end hiatus

The nice thing about being a grown up without a job is that sometimes you can just decide not to do something. Like not post things for awhile. Because sometimes it’s good just to do the living without the recaps.

And so.

A few things have happened in the interim. Thing One continued with the wrestling, all the way to the state championship. She took 4th — not bad after a season total of just 9 matches and two tournaments. I’m happy because those nasty stinky shoes can finally air out for a good long while. Thing Two has been quietly bopping along in school, doing well. Apparently doing weller than we knew: her math teacher pulled her aside and told her that she’ll skip a grade and move into Algebra 1 in the fall.

This is what makes parenting such a wild ride. Wrestling and Algebra? Where did those genes come from? Guess I should have had longer conversations with the UPS man…

What I’ve really been doing with my time is puttering in the garden. We’re up to about a dozen fruit trees now. Maybe this year we’ll even get some before the squirrels!

auld angst syne: a holiday recap

It didn’t feel crazed while it was happening. Now that Things One and Two are back in school and Pop is back to work, all is returning to the usual pace. That’s a good thing. Not that the holidays were a bad thing. They’re just so, so much.

Any season that starts with pounds and pounds of chocolate, up to our elbows in in our hair, can’t be bad at all. Don’t tell anyone, but there are still a few truffles hidden away.

The Things mostly got along, but we’re definitely in the throes of adolescence. When they were babies, I wondered what it would be like when they were 12 & 13. We’re about to find out… Thing One will be 13 tomorrow.

No less a monumental transition, Pop turned 50 on New Year’s Day. A brand new 50 year old and and a brand new teen. Under the same roof. Uh-huh.

And to all you parents out there who thought it was a brilliant idea to give your kids Chocolate phones for Christmas and those pricey Abercrombie jackets…uh, thanks. The Things do just fine in the material goods department, but some of your little darlings would have done well to have gotten some manners for Christmas. Oh well… parenting wouldn’t be any fun if it weren’t a challenge. Nah.

The days roll on. While Global Warming may suck on a cosmic level, I can’t complain about the local effect.

Happy New Year!

sakes alive! it’s a meeeeeeeeracle!

One multimedia project on Geisha, complete with kimono and makeup. Check. Three math assignments. Check. Two Science worksheets. Check.  Done. Checked. Packed up. Ready for tomorrow morning. BOTH THINGS! Smiling Things!  Productive Things! See Dr. Suz do the happy dance.

sums it up

Actual, real life conversation in our happy home:

Thing Two: Are you kidding?!?!

Thing One: Yeah.

Thing Two: Are you serious?!!?

helping hands

To the Iraq study group:

word.

To the guy at the scene of the overturned car this morning:

Thank you for not hesistating. Thank you for knowing to put pressure on that vein. Thank for being willing to put towels right on the wound. Thank you for talking to the guy. I learned a lot from you today (not the least of which was not to try to lift a 2000 lb car when the guy is in it, not under it. Sheesh.).

Let’s hear it for Thing Two!

So, Thing Two wants to adopt someone for the holidays this year; bring a little something to someone’s life that isn’t as bright and shiny as hers. Okay, I get that. We talked about options. There’s the school for homeless kids, there are local church drives, there’s the food bank and there are those little cards at the mall with wishes from little kids who do without so much. We settled on the latter and trucked off to mall-land, a place I am willing to go 3 times/year, no more. So we find the table with all the gift tags and, huh. Lessee, there’s the one for a CD player, another for an iPod, and, hmmmm, games “for my X-Box”. Thing Two pointed out that SHE doesn’t have those things. I gave her a little speech about charity not having strings or judgement attached, but, huh. We decided to come home and talk to our neighbor about her church’s gift drive. I guess we were thinking along the warm coat, or nice book, or cuddly doll lines. It gave us pause and made us think both about our own perspective and what need might feel like for someone who has less.

When we got home, there was a post on a board I frequent about a soldier known to one of our members who will be spending Christmas in Fallujah. Bingo! Thing Two (with a little help) packed up a box of magazines, Red Bull, licorice, Snickers and chips. When we shipped it off yesterday, the guy helping us told us that his brother just got back from Fallujah and that our guy was really going to love his package.

So, maybe there’s a kid in town who isn’t going to get a game for his Xbox, but there’s a soldier in Fallujah who’s getting a really sweet letter and a big box of treats. That feels pretty good.

So today I’m thinking about hands. Helping hands, bloody hands, empty hands.

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.

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.