Melbourne where they were used with aplomb, traffic flowed so much more smoothly where cars would have been stopped otherwise. The freeways here are a different story... and "here" meaning in Australia. Two lanes only in places. Unreal. And get this: breath tests are commonplace. In fact, Melbourne friends told us that every weekend one of the major freeway arteries feeding the city is partially closed, stopping every driver and giving them a breathalizer test. We saw one in action; talk about impressive. It was like watching a drive-thru, it was done so quickly. And apparently, with success: someone always goes away in handcuffs. I'm certain that Australia has a keen definition on the "no tolerance" to drunk driving law that they have in place.

Back to the day:
I drove Chris down to the pier where he docked a boat bound for the reef. Now I know that snorkelling or diving the Great Barrier Reef is on many people's "bucket list," but it isn't really on mine. The reef is actually an hour or two outside of Cairns on boat and history reminds me gently that I don't do well on boats (let's just say that when we tried to go whale-watching in Monterey, I don't remember seeing any whales, despite the Bonin I took). Truth: I also don't know how to swim. I know, I know -- I could get myself from point A to point B, but not gracefully and certainly not with anything even remotely resembling swimming. Snorkelling in the open ocean does not appeal to me at this point in my life, regardless of where I am. So I dropped Chris off and spent the day ambling around Cairns, a weird cross-breed of a town between Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and any tourist strip in Mexico. There are more souvenir shops in a five-block radius here than all I saw in Melbourne. I came by this knowledge on foot, trying to find a local spa where I could pay someone lavishly to rub my body with oil while I relax and mumble something about children back home.

When all three I visited turned up totally booked, I decided to seek out some local art. The universe, in all its chaotic intricacy, was kindly today -- the woman at the art gallery phoned her "gal" and within a few hours, I was flat on a table, oil and all. And then I was electrocuted. Well, not exactly. The massage ended in a facial, one that midway through took an unexpected turn: "Lift up your shoulder please" -- which I did -- and something cool was placed underneath the muscle. The following question falls into the "Better not ask lest you hear the truth" category: "What is that?" This is, after all, a facial and not something else. When she said the words "positive electrode pole" I knew the facial had taken a very different turn. Pavey was brushing an oily substance on my face smelling faintly of lavender. Second categorical question of the day: "What is it?" Colostrum she says. Wow, that words sure does ring a bell. It takes a minute -- she's still brushing the oil on -- when it dawns on me. "You mean," I blurt out, and she interrupts with "Yep -- bovine." Now the double whammy explained: my face is being brushed with lavender-infused pre-milk liquid from a lactating cow. Ewwwwww. For infants, the protein-rich liquid is enough for a baby the first few days while a mother's milk comes in, but who knew my face was in such dire need? A minute or so later, my face including my eyes and mouth, were covered in a heavy wet mask over the oil which was actually good because not being able to open my mouth effectively quieted my protests.

Next, a series of commands: "I'm putting the electrodes on now. You might feel some tingling in your arm and you'll likely see flashing bright light." With the inability to speak I give a nod, trying to be "at one" with the experience (Chris is, after all, snorkelling in the ocean, the least I can do is stay calm during a facial) and hear the switch turn on. She reassures me that this procedure has been done for a hundred hears -- "iontophoresis." Yep, there's the flashing light, there's the tingle. For twenty minutes. To say I was uncomfortable would hardly describe the situation deemed by many as relaxing. More than anything, the flashing is what gets me. When she starts with the head massage, I imagine my blood cells brought to the area only to flow through small shockwaves of electricity and saying "What the hell?!" That's funny to me -- imagining my cells reacting, pretending they're dancing in the night club strobe light that has become my vision. I didn't start to panic until Pavey left me, lying on the table, covered in cow lactate oil and mud paste, wires sticking on my face. Though I could hear her in the next room, my comedic thoughts quickly turned into a series of nightmarish "what ifs." What if someone else comes in? What if Pavey slips in the bathroom? What if there's an earthquake? (Side note: it was on this day that the quake in New Zealand took place. More on that later.) I ramp myself up so that twenty minutes begins to feel more like two hours and I measure time by the elevator music playing in the background. When Pavey returns, I am more than ready, certain that my nervous sweat has counteracted anything positive she was aiming for. But the electrodes turned off, the metallic taste in my mouth ("a common side effect") gone, the mask lifted, and I was saved. "Fantastic," she cries, "take a look." When I do, there I am: cleaner and apparently with fortified facial skin now loaded with vitamins to fight any skin battles coming my way. Go team. But note to self: this specific procedure, let's scrape that off the to-do list, shall we?

After a snack (all those shockwaves made the belly hungry), I found myself down a street without any shops. No storefronts at all. Want to know why? Bats. Yep, bats in Cairns. Thousands of them just hanging out in trees. Look for the black spots in the trees. And you know what? They were deafeningly loud.

And about dusk, from anywhere in the city, you could see them flying over the water to one of the outlying islands.

One of my favorite signs in Cairns.

Here's a picture of the beach in Cairns, rendered uninhabitable during the jelly season. Any major hotel provides a "netted" swimming area so swimmers are protected from the jellyfish, but locals say that they still wouldn't swim there. Sooo, the next best thing?

A man-made lagoon in the heart of the city. Yep -- it's a swimming hole -- a big one. This picture was taken just after I dropped Chris off, so there aren't any people in this section (think of the shape like a shamrock, with this picture representing one of three pieces). By midday it was packed with swimmers, sunbathers, and families alike.

One thing I admired about Cairns was how hard it was to define. Take this, for example: in the grassy area adjacent to the lagoon, twice a day there are free outdoor group exercises. I saw the line-up and thought to myself, yeah right, but sure enough, here's the evening Zumba lesson.

As for Chris' deep sea adventure, he said that the reef is everything like what you see in pictures: brightly-colored coral rivaling the colors of the fish, and fish of all sizes, shapes, types, and colors. He saw a shark, but not close enough to be of concern. A few sting rays. The water not nearly as clear as it normally is, this thanks to the cyclone. Mostly, he found peace out on the water, in a wetsuit, on a boat in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef.

It's no surprise, then, that we find peace in different ways. That's one take-away message I have from our time in Australia. Sure, the cow lactate wasn't exactly peaceful, but the break certainly was. And the same was true for Chris. So we get there in different ways -- the important thing to remember is that we find the time, we seek the respite, and whenever we arrive at wherever we're supposed to be, we relish the moment.

Australia, Day 7: Melbourne to Cairns

2011-03-16T21:20:00.000-07:00

Here's one thing that's really easy to assume about Australia: because it's an island, it is smaller in size than it really is. Australia is more like the United States in terms of size, so when we flew from one state to another, the trip lasted four hours plus a time change. Of course, after the fifteen hour flight, four hours was a drop in the bucket, but we were reminded of flights back home: you pay for everything. No peanuts, no water, nothing but a pair of headphones. No matter, we were going to Cairns: the city at the heart of the reef and the rainforest.

We were picked up at the airport by our Bed and Breakfast host Georg, a large and tall Swedish man with a heavy accent. He was immediately funny. And it was hot, sticky and hot. Think Florida in August sticky and hot. Because in Cairns, it's tropical.

Georg took us to the car rental place within town. Yes, we rented a car and drove it in Australia. It was, in a word, weird. The hardest part for us both was getting a sense of how wide the car was. We're so accustomed to driving on the left and knowing the car's space from that side that switching to the right was a total trip. That and trying to remember that the blinker was on the right side of the steering and not the left was not only frustrating but hysterical. Let's just say that our windshields were impeccably clean.

With only three days in Cairns, we didn't have much time to spare, so after a brief check-in with our hosts, we made our way an hour north to Port Douglas. The road was a bit like Pacific Coast Highway in California, although on the wrong side of the street, the coastline looked, well, a tad different.
It was particularly interesting to see that in certain parts, both sides of the road were flanked by miles and miles of sugar cane fields.
Ordinarily a booming yet "chill" coastside sight, Port Douglas was a near ghost town when we drove through. Our arrival on the coast was nearly a week after Cyclone Yasi devastated the area. Coupled with travelling in the off-season, it would have appeared that nobody even stayed in Port Douglas at all.

We originally wanted to head all the way up into the Daintree Rainforest, but we were losing daylight and the idea of driving back in the dark, wrong side of the road and all, didn't appeal to us much. So we parked ourselves at the Rainforest Wildlife Habitat outside of Port Douglas. It was so empty, we weren't even sure they were open which ended up working in our favor. We were able to take a private tour around the place, feed the kangaroos and wallabies, and ask as many touristy and naive questions we wanted to.

Here are a few pics of the tour. Funny, this picture: we walked into this enclosed area not really knowing what it was for until we were swooped by this beautiful owl. Where he landed made me laugh so I had to take his photo. Sorry about the red eye.
Local koalas. Did you know that of all the eucalyptus that grows in Australia (over two dozen varieties, if I remember correctly), koalas only eat three? They are hard to find, too, as they blend in with the tree trunks. We didn't see any in the wild, though we were assured they were around. Factoid: koalas sleep something like 22 hours a day.
Feeding kangaroos. They were much more timid than I ever expected them to be.

And their feet were so much larger! I had no idea their back claws were so long, or that their entire bodies were so graceful. It was really amazing to watch them move around.

There's a baby kangaroo -- a joey -- hanging out of mama here. Another factoid: joeys always sleep head first, with their legs dangling out. They only appear head first in the pouch when they are trying to get out. All those images we see of babies and mama kangaroos? Wrong.

In the middle of the place, we were followed by an emu. These suckers are big and big-eyed. We weren't sure if it was going to pounce on us or ask us to dance. Either way, one quick flinch and I'm fairly certain we would have lost an eye.

Crocodiles: here in the habitat, nice. But we were warned about the saltwater crocs on the beaches, and the freshwater crocs in lakes. Word to the wise: no adventurous swimming.

I had seen wallabies at our local Oakland Zoo, but never like this and never up close. They are maybe half the size of kangaroos and much, much more shy. We would kneel with food in our hand and they would basically crawl in our direction as slow as a baby. Once they started eating though, they didn't hesitate putting their paws on our hands to prevent us from moving elsewhere.

Ducks: beautiful blue wings.

Twisty rainforest trees I thought were cool.So the habitat also functioned like a sanctuary of sorts but also like a zoo. Many of the animals there had been rescued in one way or another, and many more were added to the habitat's population every week. I was both surprised and saddened to find the place so empty.

After the habitat, we headed back down to Cairns, this time stopping at a few choice lookouts to enjoy the coast. What was supposed to be a diversion off the highway led us through a neighborhood maze to an apparently secret lookout with a Rotary plaque in the middle...I took a picture just because it was neat. Way to go, Rotary International!

Here's the lookout onto Four Mile Beach. In one word: stunning.

Our crazy shot at the lookout. See that glistening on our skin? Chalk that up to the lovely blend of DEET bug spray and sunscreen. Ahhh, such a familiar smell (one we basically bathed in while in Tikal, Guatemala before adopting the kids).

Another further down the coast.

And the last before hitting Cairns at dusk.

After a quick respite at the B&B, we ventured into Cairns for dinner. Cairns is a backpackers mecca because it is a natural meeting spot for sea-faring folk and rainforest explorers. Scores of hostels and hotels designed for the backpacking (aka: young) traveller paved the streets. So did the restaurants -- eat well, pay more. Eat like a backpacker, pay significantly less and carry a bottle of Imodium. In search of dinner, we stumbled on a place called Gilligan's, truly the vortex of the youth-centered universe in Cairns. We ordered a drink if for no other reason than to people-watch, and heard "Hotel California" and all of Bob Marley's repertoire far too many times before we called it quits. Not the first time but perhaps the most palpably, I not only felt my age, but also the regret at not having travelled more in my youth. Seen more. Experienced more. I was filled with the urge to strap on a backpack and say 'see ya later' to my life. Of course, I never would, but when you're surrounded by the idea of what could have been, isn't it almost impossible not to wonder?

We ended up eating at some little pasta place and then heading back to the B&B for a glass of wine consumed inside the screen because of all the creepy crawlies on the deck (of which there were many) and mosquitoes (even more). From where we were, it was actually nice looking inside out...

Australia, Day 6: Melbourne -- Museums and Musings

2011-03-16T20:12:00.000-07:00

Day six and we are finally at peace with jet lag. Sleep comes easily at night rather than the middle of the day, although something quite humorous begins to take place in me. Beginning about this time in Melbourne and lasting the duration of the trip, I am hungry just about all of the time. Now, folks who know me back home know that I definitely don't eat like a bird. But here in Australia, I wake up ravenous and could eat a steak dinner at 11 o'clock at night. It actually gets to be pretty damn funny later when I have eaten my body weight in a day and am still hungry for more. Needless to say, once I'm up I'm also basically dressed and ready to venture downstairs for the morning coffee and breakfast lesson.

While in Melbourne, we stayed at an "Art Series" hotel called "The Blackman." I was pretty excited when I booked this hotel because it looked different...that is, it wasn't the same old, same old Marriott/Hyatt/Hilton that you could just as easily find in the center of the CBD. The Blackman hotel is situated just outside the CBD within about a mile or so walking but very tram-able. The concept of this art series is pretty unique and might interest some of you readers in the industry: why don't we have something like this in the States, or do we? So far there are only three hotels in the series, but three more are currently under construction in Sydney and Perth. Each hotel is focused around the ideas of an Australian artist; in this case, Charles Blackman. His primary motifs, Alice in Wonderland, are exhibited throughout the hotel in the form of mirrored rabbit silhouettes... you could find these in hallways, in elevators, everywhere. There were numerous art prints in the rooms, in addition to coffee table books where you could read about his life and art. What would have been a hotel conference room was converted into an art gallery showcasing his major works. That, coupled with outstanding customer service and an ambience that reflected some real thought, made our stay there almost luxurious.
My pathetic attempt at capturing one of the prints in our room.

We decided to spend the day getting some culture beyond the streets, so we headed indoors to the Melbourne Museum. As with so many things, I think you can really get a sense of a city's values (or dare I say, a country's) by stepping into a museum. The cost of entrance was negligible: $8.00 each got us into the main museum without all the IMAX bells and whistles, but $8 in this museum could have easily translated into $20 or $30 in the US. Put simply, this museum was huge and high-tech. We spent four hours there but could have easily stayed longer. We tooled around exhibits spotlighting ocean life of Australia, spending a good deal of time looking at the creepy-crawlies and learning just how many of the world's most dangerous creatures make their creepy homes in Australia (8 of 10, depending on the guide). There was a huge animal room featuring taxidermied animals from all over Australia, but instead of captions below each animal there were probably a dozen computer touch screens with the full animal layout. All you needed to do was touch the animal you were interested in and boom -- there's the pop-up screen. Obviously, I've seen these before and yes, actually, in museums, but never in a large-room setting. Typically you see these in small rooms or for individual use. These touch screens were clearly meant for the masses, and the day we were there, seemed to serve their purpose well.

What was most interesting was an entire floor devoted to the human body. They had a section similar to the plasticized (a word?) human body tour that came through San Francisco a few years ago, but this was all part of a permanent exhibit. It was fascinating. I had missed the tour in San Fran and was actually really excited to see it at all. Here's what was most interesting to me: as there should be, there was an entire exhibit about sexual reproduction. The exhibit featured pictures of naked babies, kids, adolescents, adults, and elderly adults. All naked, all life size. Nothing held back...no undies, no bras, nothing. And there was a video -- not hidden from view at all -- being played on a loop of a baby being born. What was shocking to me wasn't that the exhibit existed, or even that it existed in its freedom; I was rocked with an immediate sensation that nothing like it could really exist in a museum here in the States without some serious measures in place. You know, so the wrong people don't see it. So children don't see it. Or whatever the reason may be. But I really felt that we would not allow pictures of naked children, or naked teenagers, or anybody naked (gasp!) even in a museum.

To boot, there sitting on the bench in front of the video was a woman and her two children, the same age as my three kiddos. They were watching, she was talking, and all the while on the screen was a woman heaving and screaming and very clearly pushing a baby out of her body. The sight was a moving one: listening to her explain everything to her children while watching the birth, watching the children, and waiting for their questions. I was struck again with how puritanistic our culture seems to be on these things and how, by proxy, I have become the same way. How could I not think of such things when, just weeks before, Taya asked me how a baby came out of a woman's belly I responded with "the doctor helps." Lame. I'll know better next time; Australia, thanks for empowering me to make the pedagogical shift I should have made in the first place. Way to rub it in that Americans really are all that and a bag of chips.

After the museum and another tram around the CBD, we headed back to the hotel and then on to dinner at our company friend Steve's house. Living in a "suburb" (of sorts) outside of Melbourne, we had an opportunity to see even more of the area, this one lush with greenery and narrow, windy roads. Here, kids walk to school, a local mom and pop markets occupy corners, and people don't worry about locking every door on their car or property.

Steve, his wife Anna, and their two beautiful sons entertained us with dinner, a tour of their extensive vegetable garden (I drooled a little), their wine cellar (more drool), the tool shack (I lost Chris entirely here), outdoor pizza oven (we cried), and on and on. Their home is amazing, reflective of a life lived not for work but for life itself. We have a few things to learn. And it is here where we were inspired to own chickens. I don't even remember now how many chickens they have, but we looked at the chickens and for whatever reason, pretty much decided to become chicken-owners upon return.

With that said, we are now in possession of nine baby chicks. I'll post more on these little guys after the Australia string, but let's just say this: they are little, they are cute, and in a few months they will be out of our living room (thank heavens) and into a backyard coop where, a few months later (God willing), we will have nine eggs a day. Good times... and lots of scrambled eggs.

After dinner at Steve and Anna's, we made our official goodbye to the company crew and called it a night... a good night, one that would lead to chickens, later.

Australia, Day Five: Melbourne

2011-03-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

Day Five. It's Saturday morning. We wake up and head downstairs for breakfast. We learn very quickly that you're hard-pressed to find a typical American "big" breakfast. Our breakfast consisted of toast covered in mushrooms (for Chris), and toast covered with a fried egg, cheese, and slice of "bacon" for me. Ohhhh, so this is what breakfast looks like in another country. Silly me.

And then there's the whole coffee ordeal. As I mentioned before, you can't find a regular cuppa joe in Oz. You can find instead the following:
a "flat white" -- basically a latte without the foam
a "latte" -- yep, just that
a "long black" -- I think this was a double shot of espresso with a little bit of hot water. Heck, as long as there was some caffeine source derived from a coffee bean, I was fine.

We spent the day tooling around Melbourne. The public transit took us where we needed to go on the first part of the trip: a basic tour around the CBD. Here's a view of the small harbor cutting into town.
Two pictures of the dreaded hook turn: one of the signage (which helps convey what it actually is), and one of a car actually doing it... you literally broadside traffic to make the turn. It's crazy! We hung out at Federation Square, a new-age sort of place housing the new media center as well as a host of outdoor activities. A large television screen broadcasts all kinds of events, and hosts outdoor concerts in the summertime. We were there during a sustainability conference.
Here's the Eureka Skydeck we visited the day of our arrival... up against the other skyscrapers, you really get a sense of just how formidable it is.

Melbourne's Chinatown district. Both Melbourne and Sydney had vibrant Asian neighborhoods with clearly understood "Chinatown" neighborhoods, just like San Francisco.

And, of course, Melbourne had its share of cathedrals unlike any I've seen in the U.S.

There were so many different types of architecture in Melbourne, it was hard to generalize. The city itself pulsed with creative energy that unveiled itself in building facades, colors, design, and street art, as well as the intended planting of grass and trees in what would otherwise be very cement-like areas. In any other big city, these two buildings would be part of a concrete jungle, but here with the grass and the artwork off to the left side, they were part of a much bigger whole, belonging to a city that knows itself.

One place we were told was a "must see" was the Queen Victoria Market, an open-air market spanning several city blocks. Whatever country you're in (aside from the U.S.), visit the local market: you will learn more about the city and country than just about anywhere else. Here's what we learned about Australia from our visit to the "Queen Vic."

* You're a tourist if you aren't carrying a bag of your own (as in shopping bags)

* Here at "The Vic," you can purchase nearly all of your food for the week -- fresh and local. Meat and fish included... we're talking really fresh. I didn't see any live chickens, but I feel confident that the chicken pieces I saw on display had been defeathered fairly recently.

* All the cheese -- locally made. Honey: local. Fruits, vegies, produce of any kind: local, and sold by local farmers.

You might think, oh, your average farmer's market. My response, living in the Farmer's Market mecca that is the Bay Area: "The Vic" was like our farmer's market on an acid trip. Amplify it by ten and you still wouldn't be close. Here's the thing: most people don't stock up at farmer's market for the week; that is, we go to farmer's market knowing that we'll also hit up Safeway on the way home for those last few items we couldn't find. I didn't get that sense here at all. For some folks, based on what they were carrying and how they were carrying it, shopping once or twice a week at this market was it for the week.

Our experience at "The Vic" market took the wind out of our energetic sails: strolling the aisles and absorbing the locals was exhausting. So, we took the afternoon to look at local art. One thing Melbourne is known for is its acceptance and encouragement of local art. Nowhere can this be better represented than in Melbourne's alleyways.

Granted, some of the artwork has been tainted by graffiti, but the majority hasn't... and what remains is quite visually stunning.

In addition to the seemingly-clandestine art world of the alleys, Melbourne hosted street art at nearly every turn.

It's hard to tell from this picture (taken from inside a tram), but that's a statue of an upside down cow in a tree. Wires. Twisty wires. But cool.

Take a look at the building in the left center of the picture... that's an actual edifice there! Staggered rows of black and white checkerboard with orange pinstripes... in the downtown!

The art center, covered with green slime. I've decided that all major cities need a building like this to look at, if for other reason than that laughter is good for the soul.This, from an alley. I took this picture because it isn't a busy street-facing building; it essentially faces nothing. How awesome is it, then, that the designers of such a building put care into how it looked? A day spent on public transit... thank heavens it existed.

Melbourne is very "walkable," but by the end of the day we were tired. We boarded yet another tram (turned out to be the drunk tram, which I'm sure exists in every city) set for St. Kilda, a "suburb" (more like a city outside "the city") for dinner. St. Kilda is apparently "where it's at" in terms of relaxed, Jack Johnson-type hanging out on Saturday nights. It seemed a natural fit until we bumped up against 90 minute restaurant waits. Uhhh, no thanks. We ended up eating at a little bar on the main path... a few cocktails and dinner later, we were tired and ready to call it a day.

Takeaway thoughts of the day:

a) Why don't more U.S. cities have grass/trees/general greenery running throughout the city?

b) In Melbourne, I had the feeling that the majority of people "enjoyed" art on some level; I'm not sure the same could be said of Americans...could it?

Australia, Day 4: The Apostles

2011-03-14T21:42:00.000-07:00

With a busy day ahead, breakfast moved at a pretty quick clip. Coffee, croissants, locally made preserves and a last longing glimpse of that amazing ocean view and we were on our way two hours further west along the Great Ocean Road. Here, coastline driving takes on a whole new meaning with the lanes reversed... driving up the road with the ocean on the left... it was a tad bit different. On our way up the coast, we stopped at a little roadside cafe and tasted our first of several meat pies. Now, meat pies are a "thing" in Australia: they are cheap, they are convenient, and when it comes down to it, quite tasty. Think of a miniature pot pie, not as saucy, cooked into a ramekin-sized covered pie. (Clicking the link is more clear!) And folks put "sauce" on them which I at first mistook for ketchup. Funny thing: there really isn't ketchup here in Oz. There's "sauce," or "tomato sauce" which is like a weird marriage between BBQ sauce, a splash of vinegar, and ketchup. Anyway, a very typical meat pie isn't eaten without it. I'll admit: it was good.

A flower outside the cafe.

Onward and upward to our destination: the Twelve Apostles. Since we've been back, people have asked what my favorite "moment" was in Australia; seeing these amazing natural landmarks has been one of them.
As in so many situations where the natural world brings us to our knees, the pictures don't do the apostles justice.

As you can tell from the photo perspective (damn I wish I had a photographer's camera!), the lookout was on a cliff. Luckily, because the sky wasn't clear and the weather wasn't all that cooperative, the lookout wasn't packed with tourists and we were able to take our time with the sights.

I'm not sure what it was about the apostles that I found so amazing. Having lived in California nearly all of my life, I've certainly seen my share of coastline. It wasn't that. This wasn't an ordinary coast. It was a spectacular coast. And the sandstone that jutted out from the ocean floor persevered for hundreds and hundreds of years. You can see the lines in the stone where water kisses it at every tide, and where just a little more stone is worn down. I think that's what moved me the most: the wearing down, the remaining, and the majesty of that act.

There aren't twelve of them anymore; you could see remnants of some that had fallen to the ocean floor. And despite the prolific presence of informative signs, I'm still a bit unclear on why they were ever called apostles. But they were amazing and even now, stand as one of the highlights of the trip for me.

On to sillier things... we passed this sign on the way to the apostles lookout. Because you might, in fact, want to introduce your cat to awe-inspiring nature. It could happen.
And also, for the James Franco's among you, no climbing, no sliding, or you could DIE.

The drive back from the apostles to Melbourne was a long one, nearly four hours. Woz drove, Rio and Chris napped, and I admired the scenery and took in what I could of the countryside. Our arrival at Woz's house meant goodbye to wonderful hosts and people I now consider friends. We were picked up by Tim and Sarah again and taken into the city for a footy.

In my world, a "footy" is a pair of pajamas that the kids wear in the winter and that adults wear in the... well, whatever-time they want to pretend they're kids. Not so. A "footy" in Australia is a rugby match played by Australian rules. There are, apparently, lots of different official forms of rugby in Australia.

The stadium: with indoor and outdoor abilities, the arena was quite large but not as overwhelming as it could have been.

The game: totally interesting. I spent the first half trying to figure out how it was played and then the second half (or third? or quarter? I can't remember now!) watching the actual game. Did you know that in a footy, there are 36 players on the field at once? Watching the ball also meant watching a wave of men moving in one direction.

After the footy, we checked into our hotel and crashed. Another long day... a good day, having eaten a meat pie, seen the apostles, and enjoyed a footy, we felt more at home than tourist.

Australia, Day Three: Klop at the Beach, Lorne

2011-03-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

Needless to say, we slept like logs. Day three brought me some relief: post-jet lag, I finally felt human again. Chris suffered more than I did (see later), but with a cup of coffee in hand, I was much more functional than I had been. Because we were guests and given the top room, we were greeted with this room of the beach when we woke up.
After copious amounts of coffee, which in Australia either means a version of espresso or a french press coffee, we ate BBQ breakfast: toast covered with a semi-fried egg and bacon. Good stuff. And we were finally able to enjoy the views from the deck of Jamie's amazing cabin. Imagine waking up to this every day:After some significant lounging, we decided to take a "hike" which was, thankfully, a glorified walk around the property.

So many trees, so many views, it was hard to decide what to take photos of: it was a beautiful day, and the scenery was spectacular.

We saw kangaroo tracks in the dried mud, found far too many spiderwebs to count, and were told how to look for koalas in the trees -- grey balls that seem to appear as part of the tree itself, always toward the top (although where we were on the coast, the wrong type of eucalyptus grew so no koalas).

After the hike, we headed back to the cabin and upon hearing that the next day would bring rain, decided that today was the beach day. So, we packed up our gear and headed down the hill to the beach.

Our lovely hosts: Anna, Steve, Woz, and Rio.

And the beach where we stayed almost all afternoon -- without another soul anywhere to be found.

So, of course, we played "klop." Do yourself a favor and click the link, particularly if you have any kind of yard or enjoy "beach games" or similar activities. This game is big fun if you're into the yard game thing. It might also help to know that we played this with wine or beer in hand. After all, we did have an entire beach to ourselves, sans children, and had only to drive up the hill to the cabin. Look closely and you can see the "klop" mid-air and the posts in the sand just to the left.

It has been a long time since I've had such a good time playing something in the yard. We swam in the water a bit -- it was damn cold. Damn cold.

More views. And remember, we're only about two hours from the CBD in Melbourne.

As far as ocean coastlines go, the beaches were similar to those in California minus the people and the trash. Oh yeah, this is what a beach is meant to be! Silly me, I forgot. Good thing I had this sign to remind me. There are reminders everywhere.

After spending the afternoon on the beach playing klop, drinking wine/beer, listening to reggae and swimming in the ocean, we headed back to the cabin for a proper Aussie BBQ of lamb, pork chops, kangaroo, chicken, and salad. After dinner, Chris took a nap that ended up lasting all night long, while I learned yet another new addicting card game called "13." It's a rare day when I pass up a new card game; I'm kind of a card playing junkie when push comes to shove.

What was amazing to me about today was its sheer simplicity. I don't hike very often, so the walk around the property was nice. And beyond that, spending an afternoon on the beach without worrying about the tide, the waves, who's going where and what's happening with all the sand... well, it was a little slice of heaven. We were plied with good food, good company, and cards to boot. Not too hot, not too cold -- I couldn't have asked for anything more. Really.

Australia, Day Two: Yarra Valley to Lorne

2011-03-08T21:03:00.000-08:00

I'm fairly certain that neither of us moved during the night, we were so exhausted. Luckily, the factory folks weren't picking Chris up until nine in the morning, so we were able to wake up "leisurely," albeit painfully. I can't even remember now what time we woke up, but it was nearly with the sun as our bodies were so off kilter. Luckily, we woke up to this stunning view of Yarra Valley, one of the many wine regions in the country.
Kookaburras functioned as natural alarms -- they are loud creatures. I had never heard one before, obviously, but they sound like a man with a gravelly voice laughing. Imagine this waking you up, with jet-lag, in a foreign country. As beautiful as it was, it was also hysterically funny and slightly frightening.

Our breakfast, called "brekke" (think "brekky"), consisted of toast, jam, fruit, and Vegemite. I'm not afraid of Vegemite, but before I tackle such a national icon, I need to be in the proper time zone mentally. I opted for toast. So, with Chris in the shower getting ready for factory biz, I domesticated myself and made some Aussie toast. In the toaster oven. I'm kicking myself now, by the way, that I didn't snap a picture of this, but while making toast in the toaster oven, the door of the oven shattered and exploded glass all over me and the floor. So much for toast. No cuts, no bruises for me, but to say that I was totally shocked would have been an understatement. Needless to say, we ate fruit.

Before checking out, I explored the mini bar. Stop that assuming -- not to drink -- just to look, mind you. Check this out: mixed drinks in a can. All your mixed drinks available in an aluminum tin. What more could you ask for? (And if this type of thing beyond Bacardi's is already out in the U.S., well then that's just one more step removed I am from reality.)
Woz picked Chris up at 9:30, then came back for me just before noon. After sweeping up the glass, I spent the morning taking a shower, drinking far too much coffee, and sitting out on the deck reading and listening to kookaburras. By 11:30, I was on the factory floor taking a tour with Chris. Oh, aren't capacitor banks exciting?

With Woz, Tim, and Stephen (known as the "Mad Scientist"), we headed to Yering Station, the oldest winery in the Yarra Valley, for lunch.

I'll just say it: we ate kangaroo. Apparently, you can (and should) order it rare or medium rare because the meat is so lean. And unfortunately, it was good. Tasty. (I didn't want to like it!) Also discovered my new favorite non-alcoholic drink which I need to start hunting down here in the States: lemon-lime and bitters. It's like a Sprite with "bitters" -- something as hard to define as Vegemite.

From the winery, we headed back to the factory, dropped folks off, and then braved Melbourne traffic in an attempt to get to Woz's house. Nearly two hours later, we arrived in a pretty little suburb of Melbourne. There, another work colleague Steve, and his wife Anna, met us and we headed to a local Indian food shop for an early dinner. I really love Indian food; I'm pretty certain that in a former life, I lived in India. But these dosas were out of this world -- they were delicious and huge. There's a large Indian presence in Australia in general, so good Indian food isn't hard to find. Now though, immigrants coming via boats are primarily from the Middle East, seeking refuge. Based on what Woz and Steve said (and others we spoke with), this wave of immigration is raising eyebrows. Needless to say, we had many interesting discussions about immigration in general. For what it's worth: nobody we spoke with in Australia really believed that there was a wall between the U.S. and Mexico. Go figure.

After dinner, we drove southwest down the Great Ocean Road for two hours just outside the city of Lorne. With the beach on the left and various cities on the right, the drive offered yet another view of outer Melbourne. The road itself is on many tourists' must-do list, so there are constant reminders on the road that you are, in fact, driving in Australia on the wrong side of the road. We arrived at the cabin late and weren't greeted with its views until morning, though we figured there must be some view since the quarter-mile-long driveway was nearly at a 60 degree angle up. The cabin was beautiful - high ceilings, burnished golden wood, and a deck that (minus the spiders) was inviting. Since there were three families, we were all given rooms in various parts of the cabin; ours was at the very top. This is irrelevant except that in order to walk the stairs up to our room, we had to pass this spider hanging out on the wall by the staircase. I'm not kidding when I say this: this spider was bigger than my hand. He's a Huntsman spider, common in Australia and not at all harmful to humans. But he was hairy, and big, and looming over the staircase each time I passed. And if you look closely, I'm pretty sure the flash of the camera bounced off his eye. He was big. Steve, our Aussie cohort, said his kids (same age as Alex and Taya) are used to them crawling around their room at night. Yeah, I am soooo not cut out for Australian wildlife.

Again we crashed and burned, calling truth to what people had told us: the day you arrive will be difficult, but the day after will be worse. One thing for sure: we were lucky to be in the company of people who were taking care of us, who had plans, and who were, in fact, Australian.

Australia, Day One: Melbourne

2011-03-06T22:04:00.000-08:00

Good morning, Melbourne.

It's 8:00 am and you've been on a flight for fifteen hours. Hello. Thank heavens that Australian customs is kind, although they did take umbrage with our American trail mix containing dried fruit. There is a quarantine of sorts in Australia as a whole, and in particular certain states: they regulate -- and really mean it -- the travel of fruits, vegetables, wood, and anything that has recently touched the ocean. They don't kid around!

We were greeted at the airport by Chris' work colleague in Australia Warren, who in Australia is nicknamed "Woz." Cool. He toured us around Melbourne, showing us the sights and sounds of big-city Australia. We were a little befuddled after the flight; this feeling was exacerbated by driving on the wrong side of the street. For whatever reason, I didn't think this was the case in Australia, but it definitely is an experience I would liken to a Disney ride for adults. Driving Aussie style is not for the faint-hearted! Woz showed us the dreaded "hook turn" only in Melbourne (more on this later), the downtown area known as the CBD (Central Business District), and much more. He took us up to the Eureka Skydeck, and 88 story building with 360 degree views all around the city.
I'm not sure what I was expecting when it came to what Australia would look like. We see so many images of the wild and kangaroo-filled Australia that images of the cities are hard to come by. But Melbourne (pronounced "Mel-ben") is a huge sprawling city of nearly four million people. The skydeck brought how large this metropolis really is to light. The CBD is set-up like a grid serviced by trains, trams and buses. Rather than an after-thought as in many U.S. cities, public transport is at the center of how this city functions (the same goes for Sydney).You'll notice from the pictures above how many trees there are... that was one surprising thing. There are trees everywhere in Melbourne. It is this, above (I think) all other elements, that keep Melbourne from seeming as large as it really is.
The CBD below.

After our tour and a quick bite, we headed to Yering Cottages in the middle of the Yarra Valley, just outside of Melbourne.

Here's our view from the deck. I'd like to say that I enjoyed it fully, but quite honestly, all we both really wanted to do was get horizontal. Not even to sleep or anything, just to lay down and stretch out the old body. By that point we had been up and going for over 24 hours, and trying to be present for Woz was, well, a bit of a challenge. We had been forewarned by many a traveller not to nap, as in, "napping is the worst thing you can do for your body." So we didn't. Within a few hours of checking in, we were whisked away to dinner by another colleague on the Australia team. Low-key and down to earth, Tim and Sarah took us out to Yarra Glen, a suburb(I think) of the Yarra Valley, which is filled with wineries and little shops. We got our first taste of all things Ozzie: ordering a beer, which depending on what part of the country you're in and what beer you're ordering, is a schooner, a pint, a pot, or a stubbie... I ate the first of what was to be many fish and chips (and fries are always known as chips here) and Chris ate his first and last "Chicken Parma." Now here's a funny thing: chicken parmagiana, known as "chicken parma" in Oz, is kind of a 'thing.' It's actually a big thing when it comes to how it appears on your plate. Bigger than a man's hand, the dish is huge and unlike in the States, in Oz it is served over fries. Chicken Parma is taken so seriously there are actually several websites dedicated to its ranking...here's one, aptly titled "Parma.com". Also different: chicken parma here is served with a piece of "bacon" (what we would call Canadian bacon). Good, but different.

After dinner, beat tired, Tim took us up to Mount Dandenong outside of the city. We were thankful, of course, but by that point so damn tired that we barely stayed awake on the 45 minute drive up the hill. The view overlooking Melbourne at sunset was spectacular.

We reached our cottage well after dark. As we drove in, we saw huge "bands" of kangaroo all around. I snapped this picture in a vain attempt to capture a few; if you move around, you can just see them. We managed a glass of wine, not that we needed to solidify sleep or anything. By that point, we estimated the following:
Awake 6 am to 9 pm Sunday: 15 hours
Flight: 15 hours
Awake 8 am to 9 pm Tuesday: 13 hours.

Total time upright, talking and walking (sometimes in a near-zombie state): 43 hours. Day one and then some.

Australia, the Flight: Can I Call it Day One?

2011-03-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

Los Angeles to Melbourne.
Depart 13 Feb, 21:40 pm.
Arrive 15 Feb, 8:25 am.

Yeah, wrap your head around that one, for starters. Not that we celebrate Valentine's Day anyway, but if we had wanted to, the day would have been spent somewhere over the Pacific. And military time. I'm not accustomed to it. I'm so unaccustomed to it, in fact, that I was convinced our flight was leaving at 11:40 pm. For whatever reason, I saw "21:40" and thought "11:40." Here's the universe working in our favor: we were going to leave Bakersfield around four to grab dinner down in LA before our required three-hour pre-flight arrival...plus, the anxiety level of the kids was so high that it was in everyone's best interest to just get going. On a fluke, I checked the time and yelled out to my dad, "21:40 is 11:40, right?" Of course he righted the wrong, and before we knew it we were on the road.

Fifteen hours -- the longest flight I've ever been on in my life. Two initial comments. 1: Damn, 15 hours on a plane is long. 2: Thank God for in-seat entertainment. Without them, trans-ocean passengers must have felt every hour of the journey.

So my first surprise was the little console and screen I came to call beautiful and a near-religious experience. (You would, too, if after fifteen hours and without the ability to sleep, you were on your fifth or sixth film.) To my advantage, I actually hadn't seen most of the films being screened. "The Social Network" is as good as everyone says it is, and "127 Hours" is not nearly as graphic as it could have been. "Eat Pray Love" -- well, I read the book and the film prompted the only 20 minute nap I was to get on the entire flight, so there's that. Online Tetris, seat-to-seat Battleship, and Blackjack got me and my body to Melbourne.

The second surprise: food and wine. All free. And actually, surprisingly good (thus the surprise element). When the flight manager announced "Chipotle Chicken" for dinner, I immediately heard an echo of Adam Sandler's lunch lady song, but there was no need: it was actually delicious. And then there was wine -- who knew you would be served free mixed drinks, beer, and wine on the flight? Yeah, it was nice.

Silly me, I drank two glasses and chased it with a Benadryl thinking the concoction would bring me that much further to sleep. What it did was make me that much more exhausted. Bring on the movies, I say.

Last surprise: the airline synced the interior lights of the plane to match nighttime and daylight in order to help us adjust to Australia time (and the same on the return flight). So even though our flight left LA at nine at night, the lights in the cabin were bright yellow. As the meal progressed, the lights started mimicking sunset, moving from yellow into orange, light pink into purple. The last change moved from dark blue to completely black, and by that point many people had already fallen asleep. I did a lot of walking during the nighttime hours and you know what? People look pretty funny trying to sleep (and some of them successfully so) on a plane. People contorted their bodies to seats, donned the complimentary eye masks, wrapped their U-shaped pillows around their necks and tried and tried. Like many others, Chris and I both used the darkness to our advantage to watch tv.

The next thing we knew, the lights were moving from being out to dark blue and then into what would eventually be a sunrise. Let's just say this: thank God for coffee, even airplane coffee (which again, wasn't as bad as you might expect). After breakfast and as we began our descent into Melbourne, the cabin was filled with rock music. We landed without a hitch...and so it began.

Sunny Days.

2011-02-08T22:49:00.000-08:00

After seriously chilly temperatures, the sun came out, so we did, too. Chalk, bikes, and all.

Here's Taya's stop sign -- pretty good for her first try!
Sara's sun. Clearly, she sees the sun a bit more, shall we say, dynamically than the rest of us.The rainbow in the sky. Ok, now there's a funny story here. See this rainbow streak seemingly coming out of nowhere? Go ahead and double-click it so you can see it. It really did seem to appear from nowhere.

So I'm standing in the driveway, kids biking or chalking around me and I'm trying to figure this thing out. Really, I had no idea -- what would cause something like that besides some alien life force beginning a larger attempt to take over our slowly withering planet? (I harbor a deep-seated fear of aliens... I refuse to watch ET.)

Anyway.

Who should appear but the UPS Delivery guy. They know everything, right? And we're friendly with each other -- he always used to deliver my school books and every time, I asked him if it was a million bucks. At first he always said no, but towards the end of my program, he said "You'll have to wait and see." So he was funny, kind of. Besides, what do I have to lose? I really wanted to know about the freak rainbow in the sky. So I asked him... hey UPS guy, check that out! What do you think it is?

His response? Oh, it's probably just some thin cloud cover really heavy with water molecules reflecting off the sun's rays.

Of course that's what it was. Exactly what I was thinking. Thanks.

Sara with a cat we thought was a stray but which we later learned is a new neighbor's cat who just happens to basically love living in our front and back yard. Good times. Probably didn't help that I fed it. (I KNOW, I KNOW...)

Oh, the chalk. I hate the chalk like I hated the sand last year. It gets everywhere, it makes me sneeze, and yet the kids love it. Look at the chalk dust flying from their hands here.

On the face, all over the hands, in the ears and hair and nose. EVERYWHERE.

But this smile brings it all home. You might notice that his hands are, of course, full of chalk... he's covering the wheels of his bike with the certainty that the chalk will turn his regular old hand-me-down wheels into fast wheels.

What isn't good about that?

Milestones

2011-02-08T21:54:00.000-08:00

It has been almost two weeks since I blogged last and it seems like a lifetime has zoomed by without me having the chance to blink.

I registered Alex and Taya for kindergarten. That alone deserves a big neon font and a serious glass of Cabernet. The process took nearly three hours and more paperwork than I care to imagine, but now it's done. It's official. This fall, I will have two kindergarteners. Mind you, I wasn't one of those parents crying over in the corner as she filled out the forms, though I did see a few -- I had double-duty paperwork, so it was all I could do not to put Alex's name on Taya's set and vice versa. But the occasion did give me pause as any true milestone must: this is the beginning. I mean, really: it's the beginning of the school journey, and with that journey comes all of the grown-up things my little innocents will be exposed to. Kindergarten is the entryway into that world where they will have to do things for themselves, stand up and speak for themselves, learn things the hard way, make friends and lose them, play on the playground or get left out, tell secrets and do homework and be a part of the world that will both embrace and shun them from here on out. Ohhh, it's the beginning.

They also experienced another beginning: both Alex and Taya are signed up for Little League. We officially began the "who's practicing when" routine this week, with Taya practicing Monday from 5:30-6:30 in this field, Alex in another field on Weds, and Taya again on Thurs, different time different place. Later in the month, each player will have two practices a week -- all different coaches. I can only hope that they won't take place at the same time because then what will I do? I'll be a mother who lives in the Matrix and can stop time to morph myself into two places at once. I'll sell tickets. It'll be cool.

The other major milestone is yet to come, and I debated about posting it here. People will be in our house -- it isn't like we're vacating it for weeks. But we are going away. Chris and I are headed to (drum roll please) Australia. On Sunday. Yes, this Sunday. In 5 glorious days. Without the kids who we love so much. Our milestone is the trip itself, but their milestone? Being without Mom or Dad for two weeks. I have little doubt that they will have a remarkable time with the grandparents, but there will be trauma. There will be crying. There has been crying, daily, for almost two weeks now, and we don't even talk about the trip every day. A milestone, then, for the kids, one for the grandparents, and a big one for us.

Mentionables.

2011-01-26T22:50:00.001-08:00

A new weekly that I want to start doing... call it the New Year's Resolution that isn't really a resolution.

So, some real kickers from the first few weeks of 2011.

* Not getting enough of the Christmas season, the kids find an old fake plant from my classroom and decorate it with everything they can find.
** Clearly Sara needs some instruction on how to pick up her room.

** You know you've had days like this.

** Queen Taya and Coach Alex teach Sara how to swim on the floor of Alex's room.

** Alex and Sara playing their first card game together... it was so sweet, I could have watched them all day.

** Alex shouting at me, "Mama, did you know Taya is the boss of me?"

** While I'm driving in the car, Taya from the backseat: "Mama, why does Barbie have boobs?"

My response: Ummmm....

** While I'm driving, a different day under different circumstances, Sara has made her little Lemon Meringue doll naked. Her comment: "Mama, where are Lemon's girl parts?" Of course, Lemon has no girl parts. She has fake undies. I try to level with Sara and explain this, but she has another question in mind: "Mama, if Lemon doesn't have girl parts, how do we know she's a girl?"

My response: Ummmmmmm....

Palatial Exploration

2011-01-24T20:06:00.000-08:00

At the Palace of Fine Arts -- Exploratorium, San Francisco.

I had a free day and with half-off passes so I figured, why not?

My attempts at a group picture sum up our experience.
Take one:
Take two:

Take three:

First off, let me say that when it comes to taking the kids places, I'm not very intimidated... San Francisco? Sure. BART, Muni, a theme park? Ok. I've figured out many of the ins and outs, so venturing out into the world with three in tow has become a manageable part of my day to day. But we've reached a new benchmark of sorts. Now, the kids want to decide what to do, and they are all making decisions individually. This is a problem.

Take, for example, this picture of Alex and Sara at a listening station. They were totally content hanging out with the headphones, listening to all kinds of sounds.

Taya, however, was not.

So for the first time, I was confronted with the dilemma of what to do when and with whom. Going to the museum was a good (but crazy busy) thing. But what tainted it all was my constant need to keep everyone together. Keep in mind this was a school day, so there were hundreds of kids running around. I was not about to let the kids wander around without me... and yet, try to steer the kids to activities that one wants to do but maybe the others don't? It was extremely difficult, and by the end of the day I felt as though I'd been a drill sergeant to my kids about coming here and going there. It was exhausting for me and probably not much fun for them.

My question is this: when do we, as parents, start to let go a little? I'm not talking about the Exploratorium in this case -- that was just an example of the bigger question. But when do we say, it's ok for you to walk to the other exhibit and do your thing while I stay here and do this thing? When does that little bit of separation become an okay thing? Because you know? It's not for me yet.

We went from an overwhelming few hours at the Exploratorium over to the Palace of Fine Arts (of which the Exploratorium is a part). Despite morning fog, it turned out to be a beautiful day in the city so I let the kids run.

And it was all fun and games until Sara tripped and fell, scraping both hands and knees to the point where BandAids were required first aid. We headed back to the car and within the first ten minutes of the drive home over the Golden Gate, all three kids were asleep. Good times.

Boxing Up the Past

2011-01-24T19:34:00.000-08:00

It's a good thing I didn't make more frequent blogging a New Year's resolution because I would have butchered it by now and here we are in week three of the year. I do want to make a point of writing more -- writing brings me clarity and clarity is (usually) a good thing. I'll try... how's that?

I'll start by saying this: Last week started off strangely and pretty-much put a stain on the rest of the week. If I didn't have kids, I would have driven myself to the coast or down south and veg'd for a few days.

Monday I boxed up my books and gave them away. For many people, this type of spring cleaning is not a big deal; in fact, when I do any kind of donation, it isn't a big deal at all. But the books, the books, that was big. Here's the thing that sucks about small houses: you can't keep stuff, there just isn't the space. And the books, so many books, took up a lot of space. All books that I've read, books that I kept in my classroom for students to use, books that I've enjoyed over the years that I've wanted to keep. There were so many. And Monday I sorted through them all. And then when I was done, I had fifteen boxes stuffed full with books that Salvation Army picked up on Thursday. And then I cried.

A really good friend told me to look at it this way: look at the books as a way of moving away from the past and towards the future. That the books, representing my past, were holding me down and preventing me from moving forward. At first I was upset about her comment, but as I looked through everything I saw the wisdom in it. They were holding me down, at least metaphorically. I didn't want to let go of the past -- don't want to let go. It's hard to see that chapter as over.

And as for the tears. You know, despite what people think, I actually don't cry very often. Things that are very near and dear to my heart bring me to tears. (And yes, the occasional chic flick) The books represented something much bigger in my life that I have not wanted to let go of... I'm not yet convinced that merely giving the books away has forced the issue, but it's sure closer than before. Onward and upward; this week, I learned that I am close to a job offer.

Tethering.

2011-01-17T22:06:00.001-08:00

define: tether
"A tether is a cord that anchors something movable to a reference point which may be fixed or moving..."

A year or two before we adopted Alex and Taya, I attended a teaching conference down in LA. As a teacher I was a conference junkie, both within our lovely golden state and outside of it. There was such an energy at teaching conferences that was unable to be replicated elsewhere that I would move mountains in order to attend. More than anywhere else, I felt "at home" with English teaching colleagues.

Anyway. During one of those conventions, I heard Jim Burke speak (I know, hit or miss, you love him or hate him). He has some good common sense ideas about being a teacher, and some things that you probably haven't thought about. I remember very distinctly his speech, though. He told a story about a man in a snowstorm who needed to venture out into his farm to tend to his cattle. Of course, in the midst of a snowstorm, he can't go without some idea of how he gets back, so he tethers himself to his house and then ventures forth. Then, when he goes out into the storm, he knows how to get back. The speaker, Burke, asked us what tethers us as teachers -- that is, what keeps us coming back as teachers? As a teacher, you often times get beat down -- I'm not kidding here. Between parental pressures, test scores, district demands and a million other things, the profession is not an easy one. So what brings you back? I kept this idea on the wall in front of my desk for the longest time: "tether," to remind me of my anchor. My love of the job. My love of the kids.

Today I thought about tethering and what is tethering me now. Here's my epiphany: what's anchoring me, what's anchoring you, has to be yours. So many people I know say that their anchor is their spouse, their kids, their life. You know what I think about that? BS. It's true. They can be a piece of your anchor, a thread of your tether, but the tether needs to be your own. It needs to come from you and created by you and nurtured by you. If the whole idea of "you" is created based on other people, what is yours? This should not be a revelation, and it wasn't really, but it got me thinking -- what's my tether? What brings me back time and time again?

Love. Life. Past. Present. Future. Hope. And myself, at the center. So many people see themselves as a spoke of the bicycle wheel instead of the center, but what I've come to understand is that we are each our own center. The spokes come from us. That's not arrogant or self-centered, it's real. And it's a tether, maybe one of many.

Book Challenge 2010 -- The Wrap Up

2011-01-16T21:37:00.000-08:00

It was a good year for books. It was a busy year for books. In the process of completing my Masters, I read a much deeper variety of books than I ever had and read more poetry in a month's time from a single author. 2010 was a year for tired eyes, so my personal reading list didn't get tickled as often as I would have liked. But hey! I got a Masters degree, so who's complaining?

In looking over the list and thinking about a "favorite" for 2010, for the first time, I really don't have a drop-dead favorite. There are books that I enjoyed more than others (The Help, Vanishing of Esme Lennox), but not a true "recommend to everyone favorite." I hope to change that this year.

2010 page count, not including volumes of Mary Oliver poetry for the thesis: 5,462 pages

Letters missed: I, P, Q, U, W, Y, Z. Clearly in 2011, I should start with the latter part of the alphabet.

Here's the rundown of 2010 reads.

1: Ok, so I started numbers for books that I just cannot figure out how to fit into my list... if you can provide the puzzle key for moving things around, let me know! "The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway. I read this book back in July for my class, and ended up writing my final paper on it. Confession: I listened to this book on my way down to visit family, so heard it before I read it. William Hurt's reading of this book made me love it. I came away with a fuller sense of the characters, but also of Hemingway. A fantastic read, and one that isn't too daunting in all things Hemingway. (251 pages; July)

A: Annie Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer. "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society". How I ever managed to read this book during an extremely intensive lit class is beyond my understanding. This novel is written in the form of letters, making for easy reading. The story is moving yet bittersweet, chronicling the journey of a writer's journey to the Channel Islands in search of a story and finding, of course, everything else missing from her life. A read that you could finish in a day or two OR, pull a Stacey, and take a month to read. (274 pages; January)

B: Baldwin, James. "The Devil Finds Work". A collection of essays that essentially examines the role of the media and its perpetuation of Black stereotypes. How Baldwin survived as a thinker during his adolescence is beyond me. (144 pages; January)

C: Castronovo, David. "Beyond the Gray Flannel Suit: Books from the 1950's that Made American Culture". Yeah, it was for my Beat Lit class... but any book that I finish cover to cover these days is an accomplishment! This one was interesting. The author essentially breaks down pivotal novels into genres and explores why they mattered... what the writers did that was so novel. Pretty interesting stuff if you like that kind of thing! (201 pages; March)

D: "A Dialogue", by James Baldwin and Nikki Giovanni. Fascinating -- an interview that was basically transcripted and converted into a book. The two writers are candid in their discussion from race and power to sex and family. Totally interesting and eye-opening. (112 pages; January)

E: "The Evidence of Things Not Seen", by James Baldwin. This text is basically one long, annotated essay about racial injustice in the South; the brilliance of Baldwin is that he uses a court case of child murders to discuss the larger complexity of race relations in the States. Amazing. (101 pages; January)

F: "The Fire Next Time", James Baldwin. Addressed in part to his nephew and in part to society as a whole, "Fire" is a scathing text about race and living in a racially charged society. His words reach out not only to the Black community, but to ALL communities. (112 pages; January)

G: "Go Tell It on the Mountain", James Baldwin. I took a course on James Baldwin, can you tell? This text is actually the one I liked the least, but it is one of his most famous. A novel based on Baldwin's own life, 'Go Tell It' is powerful in its retelling of how one young man survived, found God, and found himself. (215 pages; January)

H: Herr, Michael. "Dispatches". Another War in Lit text. Not a book I would have picked up otherwise, this book is actually a reflection of a journalist who was embedded with the troops in Vietnam. Coupled with the Herring text, this text gives a human voice to the tragedy in Vietnam. (260 pages; April)

J: James Baldwin. "Giovanni's Room". By far my favorite Baldwin text. This novel is a powerful account of one man's experience discovering his own identity, both in terms of nationality and sexuality. A fantastic, profound read. (143 pages; January)

K: Kathryn Stockett, "The Help". A heartfelt novel told from the perspectives of Jackson, Mississippi's "help" -- the black women who clean house and raise the babies of white families, and of the white woman brave enough to tell their stories. The story is set against the Civil Rights movement, which brings the story to greater resonance. I loved the characters and the voices, many of which culminated from the writer's own experience with "the help" when she grew up. A great read that I hear is being made into a film. (451 pages; March)

L: Larsson, Steig. "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." If you decide to read this book, read but skim the first 60 pages or so. After that, this book is so well-written, you'll think about why the author added the beginning in the first place. At the heart of the novel is the disappearance of a young girl, a journalist convicted of libel, and a female protagonist who is straight out of a tattoo parlor, stud piercings and all. Once I hit the midway point, I was hooked! Disclaimer: this book is *not* for the faint of heart. There are some gruesome scenes in here. Tread lightly. (590 pages; February)

M: Mary Roach, "Bonk." This non-fiction book is NOT for the faint-hearted. If you can't say the word "penis" or "vagina" without giggling, you'll never make it through the first few pages. What Mary Roach does in this book is investigate the history of investigating sex. She isolates studies on men -- penises, erectile issues, replacements and enhancements of all kinds. Let's just say that I learned, ahem, quite a bit. She doesn't neglect the women either, talking about vaginas and orgasms like they were cereal over breakfast. The best part of the book isn't even what you learn (although the info is totally fascinating!), it's the way she tells it. My favorite scene: she's in warehouse where dildos are being made based on molds from porn stars. These happen to be black and quite large. She sees a tiny Latina woman carrying an armful of black dildos and her thoughts? She's hoping to see the woman trip a little so she can see all those black dildos fly through the air. Now that's funny. (303 pages; Nov-Dec)

N: Nixon, Cornelia. "Jarretsville". Believe it or not, I actually managed to read a book in April/May for book group. The only reason I managed to finish it on time was a) late night reading, and b) our book group was part of a doctoral study for this particular book. I had to read it! And it's good... not something I'd pick up ordinarily -- if you decide to read the book, DO NOT read the back. Trust me on this. The basic story: in the first few pages, a woman shoots a man dead in cold blood -- you don't know why. The rest of the book is that story told through various narrators. It's interesting, and a good read. I'd recommend it, but again: do not read the back!!! (334 pages; April/May)

O: "That Old Cape Magic" by Richard Russo. Yes, I know it's a stretch with the "O", but bear with me -- it's almost the end of the year. I am a Russo fan -- I loved Empire Falls, and loved Bridge of Sighs even more. Like all of his books, this one is not a page-turner for plot. What Russo excels at is examining the human side of, well, life. Here, he takes a magnifying glass to marriage, to parents, to what it means to be an adult. It's good, but of the three I've read, this one is definitely #3. (261 pages; October)

R: Recovery of Historical Memory Project. "Guatemala, Never Again!" I read this for my research paper -- full of testimonial literature from indigenous Mayans in Guatemala, the project details the brutality of several dictatorial regimes during the 80's. I learned more about Guatemala's people in this book than in anything else I've ever read...and this text is only a compilation of the six-volume edition that remains untranslated in Spanish. (324 pages; April)

S: Schlesinger, Stephen and Stephen Kinzer. "Bitter Fruit". Another text for my research on Guatemala, this dense text discusses in depth the United States' backing of a coup to ovethrow the first democratically elected president of Guatemala, in 1954. Why? Because the new Guatemalan president sought land reform that would have infringed on U.S. monetary interests (even though the people on the land, under US control, were terribly oppressed). I'm not much into history books, but this book was a good yet frustrating read. The coup was what sparked off the 36-year internal war in Guatemala! Grrrr.... (266 pages; April)

T: "The Lacuna," by Barbara Kingsolver. Ok, I'm a Kingsolver fan -- I'll admit it. I love her writing. But this book took forever and a day to read. Like a friend told me, you have to get to the end before you appreciate the book as a whole. Rather than develop the story as a traditional novel, "Lacuna" is divided into different narratives, different types, and different perspectives. All fascinating, and beautifully written, as usual. But I'm ready for another "Poisonwood." (507 pages; July - November!)

V: Herring, George C. "America's Longest War: The United States and Vietnam, 1950-1975". Part of my War in Lit course. I learned more about the Vietnam war from this book than in all my years in school combined. I really had no idea just how complicated the Vietnam War (as well as what preceded and followed it) really was. The text is very accessible; I *highly* recommend it. From a non-history person who typically doesn't read history texts, I've put this one at the top of my list. (368; April)

X: "The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox" by Maggie O'Farrell. Ok, so I inhaled this book in two days at the end of my poetry course. It is such an engaging read...and fast. The novel is less about plot and more about this rich web of characters; they are written with truth and honesty. A powerful story that you likely won't put down. (245 pages; May)