Will You Tell Me Something Happy?

I'm exhausted from bad news. The last weeks, months, and year have been among the worst ever for some of the dearest people in my life. Honestly, at times it's felt like an avalanche of bad news, compounding in weight and speed as it chases all of us. I feel like I've been heartsick for so long, for so many different reasons, sometimes it's hard to breathe. (It's certainly hard to blog.) My own un(der)employment is a lesser worry compared to some of the challenges being faced by my loved ones, but still adequate enough to give me the beginnings of an ulcer. I don't know which is disintegrating faster, my stomach lining or my belief that I'm employable. And all of this is aside from the daily dose of disaster on the evening news. I can barely watch anymore. My worry is maxed out.

I think this is part of my fixation on our trip to France. It's the one little daffodil bursting up through the broken sidewalk. It doesn't solve anything, but it's given me something to look forward to, a week to escape reality.

Yesterday the sun was out and the temperature climbed higher than the forecast predicted. I went outside to get reacquainted. I stuck my hand out for an awkward handshake, like I was meeting up with my favorite cousin after a long absence. I pulled out the rake, shovel, garden gloves and I worked in the sun for hours, until my back threatened to break. And while I was working, I had a thought. I thought that maybe there is more good news in the world than I realize. Just because the pond sample I'm scooped up in is thick with problems, it doesn't necessarily represent the whole body of water.

So, I'm asking you to tell me some good news, something wonderful happening to you right now. What is going right in your world? What is making you smile? What is giving you hope? No matter the size or scope, please tell me about it. I truly want to know, so don't be a stranger. Let me rejoice with you.

Don't Worry, It's Not Contagious

The countdown to France is on. Ever since the fifteen minutes of frenzy when we bought our tickets, I've had the opposite of ADHD. I can focus only on France. Would you like France on your toast for breakfast? Toss me the France so I can change the channel. We're all out of France in the downstairs bathroom. When you go out, will you fill the car with France? Do you want a spoon or a France for that?

Ryan, the Travel Whisperer, has been reading the holy canon of Rick Steves, Frommers, and Fodors. He nudges me in bed while he's reading to share a tidbit, custom, or must-see. I find it mildly annoying, since I'm very busy, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the France.

At the bookstore, we picked up a french language learning program from the bargain bin. In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea, but I'm still under-employed and the Rosetta Stone CDs cost 400 billion dollars. Our CDs only cost our dignity. As it turns out, the program we bought is nothing more than a very sadly written off-Broadway musical, featuring John and Jaqueline, two lovers brought together by their love of the french language. It wasn't completely worthless. We learned how to say "beige" in french. It's beige, pronounced bayzsh.

I've taken it upon myself to educate my family on french culture. I filled our Netflix queue with important french films, including The Pink Panther, Chocolat, The Phantom of the Opera, and The Bourne Trilogy.  I've encouraged everyone to temporarily stop shaving their legs and pits. At meal times, we serve french fries and Nutella. I've arranged french manicures for all of us the day before we leave.

The kids are excited, but not exactly suffering from my condition. They seem to be able to carry on with everyday tasks, such as completing a sentence that doesn't include France. I admit, I'm a little jealous. They seem to do it with such ease.

Lucy, a proud German, is disgusted. She ignores me when I greet her with a proper bonjour each morning, and rolls her eyes when I shake her paw with an enchanté. When she saw me reading My Life in France on the toilet, she promptly trotted out and took a crap on the living room carpet.

After this trip, I plan to return to my regular life and thoughts. I hope I will recognize them. My apologies if I've neglected any of your phone calls or Frances. Be patient with me, please. It's only a matter of France until this is over.

Self Help

I decided something today. I'm going to start making decisions that will benefit Future Self instead of just satisfying Present Self. Present Self is driving me nuts, eating too much, and not being tidy. She's like the worst college roommate. (Wait, I was that roommate, I think.) Time to put Present Self in her place and start sucking up big time to Future Self. I heard she's awesome.

Two Things I Want to Say

1. We have friends living in Japan right now, not one but two families. I'm very thankful to have heard from both of them today, letting us know that they are all right. Whew.

2. I love caramelized onions. On everything. Especially nachos.

Interview with My Second-Born

We spent some time this weekend reading old blog posts of mine from 2006. We came across an interview I did with Christian. He was seven years old, the same age Max is now. I copied the questions and gave Max the same interview last night. (Apparently, there is a lot of resentment towards teeth brushing in our house.)

What did you have for lunch today?

Let's see...oh yeah, um, Chinese food. Oh! Japanese food!

Where do babies come from?

Mama's stomach.

What do you like best about your parents?

They care for me, they care about me, and they love me.

If you could drive the car tonight, where would you go?

Gamestop.

What’s the best part about being a kid?

You don't have to do work. You're not really into, like, "We need to get our professor things more up!"

What’s the best part about being an adult?

You can do whatever you want and you don't have to sit there and be yelled at, like, "Brush your teeth, you fat lady!"

What’s the best part about being a little brother?

That you're more luckier than the older brother because the older brother always gets more made fun of when he does stuff wrong.

What do you like about your friends?

That they could play with me and I don't have to sit there playing with my brother only.

Name the three greatest inventions:

Video games, money, and care.

What do you like about girls?

Nothing at all. All they do is talk nonstop and think they're so cool and so better than boys.

What’s the worst part about second grade?

It's way harder than first grade and first grade's way funner. Second grade is fun, but first grade---Wow!---way funner.

What does it mean to be happy?

It means that you're just kind of normal and not like, "Heyyy! You brush your teeth!"

If you were going to write a poem, what would it be about?

I'm glad I'm on earth and I have all the things that I love, like video games and my family.

When will you get a job?

Probably about 21 through 32, because if you're a doctor you have 12 more years of school.

Describe a perfect meal:

Cheeseburger, fries, root beer, drumsticks, spaghetti, robin noodles, chocolate brownies, pumpkin cookies, and cake.

What’s the worst feeling in the world?

The worst feeling is when you're really sad or really, really, really mad. You know I was really, really, really mad one time? 

Are you a republican or a democrat?

Wait. What are those? 

What’s the best use of five minutes?

Play DS, have fun with mini puzzles, and sit down and relax watching TV.

What’s life all about?

Having a really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really good time.

It's Probably Time to Talk About the Alien

"Confidence is fleeting," Ryan said to me one day. He was quoting Joe Montana or Joe Namath or somebody who never had any business being un-confident.

It hit me like a football to the back of the head. Confidence is fleeting, I thought. I used to have some, but where has it gone? It's a haunting feeling, knowing it was there one minute and gone the next, like that favorite pair of sunglasses that grew legs and walked away unannounced. Apparently I had been storing my confidence supply in the claw-footed bathtub of my psyche. The one with an apparent leak. 'Cause it's gone, baby, gone.

The timing is wretched. First, I lost (most of) my job. But then (and more upsetting, it seems) my son's voice dropped an octave and he started giving off strange vibes. My vibe-reading told me that he suddenly had no interest in carrying on a conversation with me and that my opinion on anything and everything was completely irrelevant. Pesky, even. There were stronger vibes, ones that invited me to cease from interacting with his friends, teachers, coaches, and any other acquaintances that met him first. He would, I surmised, admit our relationship to others strictly on a need-to-know basis.

It's not just me, either (which helps my confidence a smidge). Ryan took him to school one morning after a dentist appointment. He walked in the building with our son, only to find himself suddenly several paces behind. He started to say something to him in the crowded hallway and was met with a quick "We don't know each other" glance, followed by a bionic stride to distance the two of them by at least two zip codes. Guilt by disassociation.

"It was the strangest thing," Ryan said to me afterward. He confronted Christian about it later that same night, who plead innocent.

"What was that all about?" Ryan asked him. "I work with kids your age all the time. I'm young and cool. Why would you be embarrassed of me?"

I hated to break it to him, but stating that you're young and cool sort of immediately invalidates the claim. Christian whatevered us both with a shrug and went downstairs in the basement to obliterate rival villains/sports teams/spy networks with his Playstation controller.

"I feel like he's lost to me," I said. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I'd even had time to think about them. But that's how it feels a lot of the time. Sure, there are moments of lucidity, when his pre-teen self bobs to the surface to mingle with us---he might laugh at one of our jokes or voluntarily remain in the same room---but they are bittersweet moments that never last for long. Sooner or later, a text comes through on his cell phone, and he dives back down into the deep blue new world of his adolescence.

I find that every time I talk to him, I'm telling him what to do, what to straighten, what to pick up, what to tuck in, what to comb, what to read, and what to take his feet off of. It's like an involuntary act, a form of Parenting Turrets Syndrome, which has so much less to do with his need for regulation and so much more to do with my need to remind myself that I'm his mom.

I had confidence before Christian was born, right up until the moment they put him in my arms to send us home from the hospital together. Any confidence I gained after that point was hard earned, but eventually it came. I got comfortable in our routines, and for a long while I sort of knew what I was doing. I should know by now that those feelings of self-assurance (particularly in the realm of parenting) are the quiet before the scream, the calm before the storm, the smooth side of Life's sandpaper.

My friend once said that her children were taken over at age 12 by alien life forms, only to be returned mostly unscathed at age 20. She came to accept it, expect it, and eventually laugh about it. It seemed like a sweet anecdote to me at the time. You know, when my kid was six and liked to snuggle before bedtime. (Waaaaaaaaaaa!)

This afternoon I ran an errand, heading to a place I hadn't been before. I plugged the address into the GPS in my car and put the car in drive. I pulled out of my driveway, and was flooded with memories of using that GPS every time I stepped outside my door when we first moved here. I practically needed it to find the mailbox. Back then I couldn't imagine the day would ever arrive that I would drive out on my own, knowing exactly where I was going and precisely how to get there. I honestly don't remember when I stopped needing it every day; it's been quite a while now. I guess it's just the way things go. The unimaginable slowly becomes the norm. The days we think will never come arrive without announcement.

I'm going to remind myself that it's a good thing.

Some Thoughts On Personal Safety

I passed a frog on my walk yesterday. He was crossing my path, making his way from the little pond, across the road and toward the lake. It's strange to encounter animals that you're used to seeing only in animation. His slow, deliberate hop was so grandiose, it was like a caricature of a real frog. I guess I thought real frogs were much less dramatic. Perhaps he was an actor frog. 

His long legs extended at least a foot launching him into a wet plop on the asphalt as he began his real life game of Frogger. (Lucky for him, it wasn't rush hour.) He seemed to be in no hurry, resting thoughtfully in my path. It makes no sense, but I was nervous as I got close, as I am with all animals despite their size. I know I'm bigger, more threatening, and higher on the food chain, but I don't like taking anything for granted. I want to be ready for any surprise attack or sudden, threatening moves such as whipping out a tiny banjo and singing about rainbows. 

I passed him without incident, keeping my 3.3 mph pace. I got a few strides beyond him when I felt that eerie feeling of being watched. By the frog. I whipped around, one hand in karate position, the other securing my phone for a call to 911 if necessary. He pretended to ignore me.

For the record, Mark Zuckerberg, I thought of it first.

You know what facebook is missing?

Foes.

It would be so much easier to keep track of everyone in your life on one social network, instead of flipping between facebook for your friends and buttfacebook for your enemies.

There Is No "We" in "Mole"

I think it's time to talk about the mole. I mean, the Mole, capitalized as the proper noun that it is. You know, the one on my face, just above my left eye. Don't pretend you haven't seen it. I'm stepping out of denial now and we don't have to play nice anymore.

Last week the Mole filed for its own Social Security Card and a Target Visa line of credit. Yesterday the Mole retained an attorney and requested an official trademark symbol. It's time to take this seriously. The Mole is getting out of control.

Most of the time I pretend it's not there. Some of the time I pretend it's not that big. One time, at least a dozen years ago, my cute little niece was drawing a portrait of me with her crayons. She drew lots of curly hair, two brown eyes, a nose, mouth, and a giant reddish blob above one of my eyes.

"What's that?" I remember asking.
"It's that thing on your face," she said.

I felt dumb then. I feel dumberer now. I didn't mean to let it get this far. In my heart of hearts, I thought we could be friends, Mole and I, but partnerships are historically difficult. It's time I go all Egyptian on this mole and revolt. Ultimately this will involve the help of a licensed dermatologist, but in the mean time I'm going to take immediate action to let Mole know that I'm serious. Today I'm going to de-friend it on facebook and stop following it on Twitter. And when it texts me later, I'm totally not going to respond.

Our Circus Can't Beat Up Anybody Else's Circus

I did something stupid over the weekend. I went to see the circus. It was so underwhelming, I strongly urge the owners to rename it, "Mediocre Show on Earth."

The last time I saw the circus was in 1988. My grandfather treated my family to the show. He was old, in the beginnings of his decline. It was a Saturday afternoon. I wore a red dress. The show, as I recall, was spectacular. The clowns were so funny, the animals were so majestic, the contortionists were so bendy, the stunts were so life-threatening, and the trapeze absolutely blew my mind. In short, the experience was magical.

I wanted to revisit the circus many times since then, but was turned off because of alleged animal abuse. I boycotted the circus for as long as I could possibly stand it, right up until Saturday. I'm not sure why I decided to give in. After all, I was on a 23-year streak. I guess I sort of hoped that the allegations were either false or no longer an issue. Plus, who are we to say that elephants don't like wearing sequins? (See how easy it is to break down your moral fiber with only a little justification?)

If only I'd been warned that the real reason to boycott the circus is that it has taken a serious nose dive into the Snore Zone. For example, there were fewer clowns this time, and they were not even remotely funny. I know we're in a recession, but is funny that expensive? Did funny have to get cut out of the budget? I walk around being funny all day long for free! If it were up to me, I would have given the horribly annoying musical numbers the axe instead.

There were very few stunts in the show---no ladies doing handstands on top of galloping horses, no tiny Asian men folding themselves into 3 x 5 index cards, and no trapeze artists flying through the air by their teeth. The best we got was a man catapulted across the stage shortly after being lit on fire. It was semi-impressive if I hadn't SEEN IT EVERY NIGHT ON DAVID LETTERMAN IN 2006. Plus, they gave the guy a giant inflatable landing pad and a crew with fire extinguishers to greet him there. Where's the excitement in that?

I wanted to like the circus, I really did. I went in ready to give it my all. And I would have been satisfied if only it had maintained the 1988 status quo. But truthfully, I was hoping it had become bigger and better as most great American industries do, like our car manufacturing and healthcare system. Oh wait.

But seriously, I was semi-expecting that the circus of 2011 would be all thrilling and edgy. You know, I thought maybe they'd have one of the lions escape from the cage, jump into the crowd and eat a kid. Then, just before the crowd tramples each other on the way out of the building, the lion runs back to the cage, vomits the kid out whole and unscathed at the feet of the burly tamer to the jaw-dropping surprise of the audience. The lion takes a deep bow as the crowd erupts into applause. The lion tamer then lifts the kid---who is actually a pygmy circus performer disguised as a kid---onto his shoulders. And all of this, of course, is going on as trapeze artists are flying around the big top on fire, practicing contortion moves. Now THAT'S thrilling and edgy. That's the circus of 2011.

Hey, Circus, you can actually have that idea for free. You're welcome.

All Right, Let the Birthday Wishes Start Pouring In

Today I turn 34. And I've been wondering lately, when is it that being young is no longer part of your identity? I've always felt young, being a younger sister and a young mother and such. But when does that start to slip away?

It's also Ryan's birthday today. Same day, same year. Wouldn't it be awful if one day, we thought we were going on the Oprah show to win a new car or dream vacation, but we were really going because Oprah was going to surprise us on national television with the shocking discovery that we are actually fraternal twins? Eeewwwwww. I hate Oprah.

In other news, this ailing blog turned 5 yesterday. Five entire years of blogging. I started blogging when I was 29, living in Utah, putting Ryan through school, and wondering if Max would ever be able to talk. Feels like a lifetime ago. Wow.

So, of course, there's lots of celebrating going on around here today. Except that we are on a spending freeze now, since we're headed to Paris next month. And we're on an eating freeze so that we can be skinny in Paris next month. Basically, we're sitting around on the couch eating lettuce today. It's going to be epic.

In a Bizarre Turn of Events

Ryan bought us tickets to Paris yesterday. He stumbled upon a ridiculously low airfare, $82.60 each way, $165 round trip. It must have been some sort of error, that price, because it only lasted about 10 minutes. But we got them AND THEY CAN'T TAKE THEM BACK! We're still sort of paralyzed with wonder and confusion. We're taking the kids, plus our hilarious neighbor and her son, Christian's best friend. We leave in about a month.

I told Ryan this is my birthday present. When I told my dad about it, he said, "How are you going to top that next year?" 

I thought about it. Next year for my birthday, Ryan can simply say, "Remember when I found us tickets to Paris for $83?" And I will bask in the awesomeness again. It will be present enough.

I laid in bed last night, unable to sleep, visions of baguettes dancing in my head. I began planning our wardrobes. I'm going to dress myself in black, with a parade of berets and red lipstick. I'm going to dress my children as mimes. I'm going to force Ryan to slick his hair down and don a thin mustache.

I hope some poor Delta employee didn't get fired for accidentally selling flights to Paris for $82.60, but if he did, I hope he knows how much it meant to me that he did it.

Life is so unpredictable.

Now we have to figure out what to do when we get there. Do you have any great suggestions? Tips? Must sees? Must eats? Great hotels or areas to stay? Fun activities for our motley crew of adults, teens, and tweens?

Various Reasons Why I Haven't Been Blogging

• I've been eating.
• I've been accidentally falling into a coma at 9:00 every night.
• I've been working on my novel.
• I've been avoiding working on my novel.
• I've been watching the Real Housewives of Anywhere.
• I've been watching the reunion shows of the Real Housewives of Anywhere.
• I've been having deep, meaningful conversations with my dog.
• I've been attending a billion basketball games.
• I've been doing a lot of push-ups.
• I've been worrying about people I love.
• I've been cursing at the weather man and his endless stream of depressing news.
• I've been not scrubbing my toilets.
• I've been cuddling up in my Snuggie.
• I've been walking out to the mailbox.
• I've been texting.
• I've been watching the Food Network.
• I've been eating a lot of sushi.
• I've been going to Disneyland.
• I've been inspecting my cuticles.
• I've been wondering if I like blogging anymore.
• I've been hanging out with my funny neighbors.
• I've been considering a new couch. 
• I've been reading books.
• I've been contemplating the meaning of life.
• I've been browsing online marketplaces.
• I've been looking up the lyrics to rap songs my son wants to download.
• I've been working some, but not enough.
• I've been dreaming of going places, warm places.
• I've been drinking lots of water.

In other words, I've been biz-aaaaay. What have you been up to?

Love Is Sometimes Hard to Explain

I gave him a swirly, romantic valentine card in spanish. Neither of us speak spanish.

He gave me a valentine card with a cow on the front. It was almost as good as the bunny card of 2007.

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!

Of Failed Viaries and Holy Jeans

I just failed at three attempts to make you a video. It's the thing to do these days, the video on the blog. I refuse to call it a vlog, however. I hate that word. I barely tolerate the word blog, but vlog? Nope. Can't do it. Maybe if I make one I will call it a viary or a vournal or, hey---a video! I like the word video. It's got a great 80s ring to it. Or perhaps I will call it a film, because I'm artistic like that.

On my video/film I was showing off my new glasses. They replaced my old pair with Transitions Lenses. At the time, I was very excited about Transitions Lenses, but they didn't really work for me. The actual transition of those glasses wasn't so much from clear to tinted lenses, as much as a transformation from decent looking glasses to extremely dorky glasses. Other people (my dear dad included) are rocking the Transitions Lenses, but sadly I could not. Life is much better now with good, old-fashioned plastic lenses that make me squint and get a piercing headache in sunlight.

Speaking of sunlight, I have some exciting news to share! Despite what the groundhog predicted, I can assure you that spring is just around the corner. Why? Because the other day as I was retrieving clothes from Max's drawers for him to wear to school, I grabbed a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee. I put it back and grabbed another, and guess what? That pair had a hole in the knee as well. I traded it for a third pair and, again, found a hole in the knee. I was just about to growl, when I realized what this all meant. These are the pants that were purchased in early September and they are wearing out! Every year, just as I'm on the verge of replacing all the hole-y jeans, I realize that it's not worth it because the kids are ready to wear shorts. Glory, glory hallelujah! I might make it after all! As it stands, Max only has one more pairs of jeans without holes. I figure it should only be a few more weeks before the last pair gives up the threadbare ghost and ushers in a new season.

Thanks for checking in if you're still checking in. And happy almost-spring!