The familiar is heady

As I drove in tonight late...the street quiet, most houses with their lights out, I was listening to NPR -hearing someone speaking from Paris and Berlin. Places that have hijacked spots in my wanderlust soul. Yet, I was struck with how much comfort I derive from the same daily path. I drive up my quiet street, lights off, cars parked neatly in driveways. The familiar is heady, when the lure of different is just that... a glimpse into another life. I'd love it for an hour or a day or maybe a week. But, then I'd stare wistfully at my street of warm habit and know that here is where I belong...

I am not a child anymore. I control where I live and how I conduct my life. I hope that this life of understated perception and wild imaginings is a world in which my children will blossom. That small thing...which is truly large, is what I wish for this night...

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JCK prepares her wardrobe for BlogHer11

JCK is not what you would call a fashion maven. Maven, yes. Fashion Maven...hardly. In the last 7 1/2 years since JCK has had children, things have grown terribly sad in the apparel department. You see, JCK shops at stores like Target and Rite Aid for her clothes. Rite Aid, you ask? Rite Aid, indeed. JCK loves deals, and JCK loves comfort. JCK loves finding gorgeous flip-flops. She figures if her toe nails are polished, and her flip flops are pretty, she's looking pretty good.

Two days ago, JCK had to lean out of her CCZ - Couture Comfort Zone. JCK will be attending the BlogHer11 conference this weekend, and JCK's wardrobe needs to kick it up a notch. Without the garlic. Thank you, though, Emeril. So, JCK spent Tuesday morning going through her wardrobe. She had to empty out a drawer of t-shirts to get to the good stuff. It was still there, just a little rumpled. Kind of like JCK. She dove deep into the back of her closet, discovering all kinds of fun things. Some of which actually could be worn.

Over 3,000 bloggers are expected this weekend in San Diego at the BlogHer11 conference. Women, and a few men, will be descending from all over the country, and beyond. Women who share their love for writing and blogging, and for shoes.... JCK thinks that women love shoes like they love cupcakes. Finding a pair of fun shoes is akin to a perfect chocolate cupcake with sprinkles, and you get to hog it all to yourself. JCK hates shopping for shoes. Because she always develops these infatuations, and has to be torn away from making a scene. So, JCK is planning her clothes around shoes she already has. Even if those shoes are a bit scuffed and dusty.

While JCK rediscovered her closet, she found that she was lacking two important items. A little black skirt and new fishnets. So, JCK took a deep breath and put on a little sassy skirt and sleeveless top, and headed out to find her two essentials. As everyone knows, in order to find fun, funky clothes, you have to dress seriously. Not practical clothes that you put on to pick up your kids from camp. Those most darling children who will be lathered in mud and sunblock. So, with her serious mission, JCK slipped on some of her prettiest Rite Aid flip-flops, the shiny turquoise ones, and headed out.

JCK had a particular store in mind, so she drove there. She had to take a big loop around the block, as it had been so many years since she had visited this store that she had forgotten where the parking entrance was. JCK is a little spatially challenged, anyway. Well, JCK can tell you that it was a good thing she took that extra wide loop around the block, because as she pulled up to the store front...the store was Poof! Gone! Poof! Kind of like the economy and JCK's waistline. Sadly, this threw JCK into a brief tailspin. Quel horreur! Where in the world would she find a little black skirt and fishnets?

JCK debated calling her husband. JCK's husband is what you would call a man of fashion, him of REI ruggedness and Sports Chalet men's briefs. Best of all, other than that JCK gets to see him in those briefs, is that he has a discerning eye for women's fashion. However, JCK restrained herself. She did NOT need help, by GOD, she was a woman! Hear her ROAR. The daughter of a woman who will shop until she drops, she, JCK, had to stand strong. It is to be noted that the shop until you drop gene seems to have bypassed JCK.

Like a bolt of lightening, JCK was struck with a new place to go. Eureka!..said the person in the car behind JCK. There was a hand gesture that JCK could not understand, and JCK moved on. As this story should. JCK was so pleased with herself that she almost missed the turn a few blocks away, but just in time she cut in front of another car and pulled into the parking lot.

JCK doesn't know why, but she always manages to enter this particular department store at the perfume section. JCK doesn't have a problem with perfume, per se. Except she really does. When she walks through this section it often induces a stabbing pain in her temples from the eau de WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SPRAY THAT STUFF ALL OVER ME? She is often besieged by women who want to either spray her or cover her with make-up. JCK is an easy target.

JCK quickly veered off into the men's section, just to avoid Priscilla the Perfumery Person. Then she spotted the women's department, and headed off Mr. Rick I work in Retail, by gasping and thrusting her chin forward. JCK had arrived... Section after section of women's apparel...from classic lines to funky chic, JCK was overwhelmed. She slowly made her way through...each area opening up into another. JCK ran her fingers over the fabrics, and let the material slide over her arm. She felt an OOOOOooo escape her ruby red lips. JCK was this close to rubbing her face all over one dress. As if in a dream, meeting an old lover, her sense memory remembered this feeling.

May I help you?

Whew...talk about saved by the sales lady. JCK smiled weakly and told her that she was looking for a short black skirt, something fun, that she could wear to a disco party. The sales lady grew excited.

A disco party! How fun! Is it someone's birthday?

JCK paused. No, I'm going to a conference and there will be a disco party. The saleslady paused.

JCK debated over whether to go into more detail, and she refrained. She could have told her that the BlogHer conference is this amazing place where women gather together to share their passion for blogging -writing on all kinds of subjects. And, where they also enjoy parties. Even Disco Parties.

Yes, JCK said. It WILL be FUN.

I think there are some FUN skirts over here, said the sales lady.

The sales lady then took JCK through so many sections that her head began to spin. JCK's, not the sales lady's. They went through Calvin Klein and Jones New York, they saw sights that JCK had only dreamed of. They saw things JCK had never dreamed of. And, then they arrived at BCBG and JCK was victorious. There it was! JCK's little black skirt. And, they even had it in her size. Better yet, it was affordable. Well, if JCK cuts out fruit from her family's diet for this week.

JCK was whisked into the dressing room, and the little black skirt fit! Hurrah! JCK and the sales lady tittered together, as the skirt was rung up on the register. When JCK brandished her temporary driver's license, the sales lady advised her that she, JCK, should follow-up with the DMV, as they are known for taking months to mail your license to you. JCK smiled. She didn't want to brag, but she and the DMV? Why they are practically Bosom Buddies. The DMV would never, ever take longer than the 2-3 weeks that they had promised JCK. Oh, but the saleslady said...you never know.

You will be glad to know that JCK had only one more stop to complete her shopping experience. She headed downstairs to the hosiery department. At first JCK was terribly frightened that they were out of fishnets. She saw all kinds of interesting sights, like denim leggings and footless tights. Then she spotted them! Right in front of her pointy nose. Black fishnets! JCK made it back to camp in time to pick up her sweet children, and all was good with the world.

JCK is now almost...ready for BlogHer11. She has her suitcase packed, her lap top and cell phone at the ready, and plans to spend time with a few of her peeps. Like her wonderful friend Jenn from Juggling Life. JCK is very excited to be able to spend 3 days surrounded by other people who share her passion for blogging and writing. It's going to be great...as long as JCK can stay awake long enough to put on the black skirt and fishnets for the Disco party...

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the things you worry about the most, end up being nothing at all

JCK wonders how she has come to this. Nirvana achieved. Five o'clock known around her back yard as Jack O'clock, dinner with friends, in bed attired in silk pajamas at 9:05pm. Years ago would have been deemed appalling. Now? Heavenly...close to room service. Life has changed. Indeed.

JCK's children, who should be worn out from hours of pogo sticking, laser gun fights, soccer/kickball and inhaling numerous substances called hot dogs, chips and yogurt,and multiple triangles of watermelon are still...chatting. Indeed, sadly, JCK is readier for sleep than they.

All is good with the world for the moment. JCK's son sailed above and beyond the blood draw, distracted by the idea of Super Hero numbing ointment, an over sized lolly, and Asterix. Of course, JCK was proud of him, but most importantly he was proud of himself.

Sometimes, the things you worry about the most, end up being nothing at all. Parenting is never a known entity. As in life, it is full of unknowns and curve balls. JCK often finds herself fully in the game, garbed in protective catcher's gear. But, there are those times, when she doesn't need the body armor, and she is surprised...

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A blow dryer gone bad

Yesterday, JCK started her day with the usual jolt - a quick FLASH and BOOM with a lingering tingle up her arm. A blow dryer gone bad. Smokin' bad. Time to shop for a new one.

So it was that JCK found herself in a beauty supply store. Let's call it...Franz's Booty Supply. As JCK entered the store with her two children in tow, she spotted the lady behind the counter.

JCK: Hello, can you please tell me where your blow dryers are?

Smiling Sales lady: Let me show you.

The sales lady led JCK and her children over to a wall where several blow dryers were on display.

Friendly, bouncy Sales lady: Here we have the top of the line model with the latest technology.

JCK checked the price. And proceeded to be flummoxed, bamboozled and downright flabbergasted. The latest technology being...$130.

There was a DEEP pause. Then the sales lady out-of-her mind moved on.

Sales lady who is clearly hallucinating: Then we have this one, also an excellent model.

JCK noted....a mere $79.99.

Sales lady off her ROCKER: Of course, the first one I showed you will last much longer. Mine lasted 12 years. You get what you pay for.

JCK: Sure, lady. I'll just plunk down $130 for a BLOW DRYER. An appliance that I will use to blow dry my locks of pure gold. This blow dryer better give me a BIG OL' full-body thrill along with the blow for $130. Are you friggin' kidding me!? What kind of GANJA ya smokin' babe? I want some. Now.
....

It is to be noted that JCK wished she had uttered those words. But, in person JCK is a bit of a woos, and said nothing. To be fair, you may remember that JCK was flummoxed, bamboozled and downright flabbergasted.

JCK couldn't get out of there fast enough. Except that her children were test driving all the blow dryers, and preventing JCK from making a speedy exit.

JCK, the big fat liar: I'll come back later...

Self-inflated with the importance of blow dryers, off her rocker, clearly a lunatic Sales lady: Without your children?

JCK weakly: Yes...

JCK: Come on CHILDREN! We must get moving.

JCK told the sales lady that she would be back...when hell freezes over.

This morning JCK dropped into her local pharmacy establishment and found an excellent blow drying appliance. For $24.99.

JCK is taking her $24.99 blow dryer, whippin' up a do, and then splurging on $100 worth of whiskey and chocolate...

You get what you pay for.

Damn tootin'.



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Photo courtesy of Super Stock.

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Apparently the nutty butter has been smeared on JCK

Pssst.... This could be potentially serious. JCK. Has. Discovered. Bidding. On. eBay. There could be trouble due to JCK inhaling too much victory air. Indeed. JCK is floating from the sensation of outbidding someone else for 5lbs of LEGOS. She won!

JCK has decided that eBay is like Vegas. Only without the smoke or having to go anywhere. If anyone had told JCK she would be feeling triumphant for outbidding another person for LEGOS, she would have thought they were nuts. Now? Apparently the nutty butter has been smeared on JCK.

All is good. JCK got a great deal. LEGOS will be arriving at her door. Just in time for her son's 7th birthday. Things are fine in her little world. Except that she keeps heading over to eBay to see if she can outbid someone else...


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JCK is participating in NaBloPoMo, (30 posts in 30 days), for the month of November.


**Image of Lego catwoman from Google Images.

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Mama Explosion, entry discouraged

There are some days in which JCK would like to hang up a sign. Around her neck. The verbiage varies, but here are a few variations:

JCK is not here
JCK is done in
JCK is frightening; do not approach
Walk, do not run, toward JCK
Mama Explosion, entry discouraged.
Brain splat. No visuals recommended.
JCK is closed indefinitely
JCK has gone home...to a different abode.

Sometimes this fantasy of signage occurs before the noon hour. Definitely well before Jack O'clock can be declared in JCK's village.

The truth today is that...JCK is tired. Plumb tuckered out. Her children refuse to eat their vegetables. Her mother needs JCK to let her know her arrival/departure date at Christmas. Immediately. Today. In this conversation. And, sadly, JCK does not even know when her next trip to the bathroom will occur.

JCK is DONE.

Thank you. And good night...

God, if you're nice, you'll throw JCK a Jon Hamm sandwich

for dreamland tonight...

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all it takes is a resting period

A friend of mine recently decided to participate in a community delivery of fresh organic produce. Every week you get a box of something in season. A huge box. So big that she offered to share some of it with us each week. She's lovely, my friend. One of the most generous women I know.

Today, I picked up a brown bag stuffed with collards and turnip greens, a sugar pumpkin, and an acorn squash. The greens were wilted, but I put them into a large stew pot full of cold water. A couple of hours later they were bursting up out of the top of the pot. Gorgeous in sheen and color. All they had needed was water.

I was reminded of myself. Often, I allow myself to grow so...depleted, that I feel shriveled and wilted. And, sometimes, all it takes is a resting period with plenty of water to infuse myself with fresh energy. I just have to remember to do it...

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JCK is participating in NaBloPoMo, (30 posts in 30 days), for the month of November.

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A sign...

JCK and her family recently visited a lovely little town called Julian. While they were dining, JCK and her husband stopped to look at all the signs on the restaurant wall.

E: There's a good one for your blog!

JCK is not taking it personally. Yet...

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Russian women, beautiful Russian women just "waiting" to meet JCK?

JCK is amazed at the abundant panoply of magnificent and stupendous emails that veer off into her junk mail folder. Some of them are fabulous opportunities...to meet people. New friends! From Russia!

However, JCK is a bit confused. Did she sign up for some kind of...foreign exchange program? JCK likes to think of herself as friendly. Let's face it, JCK can be a bit...chatty. Even with people she has just met. So, perhaps the friendly vibe that JCK seems to emit...flies clear over to Russia. (It is to be noted that JCK does not live in Alaska where you can see Russia from your kitchen window, like a certain brunette with glasses, so the power of JCK's friendly vibe is impressive.)

Hark! Here's another one. Just dropped in. Double the pleasure. There are two. Squeal! Who is this email from? Anastasia. Anastaaaashaaa... Delicious. JCK has always LOVED that name. Mysterious. Think...Woman. Misunderstood. What does she have to say, this...Anastaaaashaaa.

Meet beautiful, adoring Russian Women today

Beautiful Russian Women are Waiting to Meet You.

*Sigh* JCK just LOVES beautiful women. She knows many. However, she doesn't have heaps of women friends who are just "waiting." In fact, JCK doesn't know innumerable women who have time to "wait" these days. JCK, herself, is quite busy. Purchasing men's midway briefs for her husband's birthday. No small task. Or, cleaning her office. Or, sending out a bazillion emails to Kindergarten parents as Parent Liaison to GIRL's class. Truthfully? JCK barely has time to breathe.

Could it be in Russia that women have time to "wait?" Perhaps they don't get all the "thrilling opportunity" emails that we get here in America? Why, we have... grocery games, discounts on ink, generic Viagra, online auctions we can trust, if we're lonely we have an app for that, or a hook up tonight, and JCK's personal favorites...emails from Big Daddy, someone named Ben, and Sgt. Irvin Brown.

Russian women, beautiful Russian women just waiting to meet JCK. OK. Truthfully? This excites JCK just a bit. Who wouldn't be excited about Russian women, beautiful Russian women, wanting to meet them?

JCK hates to hurt Anastaaaashaaa's feelings, but...JCK's life is full-up, just FULL-UP HONEY, with beautiful women. And, since JCK can still understand a smattering of French, and is bilingual in WHINE EASE spoken by small children, JCK just doesn't have time to learn Russian. Much as she would like to... Even though these Russian women are a click away, just "waiting" for JCK...



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This post is dedicated to E. Happy Birthday, E!

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It is the puerile age where we again become adolescents

We erect walls around ourselves. Each year they grow higher. An illusory protection. But, there is always that day. The day when the walls come tumbling down, because we realize that we've been holding them up...alone.

Loneliness. All of us experience it. Sooner or later, it arrives on our doorstep. Creeping in like a cold, wet fog or slamming into us unexpectedly, the burden and weight of it boring deeply into our core.

When we are young, we assuage our loneliness with things easily obtained. Seeking the warmth of our parents' bed, stuffing ourselves with anything sweet... Later we slide into a drink, or find our own version of Ecstasy - our limbs wrapping greedily around a lover... and man-made concoctions dissolving on our tongues.

Middle age. It is the puerile age where we again become adolescents. Because we see that there IS an end. And we're half-way around that final block. Yet, we continue to eat from the bountiful plate of denial. And we are scared. Shitless.

Loneliness knocks perhaps loudest now. What do we do? How can this be? It seems a wicked, noxious beast...a cruel joke, to feel loneliness when our lives are seemingly full with family and friends. Yet, needs change. Now we look in the mirror and perform a pas de deux of avoidance with the stranger looking back at us.

Who are you? And what have you done with me?

What we choose to forget is that we aren't that other person anymore. We have evolved. Yet, how tempting when someone comes along who sees us as "we used to be." Who can resist that?

Perhaps we don't see the red flag. Perhaps we choose not to see it. Waving wildly above the frantic sea. We get in the boat with an attractive stranger and paddle out. Toward the vortex. Why? Why do we even get in the boat?

Because if we don't feel alive again, we will die? Because the loneliness of not getting in that boat, turning our back on the adventure that beckons... and walking back home is too painful to contemplate.

Why don't we reach out and take the hand of a friend? We can't. The risk is too great that others will view us as broken, unsure...weak. Instead, we experience both the fear and the conceit that no one else can possibly feel like we do. So, we paddle alone, battling waves that grow increasingly larger and harder to manage. Until we...capsize.

If we're lucky, we make it back to shore without drowning. But, sometimes others are left to clean-up the wreckage on the beach...

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JCK would like to dedicate this to all those who feel lost at sea. You are not alone. And to her husband, who always keeps a lifeboat handy.

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Painting "The Last Ride" by Chuck Gumpert.

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Eavesdropping on God

Having Faith is not something that has come easily to me. I'm a bit stubborn. And a lazy ass in the practice of prayer. I am learning slowly. I like to think of myself as a work in progress. A travaux en cours... Sounds much better in French.

It takes training. Repetition. Lately I've been giving it my best shot. Praying a bit. Eavesdropping on God.

BOY: GIRL, guess what's in Heaven?!

GIRL: What?

BOY: A HUMONGOUS refrigerator full of chocolate bars.

I do believe that God speaks to us. And if we have a thing for chocolate bars we listen. My husband likes the idea of creating heaven on earth. And sometimes he does...thank ye, JESUS!

The thought is lovely, but I have a hard time feeling that slice of heaven when my heart is clenched like an icicle wrapped in bubble wrap...surrounded by barbed wire. Practice. Practice. Practice. Maybe it's like tennis, and some day I'll whoop ass on the court.

So, this week has been about moving one foot in front of the other, checking off activities on our summer wish list, quieting my mind by reading aloud to my children, and believing that this challenging period is temporary. As is our time here on earth. Until we get to bite into those chocolate bars...


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Photo: page 2 of our Summer Wish List written by GIRL.

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How to get the WAND in 30 minutes or less... a tutorial

What is the WAND?
A hint...there is nothing twinkly about this wand. It doesn't light up or glow with happiest place on earth cheer. Although it might be made in China... Still unsure? Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo? No. How about ... I'll get you my pretty, and your Big Girl Va Jay Jay, too!

If you are still clueless about the WAND, JCK would like to educate you. Having left WAND virginity long ago, in a land far, far away, JCK has been WANDED more times than the average gal.

The WAND is a tool. A long, unbending object that aims to go where you would rather it didn't. Lest one be wary of contracting an anti-social disease, a condom is used. There is nothing life-like about this WAND. It is made of hard, solid, plastic, and is attached to a machine by a dangling wire. Can JCK hear an...**ooohhh****ooohhh?

Why would one get the wand?
Aside from "just for kicks," the WAND can be used during infertility treatments to gauge the growth and size of follicles (containing eggs) that occur after a rather large amount of hormones. This use of the WAND would be in the category of hope and excitement. As JCK knows well, if a miracle baby is at the other end, it is worth the WANDING. However, the WAND can also be used for other purposes. Say....for detecting fibroids or cysts. Fun stuff like that.

JCK believes in spreading the good news. So, JCK will take you through her experience. It is a story that is up close and personal. Otherwise known as getting the WAND.

The Dress Code:
Oh, golly, gee...what to wear? Of course it is up to you, but JCK prefers jeans over dresses for this type of experience. By the time you leave, you'll have had enough of a Wow Nelly! breeze across your buttocks, and won't feel like being free and easy below the waist. Running shoes are best for a quick exit when done.

The Prep:
You will be given instructions. Undress from the waist down, and put the "robe" on with the opening in the front. Open. In. The. Front. They do not exaggerate. The robe in question is still open in the front, after you tie the strings. In fact, it cannot attract more wind gusts than if your robe were... a sail. Indeed.
And, inevitably there is always that friendly sailor just outside the dressing room, so smile.

The Wanding:
You will be ushered into an understated room in shades of gray and pale gray. You will be asked to climb up on a cot with wheels, otherwise known as a stretcher. After the technician places a small sheet across your upright knees for modesty, otherwise known as WHY BOTHER?, you will be asked to lift your fanny to the sky so that she can place a rolled towel underneath your hips. This enables your nether regions to better salute the ceiling.

The Incorrect Way:
It is after you are in this comfortable position that you must pay attention, for the wand descends between your legs and halts at the entrance. It is most important to note that the WAND be at the correct entry point, for a lubricated WAND can go into a myriad of dark, happy homes. Yes. It. Can.

Excuse Me! You are entering my bottom!.... is a possible scenario.

Er...OOPs... So sorry... says the technician with 10 years of work experience wielding the WAND.

Hahahaha...Nervous laughter ensues.

Hark! Do not miss this opportunity for a mutual chuckle over the wandering, wayward WAND.

The Correct Way:
Once the WAND has the correct entrée, your technician will say, "Now, you will feel a little pressure.

It's not too bad, you convince yourself.

The word RAMROD comes to mind.

It is good to keep breathing. Perhaps you can reflect on what an amazing thing the vaginal canal is... So accommodating to a variety of ...WANDS.

Then, if you are lucky, the technician brings you back by saying, O.K. we're done. You will feel a little pressure as I take this out.

Again with the pressure! Oy!

Always ready to help, you will show off all of your hard work practicing your Kegel exercises. Finally they have a purpose! So, you help eject the WAND by the force of your own vagina.

The After:
All is well. It is over! You can shuffle to the bathroom, where you will discover that the WAND's lubricant has been applied with, perhaps...a spatula? Indeed, you wonder how much lubricant was utilized. You contribute to the downfall of the planet, by believing more is better when it comes to toilet tissue. Twenty minutes later you emerge. Somewhat drier.

You collect your clothes from the locker. You dress, throwing your clothes back on with careless abandon. You walk out through the waiting room, hoping it is just you who hears a SQUOOSH, SQUOOSH sound every time your legs separate to take a step. You make it to the elevator, sharing a ride with a variety of characters. All of whom do not look happy. Perhaps not a good time to shout:

How can they call it a WAND?!! Where's the magic? The glitter dust?

It is not a shared moment. Vacant stares. A quick exit to the street.

Aftercare Instructions:
You will go home and put a sign around your waist for your husband's benefit.

All openings have been filled. No WANDS need apply.



JCK hopes that this tutorial has been helpful.






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It is to be noted that JCK is fine. There are no burgeoning eggs, nor things to worry about. All is well.

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Let's turn things off once in a while, and tune in to our children

My daughter's preschool has a rule about cell phones. Don't use them on the school property. At the beginning of the year, they politely send out a reminder that although they recognize that some phone calls are important, there is nothing more important than focusing on your child at pick-up and drop-off. It's a great rule. Most parents comply, and it invites actual socializing between parents, before and after school. Unfortunately, the art of conversation with a person in person...appears to be on the wane.

Yesterday I realized that the ante must be upped, after witnessing a dad sucked into THE VORTEX ...quietly and furtively using his cell phone to check emails, and zipping off a few text messages. Meanwhile, his daughter was madly trying to get his attention while racing across the pavement on a firetruck tricycle.

Daddy! Daddy! Look at ME!

Mmm hmmmm. Yes, mmmm hmmm.

Never once did he look up, except to turn his body a bit, away from the morning sun, which apparently was causing a glare to his cell phone screen.

He won't get those five minutes back.

It is everywhere. This constant of chatting on the phone, or engaging in texting, while "being with your child." We, as women, the ultimate multi-taskers, are probably most at fault. How many times do you see a mom picking up her school age children, while waving them into the car and driving away, all while on the phone? What about that little conversation that starts....how was your day today, honey? Yes, what about THAT.

Get off the phone!

I'm sorry, people, it just doesn't fly. It's called NARCISSISM. Some might even call it ...masturbation. Because, at some point, that is what it IS. Really.

Hey, can you do that somewhere else? Somewhere...P.R.I.V.A.T.E.?!!

Sadly, it's not just the parents. Now, the nannies are doing it, too. Go to any playground and you'll see children playing. And adults talking... to someone else, who is not present.

I understand that going to the playground with your children can be tedious and boring. Yet... It's also such a delicious opportunity to see those magical moments. Your daughter making it across the monkey bars for the first time. Your son hugging a child who is hurt. The sudden realization that time is fleeting ...and somehow another year has passed, and your children are almost too big for this playground.

We have truly become an addicted society. We need to be tuned in. We need to have our phone on ...just in case. We need to check our email one last time, because ....well, you know. There might be something URGENT. This whole thing of constantly being available to the universe at large is disconcerting. Can we breathe without an electronic connection? Can we?

Let's turn things off once in a while, and tune in to our children. It will be a decision we will never regret.

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Perhaps more Hollywood Producers should try the view from a minivan car seat

What was 5 year old BOY's reaction to viewing the recent billboards for the movie Surrogates?

What THE heck?!

Exactly, BOY. Exactly...

Oh, then to be fair, there is the...male version.

I don't see him bent over, do you? I haven't seen these billboards. I'm thinking they must be promoting them in W. Hollywood, so that they can barrage us with the family friendly female versions here.

Helloooo, Mr. Willis??!! Perhaps more Hollywood producers should try the view from a minivan car seat. Come on big boys, I've got room in the back. But, I may not unbuckle you when we get there...



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Photos courtesy of Google Images.

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IS THE SUN COMING OUT AGAIN?

It seems I am one of the few who has not embraced the layer of fog and gray skies that have descended on our landscape.

Oh, I LOVE this weather. So coool....

Makes me want to just snuggle in.

Don't you just LOVE it?

Aaaah. No. I don't. In fact, I HATE it. Loathe IT in every fiber of my being, truth be told. I find it suffocating and oppressive, and frankly I feel like I'm on THE EDGE. If I ever thought I had issues with lack of sun before this, my doubts have passed. I truly DO have issues with day after day after day after day...of gray skies. Now, I know you farther up and over people, yes YOU in Washington State, Oregon and parts due NW, yes YOU are probably at this point... laughing maniacally. After all, how could someone living in Sunnyville Lalala, USA complain about gray skies. Well... I just CAN, thank you very much.

Seriously? It's a little scary. I am finding it harder to do everything these days. To get dressed, take a shower, get out of the house...all I want to do is pull the covers over my head and wake up when the sun comes out. IS THE SUN COMING OUT AGAIN? And I've been baking cookies. Lots of them. And eating cookies. Lots of them. And talking about baking more cookies, different cookies. Lots of them.

OK, typically, this time of year we have what we call in these parts... June Gloom. It is when the fog/mist whatever encroaching element of evil you'd like to name it...just rolls in and burns off in late morning or after lunch. Well? It's not burning off. At all. Tonight I got a glimpse of blue sky. It was 6:30pm. Yeah, blue sky one hour before sunset! Eureka! It's been 10 days now, and the forecast for the week? More of the same...

June Gloom has been reported by some Californians to bring on symptoms consistent with seasonal affective disorder. It is often cited as a time of depression.

Ya, THINK???

It's bad. Really bad. And the worst thing? The very worst thing? Is that it is SO bad. So very bad. That I am writing about it...

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Picture courtesy of Google Images.

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Pay desired: anything will do, since current pay is in gold pirate coins and playdoh

FOR HIRE:

SAHM seeks employment either inside or outside the home. Outside the home would be preferable, but she is willing to barricade herself in home office with ear plugs if necessary.

Current Skill Set Includes, but Not Limited To:

shrieking NOOOO!!!!!!! at the top of her lungs

Eye for detail: picking up: toys, dishes, old band-aids, balled up pieces of paper, men's underwear, wet towels, cat's vomit, day old pee filled pull-ups, really anything... she isn't picky

Film editor: rerunning a cartoon over and over in her head that says: FUCK ME!

wine taster

damn good cookie maker

damn good cookie eater

ability to use her clothes as a human food shield

storyteller

policewoman

Ability to answer: Why? What? Why? What? Why? What? more times than thought humanly possible

laundress

Creative chef/nutritionist: making dinner out of a loaf of bread, eggs and sugar followed up with a milk shooter to achieve Vitamin D nutrients

mediator

negotiator

driver

garbage collector

Flexible: ability to stuff body into what have become small pants

hugger

Hair stylist: why a haircut when pulling out hair by the handfuls will suffice?

typist

list maker

social calendar keeper

Ability to live in denial: if one wears clothes smeared with peanut butter (because one is too tired to care) out into the world and pretends it isn't there, is it there?

teacher

life guard

accountant

butt wiper

advocate

nurse

Pay desired: anything will do, since current pay is in gold pirate coins and playdoh.

Contact Information: SAHM can be found at home curled up into a fetal position chewing on fishnets due to overindulgence of caffeine when whiskey and chocolate have been depleted. Perhaps best to leave a message. Ability to talk coherently may be compromised...

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Mommy's Milk & Mousetraps

Today was the usual intrigue around Casa de Motherscribe. BOY managed to climb up and grab a mouse trap in the garage, bring it inside and engage it. It snapped across his fingers leaving a raised white line. Once the tears were gone and the cold pack had been applied, BOY acknowledged that playing with a mousetrap was perhaps not the best idea...

And then this week, there's been an obsession with milk producing mammaries...


Questions from BOY to my friend, M.

May I try some of your Mommy's milk? Does it get messy?

Questions from BOY to another friend, Mrs J.

May I try some of your Mommy's milk? What does it taste like?

And to me....

Do you still have Mommy's milk?

No, BOY, I don't.

Why not?

Because you just have it after you give birth to a baby and then when the baby stops drinking it, it dries up.

Does it get all moldy in there?

No. It just naturally dries up and goes away.

Well...Mrs. J says it is sweet.

It probably is.

I want to try some.

Apparently...


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Painting by Pierre Augustine Renoir titled: Motherhood Aka Woman Breast Feeding Her Child2

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But, I wonder at the convenience of memory and how, perhaps, our mind aims to protect us...

It's a funny thing. Memory. And how it works. A few weeks ago, when my mom was visiting, we retrieved her grandmother's antique desk out of the depths of our garage. I had been keeping it for her. We used it in our last place, a tiny little guest house in west L.A. But, here, in the spot we've called home for 9 years it had sat undisturbed in the garage. Or, so I remembered. Once it was out in the sunlight and had been dusted off, in preparation for loading into her car, E discovered a cache of letters and cards in the drop leaf section of the writing desk. The loot was mine. It also contained an old address book, a carryover from my single days...the cover a pink satin laced up bodice, hinting of oft dreamed debauchery.

Many of the cards were from my 40th birthday party in 2001. Somehow I had forgotten that my fortieth birthday had fallen 8 days after September 11th. I looked at the dates written on the cards and it was as if I was seeing it for the first time. Could it be? My 40th birthday just after nine-eleven? And yet, I had not remembered. Nor had I remembered that the desk had even been in this house -moved into the garage so that we could prepare the nursery in anticipation of BOY's arrival.

I do remember now a slight awkwardness, a wondering, if people would be up to celebrating my birthday so soon after what seemed like the world was on its way to the end... And, we decided that YES, it was a time to celebrate. Because we were alive. That having a party didn't negate all the people who had lost their lives. That it was OK to have some drinks, eat delicious food, and laugh with special friends. Because we could.

I don't know why my memory chose to selectively forget that not small detail. But, it did. There was another thing that happened that evening that should have stayed with me, yet only now comes to the surface as I am writing this. A close friend from my childhood in Beirut, who lives in Santa Monica, had driven out for my birthday. Parking on our street, he was questioned getting out of his car as to his intention...here. Lovely man that he is, he laughed it off in the telling. Yet, it was unnerving and uncomfortable that my friend was questioned as to where he was going by a "well intentioned" older neighbor, because my friend's skin is the color of dark caramel. Yes, life had changed.

The rest of the evening I remember quite well. But, I wonder at the convenience of memory and how, perhaps, our mind aims to protect us... What is as important, disturbing...catastrophic and deeply personal, as September 11th was for all of us, can be present forever or not. Fully at one's fingertips or rolled up in a tight ball, to unravel unexpectedly by chance...slapping us with the impact. Memories uncovered in the seemingly simple task of moving a piece of furniture from one destination to another...


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Painting titled "Traces of a Forgotten Life" by David Luksha.

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JCK felt a bit like an alien in Utah.

JCK has been away for several days and didn't have an opportunity to blog. Perhaps you've noticed? JCK went to Utah to meet her sister, and visit her nephew who is at a boarding school there. She did get to streeetch herself a bit. Doing things JCK doesn't normally do....

Instead of watching the feeding habits of her young scamps, BOY & GIRL, JCK was able to observe large BISON eating. Very little difference, although she believes the BISON have better manners. She ate meals in restaurants, instead of standing in the kitchen. JCK went to a movie. It was called, He's Just NOT That Into You. JCK was just NOT into that movie overall, but it was fun to laugh and occasionally FLUFF is good for you. JCK went rollerskating. Yes. She did. JCK was the OLDEST one circling on wheels. She only fell once. Not while she was moving, but while talking to her sister they clutched each other and toppled over. JCK has intimate knowledge now of why skating is for the young. Falling can only have one result. PAIN. JCK also participated in Mini Bowling and SKEE BALL. JCK kicks ass. Even if it doesn't show up in the score.

JCK felt a bit like an alien in Utah. Although a great admirer of BIG HAIR, and a past participant in the fine art of BIG HAIR management, the manes in UTAH take BIG HAIR to another level. Look out New Jersey, Texas, and the entire South...you've got some mean competition. JCK can make this snide remark as she lived in Atlanta for several years and was a BIG HAIR maven.

JCK missed her children terribly. Hearing their little voices over the phone line was difficult, and created an ache in her heart. She was gone 4 nights. JCK is exhausted.

BOY is determined to seek revenge on JCK leaving. Upon her arrival home yesterday, BOY refused to hug her. At first. Then after some discussion it was determined that BOY was MAD at JCK for leaving. GIRL adhered to JCK like a baby monkey.

E was husband/father extraordinaire. Did JCK mention that BOY had a high fever the morning that JCK left? Or that BOY threw up in the car on the way home from the airport? Poor BOY. Poor E.

JCK arrived home and the house was cleaner and neater than when she left. A few clothes had a new red tint, but if your husband does the laundry while you are gone, everything looks rosy. E also commissioned a banner for JCK. She will be doing something wonderful for E later in the week. It probably will not require paper and magic markers. Although there could be body paint...

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NO WAY ARE YOU BRINGING HOME THAT TRASHY LOOKING DOLL!

Yesterday, GIRL and I went into a local drugstore looking for a witch's hat. She has decided that she will be a witch for Halloween. But, a "friendly witch." After sorting through the piles of spooky paraphernalia, we found a great witch's hat with long scraggly grey hair. It was perfect and I can cut the wig out. As we were making our way to the cashier, GIRL spotted a display of dolls. She reached out and plucked one of the dolls down. She stared at it. Mesmerized. She looked up at me with a huge smile...

I want her!

You do?

Mmmm. Mmm. *SIGH* She's beautiful......

Why do you think she is beautiful, GIRL?

Her lipstick!

I am ashamed to say, my first impulse was to shriek: NO WAY ARE YOU BRINGING HOME THAT TRASHY LOOKING DOLL! I managed to restrain myself. I was overreacting. Or was I? It wasn't one of those dolls. The ones heavily made up and wearing minimal clothing, but it was a bit similar and it scared me. I don't want my daughter to think this is how young women should look.

Are you sure, GIRL?

Yes, mommy. I'm really, really sure.

GIRL, how about if we find one that doesn't have as much make-up on? I don't feel comfortable with you buying this particular one.

Okay...how about this one?

OH, GOD, IT'S WORSE!

Okay, GIRL...you can pick the first one.

Thank you, Mommy. She is so pretty. I love her red lipstick.

GIRL, I am going to buy you this doll because you've really been working hard in your swimming lessons and following the rules at home. You've been doing a wonderful job. I'm very proud of you. But, I also want you to know that every time you see something you like, we are not going to buy it.

Okay, Mama.

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Later....

BOY, look at the doll I got!!

WOW, GIRL...she's pretty!

Good GOD, this stuff panders to the impressionable, young male mind!!

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There will be a time when I'll have to have that talk with GIRL about all of this. But, she's 4. And she thinks the doll is beautiful because she has red lipstick. That is all. It is very simple in her mind. For me, a bit more complicated. But, the baggage is mine and I'll have to sort through it before we have that talk...

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