Am I Doing Okay?

Throwing In The Towel

2009-11-14T13:21:00.004-06:00

I'm off the NaPoBloMo train. It was a combo of The Swine Flu (which was really a 24 hour stomach bug) and my long leashed husband's wild night on the town. I wasn't really blown away with any of my posts and found myself often just throwing something up and promising to give it more thought on the morrow. *sigh*

I am enjoying Evany's and Twisted Susan's daily posts. Do you have any recommends for some new and awesome blogs I should be reading?

Looking forward, I'm tickled pink about our upcoming trip to Disneyland for Hazel's birthday. I made reservations to stay on property at the fancy Grand Californian Hotel and at the Blue Bayou restaurant which is inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. (This is similar to French Laundry on my own personal Mighty Life List.) Crazy excited.

This Little Piggy

2009-11-12T21:34:00.003-06:00

Yeah, I know it's almost smack dab in the middle of NaPoBloMo so of course Hazel and I may or may not have The Swine Flu. I know that everyone under the sun is calling any kind of sickness The Swine Flu. This morning I was calling it food poisoning and blaming Taco Bell, but see what twelve hours can do? Turn a stomach bug into The Swine Flu. I still went and volunteered at school today because at the time (and still) I didn't have a fever and I'm scared to death of messing with the established schedule for the Art Docent program I've volunteered for with another mom. Today's topic was artists painting birds. Last month I moved the date all around trying to accommodate my work schedule. I think I irritated all parties: the other mom, the teacher, the student teacher and even the people at work. So today, sickness be damned we're drawing birds! Wonder how they'll all feel about me if I've exposed them to The Swine Flu.

Nice To Meet You

2009-11-11T22:51:00.004-06:00

A while back, the girls and I were invited to a party. It was described as a party for Big and Little girls. We got dolled up and walked over to the house. The host was a mom of one of the girls' school friends. I was quite excited and expected to see many of the mothers I knew from school. However, when we arrived I nervously scanned the faces for someone familiar and came up short. I was introduced to the women gathered around the table, but the names came at me quickly - and in the melting pot in which we now live, I don't get the standard name fare that I'm accustomed to having grown up in Texas.

"You know Lumpia, don't you?" I was asked.

Having just been introduced to a bunch of women, I didn't want to seem rude or ignorant. Drawing all the cues I could from the situation I made eye contact with the woman across from me and mustered up an enthusiastic explanation.

"Oh, yes!" I replied, "We met at school."

The table erupted in laughter. Lumpia is not person. It's a Filipino spring roll.

The story is poignant to me today, because it seems like for all my efforts, I still come up short on so many fronts. Take blogging: I'm still trying to format Monday's post so that it's legible. Or Tuesday's post where I left the 'h' of the http:// on the link. (Now fixed.) I guess there are just some people who are destined to walk through life with toilet paper stuck to their shoes. The least I can do, is to keep trying with a smile on my face and some spring roll stuck between my teeth.

I've lost control

2009-11-10T23:45:00.003-06:00

It happened slowly, over time. At first, I hardly noticed and then after a few weeks it became achingly obvious. After receiving the emails, I'd vow to get back on track. But before long I wasn't even opening the envelopes. Oh, Netflix where did we go wrong?

Here's a list of the 100 Best Films of the Decade via Kottke.

My queue better watch out.

Loose Lips

2009-11-08T23:21:00.006-06:00

"I tell Lindsey all my stories." Lula said.

My head starts reeling. Imagining all the tales that our seven year old reports to the staff of her after school program. The good. The bad. The ugly.

"She thought it was hilarious." Snapped me back to a hopeful reality, but I still feel a bit uneasy.

Here's the story:

The girls are engaging Erik in a rousing game of who do you like better? Failing to get an answer, they continue to plead, "C'mon, Daddy. Tell us, who's your favorite?"

Erik looks thoughtfully at them both. "Neither" he snaps, "I hate you both."

Halloween 2009

2009-11-07T22:26:00.007-06:00

The week before Halloween the girls attended their school carnival.

As a pirate and

And a bunch of grapes.

Then we went to the Small Dog Park Halloween Parade

ChaCha was The Money You Could Be Saving With Geico.

On Halloween the girls were robots (again)

Erik and I, recreated this cannibal pumpkin. Here's the picture we took of a picture from a book where we ~~stole~~ got the idea. Ours won the carving contest, but we forgot to take a picture of the actual gourd.

I had toyed with being The Morton's Salt Girl for years. Here I am with my friend Sunny who dressed up as Cher.

Substitute Teacher FAIL

2009-11-06T19:57:00.003-06:00

As I reported for duty for my second day of substitute teaching, I was greeted by some rather unsettling news from the principal.

"I need to talk to you about one of the instruments that was DESTOYED during band class under your watch." he said.

Ain't that just one for the memory books. My glorious teaching career is already off the tracks before day two.

He actually used the word DESTROYED. Not damaged. Or cracked. Or broken. DESTROYED.

I'm really hoping it's a harmonica. Or a triangle.

For Magpie & Others

2009-11-05T23:31:00.003-06:00

You want to see the shirt/outfit -- I know you do.

We're just home from an amazing night out in the city. The modeling gig the girls had for a local illustrator had a gallery opening this evening. Then we met up with Erik, stopped by the Paul Frank store and went out to eat at the Squat and Gobble. I've got to wrangle the girls to bed and get everyone, including myself, to school by 8:00 am.

Tomorrow I'm back at the middle school to sub for the algebra teacher. Here's the shirt, in leu of a black cardigan I've covered myself with a cute kid.

Out of the will - again

2009-11-04T21:22:00.002-06:00

My mom loves presents. Loves, loves, loves presents. Many a holiday, birthday and court ordered visitation has been ruined over empty handedness. So if I am wise and want anything resembling peace, I know that I had better come bearing gifts. I've also learned, I should show and exagerated and repeated gratitude for anything that happens to come my way.

So when I was unpacking the girls' suitcases Monday, I came accross the gift for me that my mom had already mentioned at least five times. "I got you a present!" she repeatedly trilled. I opened the bag and immediatly called to thank her. I mentioned it again, before we hung up the phone.

When she brought it up on Tuesday, I tried my best to gush. But truth be told, it was difficult to muster much excitement.

Tonight, she began inquiring about the gift again. "Have you tried on your OUTFIT?!!?" she asked. I was feeling a bit under the weather, short of patience, tired of the rediculousness of it all.

"Mom, it's a shirt." I said. "It's obvously something you bought for yourself. It's bedazzled. It's a Medium. It's sleeveless. It's not my style. It looks like something one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta would wear."

She was almost speechless, but managed to snarl, "You need to change your style!"

One, Two, Three, Four - One, Two, Ready, Play

2009-11-03T23:51:00.002-06:00

You'll never guess what I did today. I can hardly believe it myself.

I was a substitute teacher. And not just any substitute teacher. I was a substitute BAND teacher.

Earlier in the year, when advertising freelance was slow, I started going through the process to get certified to be a sub in our school district. I took and passed the CBEST - California Basic Education Skills Test. I got fingerprinted. I had a TB test. I paid fees. I ordered my college transcripts. At times, it seemed a bit daunting, espcially when I heard that the demand was at an all time low.

When my phone rang today, I would have never imagined that I spend the day counting to a few hundred middle school students trying to coax them through the first few notes of Jingle Bells. The thing about a few hundred middle school kids with instruments is that they ALL MAKE A LOT OF NOISE. A LOT! And I'm not even going to mention the percussion section. I swear the percussion section swells when there's a sub. Suddenly, everyone plays the drums. And they'll play the drums with anything they can find.

Home Again, Home Again

2009-11-02T22:10:00.003-06:00

So we all survived the girls flying solo. They arrived home safe and sound 35 minutes ahead of schedule earlier this afternoon. Southwest charges a $25 unaccompanied minor fee each way, for each child. I'm not really sure what that extra fee gets you? Apparently, a gate agent that walks your kid up and down the ramp. Or maybe the pass through security that allows you to accompany your child to the gate. There was paperwork. I scanned the small print and found out that if the designated adult isn't at the destination to pick up your child, the airline will fly them back to the departure city. I liked the sounds of that. Thought it beat the alternative of - we will call CPS and you will end up on the 5 o'clock news with your picture smattered in trashy magazines right next to Jon Gosselin.

And you know, Southwest isn't messing around. Did you hear about the two year old they kicked off the plane last week?

Let's Do This Thing

2009-11-01T20:25:00.002-06:00

Two years ago, I participated.

I'm feeling up for the challenge. Wondering if I should try and tackle putting into words the things that have been heavy on my mind, crank out a few chapters on a book idea I've been toying with or bore you to tears with random observations?

Ironically, It's Payday

2009-10-30T10:15:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I was excercising on of my very special talents, salary negotiations. Mind you, not for myself, for myself I would describe the process as anxiety filled and a bit bumbley. However for others, my advisement on such subject has helped ~~many~~ a few people seccure the pay they had hoped for v. the pay they were offered. Here's the basic rules:

1) Always try to get them to throw out a number first. They'll usually give you a range, of which the higher number is where you start your negotiations.

2) Have a number you want in your head - then add 20% or if you are a woman 30%.

3) If your forced to say the number first, always say a number HIGHER than what would make you happy. It's their job to offer you less, so go big and you'll settle at a figure that you'll be pleased with.

The exchange with my friend took place via Instant Message and as most all things reguarding money, we tried to tiptoe around the actual amount in question. At one point, sensing maybe I was off in my suggested salary price and trying to cover up what might have been a misstep I said:

Me: What do I know? I just freelance and mom.

He: What does momming pay?

Me: It pays in eyerolls and the occasional hugs.

The girls are out of town, so later today I'm going to try to gather up all those eyerolls and hugs and take them to the bank for a big deposit.

I remember when the girls were tiny babies and they moved from 3 naps a day to 2. And then 2 naps a day to 1. I would say to anyone who would listen, and even those who didn't --

Me: They've increased my hours but not my pay.

I felt so cheated.

I really think juggling kids and work is impossibly hard. I see how it could be easier for those that salaries permit them to have a fulltime Nanny - even and especially after children grow beyond babies and become kids with busy schedules and commitments of their own. Or those with family that can step in to pick up children when something unexpected happens like say, an 18 Wheeler Overturns or a cable snaps and closes The Bay Bridge. I often think that the hardest part of my day is when I leave work and rush like a madwoman to catch what ever public transportation gets me to the girls before the pick up deadline of 6pm. I feel envious eyes watching me leave work - usually a full 15 minutes after the time I've allowed myself to make the mile+ walk to the bus or boat. These eyes are replaced with dubious glares at the wall clock from the staff that run our amazing after school program. It's so difficult to know that your doing the best you can and trying to get it all done and the still yet, everywhere there are doubters.

Committed

2009-10-26T22:11:00.005-05:00

On my huge list of to-do items that I keep postponing was the task of renewing my blog domain name. Realizing that it expires tomorrow, I hastely called up my good friends (with questionable taste in advertising but excellent customer service) at Go Daddy.com.

The voice on the other end of the line asked me for my ID number. A series of digits I have stored somewhere right next to all the other things I can never find. So he asked the next question, "What is your domain name?"

"Am I doing okay." I replied.

"Uh?" he paused audibly confused. "I didn't ask. Um, I need to know, what is your DOMAIN name?" he inquired again.

"Am I doing okay." I replied again. Stifling laughter and thinking this was the best gag of my day.

And a few questions and a series of different digits later, Am I Doing Okay.com is renewed for five more years. That's 2014.

All this and I'm good with math.

News

2009-10-25T21:16:00.003-05:00

So my desire that blogging lead to something bigger and better has somewhat come to fruition. Over the next few months, I'll be working on an exciting project that will allow me to get paid for all my social media experience. Hurrah! Unfortunately, I won't be going to Austin for Halloween like I had originally planned. I'm sad to not get the chance to see my bloggy friends and celebrate the birth of babies and see my mom. I'll miss my girls like crazy as I put them on a plane to fly solo for the first time. My biggest fear is after flying alone they'll never want to go on a trip with me again.

A Very Good Question

2009-10-20T00:15:00.004-05:00

A few weeks ago the girls and I were forced to repeatedly use a Port-O-Potty. That's music festivals, for you. So as we struggled to escape the clutches of being a bit to close to everyone else's excrement, I doled out some hand wipes.

"Here, wipe your hands!" I instructed. "They kill 99.9% of all germs."

And then Hazel asked, "Mommy, what's the .01% of germs it doesn't kill?"

Confusion On The Street Corner

2009-10-15T00:42:00.004-05:00

I'm on the phone with my mom this morning when I hear her suddenly say:

My Mom: No! No, no, no, no, no. No!!!

I wasn't quite sure if she replying to whatever I had said or just spouting out answers. Luckily she went on to explain:

My Mom: This man just came up to my car window and asked me for a cigarette.

My mother doesn't smoke. As I'm mulling over the idea of this exchange in my head, she offers up an alternative:

My Mom: Maybe he wanted the marijuana.

My mom always (always, always, always) refers to weed as the marijuana. I find the idea of either scenario absolutely ludicrous. I begin questioning her about her location.

My Mom: I'm on the corner by the CVS. He looked drunk. He just came up to the car window and stuck his fingers up to his mouth in a "v".

That's when it all started to make sense.

Me: Mom, was he sticking out his tongue?

The State Of The Marriage

2009-10-13T12:06:00.002-05:00

Last week, I stood in the expansive personal hygiene aisle of a big box store. Staring back at me were thousands of toothbrushes in every shape, model, make and manufacturer. Some spun. Some vibrated. Some offered to scrape my tongue. In every color imaginable, it was a rainbow of choices. But I wasn't there for me. Oh, no. Erik had casually mentioned that he needed a new toothbrush and I was on a wifely mission to make it happen. Flanked with our children, I gazed at all the packaging. It really all came down to the size and firmness of the bristles. Full or compact. And soft or firm. I made my selection, confident that Erik's and his teeth would be clean and happy.

That night, he noticed the new orange brush sitting on the edge of the sink. He picked up the toothbrush and examined the writing.

"Compact? Firm?" he questioned. "We've known each other for over 16 years."

I bought the exact opposite of the kind of toothbrush my husband prefers. And it wasn't the first time. I also make this error with toilet paper. Let the divorce decree show, I slowly tortured him by erroneously purchasing incorrect health and beauty products.

I felt bad about this mistake. How hard is it to remember simple details? Apparently, for me - impossible. Maybe I need one of those scraps of paper in my wallet but instead of sizes it has crib notes that say: Soft. Full. Northern.

Saturday night after a fun family trip to another big box store, my husband asked me what I was unpacking from one of the bags. I turned around with a new & improved box of odor & dirt eliminator for carpet & room. (Package design bonus points for positioning three ampersands on the same package panel.) From across the kitchen he held up a matching box. We had both added the same product to the cart.

"What fragrance?" I inquired. Remembering that I had mulled over the options in the aisle finally selecting one that conjured up images of an April shower.

"Spring Rain" he replied.

Yes! I celebrated to myself. At least we're still on the same page with smell goods.

Where'd the maid go?

2009-10-06T20:05:00.005-05:00

I struggle with housework. I like to think that the me living in an alternate universe, lives in a very orderly, clean flat. (Apparently the me in another universe lives in London and she has found a signature hairstyle.) The real me, has all the abominations of an American hausfrau - clutter, chaos and three kids who don't pick up after themselves. (I included my husband in that count.)

I'm very good at coming up with a system. I just struggle with sticking to said system. A few years ago, everyone was responsible for a "room". One room. Every day, you cleaned your room. Erik had the kitchen. Lula had the bathroom. Hazel did the bedroom she and Lula shared. And I was in charge of the Livingdiningmasterbedroom. This prompted my mother-in-law to say, "You must be alot of fun to live with." And I really don't think she was kidding.

A few weeks ago, I tried the write-rooms-on-tiny-scraps-of-paper-and-pull-one-out-of-the-jar routine. I added one blank "free choice" slip. And one "computer" slip. Then I set the timer for 10 minutes. Lula pulled the "computer" slip on the first try and got to spend ten minutes playing games on disney.com. At that single moment in time, we both felt like I was the smartest mom in the universe. This game went along swimmingly for over 40 minutes, drawing different slips in ten minute increments. Just when every room was starting to show signs of cleanliness, we ran out of steam. Still it felt somewhat like success.

After barking orders like a drill sergeant one day. "Pick up those shoes! Pick up that backpack! Is that where your toothbrush belongs?" Lula explained that it was much more effective to write down exactly what needed to be done v. rattling off a list that was hard to keep straight. "Brilliant!" I trilled. (Using my alternate English accent.) Behold the Sunday list:

I'm particularly fond of #5, Talk Nicely. It doesn't do the laundry, but it makes the picking it up off the floor a lot less stinky.

A Perfect 10

2009-10-02T12:43:00.004-05:00

Once I heard a woman describe her son and his girlfriend as a "10". After the initial Bo Derek image cleared my brain, she went on to explain that her son was shaped like a "1" and his girlfriend was shaped like a "0". Son = long and lean. Girlfriend = rotund. Thus, when they walked into the house together, she thought they looked like a moving number 10.

This year my husband participated in not one, but TWO Biggest Loser competitions at his office. The first was mostly girls and informal but he had great success losing close to 30 pounds. The second was testosterone filled and fueled with a $2K prize pot. Again, he managed to shed many pounds and placed second in the largest percentage of body fat lost category. The Miss Congeniality of weight loss competitions.

Erik has radically changed his lifestyle and eating habits. I mean, this is guy who used to order a Budweiser with a whiskey back, hours before the porterhouse. He's moved from a bigger Don Draper to somewhat of a Lance Armstrong without the spandex and while keeping his testicles intact. The chicken wing lover survived on veggie burgers and egg whites and popcorn. Last weekend he finished a 5K and then came back around to cheer me on lagging many minutes behind.

So yeah, I'm very concerned we might be looking like a "10". I've always had a fear of being in a Jack Sprat kind of relationship. I'm going to set my sights on us becoming an "11". In the meantime behold his before and after.

You can read about the GSP Hey Fat Ass competition here. His final posting is here. If you have the time, would you leave a comment on his post. I think it would be funny if got a bunch of comments from people he doesn't know.

Now excuse me while I go find a treadmill and some tofu.

Sorry About The Thunderstorms Austin

2009-10-01T12:28:00.005-05:00

Half the people who know me, have no idea how cool I am. (So cool, that I had retype the word cool 3x to get it right.) Right now, I'm licking my thumb and placing it near my rear and making a sizzle sound effect. I'm that cool.

I used to brag that I had the dubious honor of attending the Austin City Limits Music Festival every year. Every. Single. Year. Don't try and top me, because that first year - there were like three people there (okay 300) and I was related to half of them.

Then it got all popular. And crowded. And the lines, good grief the lines. And the heat. And the dust. And suddenly my ticket didn't have those special little letters: VIP on it. And my kids got too big to stick in stroller or wagon and push to the front of the stage. And they kept begging to play in the sand at the volley ball courts. Do you know how impossible it is to throw your panties on the stage from the volley ball courts - aka Austin Kiddie Limits? I tried once and they ended entwined around Clifford The Big Red Dog's head. Head's up - back stage with Clifford, not as crazy as you might think. He's all straight edge, organic kibble, pro-cat nap. Booooorrrrring.

So after Amy Winehouse cancelled in '07, I kind of lost interest. (Not true) I bought tickets for this year last October. But I felt a huge pang of disappointment when they announced the headliners and they turned out to be the exact same headliners playing the Outside Lands Festival right here in Golden Gate Park. I like to think every music festival is some special cosmic gathering reminiscent of the original Woodstock v. pre-arranged corporate scheduling sponsored money making event. Then I found out the amazing Hardly, Strictly, Bluegrass Festival was scheduled for the exact same weekend. Here's the thing about HSB - it is FREE!!! FREE!!! FREE!!!!

All my people will be there: Lyle, John Prine, REK, Emmylou, Old 97's, Steve Earle, Drive-by Truckers, Old Crow Medicine Show on and on. And even MC Hammer.

Before you go poking fun and asking some silly "would I like some country with my western?" jokes, let's remember two things. One, I'm from Texas. I'm more Texas than most of the people who will actually be at ACL this weekend. (Ironically, most of the out-of-towners will be from California.) Two, it's supposed to rain ALL WEEKEND LONG in the 512. So, I will think of you, while I'm drinking store bought beer in an ACL '02 koozie that I am allowed to bring into the park to my free concert surrounded by redwood trees and in return, I hope that the umbrella you hold over your head during Pearl Jam doesn't get struck by lightening or wielded wildly and ends up poking someone in the eyeball. Deal?

This does not mean that I will be disappointed if you buy me a T-shirt.

Forgetting Something

2009-09-28T15:24:00.004-05:00

A few Saturdays ago we were getting ready to go to a party. Lula was very particular about her party dress. And her party shoes. She spent extra time on her hair. Glossed her lips. Even packed a small purse. She hippity-hopped through the living room while I gathered up keys and bags. I had that Miss Clavel feeling that something wasn't right.

"Lula, are you wearing underwear?" I asked.

She took a flying leap down the hall and answered, "Almost."

License and Registration

2009-09-24T11:30:00.004-05:00

Erik and I went together to exchange our Texas drivers licenses for California. Ten business days later, only mine arrived in the mail. After weeks of waiting and one failed phone attempt resulting in being on hold for over two hours, we went back down to the DMV.

When it was finally our turn, the woman worker was able to determine that Erik's license had been returned to the Post Office. Diligently making sure that Erik was indeed the man he claimed to be the woman asked where Erik had held other driver's licenses:

Vermont

New York

California

Texas

And, she inquired, where have you gotten tickets?

Vermont

New York

California

Texas

He quickly rattled in a reply.

Where else? She asked.

I could tell he was slightly taken aback.

Ummmm. He said. South Dakota. (see Badlands)

Kansas. I interjected. (see Christmas 2004)

Where else? She pushed.

We've driven cross country multiple times. I explained. (see map)

The lady rolled her eyes in that explanation.

Memories of State Troopers in the rearview came flooding back.

Pretty much anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard. I recalled. Then I started with Maine and moved down to Florida. Hitting correct answers at almost every state line.

He's flying a bit straighter these days. I added. Trying to reassure her. (Who knows what information she was privy to on that computer screen.) And now, he takes the bus.

Cloudy With a Chance of Cool Whip

2009-09-20T23:05:00.002-05:00

How was your weekend?

Mine was messy. Friday night, I resisted the urge to purge the checking account and drag the girls to Oracle Arena in the hopes of attending the Miley Cyrus concert. Unbelievably this milestone (Mileystone) wasn't even on my radar. It was the two fifth grade girls dressed in denim short pants, wife beaters, black vests and skinny ties swinging around the playground pole Friday morning that tipped me off to the event. Fifth graders know. While I thought that pulling off the show would assure me a spot in the hip mom annuals, I couldn't justify the price tag - especially when my girls were more interested in going to see Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs. Three tickets to the movies, please.

Saturday, after the annual California Coastal Clean Up, we cruised into the city for Maggie Mason's life list food fight. What kind of a mother takes her kids to the heart of San Francisco to throw whipped topping on total strangers? Me! Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me!!!

(Hazel is in the long green tee. Lula is in red. I'm wearing a light blue tee and blabber on about a spatula towards the end.)

This post veered off course, soared off a cliff, crashed and then felt sorry for itself

2009-09-18T11:54:00.006-05:00

Let me start by saying, on occasion, I have been complimented on my mothering. Once ~~in awhile~~ I heard the words "You are a good mother."

And while I accept the compliment on the outside, I mull it over in my head on the inside. I wonder if people say this to me because there isn't anything ELSE to say. It's not like I hear:

I can't believe you finished the marathon in under 4 hours.

Saw your new novel made the best seller list.

Your doting husband is on such a short leash, what's your secret?

I had no idea you spoke: Italian, French, Japanese and Swahili.

Tofu, seriously? It tastes just like filet mignon!

Not that I won't take the "Good Mother" badge. I love to hear that. I just worry that it might be camouflage speak for "You could be doing so much more with your life" or "With out children, you'd be positively boring."