Ho, Ho, Ho and a little Rock and Roll

For those of you watching the news, we have not floated out to sea. We had a beautiful snow fall followed by four days of torrential downpour. Found a few leaks, and held our breathe as the driveway filled with water. But now, we are warm and fairly dry, by Seattle standards, and ready to ring in Christmas and the New Year. One year ago Christmas, we were visiting family in St. Charles, Missouri. We were deciding whether to move to Seattle. Coincidentally, St. Charles is the site of the Lewis' and Clark's departure on the Columbia River. While we can't compare our journey to their hardships (we flew over the Rockies, for example) I do feel as though a year-long odyssey has come to an end. In Oregon this summer we hiked part of Lewis and Clark's final trail to the sea. I do hope the symbolic parallels end there since Clark went on to have about ten kids, and Lewis suffered depression and killed himself. I think we'll just drink eggnog and listen to tunes.



Postscript:
These scenes of domesticity are all well and good, but lest we forget about the rock and the roll, here is what we've been up to musically. Since I'm hardly on the cutting edge these days, I apologize if my musical picks are soooo last week. We saw Iron and Wine on Monday night. Totally awesome! Califone opened which took us back to the days of Red Red Meat at the Empty Bottle. (we love you in Chicago!) We recently saw The Bird and the Bee. Sister C. turned me on to these guys. Not to be missed if they are coming your way. And, be on the look out for Kate Tucker and the Sons of Sweden, a local band with a beautiful sound.

Deception Pass, Whidbey Island

Batman Basket

Happy Thanksgiving!

A few glimpses of Thanksgiving Day in sunny Seattle. We hope you are well!
(above, you can just make out Mount Ranier)

Date Night

Date night always includes a great meal. We love a chance to catch up after a nutty week, or in our case, a nutty month. Cafe Presse is our pick of the week.

Beauty and the Beast

Saturday morning I went to the health club. Maybe it's vanity that pushes me to exercise as diligently as I do, but I prefer to think it's my desire for good health and to have extra energy for my family. Probably both. So I was climbing away on the stair-master listening to Rilo Kiley, and glancing up at the six television screens which were operating simultaneously. Televisions number two and three were showing college football. And I don't know anyone who doesn't love college football. Anyone! Big Ten, Pac Ten, Hang Ten; it doesn't matter. It is the glue that binds humanity (United States humanity) together! Television number five was showing cooking because what do we love more than football? We love food. Television number six was showing women's golf; probably the most under-appreciated sport ever! (Can you tell I'm being dramatic and emphatic today? It's a rainy! Monday morning baby, and I've got something to say). But sandwiching the football are TVs number one and four, airing respectively, Combat Hospital (a reality show in Iraq) and Dr. 90210 (a reality show in Beverly Hills). Two football fields and a gazillion light-years away from each other in terms of "reality". At one point there was a women lying on an operating table on TV 1. She was filled with shrapnel from a roadside bomb. TV 4, at the exact same moment, had a woman on the operating table getting balls of silicone goo squeezed into her body through her dissected nipple. I had to look at the food network for a bit; the juxtaposition just a little too great.

The same morning I watched an online video from Dove's self-esteem campaign called "Onslaught" (check out the link at http://www.campaignforrealbeauty.com/home.asp) about the media messages young girls receive regarding their bodies and cultural standards of beauty. A few hours later I'm watching a young woman; an "actress" ask Dr. 90210 for bigger implants, but "no scars because she has to be on camera in a couple of weeks". Hmmmm. I wonder what the shrapnel girl's body image is like. She probably thought her butt was kind of big. Until it got blown off.

I watch my daughter and I see how confident and beautiful she is. I don't know if she'll run for president or cheer-lead for football or join the army. She can do anything she wants but my wish for her is that she will love herself and be proud of her inner and outer beauty.
And maybe that she'll learn to play golf.

Thoughts on Autumn

A quick post since I'm such a lazy blogger.

We are settling in and the calm it brings is making us mildly reflective and extremely celebratory. Our theme this month is Gratitude. We have a chart in the kitchen and each day someone states what they are thankful for. So far we have listed: healthy beautiful children, today!, being alive, friends and family, and everything but bad stuff. A pretty good list. Our theme of gratitude extends to celebrating other cultures as well. Tonight we had a hearty, fall dinner surrounded by candlelight and collected leaves. Fifi told us the story of Rama and we learned the history of Diwali. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and happens to be a Fiets' favorite holiday. Everything about this time of year is comforting; the harvest moon, celebrating blessings, the gorgeous colors, crisp air....apples, pumpkins, red wine. Red wine is always is season, right? I'm certainly grateful for its healthful properties. Add it to the list!

Enjoy the season. I'm certainly grateful for all the good friends who check in!

Wishing you a wonderful day....L.

Is It Really October?

Every year October catches me by surprise. I know it's coming. It's fairly predictable, and a huge majority of people I love were born in October so it's filled with important dates. I see the leaves changing color; a little here, a little there. But as if overnight, I wake up and the trees have exploded into flame, my son's birthday is a week away and I haven't planned a party, and the Christmas decorations are in the stores (that's a different blog. Disgust!) My last blog was in August, I noticed. So I'll share a brief digest (is brief digest redundant?) of what's been happening. In September, I sent the kids off to school and then just sat here looking out the window for a couple of weeks. After a summer of "Camp Mommy" I was ready for a little solitude. I listened to a lot of Iron & Wine in my melancholy mood and unpacked more books. If we ever move again, we are having a book sale...we've been accumulating books since college and with five readers in the family....we're going to be one of those pack rat families you see on Oprah. The ones who walk through narrow aisles of crap to get to the kitchen. I'm going to donate many of them to a literacy project but it's hard to let go....the titles remind me of different ideas and influences and phases of our lives. Some of them are embarrassing like Organization for Dummies. (I think Dan bought that one.)
So here are some of my favorite titles/things from this fall.

On the bedside table:
Finding Your Inner Mama, edited by Eden Steinberg
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
Painting Chinese, Herbert Cole
Deep Economy, Bill McKibben
The Collected Stories, Amy Hempel
Savage Beauty, the Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay, Nancy Milford

In the car (c.d.'s):
Beethoven's Wig (kids love this)
Bach (because I think Bach should be part of everyone's personal soundtrack)
KEXP radio (if you have satellite, tune into this station)
(why doesn't Chicago have good radio?)
The Shins, of course
The Dead, of course

T.V.
Weeds (that show is hilarious)
MadMen (you should be watching this)
Kid Nation (my kids are fascinated)
Flight of the Conchord (HBO) so funny!

Okay...that's my 2 cents........

Kid Report:

Fifi quietly confided in me the other day. As if some deep concern had been brewing.
"Mommy?"
"Yes hun?"
"Well, it's just that...it's..well...I've never really liked the Shins."
(sigh of relief)
"Oh. That's okay. You can have your own opinions on music."
"Thanks Mom."

C-Lub turned 11 with a Zombie Pizza Party. We had a huge party with bloody legs and body parts and eyeballs and a horror movie. That was my first impression on all the new fifth grade parents and kids. Dale Carnegie here I come!

E. has become a total Star Wars freak. We've watched the entire trilogy and the other trilogy, what is that the sextology (that doesn't sound right). We watched in order of release AND in order of the narrative. I must confess that I never fully appreciated it before. I'd actually never even seen it before. But now I'm fully conversant on the matter. Ask me anything?

That's all for now.....I wish you Peace.

Silence is Golden

I'm sitting in a quiet kitchen with snoring dogs at my feet. Staring out the back window into the overgrown green that is our yard. The sugar maple has turned and the leaves look like flames. The apple tree branches are bending under the weight of our underappreciated apples. I keep asking the kids if they want to bake a pie with our very own apples but they all insist they don't like pie. (Maybe they are aliens) Do they not know about Pie Heaven?

Iron and Wine is downloading onto my phone as I type, and their melancholy sound combined with the changing season outside is making me feel reflective. The kids are off at their groovy little school, DTM is in New York, and I'm alone. There are approximately 237 things I could be doing beside staring out the window. I could do any number of domestic chores, I could unpack the china, I could clean up the breakfast dishes, I could go to yoga. I could get in a car and drive north for hours. I could get a job.

The odd thing about choosing domesticity and motherhood as your career is that when your children are babies, you are so busy you can't even think. You rock & sing, and wipe fannies. You stroll up and down the sidewalks hoping to speak with another adult. You don't even care what types of inane things you discuss. You can find yourself talking about the "pacifier fairy" and infant constipation.

And then when they are all in school...you breathe a sigh of relief that you've made it this far. But now it's the silence you crave. They can all converse now. And they have opinions. And, the great irony is, if you are doing your job well then they feel free to differ in their opinions from yours. They have agendas, ideas, and commitments. So now you aren't tucking in and kissing boo boos, you are driving and reminding and facilitating the accomplishments of somewhat independently thinking people. For those few hours that they're in school, the silence is golden.

I think I'll sit here just a little while longer savoring the silence. I hope you have a little time for peace today too.

STAY TUNED:

UP NEXT: Should Daddy get a Tattoo?

Grateful (as in dead)

Sometimes music is your best friend. Sometimes listening to a favorite song can take you places that you forgot all about. It's like smell....a whiff of freshly cut grass...all the long, lazy summers of your childhood....that kind of stuff, right? Music is a true friend. It always remembers and never tells. It replays the truth of a private reality which we can fully indulge.

The kids always ask me, "who is your best friend?" and while I've had and do have wonderful relationships in my life, I always answer, "Daddy." And I feel pretty grateful that after 16 years of marriage I can honestly answer that their dad is my best friend. But music, ahhhh music. That's a different matter. We all have songs that can absolutely transport us; the theme song from the ninth grade dance (Stairway to Heaven in my case...I know), first concert (Doobie Brothers), first love (Dylan....I know, I know). So of course, being of a particular age and particular time, I had a long and exciting love affair with the Grateful Dead. The thing with a band like the Dead that's been around for so long, there is always someone who was "there" at the beginning. But no matter when you connect, your memories are still sweet. I've sat on the floor of a tiny bar in Palo Alto watching the Jerry Garcia Band. And I've seen them at Soldiers Field. Small venue, large, Golden Gate Park, Wembley Arena in London....The Greek Theatre, Berkeley. Good times.

So the reason for all this nostalgia is, quite oddly, Dan picked up a Best of the Dead cd at Starbucks (go figure), and brought it home as a gift. At first I was like, "have you seen the boxes of bootlegs in the basement?" Because when you move you are forced to deal with all the "treasures", you have socked away. Between his vinyl and my cassettes, we need a three car garage. But I didn't say anything about my extensive collection, I just said, "thank you" and put it on the stereo. And something really cool happened. I remembered it all... every great Dead adventure throughout high school and college and after. How sad that I'd forgotten. I don't indulge in nostalgia much but it can be fun, and as I was dancing with the kids, I just felt grateful.

Once, when Dan was on a shoot, I flew out to LA to meet him for the weekend. We planned to relax all weekend at the Four Seasons. Dan bought Dead tickets for Saturday night. After a long day at the pool, I was racing to get ready for the show. I hurried to the elevator, frantically pressed the button, hopped into a full elevator, occupied by.... Jerry! Now I'm sure everyone has their story of "a brush with fame" or whatever, but I was stunned. Me and Jerry, in an elevator, on the way to his show....and all I could think was "hey, I'm not late." I wish I could tell you that I did something awesome. I didn't. I smiled politely and said "hi" to him and his wife, then we all disembarked to meet the valet. I didn't ask for his autograph or a ride to the show or anything but I have my little moment with Jerry. So when I'm sitting and listening to all those familiar and loved songs, I wish I would have said "hey man, your music is so happy, so comforting, so fun ... it's like a best friend."

Brain Dump

"Green" Mom Moment:
I was reading the Treeswing website when I came across www.laptoplunches.com. It's a great example of what smart mommies can do when they put their creative minds together. It is also a great resource if you are interested in reducing all the icky waste created by school lunches. I encourage you to check it out if you are packing a lunch everyday. (They address the "plastic" concerns in FAQs).

Disaster Plan
One item on our "to do" list is to create an Earthquake kit. Apparently when you live on a fault line, you need to be prepared for such possibilities. You can get them pre-packaged from the Red Cross but we need the kids to get used to their new home without mentioning its tectonic plate could easily shift. In Illinois our "disaster kit" consisted of a tombstone pizza, a 12-pack of Sierra Nevada and a guitar down in the basement. On vacation, we kept seeing Tsunami Evacuation Route signs. Of course the kids had a million questions about that. "Are we having a Tsunami?" "What is a Tsunami?""When is Tsunami season?" After you say "tsunami" ten or twelve times it becomes kind of entertaining. Then you can try substituting it for other words....use it as a verb or noun. "Is that a tsunami your wearing?" "What the tsunami?" Anyway, based on our easily distracted and amused group, if a disaster hits we're probably toast.

What I like....

These are some of the things I like so far:

trail running
the neighborhood natural foods co-op
walking to my yoga studio
coffee....really good, strong, locally roasted coffee
REI
sustainable architecture
Lake Washington
tide pools on Sunday afternoons
my neighborhood VEGETARIAN restaurant
independent bookstores
Bands
mountains

Ding Dong: The Update

Okay, as for change of address cards. I used Shutterfly and forgot to change my account info so the package was sent to Lake Bluff. Maybe everyone could go over to our old house and pick up their mail. Also, I might have accidentally re-ordered last year's Christmas card. So, just be prepared.....

I did the same thing with some Amazon books. Duh.

So I promise to write everyone with info etc. I'm sure you are busy with summer fun and unconcerned but still....polite society dictates.....Peace!

Trail Running

I've been running since I was fifteen. In that twenty-seven year interval I have run around my junior high track, around my cornfield of a college campus, around my urban block, along Chicago's sky line and on tree-lined, lakeside avenues. I have run alone, I have run with music, I have run with my thoughts, I have run with my spouse, I have run with a baby in a jogger, with two babies in a double jogger, with two babies in a double jogger and a toddler on a bike. I have run on a treadmill at night and early in the morning. And I have run with friends, with friends and their babies, with friends and their babies and their toddlers on bikes. The routes and cohorts have varied over time but one thing has always been consistent. The routine has been regular and the route has been flat.

When I injured my foot/ankle in June, I didn't care that I couldn't walk or couldn't pack. I cared that I couldn't run! Some people might think it symbolic that when I was about to leave my home, for good, my foot failed me. And maybe it was a physical manifestation of some of the stress. I really didn't have time to think about it. As I hobbled around, watching my children say goodbye to their friends and the only home they could remember, I wasn't thinking about my aching foot. I was thinking about my breaking heart. Yep. A million little pieces. And the only way that I maintain my personal strength, running, wasn't an option.

So now we've been here a month. The first few weeks I couldn't see what I had gained. I could only see what I had given up. And I still couldn't run. Without the clarity of mind that running provides, I did the only thing I could to stay sane. I swallowed Aleve, wore running shoes constantly and I walked; up the hills, the stairs, the beach cliffs, to the market, exploring. I walked the dogs. I walked the kids. You get the picture.

Today the kids went to camp and I went for my first full run and boy, it wasn't flat! Most of it was hills and trails which is awesome. You're away from cars and houses, you go a little slower, you're rewarded by the views, you get your heel strikes solidly planted......it felt incredible. So when I ran around the corner to a view of a sparkling Lake Washington with Mount Ranier just hovering on the horizon, I felt really grateful. My head felt clear, my body felt strong, and both my heart and my foot felt healed.


(note: the bad pun was unintended)

Independence Day!

Happy 4th of July! We celebrated Independence Day by hiking a waterfall. We think "independence" day in Seattle means everyone does their own thing. Not knowing anyone we headed for the hills (literally). At the trail head we ran into all the international tourists summering in the Cascades. It was quite a juxtaposition: all of Asia, India and Micronesia, in the wilderness, on the fourth. Far Out.

Yodle-ley-hee-who!

The kids are watching Spongebob in the next room. Sandy (the astronaut squirrel character) is singing a mournful, twangy song about how much she misses life on the land in Texas. She is tired of fish food. I feel pretty empathetic this morning. While I'm not yodeling a lonesome tune about Lake Bluff, there is certainly much to miss. The Bubble send-off was great. The children's friends made them beautiful mementos. There were dinners, coffees, parties. We laughed, we cried, (some of us even got sick in the bushes). Folks went out of their way to make us feel loved and support us in this huge adventure. But I can't look back just yet. Gotta keep movin' forward for now. Embrace the fish food! And let me tell ya', there is plenty of it.

When we first arrived, the house was empty, partially painted with the first floor torn apart, damp smelling and gray. Ugghh. But when we came into the kitchen, a little Seattle fairy had left us a picnic, champagne, balloons for the kids, biscuits for the dogs....it was extremely kind and took the edge off of a very long and emotional month of goodbyes.

Almost three weeks later, the house is getting more and more like a home. I'll actually miss my family of tradesmen. My mom came out for a week to help me get things in order so everyone has a room and the kitchen is in order. Not that we use it. We've been eating out constantly.....I love the variety of restaurants. (Once the floors are done, I'll probably start cooking again.)

It is going to take a long while to get the house in order. After eight years in one place, we've accumulated a lot of crap. I am now, officially, a reformed consumer. Which is unfortunate timing since the variety and abundance of cool boutiques is astounding. But no more, man! It's minimalism -ish-ness- for me.

Every time you crest a hill, you are confronted with an amazing view of water and mountains. I haven't rear ended anyone yet but it is distracting. You run to the grocery store and the mountains are just standing there. And they call to you. "Come and play!" they say. "Leave behind that house of cardboard boxes and climb us, explore us!" Sometimes we leave for the store and we don't come home for hours. Then we don't have milk for breakfast.

I'm thinking February will be a good time to unpack.

The kids have been amazing. They are curious and open. I'm astounded. Knock wood.

We've already had a lot of company. People are passing through all the time. It's awesome. Keep it comin' people. That is, if you don't mind take out and sitting on the floor.

So, I have to go now. The floors are getting finished today so we're clearing out. We are going to the EMP or the Experience Music Project which is a rock and roll museum designed by Frank Gehry. We are members, of course. The kids can play instruments, go into recording booths, play on stage. Check out it's website....www.emplive.org ....it's pretty interesting.

That's all for now. Address cards are coming..... Feel free to write, call, stop by....Toodle-loo, L.

Secret Thrill

No matter how old I get I will always want to go to shows. I don't mean super star, $150.00 a ticket, sanitized, corporate-ized, play-all-the-greatest-hits-ever-as-a-medley kind of shows. I mean rock shows. I mean some dumpy bar with a live band playing their own tunes; that starts too late at night and ends too soon. Even though I live in the far north suburbs and wake up at 6 AM with young children, the thrill of discovering a new, indy band and hearing them live hasn't died. It is a part of myself I'm not willing to give up. So this is what I do: I get the children combed, scrubbed, brushed and tucked into bed in their cozy flannel pj's. Then, with the kids carefully entrusted to some Belizean earth mother (who will be paid handsomely) I run for the train. When you're a stay at home mom, an hour of train time is golden. You can listen to your IPod, read a magazine, stare out the window, think your own uninterrupted thoughts, eavesdrop. For my commuting husband, the train can be tedious, but for me it's blissful time. (Note: I have found if you read the New Yorker, no one will try to engage you in conversation but if you're reading People, you're at serious risk for unwanted conversation.) Once, I had to make a run for the 7:20 and forgot reading material so I had to listen to my seat mate's cell yell. Apparently the person on the other end wasn't respecting his restraining order, and she was sick of it! The whole ride I was hoping this guy wasn't in another car of the same train. Fortunately she departed at Davis Street. I hope she's okay. But usually, it's a very pleasant respite and by the time I hop off the train and swim upstream through all the commuting, departing suits, I feel really free. I ride the escalators down the middle of Union Station, out the revolving doors, past that one homeless guy that's always there hailing cabs for people, and jump in Dan's waiting car. Then, the adventure begins. Sometimes just finding the venue is a challenge. And when we finally find the warehouse behind the parking lot, near the river, and walk down the alley with all the art school kids in their resale shop clothes, we are on a quest. Once, I stood in line with my ID and waited while the boy stared hard at my license. I was patient but perplexed. I mean, I probably graduated from high school the year this kid was born. Finally he nodded and laughed. "Dude, I was looking for an 8!" I do not now, nor have I ever, fit the category "dude". I'm not male, I don't surf and I have three children. I grabbed my ID and laughed, "Dude I know. My kid's in the band" and I walked in. It may sound sad to someone who doesn't love live music. But it isn't about partying (we sip keg beer) and it isn't about lost youth (we love our life). It's that once you are in front of a live band that is making their way with an early album, you are part of a creative moment. You are sharing in the immediacy of music. It is art that only exists in that moment and it will never, ever be exactly the same. And if it's a band we really love it is passionate and profound. When we get home, with our ears ringing, we cover our peacefully sleeping kids. We'll be awake in the morning making pancakes and driving to piano lessons and we'll do all the other things good parents are supposed to do. But we'll be humming and we'll still be ourselves.

Poor Tony!

What is going to happen to Tony? I fear for him. I don't believe David Chase is going to spare us....I think the creators and writers are going to go for the jugular. And then what will be left to fill the void? Entourage? I think not. Today my Comcast service was interrupted and I called customer service prepared to LET THEM HAVE IT verbally. How could they provide such inconsistent service during the final days of the Sopranos?! When I finally got through, I demanded to know why, over the years, they have been so inconsistent? Why, give me one good reason, why I shouldn't go to satellite? After disconnecting me once, validating my address twice and putting me on hold momentarily. The bored operator asked me if I had ordered a disconnect for my cable service. "Oh yeaaaah.....never mind." I hung up mildly embarrassed but mostly annoyed that I hadn't planned for the season finale when I called to cancel utilities. Panicked, I called my neighbors. "Help, I need to watch the Sopranos. Cable emergency." Being addicts themselves, they took pity on me and invited me over. The kids were showered, in p.j.s, so I said, "We're having a television party!" and we all ran next door. This is not one of my prouder parenting moments but come on.....! I have very few pop culture indulgences and I wholly embrace this one. Whenever I'm feeling troubled or overwhelmed with suburban angst, I think of Tony. And I think, "at least no one is trying to kill me."

Wonder Pet Epiphany

Last week, by some miracle, we arrived at Tennis lessons early. So the kids and I sat in the Racquet Club lounge watching TV. There were many kids milling around, doing their homework, waiting for lessons, eating vending machine food, and watching Nick Jr. The programming seemed a little young for the after-school set but like good media consumers, we were hypnotized quickly by the glossy glare. I was flipping through Western Interiors but slowly got pulled into the plot of the Wonder Pets. It's about three little critters; a duck, turtle and a Guinea Pig maybe? who have some adventures. I have years of PBS Kids and other examples of pedantic TV under my belt, but my children have moved on to more sarcastic and let's face it really funny shows (see Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends). So I wasn't that familiar with the Wonder Pets narrative. The caterpillar was freaking out because his friend was gone. Trapped! Now, obviously caterpillar's friend was in a chrysalis and it was up to the Wonder Pets to help him understand. It wasn't until the turtle, wearing a Superhero's cape, made some clever remark about metamorphosis that I looked up to share a knowing look with the kids, and realized all them had run off to their lesson and I was watching Nick Jr. alone. When I turned my attention back to the program, it was just in time to see Caterpillar's friend emerging as a beautiful butterfly. The rodent, wearing a cap and a yellow apron, gasped in wonder and said, "Isn't it amazing?" And I was like, "Yes! Yes, it is amazing!" It truly is a fascinating process. Almost as fascinating as the fact that my son, who at one point was nothing more than a zygote, was now working on his backhand! Life is amazing. And we all know that with varying degrees of consciousness. I go to church and I nod my head and I feel grateful. And I have studied years worth of Biology and felt appropriately intrigued. But how often do we sit, just sit, with what we know? How often do we take a moment to breathe deep and feel the awe? One of the most beautiful sights ever is to watch my children running. Just running and laughing. It's just a pure, physical act with no destination. And every moment, from the time they were a bump in my belly to the present, is contained in that simple, exuberant act. So today, while I'm hobbling around fussing with laundry and lunches and carpooling and Girl Scouts and cicadas and whatever else, I'm going to try to remember there are peonies exploding and kids laughing and butterflies emerging. Because it is amazing!
So thank you Wonder Pets. Thank you.

Pie Heaven

Pie is wonderful. Sure, there are plenty of other great creations. The lightbulb, for instance. Super helpful. It's hard to imagine life without Velcro. And when I was wrapping up my leg splint with a Hefty bag, I was feeling pretty impressed with its utility. But Pie is pure genius! I love it! Who invented it? Someone should look on Wikipedia and find out. I like almost every single kind of pie imaginable, except maybe cheesecake. (What is cheesecake? Why does it look like a pie but is called cake?) When I'm older, I'm going to eat a piece of pie and a cup of coffee every morning. My own breakfast of champions. I need to wait until I'm a little older though, just in case it turns out to be a bad idea.

Costco Moms

Sometimes I am jealous of the Costco Moms. You know them, the ones who drive to the nearest Costco, (which in our case is about 20 miles away) to buy in bulk and save a few bucks. I don't really know anyone who could quantify their savings by shopping there, but everyone shares in the illusion of practicality. Honestly, buying toilet paper in bulk is truly satisfying. I've tried to go many times, and I've even tried to convince myself that it's worth it but I don't have the patience to read the price per item labels and then actually compare it to other items! Who does that? I end up distracted by the book table. Especially the children's books. Usually, the book table consists of whatever is the latest paperback book club item. But you can occasionally find some gems and there are great gifts for your friends who basically read off the NYTimes bestseller list. There is definitely a large Christian theme on the table but if you dig under those you can find some great cookbooks. There is something very incongruent about digging through Christian books at Costco since the whole time I'm there I feel a vague unease and decadence. Even though I'm uncomfortable with gigantic boxes of transfats and cornsyrup, I'm still jealous of the people who have no qualms about it. How to live in the carefree world of waste and empty calories? I have overeducated myself on the evils of transfats and environmental degradation. I have been in "the cave" (see Plato)(or Saramago) and can't go back. Once I was at a one-year-old's birthday party which was huge. Every member of the extended family and neighborhood was there and the mom had purchased every piece of plastic shlockety schlock you can imagine. The place was overflowing with juice boxes and sundae toppings and paper products and the giant blow up jumping thing that you can purchase at Costco. The kids, the ones who were a little older and actually cognizant of their environment, were having a blast. They were sticky and dirty and covered in sprinkles. They were blowing bubbles and squirting each other with plastic weapons and all was right in suburbia. Except that I can't stop myself from thinking about landfills (see Idiocracy) and overindulgence and the birthday boy who wouldn't remember any of it. Of course I kept my wet-blanket thoughts to myself because secretly I was thinking "Wow. How nice to be so oblivious." Maybe we were all thinking the same thing and just giving into the lull of our suburban lives. "We work hard. Let's forget for a moment. Let's celebrate now and recycle tomorrow!" Maybe if one mom had stood up, maybe if I had stood up, and shouted (after the cake of course) "This is Bullshit!" we would have all stopped in wonderment, looked at ourselves hard for just a moment, and embraced one another in our new found appreciation of all things ridiculous and unnecessary! "Take back the art of parenting! Take back the birthday ritual! And take back that obnoxious 126-pack of Juicy juice!" But I kind of doubt it.

Dog in the Window

My dogs moved to Seattle today. They were picked up at 5:50 am by the Canine Courier to be escorted to Ohare. Prior to this experience I had no idea there was such a thing as a "Pet Relocation Specialist". I always wonder how people find their particular career. There has to be a story behind the man or women who finds his/herself in such a field. I remember my freshman year in college meeting a girl who was majoring in English! I didn't even know that was an option! I was led to believe that you had to go to school to study for a very specific outcome...not so much an exercise in academic inquiry, the dialectic, edification. I thought you were just supposed to get a job. I know it sounds naive but I was always fascinated by the kids who were studying an "area of interest". And now, I find myself equally interested in people who have unusual jobs, e.g. escorting pets, voicing cartoons, butterfly monitor, vintner...whatever. I really missed that boat.

And so my dogs caught a plane and I just received an email that they landed safely in Seattle where they were picked up by Pet Taxi and delivered to Dan. I hope their public transportation experience was better than mine have been lately. Riding on planes has become very similar to riding on a Greyhound Bus. Planes used to be glamorous....we would dress up to travel to an interesting destination...grandparents in LA or Disney World. The stewardess would give us little wings and books to color. Now when I go to the airport I notice people wearing the oddest things. One man went through security before me dressed like he was running a marathon. He had on a tank top and running shorts and flipflops. Did he find security so time consuming that he traveled just short of naked? And then there are the people who are hauling gigantic suitcases of all shapes and sizes. They aren't dressed particularly nicely. I don't really care what other people wear, but how many suitcases does it take to look slovenly? Can't you dress badly with only one bagful of stuff? People are definitely carrying around bagfuls of crap, both metaphorically and literally. Maybe an interesting career option is Crap Relocation Specialist. Actually, we could have a whole blog on airplane stories. Everyone has a hideous tale to tell. That would be another good alternative career, Recording Secretary for Travel Travails. In my opinion, airline travel has truly gone to the dogs.

No Time Like the Present

I really wanted to start this amazing blog, share my dazzling insights into the world of parenting, astound others with my clever approach to balancing music, books and art with childrearing. You know, capture those moments of clarity...little epiphanies you have throughout the day. Especially as I venture into the unknown (more on that later). But today, the first day of my I'm-such-a-cool-blogging-mom-chick, I broke my foot.
I'm about to move three kids, two dogs, one car, three floors of household goods, eight years of accumulation, and oh yeah, a bunny, 2000 miles west in 12 days. And now I'm on crutches. I'm not really complaining because a number of friends have spent the winter on crutches recovering from various injuries far more severe than mine. But I do think it's a good example of God's sense of humor. (Or whatever/whomever your into.)
Not very rock & roll is it?
But this isn't about my foot. It's about beginnings and the thing I always forget about beginnings is that they are preceeded by endings, and endings can really suck. If you are waiting for an injury to heal, an ending is obviously celebratory. The day I pack my crutches will be most happy. But it's the other endings, the ones that take place before you leave on a new chapter in your life; when you leave home, when you break up with someone, when you move out of state, when it's two a.m. and there are no more encores. It's sad and scary even if you know you are going to grow. Even if you know it's the next logical step in your life. When I moved to Chicago in 1988, I was done with school and working as a waitress in a theme diner and reading a lot of existential literature that I thought I understood but didn't. On the way to work, wearing a pink rayon diner dress and bobby socks, I decided to keep driving north on I65 instead of going to my shift. I showed up in my old roommates loft with $500 dollars and one change of clothes. Thinking she might be worried, I called my mom who answered gaily with "Oh Hello. Did you run away from home darlin'?" I've been in this area ever since. The kids who had to cover my shift didn't see it as an act of bravery and adventure; the beginning of my post-graduate odyssey. They were just pissed they had to serve broccoli cheese soup extra fast. Painful ending.
That was the beginning of the next twenty years of my life and now I'm leaving again. I have a lot more luggage and a lot less existential baggage this time around. As hard as it is to say goodbye, this time I'm not sneaking off. Tonight I'm having dinner with an old friend from Grad School to say goodbye. Another ending.
So for the next two weeks before I leave, I'm going to party and I'm going to cry and then I'm going to hobble on my crutches into the sunset.