the ecology of action

Something happened today that got me thinking about actions, choices and responsibility. I try to teach, and model, good judgement to Things One and Two. I want them to make their own decisions, but it’s my job to help them understand what good judgement looks like. So far, in their relatively short lives, their actions and decisions haven’t had big (or very big) consequences. Yet. So they haven’t had the experience of a bad decision having unforseen impact on other people. But that’s coming. I hope they’ll do better than what I saw today.

So, Darby and I made our usual trek to the beach. Most mornings this time of year, it’s just the regulars. Nice folks, nice dogs. But today there was a unfamiliar dog who didn’t know how to play nice. His owner walked far down the beach, leaving the dog on his own, with his bad dog manners. In short order, he attacked another dog. One man was bitten trying to pull Bad Dog off of Good Dog. He had to lay on bad dog to keep him under control while his bad owner s-l-o-w-l-y strolled up the beach. Bad “owner” claims the dog isn’t is, he just found it on the street and brought it down (with a leash) to play on the beach. Piece of information: the dog is a male pitbull.

The consequences of his choice are many:

1. There’s an injured dog.

2. There’s an injured man, who may have to undergo rabies shots.

3. The pitbull will likely be euthanized.

4. The dog beach is under siege and we’re likely to lose it within a year. This did not help.

5. Pitbulls have a very bad reputation. Good work furthering that rap.

Word to bad owner: if you’re lying to avoid responsibility and you do own the dog, and it has been vaccinated, speak up! If you don’t, untold bad juju will follow you all the days of your life.

That choice to bring the dog to the beach in the first place played out today. And it reminded me how our actions are really interactions, often with unforseeable impact. So today we’ll talk with Things One and Two about making good choices. And standing up for the consequences, whatever they may be.

still feeling it

thankful, that is. Great family, great friends. Health scares in various quarters survived and conquered. Parenting challenges weathered. Perspective intact. Life is good.

We have very nice buns, Chez Dr. Suz

And we know how to wear our napkins.

 

 

Technoweenies, satiated, now passing around their toys.

Duck talk

 

Love ‘em, every one.

Perfect days have perfect endings.

live! american! girls! and the very special hotel room

Another reason that it is American Girl Place and not just a store is the Theatrical Revue. We had been tipped by a friend that it would be a quality production, drawing from the seemingly limitless pool of uber-talented adolescents farmed in the Southland.

When you book your tickets ($30 each, mind you) you are subjected to a lengthy recording warning of no flash photography, no recording devices, no children under three, suspension of disbelief required, services available for the blind, deaf and feeble. When we arrived at American Girl Place, we were told that we must check in with the concierge before the show, where we were reminded of no flash photography, no recording devices, no children under three, suspension of disbelief required, services available for the blind, deaf and feeble. After we shopped our little feet to mush, we met up with Uncle Bubba and Auntie Pass (yeah! kindred souls for mom!), drank down our beverages (no refreshments, no bags, no coats – forgot that bit) and – even though we arrived at 4:00 on the dot, we were held outside the theatre “while the performers enter the stage through the audience”. While Biff the doorman had us captive on the steps outside the door, he took the opportunity to remind us that there was to be no flash photography, no recording devices, no children under three, suspension of disbelief required, and services are available for the blind, deaf and feeble. ‘Kay then.

We were ushered into the Very Tiny Theatre by a real professional usher complete with outfit and teeny flashlight. Class Place, this. First thing I noticed was the live band (okay, two guys with sampling keyboards and a talented multi-instrumentalist) in a little hut off to the side. Good music bodes well. Apparently by arriving on time, we missed the premise of the entire show. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to surmise. Six or seven girls had formed an American Girl club, wherein they would get together and take turns acting out the stories of their dolls. But, oooh, heavy overtones, there was a new girl, who’s parents had recently * gasp* divorced. She was therefore, sad, lonely, withdrawn and *gasp* lacking a doll of her own.

I will not bore you with the total recap, but will share a few scary relevant tidbits from Kaya’s story. Kaya is a strong-headed, impulsive Native American girl. Her sister is blind. Kaya’s nickname is Magpie, because she is irresponsible and thinks only about her self. Note to readers: Thing One is also nicknamed Magpie because of her lifelong attraction to, and hoarding of, bright shiny objects. In our tale, Kaya is ticked that her horse was traded to some shady characters. She, and Sweet Blind Little Sister, impulsively and irresponsibly take off after the horse traders. Sneaking into their camp, they are discovered and captured. Stupid horse thieves don’t tie up the blind girl, who promptly sets Kaya free. Kaya then leaves Sweet Blind Little Sister with the horse thieves. In the dead of winter. And runs back home. Whoa. It’s a parable of the lives of Thing One and Thing Two. The rest of the show? Singing, acting out tales – escaped slaves, mexican medicine girl, child of the depression (no, not that depression), WWII Victory girls – dancing and a rousing sing along to wrap it up. “I will be brave, I will be strong. I will smile and sing along…”. Thing Two enjoyed it, the girls were indeed talented and the band in the box? Rocked.

After meeting back up with Thing One and Dad, Uncle Bubba and Auntie Pass joined us for dinner and wandering in the LA Farmer’s Market. We were happy after a long day to retreat to our Very Special Hotel Room. You see, I, being the most perfect mommy, had booked a mini-suite with the Very Special American Girl Experience Package. Our hotel was in a great location just off Melrose near the Design Center. Having been converted from an apartment building, each room is really a suite, complete with kitchen and living room. Our Very Special Room also came with an authentic American Girl doll bed and a swanky American Girl toiletries kit for Thing Two. Thoughtfully, the milk and cookies had been upgraded to also accomodate Thing One. Nice touch.

Kids being kids, they checked out every drawer, door and cranny in the room. “Look! The scale only goes to 80 lbs!” Each Thing is substantially larger than that (dense bones, I tell ya…) so they had great fun stomping on the scale that would not pass 80. A little silence (never a good thing), then… “Moooooommmmm? Whaaaaaaaaat’s this?” Two, climbing down from the room safe, hands me a 2″ square little ziplock baggie imprinted all over with red lips. And filled. with. white. powder. I didn’t hesitate to take swift and decisive action: “Go ask Dad.” Dad has professional experience with the underbelly of society, therefore he is an expert. He confirmed that it was in fact an illicit substance. Much discussion ensued. Two wanted to call the front desk to turn it in. One wanted to put it back and wait for the Russion Mafia to come back for it. Mom wanted to sit down and blog about it. Dad washed it down the sink.

And that is how our Very Special American Girl Experience room came to be known as the Very Special America’s Next Top Model Experience room.

all the pretty plastic people

Not plastic at all, our real-life friends K & F enjoy a fancy-schmancy American Girl lunch

“Shhhh. Hear that? That ‘tap-tap’? It’s the sound of an army… of little feet… marching. Hide! They’re trained assassins. It’s not safe here! We’ve got to RUN!!!!” So narrated by Thing One upon entering the American Girl store in LA. Thing Two? Not amused. Therein lies the dichotomy of my precious darlings. 21 months and an ocean of attitude apart.

This being Two’s special day, One was promptly dispatched with Dad to go wander elsewhere, anywhere else. Apparently, the snark fest continued down the escalator where One and Dad were intercepted by Jay, the American Girl concierge. Recognizing a kindred soul of snotty sarcasm, he offered to refund their non-refundable theatrical revue tix because, as he put it, “Honey, I have seen that show and I can tell from looking at you that you. will. not. survive.” In the interest of preserving the innocence of the intended audience, he tore up their tickets and directed them to the movie theater a few doors down. I said a little prayer hoping that Dad would have the good sense not to let One see Borat. She’s enough of that on her own.

Back to real intent of this entire trip: spending. Thing Two hordes cash. She’d saved up a sizable amount and we were there to spend. We began with recconaissance. Note that it is not called an American Girl store. Oh, no. It is American Girl Place. Because it is so much more.

Downstairs we found the Salon. And I quote, “Treat your doll to a new ’do! Give her a sassy ponytail flip, an elegant bun, or a long braid. Visit the Doll Hair Salon and let one of our specially trained stylists work magic on your doll’s hair. And be sure to ask about adding on a Pampering Plus package for dolls, complete with a facial scrub and nail decals.” At the last minute, Two had pangs of conflict and left her dolls in the hotel room, so the Salon experience (which I was secretly looking forward to) was not to be. Onward.

At the top of the escalator is a display case with every version of the Just Like You dolls, dressed in identical lavender cardigans and skirts. There had to be 50, standing in tiers, their eyes following me… “Tap, tap.” I’m thinking Chucky; Thing Two is thinking, “Which one, which one?”  Oh! But ahead there is more! Each of the historical dolls has their own mini-boutique with a large display of their period accessories. I will allow that the wee cups and chairs and binoculars and ooooooh, the typewriter, are pretty cool. I made a compelling pitch for the typewriter (little keys! carriage return!), to no avail. Onward.

The modern girls accessories line has its own TWO rooms to explore. After about 15 laps to examine every doll and every outfit, I entertained myself with people watching. Let me tell you, if you are a student of humanity, THIS is the place. I could write a tome on parenting, consumerism, modern mores and child psychology from the days hours spent enduring patiently standing by. The beautiful sad looking Russian woman buying three dolls, a suite of furniture and two giant bags of outfits and accessories. The little girl – no more than three – trying on a dress, cocktail-ready…bigger girls and their dolls dressed alike…and, god help us, some moms, too… over-stimulated, over-indulged Wonka-brats pitching ugly fits…

But – oh! Look at the time! It’s nearly 2:00 and K & F from our home town will soon be here for their seating in the cafe! If we’re quick, we can catch them…and lo, we did. We, alas did not have reservations, so we escaped just as they sealed the cafe doors (no kidding, they really do), to get out there and spend. And spend, she did. The soccer outfit, the (admittedly kinda neat) gimp kit, school girl togs, jammies, and more, so much more.

 

Next up: The Theatrical Revue and the Very Special Hotel Room

 

 

 

further proof that everything is political

Tomorrow we’re off on our voyage to Thing’s Two’s Emerald City: American Girl Place in Los Angeles. As dolls go, there are merits. There’s the history thing. It’s cursory, but hey, how many 10 year old girls would be reading about the Depression, World War II, the slave experience, yada yada on their own? There’s something for the good column. The accessories? Really, really cool and the quality is there. Two good things. The prices? Gasp, shudder, stagger. This is clearly indulgent grandparent territory. Big one for the bad column: elitist, rich girl collateral. But there’s more…

The American Girls were developed by one Pleasant Rowland, hence the “Pleasant Company“. A former school teacher, now millionaire many times over. So a few years back, she sells the company to Mattel. Big cash infusion. What to do, what to do. Invest in underprivileged girls here and elsewhere? Nah. Schools? Nah. Well kind of.

Pleasant apparently had pleasant memories of her Alma Mater, Wells College, a small girls college in Aurora, New York. Aurora is a (very) small upstate town. Quaint but not cloying. Loyal long time townies. Until.

Pleasant decides to make Aurora pleasant. To recreate the town as her own vision, the setting not unlike one from her historical fiction stories. The locals? Not so happy. What to do, what to do…Buy them out! Close their businesses! Tear down their historic homes and inns! Open twee boutiques! Endow Wells until the school is completely under her influence.

Sounds farfetched, doesn’t it? It’s so wacky, it’s become a fiction of its own. If you’re intrigued, check out the fallout while we’re off checking out the merchandise.

local politics

How hard can it be? Hmmmm. Lessee. How about taking one giant leap from voter to campaign manager? My leap looks like a baby step compared to Wendy. It has been inspiring to watch her step up to run for school board, then grow into the role. I always knew her to be smart, it’s this extra layer of grace that’s new. I’m so proud of her and I know she’ll serve our kids well.

Internet, send your positive vibes our way tomorrow.

Oh, and Mercury? We’re kicking your butt out of retrograde. You pull any crap tomorrow we’ll see that you don’t make it across the sun on Wednesday.

superstar

To even things out (balancing that trip to the Great Mall of Doll Commerce), I snagged tickets today to see Jesus Christ Superstar in December.  I was about 12 when the cast album came out and in that moony adolescent way, I memorized every word to every song.  I remember pining over some heavy crush, singing “He’s just a man [he was about 4 1/2' tall]… and I’ve had so many men before…”.  I played a clip for Thing One, to a greatly exaggerated rolling of the eyes.

“Mom. Kids are much more mature now.”

Um, what pray tell does she mean by that?

oh, the places you’ll go

Thing Two recently had a birthday. Thing Two had a birthday wish. Thing Two has had this wish for many birthdays before. Until recently the Universe had allowed us to make vague “m-hmmm” noises because we knew it was simply impossible/improbable to fulfill this wish.

Until.

Thing Two loves dolls. I do not. Thing Two loves American Girl dolls. Okay, it’s way better than Brats and Barbie. But still. The moguls at American Girl are quite adept at thinking up ways to part indulgent parents and grandparents from their money. In New York and Chicago, they created actual American Girl malls, with stores and cafes and theatrical revues. Nirvana and Mecca and Rodeo Drive all rolled into one. New York and Chicago are, blessedly, far, far away from Northern California.

Until.

They opened one in Los Angeles. Right near dear Uncle Bubba, whom we’d really like to visit soon, right Mom? Right.

Thing Two is a really, really, capital NICE kid. She is an alien in a family of sarcastic snarks. She is not over indulged. She deserves to have her birthday wish granted.

And so.

We will go. Next week. The prospect of this trip as material to be mined, plus knowing that she will say thank you a million times makes it two ticks better than tolerable. Stay tuned.

mom is not ready

A few weeks ago was the first dance of the year at my daughters’ middle school (which means it was their first dance, ever). I was actually permitted to chaperone. My duties mostly entailed pouring gallons and gallons of cold water for sweaty kids. And observing. Closely.
Things have changed a bit since my last school dance. There was rather a lot of free floor space in the not-so-large auditorium. That would be because all the kids were packed into one compact bodybrick smack in the middle of the floor. The still really little 7th grade boys scurried back and forth across the room chasing each other with their Star Wars sabers. The 7th & 8th grade girls in their French Maid with Fairy wings or Mini Skirted Nurse in Nancy Sinatra Boots costumes did a sort of line dancing hip grinding lap sitting crack the whip dance thing. For every sub-pack of 10 or 20 girls, a few confident 8th grade boys would squeeze in, followed shortly by the wrestling coach and his flashlight. Bless that man.

My kid, who did NOT get dressed at my house, showed up in a black tank top, frilly mini skirt, high heeled Doc Martens and…black lipstick.

Huh.

There was a dramatic subplot (that I clearly missed) as her usual pack of smart girls with limited social skills floated around the perimeter in their Pirate Maiden dresses, occasionally stopping to try a few self conscious leg bounces and maybe a slightly raised arm or two. No sign of my kid. For about a week there were rumblings in her social unit; it appears that the tectonic shift had occured and she’s been shuddered off on her own. About midway through the evening, she appeared at the snack table, hair dripping with sweat, “I learned to dance tonight!”.

Uh, great?

Now that I had a clue as to where to look, I did spy her from time to time dancing with a group of grrrrrrrlz at the front of the stage. Jacket down around her elbows, shoulders back and wagging.

I am. so. not. ready.

What have I done now?!

Too often I meet a challenge with a question: How hard can it be? I may come to regret this, but internet, here I am. If starting a blog weren’t committment enough (enough to have me committed), I’ll even toss my hat into the NaBloPoMo ‘06 ring and attempt a new post each and every day in November. Hey, I started off the day with NaNoWriMo wherein in I would begin – and end – a novel in 30 days. Hah. Hence the blog. Looks like I’m hedging already!

Who am I? Mom to Thing One and Thing Two, my girls, 12 & 11. Wife to Hub, a sweet guy in a tough guy job. Human mom to one dog, Darby (also known as Favorite Child) and two loony Maine Coon cats. Former high tech exec, then consultant, now, um, well, we’ll figure that out real soon.

Herein we’ll navigate the adventure of parenting two adolescents, figuring out what’s next, and greeting the present with patience and appreciation.