Jessica's Blog

Grandma (mom's mom) had surgery this week;  a back surgery to fuse vertebrae after some nasty falls and rupturing disks.  She has been in the ICU ever since.  She crashed the first night and was on a ventilator.  She was then off the ventilator, but unconscious, non responsive.  As soon as she came to, she was screaming in pain.  The doctor decided to put her basically into a pain med induced coma for a day or two.  She is "awake" today. Apparently she doesn't recognize anyone, and isn't speaking.

My mom will go to Sacramento this weekend (if she gets over her flu).  She is keeping me posted.

I called my sister, who recently moved back in with Grandma to help out and save some money on rent.  My sis is taking family leave time from work to be available.  She was at grandma's bedside when i called.  She sounded a bit worried.  She says grandma isn't speaking but is moaning and weeping in pain a lot, like someone in a bad nightmare.  Grandma did blurt out "Hello darlin'" when my sis returned from her car with some of her things.  Grandma didn't recognize my cousin, Josh who  has lived with her and cared for her for the last few years until recently.  She seemed to recognize the priest of her church, who she's known for about 30+ years.

We will likely head up there with weekend with the kids, stay at grandma's house.  Hubby can take the kids to play or we can take turns visiting her at the hospital.  We know it's not so good for the kiddos to see her.  Big Boy still remembers saying goodbyes and I love yous to Grandpa Ronald.. that was so hard, i don't want him to go through that with g-gma Eleanor because she supposed to get better!

The doctors are encouraging us to visit as much as we can to encourage her to "come back a bit more". and have said it is still "touch an go" for another three days or so.

But hey, the surgeon says the operation was a huge success!
*sigh!*

Please think positive thoughts for Grandma.  My relationship with her had been complex, it is really hitting me today that she is in tough shape, and I'm feeling a bit knocked off base and sad about it.  I've never known a tougher more resilient woman in my life.  It's hard to imagine her weak or in pain. 

Cleo.

We have two cats.  Cleo and Max.  We adore Max and Cleo was the litter mate that came with him so he would not be so alone when they were adopted a little over 5 years ago.    Simply put, we aren't too nuts about Cleo.  She's a CAT cat.

I come form a long line of cat haters in my family.  I've had one other cat in my life I loved, Wiley, who I had to say goodbye to when he was 19 and I was 24 years old.  I had had him since we just a kitten.  So suffice it to say, I take my cats seriously, but have never had a CAT cat.  My cats  have been DOG cats.  Meaning, they run to you when you come in the door, they lie around the floor, they beg for food, can't climb worth a darn, are clumsy, you can put sunglasses on them, they've been at least 18 pounds of sweetness and coolness.  Max is such a cat.

Cleo is a female.  spayed.  small, about 7.5 or 8 pounds of skinny bony-ness.  She has a constant look of "Oh don't EVEN bug me." on her face.  Her day consists of lying in a ball on my bed (as close to my pillow as possible), avoiding the children, and then shadowing me through the house once the children are in bed, and lying in a ball on me or near me at any time it's "safe" to do so.  And while it is kind of endearing that she likes me so much, I really hate the cat hair on my pillow and REALLY HATE the cold wet nose in my armpit in the middle of the night.  She has cattitude.  She's never missed the catbox, rarely pukes,  never had any scratching, property damage issues or anything.... just a timid skinny cat.  Kind of a "well, why are you here???? kind of pet.  A little like a goldfish..  but with a box to clean every day.

Earlier this week she crossed a line.  Big Boy was being very good with her, and gently picked her up flawlessly and was holding her right near me (thankfully) when she spun her head around as ifshe was about to give him a good warning bite on his face. 

"Drop her, quick!"  I blurted out and Big Boy dropped her before she got him.

He was immediately sad, thinking he had done something wrong.  It is no easy thing to explain to a very animal considerate and logical Big BOy  that he did nothing wrong, it's just that Cleo is a bit of a bitch.

That night in the presence of Hubby, with a finger pointed at her face... her giving me the "give me and effing beak, I'm a cat, don't lecture me." look.  I told her if she pulled stunt like that again, it would be a quick trip through the door of no return.  The cat looked a little more concerned.  I asked Hubby if he would mind if I sent Cleo to go live with my mom for a bit.  She doesn't seem happy hear and really pissed me off with her freak out on Big Boy.  Hubby looked at Cleo and said, "You better watch it, Cleo, because when Jess says she's thinking of doing somthing... it's basically a done deal."  Hubby then told me he would notice if Cleo was not in the house, but he wouldn't necessarily miss her... diplomatic speak for .. I can't stand her.. I don't care if she goes.

The next day I called my mom and she said she'd be willing to house the cat for a vacation, but expressed concern that Max might miss her.  Yeah, they fight about three times a day, and cuddle a bit, but I was wiling to chance it.

ON the way home from picking Big Boy up at school we had a chat.
"Big Boy remember  the other day when Cleo tried to bite you on the face?"
he nodded in sullen remembrance.
"Well, I was thinking she could go stay with Grandma for a while, kind of like a time -out."

Clearly I hadn't thought this through enough.

Instant tears
Instant keeing
Instant lower lip quivering
and then...

"But I want Cleo to STAY!!!"  followed by some sobs and "pppplease don't make her go 'way!" and even " Dont' tell the pound she tried ot bite me!  They dont' like that!"
I reassured Big Boy that if he really wanted her to stay, she could stay.

I was instantly defeated.  But that was cool.  IT was actually cool to know how bonded Big Boy was to this bitchy annoying CAT cat.

Be it a surprise or no... Cleo has been wonderful with both kids ever since this threatened change of address.  In true Cat cat fashion, she knew what the limits would be, and has decided this roof is better than any other.. even if she needs to allow little people to touch her from time to time.

As I walked into the lobby of Big Boy's school today I had the sudden remembering that today was the first meeting day for the committee to organize the fall family fun fest.  Or , family fall fun fest?  or some thing similar with a bunch of Fs in it; but "family friendly" hee hee!

I had expressed interest in helping, but that was before I forgot to bring a snack, markers, and a coloringbook for Honey Girl to survive an 8:15AM meeting in tow.  But then my sense of duty, curiosity, and desire to meet new and different moms took over and I figured we might not make it through the whole meeting, but what the hey... let's just go for it and see how it goes.

The mom I went into the room with was well versed in all things about the school.  She disappeared for about thirty seconds and returned with a stack of coloring paper and about 20 crayola markers.  I had started to fumble with high lighters in a cup on a desk in the room before she kindly warned me against that. "That is [THE PRINCIPAL'S] desk, and I know for a fact she doesn't like for it to be touched."  Good to know.  Thanks for looking out for me, the new kid.  eeek.  Big Boy goes to a school where the principal has that whole fear/respect thing going for her.  niiiice.  It was pretty cool how this mom just rolled with it.  She shared that she has three kids.  She didn'tsay names or ages, but I think at least two of them go to the school.  She was in "athletic gear" and her hair was tied out of her face, and she had on no make up or jewelry.  A mom I immediately felt a good warmth from.

Other moms trickled in for the meeting.  I think there were only about 6 of us total.  I was told about the festival, the idea behind it, the fun to be had, the goofy wackiness it can be.  The head of the event is a mom of four kids, all of whom had gone to or are going to the school.  I sat back as Honey Girl drew all over everything within reach and added to the discussion here and there.  My spirit breathed  a sigh of relief.  I did not see or hear a single ubermom in the group.

I know I know.... I'll do a post about my new uber mom v. warrior mom thang later.  But to quick sum... uber moms are those that are too polished, too controlling, too wrapped up in worth to socialize and be friends with those who are not perfectly punctual, whose children don't' where oxfords to o to the park... you get the idea.  Warrior moms are like me... love the kids, let them get a little too dirty, don't iron our outfits or keep up our hairstyles, forget snacks ro diapers on occasion and have to resort to *gasp* generosity of our friends who happen to be prepared that day. Oh, and once you're a friend witha  warrior mom, you're a friend, because this mothering is too hard to bother cutting anyone off for stuff like not calling often enough or for having a disagreement or two.  Now, back to the meeting.

These moms were hilarious!  They had numerous gory, bloody and gruesome ideas for how to scare the living shit out of the junior high ages kids.  Moms joked about Halloween being their revenge justified day to get kids back for scaring them to pieces so much the rest of the year.  They were in deep conversation over where to find the cheapest booze for the gig... the mudslide mix, margarita mix, but don't' worry about the wine because that's always donated.  "I have four kids, I have a GOD GIVEN right to drink!" one mom said. 

I gotta say, I liked this crowd.  No, I'm not a drinker, but I gotta say... when given my druthers, I would much rather hang with these ladies than those who might speak of a one drink maximum per family to ensure that the event doesn't take on the wrong "element". ;-)  One mom jumped at the chance to do promotions, beeming and laughing at how she'd be so proud to!  I thought that nice, and a refreshing change from slow seething "I would be willing to, but don't want to encroach on the ability of others to shine in this endeavor this time.." bullcrap.  The moms laughed and said "have at it, lady!"  Another mom was in quiet deep thought about how to make carnival games for the older kids that were gorier than the younger kids ones.. would it be wrong to throw gelly filled plastic eyeballs?  Oh heck, no!  It's all about having fun, right? 

Not once during the meeting did they give Honey Girl a second glance (meaning: you are disrupting our gathering... they looked at her and talked to her plenty), even as she started toddler yacking loudly to match the noise level.  They had many kids each... they've been there done that a lot more then I have.  Not once did they ask about why she was there and not with a sitter or nanny.  They actually came up with a bunch of different things I could do to help with Honey Girl in tow and could even enlist her help to do. 

Now this could be a honeymoon phase.  Things can change, but I am feeling all kinds of full of glee at the new friends prospects that presented themselves today.  They made me laugh, they helped me out, they laughed at some things I said and were understanding when I had to call it quits once Honey Girl finished coloring in every last inch of paper she had been alotted.

onwards and upwards. hoorah.

I have not written anything I think is worth reading for a week or so.  So sorry to be blunt on this matter, but c'mon.  Really.  I guess I feel like I just don't have much of note to say.  Things flutter in and out, but so much of it is angry.  When I feel angry, I need to examine it, dissect it, think of discussions of pros and cons and looking at sides.  Thank you Oberlin Education.  But that is doing me no good on this one.  Just plain old angry. 

Angry?  Yup, really really angry stuff.  I have been making the mistake of watching the news, watching interviews and political discussions and it leaves me so spitting mad, I just don't like myself, so I've been in a corner reading Steinbeck to cool off, and gritting my teeth trying to think of how to discuss this anger in a more feasible and none ranting way.  Um... not working.

BUT... after watching my dear departed president, a man of grace and amazing patience "go ballistic" (such CRAP!!  He actually fought to ANSWER a QUESTION.. hello you effing FOX NEWS troglodytic assholes!)  I realize I am far from alone.

Rage issue #1:  setting up an interview to learn about Clinton's Global Initiative and turning it into a "tell us why you are the reason we're in a shit bucket right now" assault.  Oh, and then btw... tell us how you've given up on politics and are turning to money to save the world afterall....

Rage issue #2: Fox News contributer guest appearing on Bill Maher saying with a completely straight face that a)  It's not torture, but coercion and justifiable b) the insurgence was there all along and has not grown due to any hate issues with United States policies or avenging the death of loved ones at our hands.  c) she doesn't look down on non-Christians, she just seems them as lost as she had been before she found Jesus.  oh, and my fav d) this right wing Christian (I'm sorry, I mean this Administration's.. so easy to mix up the two now!) conceitedness had nothing to do with the fact that many middle ground Muslims are now supporting militant Muslim movements around the world. e) seeing as Jesus is said to return as a warrior on a horse proves he would support this war.

I have not blogged because I am finding it very hard to speak of it elloquently, to want to put in appropriate links, or come up with an "if I ruled our administration, what would I have done?" mental experiment.  I am a disgruntled democrat.  I am not a Christian.  I have a world view I share with my other educated friends, we're a diverse bunch.  Every time I have been outside my country I have been embarrassed at the behavior of stereotypical American tourists.  I am not surprised in any way a large portion of the world does not like us.  I have not written because this is non-productive and does not lend food for thought or sollution thinking

Here is one thing I do feel a deep need to say.  If politicians put 1/100th the energy into studying history, religion and philosophy as opposed to money mongering and story telling... we might not actually be in this mess.

Oh, and president Clinton is doing a helluva lot more to make this world a better place than the current administration is.

ok. done.  I feel a little less angry.  sorry I could not take the high road or offer any Zen "an oak tree is an acorn that never gave up" type wisdom.  The only thing I know for sure is that KHARMA CAN BE A BITCH.

I heard the news about Tiger Woods' anger toward the dumb ass Dubliner paper.

So sorry, but for the first time in my life, I hope someone gets sued.

You don't  go after a man's wife.

From time to time, a song comes along that makes me stop my mental muddle while in the car or in the kitchen.  A song that just states what I think much of the time.  This song comes along, and I can't help but sing along with the refrain and smile.  Also, it came on the radio at a point when I most needed to hear it.  You kjnwo hoe that is?  When you need to hear somehting and it pops onto the radio? 

Thank you India.Arie.  You are wise far beyond you years.  I remember seeing footage of you speaking to the boy you sing about in this song.  I remember seeing you eyes well up as you heard him sing and how it moved you so.  You go, girl.

"There's Hope"

Back when I had a little
I thought that I needed a lot
A little was over rated,
but a lot was a little too complicated
You see-Zero didn't satisfy me
A million didn't make me happy
That's when I learned a lesson
That it's all about your perception
Hey-are you a papa or a superstar
So you act, so you feel, so you are
It ain't about the size of your car
It's about the size of the faith in your heart

There's hope
It doesn't cost a thing to smile
You don't have to pay to laugh
You better thank God for that
[repeat]

There's hope

Off in the back country of Brazil
A met a young brotha that made me feel
That I could accomplish anything.
You see just like me he wanted to sing
He had no windows and no doors
He lived a simple life and was extremely poor
On top of all of that he had no eye sight,
but that didn't keep him from seein' the light
He said, what's it like in the USA,
and all I did was complain
He said-livin' here is paridise
He taught me paridise is in your mind
You know that

[Chorus]

Every time I turn on the T.V. (There's Hope)
Somebody's acting crazy (There's Hope)
If you let it, it will drive you crazy (There's Hope)
but I'm takin' back my power today (There's Hope)
Gas prices they just keep on rising (There's Hope)
The government they keep on lying
but we gotta keep on surviving
Keep living our truth and do the best we can do

Stand up for your rights [echo]
Keep shining your light [echo]
And show the world your smile [echo]

Last weekend we decided to go apple picking.  Or, I decided we would go apple picking.  My family is often along for the ride when it comes to my whims on weekend adventures.. but they have fun.  LOL

My husband's mother's family is from Michigan.  Specifically Battle Creek.  His grandparents had a small farm.  They had long since passed away, but we don't know a whole lot about them.  But I do know that they grew apples and nuts.  I know they had some livestock and did 4H stuff.  I had heard that Grandma Freida made apple butter, apple pies apple sauce, apple cobbler.  All the things folks do to preserve the crop and have it last for months and months.  But I wanted to know... did she pass on her recipes at all?  I had heard some won ribbons at the fair.  I figured it was worth sending an e-mail about.  Good to keep up the family legacy...  like my Grandma Toni passes on to me her recipes for gumbo, monkey bread, mac n' cheese etc.

I sent an e-mail to Hubby's aunt and uncle.  They seemed closest to that grandma and their kids spent a lot of time on the farm when they were little.  What came from these e-mails was truly awesome. 

While I did not end up getting any recipes, we got so much more.  From the aunt and uncle, and then by forwarding the e-mail to Hubby's cousins, we got warm sentimental and nostalgic memories of Grandma and Grandpa.  Hubby does not know a whole lot about his grandparents, as they were not very close. 

Hubby's uncle was the last to respond to the e-mail I sent.  He was attending a Chemists conference in San Francisco, didn't have a laptop he traveled with, and apologized for not responding sooner.  Sooner would have been the same day I sent the original e-mail, I was impressed with the turn around.  He shared his memories (including crashing his father's tractor into a tree as a teenager).

I had to ask if he had time to see us.  How often are we all even in the same time zone?  Last time we saw this uncle was when Big Boy was 13 months old.  It was for Grandma Freida's memorial in Michigan.  I was happy to hear he would like to take the train down to San Jose to spent the afternoon with us!  He requested that I pick up a 2 liter bottle of Diet Coke, because he wanted to show Big Boy and Honey Girl "an experiment".

We had a wonderful visit.  It was such a great last minute, on the fly and "meant to be" kind of thing.  Hubby came home early from work.  We chatted as best we could while keeping the kids entertained.  It was a real treat.  Made me feel so good for putting myself out there and reaching out to this branch of Hubby's family.  Big Boy got an A-Z science experiment book,  and Honey Girl got a plush mole dressed in lab gear named "millie"  she won't let it go.  adorable.

Here's a pic of Big Boy with his great uncle the chemist:

Thanks so much for the visit, Uncle Wayne!  While we didn't see fit to tell you all we've been through in the last month or so, you fizzed up our day with style.

Yesterday I made a morning mistake I hope not to repeat.

Big Boy stayed up late on his birthday.  He was excited about his new glow in the dark solar system mobile that we hung in his room.  He would lie in his bed staring at it and then come downstairs to say it was not glowing quite right.  We would explain that it needed to "charge up" the next day, but he was pretty adamant that he wanted to stay up and watch it until it started to glow.  What's a mom and dad to do?  As a result, I decided to let him sleep in a bit and that I would drive him to school instead of taking the train and walking a couple blocks.  He could sleep an extra half hour or so, and be more rested for school.

That was a mistake.  Not for Big Boy.. he did great with the extra rest, but for the commute, it was not fun.  His school is a mere maybe 3 miles away... but wow.

When we take the train, he may hustle to get out of the house, but we walk at Big Boy's pace to the train and from the train to the school.  We notice things, we push buttons for crosswalks.  Big Boy and Honey Girl sometimes wave hello and good morning to cars as we cross the streets.  It's nice.  It's still rush hour, but it's pretty fun, the kids develop street skills,  and get some fresh air and exercise before school.

Now, can someone tell me why the world is given a dose of agro nightmare road rage idiocy between 8AM and 8:30??!?!?  I mean, I was fine,  but witness such freakish behavior on the part of other drivers, I almost wanted to go home and take the train afterall.  I mean, there's the beemer passing other cars at 45mph on residential streets.  There's the honking at the crossing guards and masses of kids walking to the neighborhood school ot make them hurry up, then cutting behind them to turn onto a street.  Unreal.  Then a BIG contractor's dodge 5000 whatever pickup with tools hanging all over it peeling out of a Starbucks lot, sweeping across four lanes of traffic and screeching tires to a left turn onto San Carlos Blvd. 

"People are driving all kinds of crazy."  Big Boy says and I have to laugh.  I say, "That is what makes defensive driving such a joy." 

"What's defenifive diving?" he asks.  I drop the conversation as I allow an audi to cut me off and just sigh.

At the left hand turn light off Meridian onto Fruitdale for Big Boy's school, we notice we are behind a classmate of his.  The mom and I do the gentle "hi there" mini-wave.  Then the little girl turns around in her carseat and waves.  I wave.  Honey Girl waves.  Little Girl in the car waves emphatically to get Big Boy's attention.  Big Boy sees this, wants nothing to do with the exchange.  The little girl climbs out of her car seat and is standing in the back seat of her car waving and smiling and dancing.  The light turns green, and she hangs on for dear life as her mom drives on to the school.  Of course the mom proceeds carefully because about ten cars have run the red light with screeching tires and music blaring, all drivers with the "if I speed I won't be late" look on their face.

Countless schools have "curb drop off".  I was not crazy about the idea of just hollering "Goodbye, Big Boy.  Have a good day, I love you!  USE THE POTTY WHEN YOU NEED TOOOO!!!!"  har har har.  But it was time to give this costly  convenience a try.  Big Boy really did need that extra 20 minutes or so of sleep.  We are one of the first cars to drive through the lot in the gentle horseshoe formation to get to the official "drop zone".  Newly 8th grade boys in uniform chat with each other, not quite noticing we are there yet.  I open my passenger window and feel oh-so-VERY suburban minivan mom as I chime out politely yet assertively, "Pardon me gentlemen, would you be willing to walk [Big Boy] to the K-1 classroom?"  They hop to it, help him out of the car.  I explain speedily again to Big Boy that he's in good hands.  love you, have a good day.  USE THE POTTY WHEN YOU NEED TO!  The newly 8th grade boy says to him, "here, I'll carry your backpack..." but then is a little confused as Big Boy wants to hold his backpack, but would like the boy to hold his hand, "Um... ok, you can hold my hand I guess."  Big Boy waves and is escorted into the school with the truly giant 8th grade boy awkwardly holding his hand.

I take a deep breath as we move on to get to Honey Girl's school (Big Boy's old school, of course!)  More car antics amuse and yet frighten me.

A big black escalade with spinners cuts a sharp right turn, tilts and teeters as it spins the fastest u-turn I've seen, then makes another right turn, nearly clipping the toes off a crossing guard; all to avoid *god forbid* waiting for the light to turn green.  The 7 or so families on the curb  with numerous strollers watch in horror and all shake their heads.  It is a school zone.  All cars slow to a creep as a policeman stands in a very obvious way with a radar gun pointed at oncoming traffic, but as soon as the cars pass the policeman, they speed up so markedly, you can basically hear the engines revving.

I get Honey Girl to school.  The day moves on beautifully.

I am going to stick to the train from now on.  Sure it makes me one of the sitting ducks on the curb who might get hurt by an idiot driver, but at least we are not in the mix with the late for school freaking out parents behind the wheel.  We weren't even late, we were early, and clearly not playing the game.  That morning I could feel my blood pressure rising, I could feel the flush of adrenaline into my veins as I changed lanes.  This is just bad for health.  When we take the train we are in with other commuters who rush to meet their trains, then are able to take a deep breath and know they will arrive on time.  You should see the folks running when the train signal bells ring.  We've done that a bit.  Honey Girl whooping while hanging on tight to the stroller sides, big boy with his back pack bouncing.... It's a totally different commuting experience.  We may (and do) drag our butts out of bed and get dressed without much fanfare, but once we are out of the house, conversation begins and walking is just good for the soul.

We made  a good choice moving here so we can enjoy the trains.

My uncle Brad, My step-mom's baby brother, ended his life last week. 

I had not seen my uncle since 1997 in Maui, Hawaii.  He and his wife were living on Oahu and came over for the day to spend some time with us, and go to Mama's Fish House.  Brad was an artist.  He supported himself through his art, his artful woodwork, among other things.  It was shortly thereafter that we lost touch with him.  He and my mom had a falling out, as siblings sometimes do.  My mom would hear word of what he was up to from her mother, but not from him.  She called him in February to inform him that their father died, but he would not/ could not complete the phone call.

Apparently, he had a very bad succession of days.  That sounds wretchedly trite.  I see no reason to put in details, out of respect for our family.  Suffice it to say, things for him were not good.  He ran off into the woods of Florida with nothing but a gun.  He had called 911 and informed them of his plans.  He was found a few days later.  Law enforcement would not allow his wife to see his body.

We all knew it might be bad when he had been missing for a couple days, but the news we knew would probably come still hit like a ton of bricks. A lot harder than we expected.

There was so much that was never said!  So much about him that was misunderstood, miscommunicated, and now he's completely lost.  It is a crushing feeling of such hopelessness and anger.  I have to admit, that after I got the phone call from Dad I really was not wanting to get..... I was muttering, "shit Brad!  Dammit Brad!" and of course, "Why the HELL did you do this?"  I was not close to this uncle, but the love I have for my mom made me near tears for her loss and pain.  This choice he made robs so much from so many.  It is so hard to lose someone to accident or disease, but when they decide they no longer want to be in this world, it has such a different sad and sorry feel to it.

My mom called me back that day to say that she was definitely "down for the count".  I can't imagine the pain she must be in.  She lost  Grandpa Ronald and her father this year, she lost her older brother tragically years ago, and now her misunderstood eccentric baby brother is gone.  They never got the opportunity to make up.  He never let her back in.  This was the one time she decided to not play along with their previous dynamics, and it ended in a case of non-closure. 

If you are blessed to have siblings, you can imagine the pain;  the arguments, the alienation that lulls into a general acceptance, the times you have nothing to relate to with them, but you can still laugh and laugh about someone puking in the car when you were kids, or or how crazy  your parents are/were.  Those bonds never truly go away.

My thoughts are with my mom every moment. 

The fodder for the entry started last week with my friend melanie's blog entry.  I commented on the blog because it really did raise food for thought for me on the topic of girlie girls in mass media culture and the positive/ not so positive aspects of them.  It's a good read, give it a moment.

I was a tomboy.  No, scratch that.  My father is adamant that I was NOT a tomboy, but rather a very athletic girl.  His difference in definition being that it was clear I loved being a girl.  I loved being a very athletic girl.  Sure I hated dresses, bows, tights ( never knew of a more aptly named garment! ug!), or any shoes that pinched.  My sister would coach me non stop about how to sit properly when wearing a dress until I hated the whole process.  It was only my Grandma Toni that was ever able to get me into gorgeous formal wear and explain to me in ways I enjoyed the beauty and fun it can be.  To this day I have the ability to shine up like a new penny with ease.. but I would NEVER want to do it regularly!  I figure now that most of my friends are married (except for you, Dave!) I won't need to gussy up for a wedding anytime soon.  yay!

I was also raised by a feminist.  Like, a 1970's feminist who went far off the grain in order to give birth to me.  Not many babies were born in 1974.  I watched my mom come home and nearly rip off her dresses or skirt suits and hose with gusto.  "Don't speak to me until I am out of my work clothes and have taken a breath!"  she would say.  Clearly.. she hated womanly dress code as well.  "Women can do anything they fucking want." she would say one day to me when I was about 4.  then sadly, "Women earn a measly fucking 60 cents to every dollar a man earns." she told me about once a month from the time I was 8 til I left home.  Don't judge my mom on her language choices.. in topics such as those, I still feel the f-word was appropriately used!

I was blessed to be raised in a time when girls were not expected to be girlie!  I was raised with Madonna (all hail and hazzah.. God I love her), Cindy Lauper,  Mary Lou Retton,  Gloria Steinem, Geraldine Ferraro, Diane Feinstein, Barbara Boxer... a lot of awesome women doing awesome works so I could have a far better life.  Down with the Disney princesses!  Down with smurfette!  Women don't need men to be complete!  Up with Sesame Street and 3-2-1 Contact!  Up with unisex clothing!  Up with The Gap!  It was quite awesome. 

Now I have a daughter.  A beautiful, cheeky, witty, outgoing, shall i say daring daughter eternally coming into her own.  I am inundated with the Disney Princesses, but they are not in my house!  This whole phenomenon started ages ago.  Friends with daughters Big Boy's age have already tread this path.  They left their jobs to have babies and then kaboom... these daughters want princess parties, they want the ball gowns, the tea sets, the bling bling.  They said "It's just what they enjoy.. I fought it for a while, but found they love the dress up and imaginative play of it too".  I watched with a leery eye.  Wasn't such play a huge step back?  Were our smart, sassy, amazing girls going to grow up believing in prince charming and white castles and all that UTTER CRAP??

What happened to up with women scientists and not bothering with boys until you are complete in and of yourself?  I looked at my newborn and back at all the 2+ years olds at playgroup in all their princess dresses for Halloween and my heart sank.  plastic high heeled rhinstone studded shoes for a 2 year old?  Say it ain't so!

I started looking more at the Disney princesses ( but I still hiss and growl and scratch when i see Bratz, My Scene or Polly Pocket!!!).  I noticed something.  They don't even talk about princes anymore!  It is interesting.  There is nothing remotely "in need of a man" about these new-wave re-done vixens.  I always liked that Belle (of Beauty and the Beast)  liked to read a lot.  But that was about it...  Maybe they weren't so bad?

I always sighed with relief when Baby Girl showed no interest in the ball dresses at Target or Costco.  You know the ones, with the buttons on the front of each Disney Princess they are meant to emulate?  She would give them a glimpse, but would quickly fall in step behind Big Boy and want to look at science sets or cars or blocks.  She likes to pretend cook and loves to pretend talk on the phone with her grandma.  But so far.. no tea parties.

Then It happened.  Yesterday.  This is the email I sent out with regards to IT:

Today while dropping off some things and picking up other things at [Dear Friend's] house, her daughter (4) decided to strip [Honey Girl]  down and put her in a princess dress.  [Dear Friend] and I emerged from the kitchen to find [Honey Girl] jumping on the mini-trampoline in the dress.  It was THAT FAST.  My heart skipped a beat, my jaw dropped, and I blundered out "[Honey Girl] sweetie, do you like that dress on?"  Doing my very best to sound as impartial and non-judgemental AS POSSIBLE, and you know what she said?

"YES!!! I KEEEP IT ALLLLLL DAY, ....OK??"

ONce the laughter (and tears) subsided, she allowed us to take these photos before stripping out of the dress to get ready to go in her jeans and farm shirt.

The other picture that was taken showed more of me and was a lovely juxtaposition.  I was in my pink t-shirt and brown cargo pants.  What I call my mom-warrior errand running fatigues.

In the end,  my mind is stretching in lovely and marvelous new ways.  No, I don't see myself buying up princess gear.  I also hope my relatives don't buy up princess gear for her either.  BUT I also was made blatantly aware that a) she looked freakin' gorgeous in that dress and knew it, thus a big boost to her sense of self and self-beauty and b) what have I been working for in my feminist life and ideals if not for my daughter to have the choice of wearing the dress while hauling around a tool set?!?!?

It was a wonderful moment for me, really it was.  Melanie's daughter (did you read her entry yet??)... Hannah truly is the embodiment of being the ultimate girlie girl with the sexy kaboom! of hard core brains and bravery.  Dear Friend's daughter also takes no prisoners when it comes to either dressing up or climbing trees, running trains or blanketing her dolly. Who knows, seems  Honey Girl is letting me me know in no uncertain terms, "Momma, I can have it all too!" 

Honey Girl, you blow my mind, and YES, you can have it all and you have all the women before you to thank for it!  Go to, sweet one, go to!

I AM soooo sick of this stupid toilet training nightmare known as toilet training Big Boy.  So done!  so very very done.

Once Big Boy finished at his "old school"; the battle of wills began.  His controlling nature has it's wires crossed into all the wrong directions on this one.  While traveling he refused to poo in a foreign toilet.  It takes a lot of work to get him to do it.  He'd rather just go in his pants.  I can't express how livid this makes me at this point.  It goes beyond words.  rage.  The kind of annoyance and anger that sends my aura into bright red and my throat tights as my will to not have a fit chokes me.

You bleeding hearts who love to coo and cajole about "oh, he's only 3" can really just.... stick it someplace.. I NEED to get this rant out of my energy before I smack my kid.  Mom, if you are reading this and give me a lecture.. however ironic that would be.. about being a patient mother.. you can clean him up next time and do the laundry too!

Big Boy has decided to nearly kill himself holding it all in until he just goes in his pants a bit and holds it in more.  We've tried the nice approach.  We've tried the matter of fact approach.  We've tried the light bribery approach( stars to a toy kind of thing).  We have also tried the not so nice approach.  At the dude ranch I showed him a glycerin suppository, told him he would need it ( after 4 days of holidng it!),  and immediately he admitted he needed to go and had a glorious and copious bowel movement.

What gives?  What is the issue here?  I'm beginning to think he wants me to be packed in a padded cell screaming about how I won't clean another pair of destroyed underwear.

So today when picking him up at his first day at his new school, he was marched out with a plastic bag containing his lovely uniform, wearing the pants we remembered to pack for just in case.  He looked embarrassed, he looked sad.  When we got to the car and I sympathetically asked about what happened, he said he was trying his hardest to not go at all, telling his body no no no no, and then when he went, he couldn't get out of his clothes in time.  I felt for him for all of 30 seconds.  Just friggin' GO when you body tells you to GO!  It's not rocket science!  Then he said he didn't like that they sprayed his shoes.  I imagine they sprayed them with lysol or some such. 

The teacher was beyond nice.  I wonder how long this will last if he decides to crap his pants every day.  She told me not to put the uniform belt on him at all... it really is a hinderance.  She said she helped Big Boy to the bathroom and after waiting a while, asked if he was ok.. then went in and he was standing in a puddle.  His shoes were totally soaked.  I think he didn't pee when he woke up because when I opened the uniform bag, I nearly fell over due to the smell and the sog factor.  You know.... I could wring them out twice kind of accident?

I am trying so hard to be a diplomatic mother about this issue, but as of today I just want to scream and scream and throw things.  That's just where I am, people...

We'll need to return to blatant bribery.  I'll go out later and get a bunch of hot wheels cars and he'll get one a day for using the toilet at school and for not having any accidents.  Hey, that's better than screaming at him for NOT using it, right?  Better than ignoring this issue.

Well, *deep breath followed by a long slow sigh that often elicits a, "Momma, you angry?" from my kids*  and *another meditative deep breath*  Other than that.. and that fact that Big Boy came home with someone else's lunch box (with a similar name scrawled on the side, but not his name... but same bag).  His first day at his new school was a hit.  He's been calm and happy since he got home and downright agreeable.  It's lovely.

I think this is life literally handing me a load of crap, I will do my best to make nothing of it.

It was in the wee hours of the morning, after coming in from being out too late, drinking too much, and feeling to ripped to go to sleep that my room mate Carrie in Boulder CO introduced me to The Crocodile Hunter in 1997.  We watched it all too much.  Most nights after 10PM if the tv was on, it was to watch Steve Irwin speak passionately about the beauty of crocs and anything else he happened upon out in the wilds of Australia.

He was amazing, hilarious, and you just had to watch the whole show.  Sure, you'd see him get hurt, probably bit, probably get snippy with how a croc was being handled.. but c'mon.  Here was this guy, his wife and a dog jumping willingly into croc infested waters.  Never before did you have a nature show host love his work as much and  show it as much as Steve Irwin.

We named an overly adventurous foster kitten Steve.

Late last night after watching a movie we got the word via blogoshpere that Steve Irwin died from a stingray barb.
"oh no!" I said
"I know...." hubby said
"Maybe it's a joke?" I said
"Nope" Hubby said while pulling up the Australian newspapers to double check.
"How sad... he has such a beautiful family."
"I know."

I have not watched his show in ages.  I hadn't thought of him since feeling people needed to give him an effing break about holding his baby boy in a croc enclosure.

He was truly great and will be missed.

I am sitting here in the kitchen desk area working up uploading photos to costco to print them out!  I know!  Me, Jessica, actually PRINTING out photos to have in the proverbial flesh.  Shocking and all that stuff. 

See, I am a little desirous of having not so blank walls around the house and I need to update some family photo frames.  I have been putting it off.  Putting it off as in: it was not until I ordered professional shots of Honey Girl swimming under water this July that I HAD a photo of her in a frame.  Yes my friends, she will be two years old at week's end.

Such a wretched mommy.

I think I put it all off because we have oodles of pictures of the kids in iPhoto and on our website and in our galleries.  So, it wasn't like I wasn't taking the pictures.  I e-mail stuff to relatives and friends who are online with great regularity (well.. kinda great regularity) and to pertinent relatives who deserve photos but are not online, we will put together an iBook and send it in the mail every few months.  This is Hubby's father, who live in Atlanta, GA and is "old school" in an amazing way.

I admire folks who print out their photos and have them on the walls.  I pull it off from time to time.  I can see having those many photo frames for major outings or *the* great picture taken here or there.  But I just don't seem to do it often.

I. HATE.CLUTTER.  In cleaning out closets or storage spaces or dusting... photos in frames are annoying to me because they are 1) heavy 2) awkward 3) dusty 4) breakable and yes I have cut myself on  frame glass on more than one occasion.  Also, what do you do with photos?  put them in albums or boxes and put them in a closest and on it goes.  Yes, I have prized photos I got from my Grandparents that are in very special places.  They are also scanned and preserved digitally.  But for the most part, odd and end photos of this and that moment goofing around the house, or kids rear ends walking at a park will stay on the hard drive.

You won't find trinkets or chachkas or dust collectors in my house.  I have a dust allergy.  I don't even collect books much anymore.  I read them and pass them along, or get them from friends and pass them along.  Those I must keep do end up in plastic boxes at the storage unit... easy to find.  Nothing special.  Living Zen.  At least, that's what I like to say about it.  It could also be said that I am merely too cheap to buy pretty trinkets, that I hate dusting, and I hate getting mad at the kids or breaking said trinkets or pulling books out of shelves for me to pick up.  Either way.  Without those things around, I'm a much happier woman.  Same goes for framed works that have been dashed to the floor when carrying an over-exuberant, curious, tactile, tantruming, or reachy child when walking close by.  Same story goes for those framed pictures that hit the floor after a rouge bouncy ball, lego, block, train, puzzle piece, or couch pillow hit them.  This in no way means my kids are hyper.. it's just such a pain in the ass to go get new frame glass, so when frames do break, I get miffed.

But when it comes to scrapbooking, I've seen some I really think are cool, but it's simply not my craft.  I kind of wish it were in a sick "preserve these precious moment" kind of way, especially after our Dude Ranch vacation.. but... that seems to go against my nature.  Also, the tools, the stickers, the scissors, the paper, glue, or other decorative things would eventually drive me or Hubby crazy.  I never would use them up and thus would be swimming in, well, scrap. 

I knew a mom once that did a separate mini scrapbook for each month of her first born child's first year.  I'm sure there are a bajillion moms like this.  When she proudly displayed this to me, I looked on feeling guilty, less than, or like I must not love my kid enough to preserve the first year of his life in such a way.  The books were lovely!  I think she even did some hand stitching stuff on the binding, and they all fit together in a book box of matching color scheme.  I was really impressed.  But ... that just isn't me.  The photos are there, with comments and sved with proper date etc... but just not in a nice acid free paper with gorgeous embellishments kind of way.

Ah, well.. I see now that my photos are finished uploading.  The kids have been all over me throughout the process and we all need a walk.  the weather outside is lovely and I want fresh air and playtime as well. I think I'll do the actual ordering later.  I mean, Costco is closed on Labor Day anyway, right?  But I do swear I will order the prints, AND pick them up!

bye bye!

Shyeah.  Now, I get that my last couple weeks have not been very luxuriant or things others would want to have happen in their lives, but today was the day I realized that my days of being able to take it even remotely easy are so very done.

Last night after dinner we decided to go out.  We thought of  taking a walk, but I suggested we might as well bite the bullet and get the kids their new shoes.  Big Boy needed his uniform requirement shoes and Honey Girl had outgrown hers.  This shoe trip took some doing.  Stride Rite at Valley Fair had been picked over.  We managed to get Honey Girl her now 7 wide light-up hearts with some bling sneakers,  but Big Boy struck out.    They had nothing in his size 11.5 XW that he was remotely interested in, and he was not being difficult either.. he as wiling to compromise, but he has his standards.  To find THE UNIFORM SHOES we ended up going to Nordstrom (that btw carries Stride Rite shoes.. the very shoes we were looking for that the stride rite was out of.. go figure).  The shoes are black leather sneakers;  to save me the grief of having to provide separate "gym shoes" .  So yeah, Big Boy has entered the realm of "school clothes" and "play clothes".  I was in 3rd grade before given that designation.  Hubby was in 1st grade.... Big Boy hit that wall at pre-K.  Pre-K San Jose Carden style ;-).  It was quite the outing, but felt good to "get back out there".

Hubby crashed in this morning.  I really can't blame him.  I'ts been a hell of a month for us in good and bad ways.  He was beat, so I was with the kiddos downstairs for a bit before he resurfaced for the day.  The kids were so used to it being the three of us, they got positively giddy when he came down as if to say,
"Wow!  Daddy's home!  wait... Daddy was always here?  We just forgot?  Oh, ok.. but yay!  Daddy's home!"

We went to costco, we went to the grocery store, then back over to Merry Mart Uniforms to get the last bits of Big Boy uniformage ( belt, oxford shirt, and splurged on Carden jacket) for school on TUESDAY!  Wow, so soon!  Then when we got home we had lunch, put Honey Girl down for nap.  Things calmed a bit as I ironed name tags into all of Big Boy's uniform pieces, backpack, and lunch bag.  Then thought about it and just ironed the uniforms for good measure. 

We had to clean the house.  Hubby vaccumed and I had bathrooms, dusting and we both tidied.  Oh man, the bathrooms were BAD.  I wonder what screwy fog I've been in to not see how bad they had been getting.  My sense of smell is returning slowly and that made the job less tolerable.  Big Boy is having aim issues... I'll leave it at that. *gag*.  Then it was dinner, baths, and now the continued bedtime.  Big Boy is having trouble calling it quits for the night.

Looking back on my now gone August, it was a doozy. 1) The last days of Big Boy in his first preschool.  2)Being early pregnant, nearly brain dead, tired, and nauseated but thrilled all at the same time.  3)The dude ranch fun and just whole hearted happiness of our first real vacation in years and years., followed by  4) sudden dreadful pain, bleeding and loss right when we got home.  Oh, but hey, 5) lets go camping and 6) get a horrible head cold!  Oh, and 6)have a whole week at home while sick with no activities for the kids!  fuuuuuuuck.  I'm just scratching my head thinking, "Huh, no wonder I got a card in the mail from Dear Friend.... she's more aware of what I'm going through than I am!"

The card had me laughing.  A cute picture of a pitcher of lemonade.  In cute script it says, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade"  then on the inside it says "But when life hands you a load of crap, don't make anything with it.... trust me on this one."

I have down played the miscarriage to everyone.  Mostly because as such business can go, I had it about as easy as it can be given.  Once it was all done with, and family was informed,  Hubby was on the phone with my dad saying "Yeah, last week was hard. We're doing better, but yeah, last week it was hard."  I asked him about this  comment later and he looked at me in wide eyed wonder, "You were in pain, Sweetheart... you handled it beautifully, but I could tell you were in a lot of pain."  I play while injured.  I'm the person who springs up and says "I'm O-K!" after taking a tumble.  But yeah, looking back at it...or looking at it now, it was something shitty to go through.

But now, it is September.  Back to taking the train daily and getting my walking in.  Herding babes through the streets instead of strapping them in and begging them to not hit each other.  Weather is cooling a teensy bit.. and Honey Girl starts school soon too.  Birthdays abound and thankfully neither kid is egging me for a party.  I'm thinking cookies or cupcakes at school will be the deal of this year, and a little something at home.  My head will be spinning on Honey Girl's and  Big Boy's birthdays.  They used to fit inside me?!?!?

Sorry for the truly crappy writing this evening.. maybe my next entry will be better!  ha!