Parenting stuff

Well, the blog is a bit dusty, isn't it? It seems I have a little more free time (we've been getting Z to bed by 8:20 most nights), yet I've been using it in different ways. Lately it's been a lot of crafting, baking, candy-making, present-wrapping, and that sort of Christmas stuff. In November it was NaNoWriMo (and yes, I did finish 50,000 words!). Plus, as my friend Suzanne recently mused, it's so easy to just share something quickly on Facebook...

But I want to keep this up, and to catch you up a bit.

Z is charming, funny, smart, sweet, and stubborn as a mule. She can also be a little dramatic and emotional. For example, one day this week, she burst into tears because I didn't feed her oatmeal. The next day, she burst into tears because I did. It's not a constant sob-fest around here, though. Those episodes are rare.

I don't know if I even wrote about it at the time, but when Z was around 2, I started worrying/wondering whether she had some sensory issues. She fit the profile -- hyper-kinetic, unwilling to wear certain kinds of clothing, kicks the blankets off -- but we just worked around it, and it sort of slipped from my mind. Recently, we've been dealing with a lot of touching issues. Not inappropriate stuff; she just wants to hug everyone, put her arms around them, sit so close to others that they're touching... And some of the kids in pre-school are fine with that, but I think some find it off-putting. So there have been some talks in the pre-school class about personal space (and there've been a lot of talks at home about personal space). It's kind of funny -- I think personal space is a perfectly normal thing to talk to a kid about, but if we're out in public and she needs a reminder, I'll say "personal space, Zade!" and some adult nearby is almost sure to laugh. I don't get it.

Anyway, recently at school, one of the teachers was talking about how if you turn around with your arms out, that's your bubble, and lots of people don't want you to be in their bubble. Apparently Zadie announced, "I want EVERYONE to pop MY bubble!" And that's just about the truth -- she really does.

Then I was at ballet, and she was in there hugging children while they were trying to dance, and I gave the old hand-to-the-forehead gesture out there in the hall, and one of the other moms sympathized. But then what was interesting was that she told me her older son had been the same way -- always had to cuddle, sit right on you, hug people, sleep with them, and he seemed really unaware of his and others' personal space. She was telling me that sometimes she wrapped him like a burrito in a blanket and told him he was a caterpillar and had to wiggle out. She also pulled gently on his fingers and toes and his joints to give him a sense of his body and where it ended. It sounds so weird, but that burrito thing is actually exactly like a technique I read about for kids with sensory issues. It made me wonder if the finger-pulling thing was potentially related.

I tried it that night as we snuggled before bed. I was only on the second finger when she sighed and announced dreamily, "That feels GOOD." None of that is particularly conclusive about anything, but it does make me think that she does have some mild sensory issues, and they just changed the way they presented themselves. And that's okay. We'll work around that.

Another thing we're working around is the sleep issue. We had a nice long stretch of Z sleeping in her own bed. Then about two weeks ago, she was sick. We had established that she could sleep in our bed only one night a week, Thursdays, unless she was sick. Well, when she was sick, she slept in there every night, and now we can't get her out again. Honestly, I'm not trying too hard. Yes, it's disruptive and uncomfortable, but if she needs it for a while, she needs it. Plus, letting her crawl in and crash out does allow me to fall back asleep a lot faster than arguing with her about staying in her bed, waiting for her to fall asleep and then picking her up and carrying her back, or laying in her tiny bed until she falls asleep and then sneaking out.

Plus, as a parent, I'm trying to not be so problem-solution oriented. (I think some of you at this point might note that I'm a Capricorn.) I have a tendency to be like, "Here is an issue! Let me brainstorm. Aha! Here is the plan in roman numeral outline form." And I'm learning, however slowly, that raising kids isn't really like that. A lot of raising kids seems to be waiting stuff out. And there are phases and backslides and progress and ups and downs, and it's all okay.

One thing that's been slow and long-term but also is showing signs of working is the family meeting. I read about it in the book Positive Discipline, and the author suggested that if a kid is old enough to sit in circle time at pre-school, they're old enough for meetings.

We sing a little song, open our hands like a book and announce "family meeting is now open." We give each other "compliments and appreciations," then read last week's minutes. Then we all bring our agenda items to the table and talk about them. Then we close the meeting.

The first couple times, Z was really restless and disengaged. But over the course of several meetings, she has gotten into it, rarely gets up from the couch, and she likes to do the opening and closing gestures. Her original agenda item was "bouncing." But last meeting she announced that she was going to try not to run away from us anymore.

Running away had been an agenda item from the week before, and as far as I can tell, it worked. We didn't have any running issues that week. When we started the meetings, they were a lot like that. "Thanksgiving is coming up, so my agenda item is that I'd like us all to use our best table manners." They were sort of behavior-directed, and sometimes I think we came off a little heavy-handed. But as of this week's meeting, we had a lot of positive things to say, and one of my agenda items was that I hoped we could all be a team during the next few stressful days. For example, if Mommy got a little high-pitched with the "Come on! Let's go! We're supposed to be there at 7! Where are your shoes?" stuff, that hopefully Daddy and Zadie could remind me to chill out.

One interesting development lately has been that she's making a lot more sense all the time. When kids are very small, there seems to be little separation between reality and fantasy, and sometimes whole conversations are abstract, stream-of-consciousness fantasy things. And you get used to it. You start absently saying "Dog on the moon? Sure. Oh, the princess had a fire extinguisher. Yes..." And suddenly Zadie is very rooted in practicality and seriousness. I mean, she still pretends, but she knows she's pretending, and she hardly ever gets pretend and reality mixed up. But to be honest, I haven't completely caught up with her yet.

Here's an example. We are driving in the car down a major street near our house. She's talking about China. What it's like there, what the weather is, what they eat, how someday she will go there. Then suddenly she says, "That's where Hudson lives." I answer, somewhat absently, "Oh no, honey, Hudson lives here in Sacramento." "No," she insists. "I was pointing at Hudson's house!" And sure enough, we had just passed it. She didn't think Hudson lived in China -- she was changing the damn subject. And I hadn't kept up with her because I still expected her to think her classmates might be secretly commuting from overseas.

We do have a lot of fun around here. We read books, dance, watch the Muppets (Zadie always wants to watch ones with a female guest star, so it's been all Sandy Duncan and Candice Bergen around here), bake, do craft projects, watch music videos... She plays Barbies with her dad, and yesterday they spent nearly all day riding her bike down the street. As I knew because I got this:

Happy 65, Dad!

These are pictures of my dad and Z on the last four of my dad's birthdays.

Granny: Master rhetorician

There are few examples of really fine persuasive rhetoric out there which are short, impactful, and easily comprehensible. I would love to use this with my students, but it's far too personal. You'll see.

Granny: I have a question for you. [See how she starts out right away with audience engagement?]
Me: Okay, what?
Granny: Are you pregnant? [Here is an "attention-getting opener" if I ever saw one. It brings up a number of questions for the audience, not least of which is "Can she see how fat I've gotten through the phone?"]
Me: What? No!
Granny: Why not? [Brilliant, because it is surprising and throws me off guard. It immediately puts the listener on the defense. We also now have an implied thesis, which is "you should get pregnant."]
Me: Well, it's just... we have a small house, so it's hard.
Granny: No it isn't. [Now, to an outsider, this has little credibility. It sounds like the ineffective arguer from the Monty Python sketch. However, this brief statement actually contains both logos (logically, it isn't that hard to raise two children in a three-bedroom house) and ethos (from an I-know-what-I'm-talking-about standpoint, Grandma herself raised five kids in a three-bedroom house).]
Me: Yes, well. I guess you did it, huh?
Granny: Yes, I did. Plus, Zadie would love to have a little brother or sister. [And, if you were waiting for pathos, here it is. I always tell my kids that the most frequent use of pathos in political ads, charitable giving campaigns, etc. is "Think of the children!" And here it is - think of poor, lonely Z.]

And there, in a few easy steps, we got logos, ethos, pathos, and an attention-grabbing opener. I think she may have had a strong conclusion as well, but I was too busy banging my head quietly into a wall to notice.

How Z took ten years off my life on Thanksgiving Day

We went to my step-dad's cousin's house for Thanksgiving dinner. He and his wife are very sweet, welcoming people, and they always invite us. I overheard them, as we were leaving, say "I'm glad the kids could come." Meaning us. Lol!

Anyway, we were having a lovely time, and around the salad course, I took Z to the restroom. While she was sitting there, she asked, "Will I be as old as you someday?"
"Yes, I certainly hope so. And someday you can be married and have a kid and everything, if you want."
"I don't want to have a kid."
"Okay, then you don't have to. You get to decide."
"Well, I don't have a uterus yet."
"Oh, yeah you do. It's just not ready to have a baby in it, yet."
"How do the babies get there?"
|"Well, the Daddy plants a seed. The mama has an egg, and the seed and the egg have to get together to have a baby. It's like when you plant a seed in the ground and a flower grows."
"Does baby Leah Rose have a seed yet?" [That is the name of a baby that is due next week. We went to visit her parents on Wednesday.]
"Yep, her daddy planted one, and that's how she's growing."
"Oh. Okay."

At that point, she didn't seem to have any more questions and was done with her business, so we went back to the table. I mentioned the conversation, and I said I was glad she hadn't asked WITH WHAT the daddy planted the seed. My stepdad said, "You mean his PORTUGEE RAYGUN?"

Yeah, so then, we had a lovely next several hours. Z played with a couple older girls for a long time, we had the main course and pie (and numerous other desserts), and then there was coffee and Scotch and conversation, and we checked on Zadie a lot and she seemed fine. And then we finally got our coats and went to say goodbye and Z gave big hugs to everyone and then immediately announced, "I have to go potty!" And then I smelled it. She HAD gone potty. And we went into the bathroom, and I will spare you the details, but my requests from my mom, who was running back and forth to the car, included an entire new outfit, wipes, and plastic bags. It was a horror show. I'm seriously traumatized. I don't want to describe it to you, because I know Mommy blogs get a bad reputation for that sort of thing, but when I took off her tights, it was reminiscent of this:

So this Thanksgiving season, Darrel and Sandy can be thankful that we are gone, and my uncle Mick and aunt Jen, who invited us to their home, can be thankful that we declined. I am thankful for wipes, washing machines, and the fact that we have so many pairs of toddler underpants that it was no problem to just burn one.

With so much to be thankful for...

This year I'm passing it on. Who knows, but according to them, I just helped provide 200 holiday meals. From their web site: "Feeding America is proud to share with you our 96 percent Charitable Commitment rating, reported in the 2010 edition of Forbes Magazine’s annual survey of 200 major charities. This rating was determined by the percentage of total financial and product donations devoted to programs."

So that seems like a pretty good deal.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Zadie is lots of different things.

Today on her way to the park, she was riding her bike. It is the longest ride she's ever been on, and she was awesome. She was a little afraid, but she talked herself out of it by pretending to be an orc.

At the playground, she was climbing in such an agile and fearless way that a teenager called her a ninja.

Later, she put on a frilly skirt to walk to the grocery store. A boy on the street commented, "she's a princess!" Zadie walked on a few steps, then yelled, "Actually, I'm a hula dancer, but I'm just not that graceful."

Also of note, I mentioned that she was getting to hear her new clackers (things that slide up and down the spokes) for the first time, and it must make her feel brave. She agreed; "Yeah, it's like bravery music."

Apple Hill

I love holidays! Mainly because I love having time off to spend with the Z-ster.

Yesterday we got up, dinked around over breakfast, and I gave her two choices -- ice skating or Apple Hill. She initially chose skating, but then she changed her mind. So at about 8:30, we hopped in the car and headed out.

Apple Hill is about an hour east of hear, and we had a pretty pleasant drive. I had decided to go early, and I wasn't sure yet whether that was a good idea. High Hill Ranch, which is my usual place, does open at 8, but there's a lot of other stuff there, like a fudge factory and a craft fair. Would that stuff be open? I didn't know.

It didn't matter -- when we got there, we were cold, so we went first into the dining area and enjoyed hot drinks until about ten, so when we were finally ready to go explore the rest of the place, everything was open.

We walked around the fishing pond, ran up and down a muddy set of hills (I bailed and fell on my ass), checked out the pony rides (not quite ready yet) and then went to the Fudge Factory, where there's a little playground. It has an airplane that you can sit on and rock in about six differed ways, and one way it's like a teeter-totter. There's also a wooden train with a bell, two of those things you can ride on if you feed them quarters, and a giant truck tire. All told, a pretty cool playground.

Then she was hungry, and they have apple doughnuts and fritters in the barn, so we went there. I chose about ten pounds of apples (for apple butter, I think), and then we got a fritter the size of her head (literally). She ate all the sugary outside and gave the doughy middle to me.

Then she let me look at the crafts (it's kind of always the same stuff, but I like to check it out), and then we went back to the playground for a while. (A long while, as now there were other kids to play with. She was pretending to be the engineer's helper on the train, and at one point, two new boys wandered up, and she ushered them into seats, saying "Here you go, gentlemen.")

Finally I dragged her away for lunch, and I was very happy with our lunch choice. We usually eat in the large dining room, but the choices there are pretty limited. My only option there is a pretty mundane veggie burger. But in the barn, which is significantly smaller, there were a lot more choices. I went for the veggie sandwich, which came with guacamole, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and cheese. It said it came on whole wheat bread, but if that was whole wheat, I'll eat my hat. Still, it wasn't bad. And Z got chicken noodle soup that came with big fat fettucini noodles, large chunks of dark meat chicken, and lots of diced carrots. It certainly appeared to be homemade. After lunch, we got caramel apples and went to sit by the pond and watch people fish.

We lucked into it, but it happened that when we got our fritter, it was still really early, so there was no line. And at lunch, there were two lines -- one for food and the other for doughnuts. The doughnuts line snaked out the door, but the food line was empty. So we managed to not have to wait in a line all day.

The view was lovely (I forgot my camera and my phone was out of battery, so I can't share pictures), and it was cool, but not freezing. I believe it was in the low fifties. Zadie refused to wear a jacket, and her little nose and cheeks got red, but because she is who she is, she spent a lot of time running, too.

After we finished our apples, she ran up and down the hills some more, and I stood close by and watched. Many other kids joined her, and at one point, some girls suggested that they play tag. Zadie doesn't really get the rules of games like that, so she got tagged and was "it," and went running the other way. The bigger girls decided it wasn't worth playing with her and retreated over by a tree. She went to talk to them, and they looped their arms around each other and one started to whisper in the other's ear. I thought "fuck that," and I called Z and dragged her off to the car. It was time to go anyway. She gets enough of mean girls at school.

Incidentally, if you were to compare our caramel apples when we finished with them, mine would look like a stick with a tiny bit of apple core still stuck to it. Zadie's looked like a perfect green apple on a stick with not a trace of caramel.

I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving. I have a good idea for a tart in mind. Oh! I have to call my uncle back -- we're invited to his place, but we accepted an invitation on the other side of the family.

Okay, take care all!

P.S. I'm still writing my novel for National Novel Writing Month. I'm more or less on track, with 34,000 words out of 50,000 and nine days remaining. I typically write 2,000 words a day, so if I don't miss more than one day, I will reach the goal. Of course, yesterday was hard, because I had started the book thinking that my character was going to go to jail and get disappeared and have adventures and stuff, and when she finally actually went to jail, it just didn't work for me anymore, and I had her released the next morning. So then it was like, "now what?"

Veteran's Day

I appreciate veterans for more reasons than the day off, but I also appreciate the day off.

I still got up early to go to the gym, but then I fooled around on the computer, had an extra-strong cup of coffee, and ate homemade bread with homemade jam and feta cheese for breakfast.

We cleaned the house so we could rest more today, and then Z and Sweetie walked to Starbucks and the game store. While they were gone, I put together a freestanding shelving unit, took down some wall-mounted shelves, cleaned out my cookbooks a bit, and made myself a pantry!

I grew up with a pantry, and every place I've lived in since has felt a little inferior. This kitchen, while laid out pretty nicely, has almost no room for appliances (food processors, mixers, etc.) and not a lot of cupboard space for food storage. I put a big shelving unit in the garage, which did help with space issues in there, and I was able to put my Crock Pot, Kitchen-Aid Mixer, ice cream maker, and a few other things in there. Then I started canning, and I needed space as well for my canning pot, jars, lids, canned stuff... I took up two whole shelves of the big storage unit with stuff that really should have been in a pantry.



So here is the after! (I didn't take a before, but as of a week ago, the washer and dryer were side by side in the middle of the space, there were mismatched and broken garbage and recycling containers, and two shelves mounted with my cookbooks on them, so heavy they sagged in the middle.

I went to my mom's for a little while, but the person I was supposed to meet had screwed up the day. Still, it wasn't like I had any big plans, and I got to engage in a bit of Shadenfreude as mom's awful neighbors found their moving van blocked by a car. Then I went home, made harissa, baked some bread, threw together a batch of cookie dough, had a cup of tea, looked over my cookbooks for ideas, and made a grocery list. I also did a few little jobs in the yard, including planting carrots.


Cup of tea.


Yay cookbooks!


The bread.


Soaking the peppers for harissa.

Z and I went shopping, first at Trader Joe's and then at Save-Mart (there are a few things TJ's doesn't carry). And then it was almost dinner time, so I jumped in the shower. We all went to Shoki for ramen, and then we came home and I baked the cookies. Then it was bedtime for Z. I finished up the cookies, had a glass of wine, and did some writing.

The value of literature

It may seem like a Faustian bargain: trading the teaching of literature for increased test scores. After all, attempting to raise test scores as the bar is continually raised may seem like a Sisyphean task. Even a gain over a single year might be a pyrrhic victory. But at high schools throughout the country, teachers are facing a catch-22: if they teach with passion about a subject they like, they are failing to prepare students for the brave new world of education, one where literature takes a back seat to expository text. English teachers cling to literature, but it will prove to be the albatross around their necks.

So let me make a modest proposal: stop teaching English literature altogether. There is no thought police – citizens can still choose to read whatever they like. But when it comes to the value of literature, I’m a doubting Thomas. When has familiarity with literature ever helped anyone understand anything? It’s all Greek to me. I don’t mind to sound like a Scrooge to those who love books, but I just don’t see how literature continues to be relevant to Generation X and beyond.

So lend me your ears: I assure you that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. These teachers are insisting on their beloved subject not being cut. What a piece of work is man! They say that students need literature, and that the focus on passing tests isn’t important. This kind of talk is madness, yet there is method in it: they want to keep their cushy jobs where they get to talk about made-up stories all day. But the truth will out! The game is up, English teachers! Because brevity is the soul of wit, I’ll end here. But I’ll leave you with a thought from Mark Twain: “Literature is well enough, as a time-passer, and for the improvement and general elevation and purification of mankind, but it has no practical value.”

Funderland 2

IMG_4323
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Piggs

Funderland

IMG_4359
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Piggs

What's our girl up to?

Okay, I know you all want to hear about Zadie. She's good. Lots of learning, and lots of challenges, as it should be.

I suggested that she might want to learn to play the drums, and she does. We talked a lot about the guitar, and a month later, she remembered the names of all the parts of the guitar. She remembers lyrics to songs, and is not too bad at melodies, either. The other day, we turned on a mix CD that a friend made me a long time ago, and as all the songs came on, she would say "Oh! I like this one!" I wondered if she would remember Proud Mary, which we used to listen to a lot, and she totally does. I can sing the first part of a line and she can finish it.

She loves books, and she is content to have me read poetry to her almost endlessly. She is recognizing some words, although learning to read isn't a matter of urgency to her. She recognizes all the letters and can make most of them in a pretty recognizable fashion. I spelled out her name for her the other day, and she wrote all the letters, although not all in the typical order. She does, however, seem to know that you write from left to write mostly, and she pretends to write notes regularly.

Physically, she has gained dexterity in the most unbelievable ways. She just brought home a bracelet, and of course she strung all 34 beads onto the pipe cleaner. I watched her at the park on Sunday, the park we've been going to for years, and suddenly she can shinny up the steep steps, trot across the balance beam (the same balance beam that I used to have to walk with her, letting her clutch my index fingers!), and hop onto the digger. She's graceful, easy, strong, fast... She amazes me.

And, as she has continued to be strong-willed, creative, and logical, life with her is sometimes very hard. She does a lot of limit-testing, probably more than most kids, but less than the kids on SuperNanny. Sometimes she can be perfectly pleasant and sweet and loving, and other times she can be a screaming maniac, and then worst, she can be nonchalantly bitchy. One of her recent refrains is "No. I won't do anything for you." This is delivered in a perfectly aloof tone with her eyebrows raised and looking off into the distance past you.

Tonight, for example, she was delaying bedtime -- nothing new. She ran off a couple times, refused to go to the bathroom, so I got serious. I said fine, she didn't have to go potty, I would just put her nighttime diaper on. And she flipped. She yelled, she kicked, she said "go away" (which is about the worst curse she knows). I asked her several times to tell me what was wrong, and she warbled incoherently. She tried to run from the room. Finally, FINALLY, we got her to tell us what was wrong: she had to go potty.

While she sat there, I told her a story about two sisters. One wanted to hold hands, but she didn't tell her older sister, so the older sister never took her hand. She got madder and madder and used mean words until finally she said what she wanted. Then, of course, the older sister was happy to hold hands.

Zadie calmed down a lot and listened. Then she wanted to pretend to be the sisters, so we did. She apologized for not saying what she wanted, and I told her I felt a lot better, and I loved her. She loves me, too.

We've also had to ask her to say "final answer" when she makes a decision, because she has a tendency to say she wants one thing, then we give it to her, and she has a shitfit, complaining that she really wanted the other thing, and we should have known.

I believe that's all normal and part of her strong character. We'll get through it. Actually, the biggest concern I have about her right now is a school thing.

So, if you've spent any time at all with Z, you know that she lives for the company other children and thrives in their presence. So she pretty much walked into the first day of school and found the biggest, cutest girls, and announced "I'm Zadie! I'm a nice girl. Do you want to be friends? I like to play. Can I play with you? Can I sit next to you?" And because the girls have been friends for quite a while, they sort of had their own clique going. Yes; a pre-school clique. Anyway, they rejected her, which meant she tried to insert herself harder, which meant they pushed back harder, and a vicious cycle of whirlwind meanness ensued. Seriously, several of the other mothers have approached either Mom or me and expressed concern over the "girl drama" or "the situation" or just said that they feel bad for Zadie. The teachers know and are trying to intervene. The other parents are watching out. Even the girls' mothers have told the teacher that they're trying really hard to address the situation with their own daughters.

I think it's going to get better, and I think Zadie's learning to cope a little better, too. For example, she has been making friends with another little girl that gets excluded, and sometimes she even just plays with the boys. But it's hard to see those girls be mean to my kid and restrain myself from bitch-slapping them. (NB: I could probably not really bitch-slap a four year old. I am much more likely to say passive-agressive shit loud enough got their mothers to hear. "Oh, those girls don't want to include people right now, honey. Why don't you find someone who's ready to be nice?")

So anyway, that's kind of what's up right now. She loves school, she eats everything in sight, and she pretends to be Wonder Woman and Joan Jett as often as a princess, so I guess we're doing something right.

Why I am the 99%

If you've been avoiding the news, here's a quick run-down of what's been going on. People gathered in Zucotti Park in NYC in the Wall Street area, and called their movement "Occupy Wall Street." They adopted the motto "We are the 99%." This was meant to point out income inequality in the United States. (If you're interested, in terms of income equality, we come in 93rd of 134 countries studied, behind Iran and China, among others.)

There's a tumblr site named We are the 99 Percent showing people's individual stories. Although there is variety, the overwhelming majority were people who were out of work and buried in debt.

In response, a guy named Erick Ericksonn started one called "We are the 53%," and it has a singular message with some variety as well: Quit whining. What I find most interesting about the site is how many sad stories are there, too -- bankruptcies, debt, medical bills, disability, unemployment... The idea is that these people are the ones in the 53% of Americans who pay Federal taxes, but if their stories are true, many of them simply couldn't make enough money to be in that group.

So... someone created this other one called "Actually, you're the 47%." It's meant to be humorous, and it's a little cutting, but I like it. One picture that's gotten a lot of play on Facebook is a girl who worked her way through college and is broke now, but doesn't blame Wall Street for her problems. Whoever writes the tumblr wrote that (s)he wasn't sure she understood what the 99% means, and also that her "broke ass" is not in the 53%.

For reference, I also like this one: We are the one percent. If you don't follow the link, it's mostly young people who are wealthy for various reasons (most inherited money) who stand with the 99%

Which brings me to... just where the heck am I? Well, I'm really comfortable. If I had a large-ish piece of paper to hold in front of my face, it would have to include that my parents were middle class, but my mom mostly raised me as a single mom on a county worker's salary. We didn't have absolutely everything, but we had what we needed. My parents both saved for my college, and so I have no student loan debt. (I did go to a less-expensive state school.) I worked hard, but I also lucked into a lot of things. I made some good decisions with some good guidance, like saving for retirement, buying a home, and never getting into credit card debt. Now, my family and I are comfortable: if we want to take friends out to dinner, buy some designer shoes (on sale), or get an iPad, we can. We have medical, dental, vision, a new car, a medium-sized house in a safe, comfortable neighborhood, and the ability to do fun stuff periodically. I feel really comfortable, and I want for nothing.

BUT.

I don't want to be in the one percent. It's not a jealousy issue. And I'm not personally some unemployed hippie pothead. I think that anyone who has a liberal arts degree and refuses to do a job that's "beneath" them like slinging coffee is probably a whiner, too. As a household, we're exactly halfway between the poverty line and the Bush tax cut line. We're more than $200,000 away from the 1%. I certainly do pay Federal taxes, and I've really never complained about that. I use parks, roads, schools, libraries -- and if my house catches on fire, I'm calling 9-1-1. Actually, I can't help but wonder how many who identify as the 53% were also Tea Partiers. The 53% seem to be saying "I pay taxes and I'm proud of it. Keep taxing me!" Whereas the Tea Party, of course, thinks taxes are unfair and of the devil. There's a real mixed message in there somewhere.

But it doesn't really matter if you WANT to be identified with the 99% or not, because unless you make more than $350,000 a year, you ARE. And how you feel about the Puritan work ethic, college vs. trade school, how hard or how easy you've had it, and what your views are on universal health care all don't matter. Because you have very little power. And THAT'S the point of the 99%.

Who can hire lobbyists? The 1%. Who can make large donations to political campaigns? The 1%. Who can golf at the private club with their senator? The 1%. Who can now, because of the Citizens United decision, use their company's money to make ginormous political donations? The 1%. Who can decide not to take their whole income (avoiding income tax) and just be taxed at the lower capital gains rate? Not me. Who can buy a piece of art for $4,000, wait a couple years, have it appraised by their art dealer friend at $40,000, then donate it and write off the donation? Yeah, not uncle Joe who's living on disability. They have the power to create more wealth, they have the power to influence policy that helps them create more wealth, they have the power to protect their wealth better than the 99%, and let's be honest, they have the power to create the policies themselves, as your senators are largely in the 1% as well.

My political power is as follows: I have one vote. I have my senators and representatives on speed dial and I can leave them a voice mail. I can sign online petitions. I can write this blog. I can talk to others. Let me know if there's anything I missed.

And the people on the opposite side of this argument are always saying that people who work hard should be rewarded. CEO salary in the U.S. is over 300 times what the average worker's salary is. So be honest: Do you think that CEO works harder all day than the worker? 300 times harder? Does he work harder than the kids on those tumblr sites that work 70 hours a week of hard labor?

Perhaps the people occupying Wall Street (and 1,923 other cities!) would benefit from having a clearer message or a set of defined demands, but I'm happy they're there. I think it's finally time someone was getting some attention besides the kooks in tricorn hats who seem to believe that CEOs shouldn't get taxed at all.

Our level of income inequality is staggering. Unemployment is high. The "job creators" haven't. Student debt is going up as tuition goes up. Our level of economic mobility is the lowest it's been in years, and isn't that the whole American Dream? That you can become anything? That you can live a better life than your parents?

Sure, I'm personally doing fine. But that doesn't mean I can look around and say that our system is working. It isn't. I teach students living in poverty who have worked hard and gotten good grades. Many go to state schools to save money, but even they will rack up student debt. And will there be jobs available for them in four years? I tell them yes. I tell them that there are always jobs for people who work hard and really try. But I don't know if it's true.

That's why I'm the 99%. That, and the fact that I make less than $350,000 a year. Which means whether you stand with them or not, whether you affiliate with a political party or not, and whether you pay Federal taxes or not, you are probably the 99% too. Just, you know, statistically speaking.

Food

I've been feeling really blessed and grateful about food lately.

On Thursday I was eating my snack at work -- Greek yogurt with jam. But it was yogurt made by hand in the kitchen of my friend Cate, and the jam was made in my own kitchen with plums I got at the farmer's market, and it was black-pepper-plum, and I thought at that moment that I am one of only a handful of people in the world who could have that exact snack, and it was an AWESOME snack.

Then yesterday, I was cleaning the refrigerator (and it's hard to feel grateful when cleaning the refrigerator). I threw away a whole garbage sack worth of things, wiped down the outsides of jars, removed and washed the shelves, and re-organized. When I was done, our fridge was still packed to the gills. There's a shelf devoted to jams, jellies, fruit butters, and pickles. We just have so much food, it's so abundant... and I recognize how lucky that is.

And then today we were grazing on a late lunch. I made guacamole, we had labneh (a strained yogurt, also made by Cate), and we also had tomatoes from the garden, a cucumber from the garden, and a purple cauliflower that had been Zadie's choice at the grocery store. We variously combined and dipped and nibbled and shared. We have heard so many people say they didn't have much luck with the tomatoes this year, but we did. And we hardly ever get many cucumbers, but for some reason this year, every time we think they're tapped out, we look under a leaf and there's a new one (the one we ate today had been completely hidden, and we found it when it was a foot long!). We had a pumpkin vine volunteer itself this season, and I thought we had only four pumpkins growing, but I just found a fifth turning yellow in the leaves.

Anyway, I do recognize how lucky we are in terms of health, safety, money, job security, family, comfort, and so much more. But this week, I find myself very grateful for my and our relationship with food.

Bike ride thoughts

Z decided she wanted to ride her bike tonight. She rarely does, so I helped her get her shoes and helmet on quickly and we started out.

I had to remind her a couple times to let go of me and hold the handlebars. Then I reminded her to try to keep them straight, facing forward. I encouraged. "We've gone two whole houses!"

As we neared the corner, she actually picked up steam. She wasn't grabbing for me. I encouraged a little more, but mostly shut up and helped her around the corner. She told me, "I am trusting myself to be a good bike rider. I trust myself to go around the block. I believe in myself, and I'm proud." I said, "Your brain is giving you exactly the right messages right now. I like who you are."

She went around the next corner without help. She decided on her new cycling nickname: Speedy Z. She said she was going to be much braver and faster than the other kids who ride bicycles.

Then she fell. I had been walking in front of her, backwards, to keep her focused on heading straight. It was working, but she just leaned a little far, and then I wasn't right there to catch her. She howled.

So I kissed her knee and her elbow and her finger, and I told her she was brave, and that the way to REALLY get back at that mean old bicycle would be to hop right back on and ride it all the way home. She yelled at the bike for a minute first, shaking her finger in the general direction of the handlebars and saying "I'm really mad at you!" Then I promised her band-aids and no washing, and we started again. I heard her murmuring "I think I can, I think I can."

She said "I am making a DETERMINED face." I backed a little further away to see it better. Then she added, "I blew the bad and sad feelings out and breathed the good and happy feelings in, and now I'm better." I said, "You're really tough. That was a good way to handle it."

She made it around the corner of the busy street by herself, too. And by the next corner, we weren't even talking about bikes. She was pretending her little sister, named Iloveyouverymuch, was along with us on her tricycle. And then we saw the neighbor boy she has declared is her best friend, and she rode all the way to him as he rode to her. Luckily, at least he knows how to brake. And there we were -- all the way around the block, back at the beginning, back at home. And even more than her awesome bike-riding skills, I was impressed by how her brain works.

*****

Which reminds me. The other day, she saw a purple, real, driving, battery-powered princess car. It was huge, expensive, and the only place to drive it around here is in the street. I said no. She then asked 4,000 more times. I still said no. I said I didn't want to talk about it, and she dragged me back into conversations. She problem-solved. She took polls. She countered every objection I had. She even suggested a sort of field trip to the home of a girl who had a similar car to see where they stored theirs. Immediately after I picked her up today, she asked if we could go look at the car. I took a breath and smiled and said, "I admire your persistence. No."

It's hard raising a really smart, verbal, stubborn kid sometimes. But I like it, too. I hope I foster enough of it to help her kick ass at life.

Did I mention

That Zadie was exactly three-and-a-half yesterday? As she kept saying, "I'm three and a half for REAL!"



She celebrated by nicking some corn off the table that I hadn't put in the fridge yet.


And hiding and eating the entire thing raw.


The down side is that it did make rather a mess. The up side is I know who I'm getting to shuck my corn this week.

Gettin' air

IMG_1972
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Piggs

on the obstacle course.

In action

IMG_1989
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Piggs

As always.

Close to the surface

A couple days ago, a student asked what I was doing for the tenth anniversary of 9/11. I had a hard time fathoming the question. What was I doing? I mean, community service? A barbecue? Holding a flag on the front lawn? What would you do? And at the same time, there was a bit of cynicism. Yes, it's an anniversary, but it's also like a normal day. It's like Veterans' Day; sure, I think about it, but I don't go to any kind of service or anything. I also thought maybe some of the pain had faded.

I was wrong. Zadie pointed out an American flag at the farmers' market today, and I started to say, "Yes, it's kind of a special day today. I'll have to tell you about it later." My breath caught and I almost cried right then. How could I tell her? What could I say? We've barely gotten onto the subject of potential bad strangers without my wanting to protect her from badness and evil forever. How could I explain why some people would hate our country, want to kill us? How could I explain that they believe it's about God, but it's really not, and that most people are still basically good?

It came up later in the car. I ended up with something like this.

"You know New York? Where Grandma and Boompah went? Well, it's in America, so the people there are our countrymen... like our brothers. And one day some bad people went on airplanes, and they wouldn't let the pilot fly where they were supposed to go. Instead they flew them into some buildings in New York. And you know the thing about buildings; they're usually full of people. So when planes crashed into the buildings, the buildings fell down, and the people that were in them didn't have time to get out, so a lot of them died. And that was ten years ago today, so people are remembering it today."

I think she didn't recognize the catch in my voice, so she asked, "And are you happy?"

"Well, no. It's a sad day. But afterwards we all learned we're on the same team, so that's the happy part."

Then she asked about the passing freight train, so I was off the hook.

What am I doing for 9/11? Not much. Going to the gym. Baking cookies. But I am also re-commiting myself to the idea that we're all on the same team. Not just Americans, but people everywhere. Let's be on the same team again.

Consignment experiment

Well hello...

So, I have this freaky thing about trying to practice what I preach, and I preach a lot about being environmentally conscious, and yet... I LOVE to consume. I really do. I like material things. And I like to shop, and I like clothing. Also, I destroy clothing pretty quickly. I am not graceful, so if there is an oily salad dressing or a cup of coffee in the vicinity, it will pretty much get on my clothing. That means that every year as the school year begins, I do some back to school shopping.

I was gearing up for it, and I kept thinking to myself that I really need to put my money where my mouth is and stop buying shit from Old Navy and Macy's that was shipped from China by the ton. It's not good for the earth and it doesn't do a damn thing for my local merchants. Of course, my local new clothing merchants can't really help me either -- my budget is usually about $150, and that is the price of one single cotton shirt from Krazy Mary's.

So I decided to buy only pre-owned this year. It's not new or scary to me, given how much I love vintage clothing, but I knew it would be a bit of a challenge. I kind of wanted to see where it took me, though, so I started on Sunday.

I began at Article, where I quickly found three pairs of pants to suit my purpose. Article is a fairly small store, but it's laid out nicely, it is easy to find things, they're clearly sorted and labeled by size, and the store has a comfortable feel. My pants were $9, $8, and $3, so I got out for $20. I wouldn't try to sell there, though; Mom pretty much got ripped off.

I like to have some plain pants, because I have a ton of patterned skirts and tops.

Then today I went on a veritable spree. I began at Crossroads Trading Company, which, along with Buffalo Exchange, are the big name chains. I've only been there a few times, because I haven't loved it, and I didn't love it today, either. For one thing, the place is the size of an airplane hangar, yet the clothing isn't sorted by size. It appears to be sorted by color, as if shoppers come in thinking "I think I'd like something green today." Thus, the shopping experience goes something like this: You flip hanger after hanger of clothing from side to side, looking for something that catches your eye, check the size tag, find that it is a size 4, and go back to flipping. I guess the other method would be to look at the size of EVERY garment, wait until you find one in your size, and then evaluate it to see if it's cute or not. I find it infuriating. Luckily (?), I am a "plus size," and there was a separate, smaller rack for me to browse. There, I found four cute shirts. I tried them on and two fit well and looked good, which, frankly, is a pretty damn good ratio for me trying on clothes. I bought them, a pretty J. Crew top that reminded me of my bestie, and a plainish Banana Republic top for $12 and $10.


Then I went to Renaissance Fine Consignment. Did the "fine" tip you off? I didn't notice it, but I knew I was probably in trouble when I walked in. A strong smell of floral perfume. An elderly man dozing on a chaise. Loud Sinatra on. And then I got the Pretty Woman store clerk look from a platinum-bouffanted sixty-something. I don't know why I even bothered looking at that point, other than that I wanted to at least see what they had, but the entire place was Bea-Arthur-goes-to-the-Golden-Globes. If there are more tweedy jackets with hairy fringe and metallic thread in one place in this town, I'd have to guess it was in Old Sacramento at the Red Hat lady store. Also? I found one plain cotton jersey shirt I liked. It was $25. I left without making any purchases.

Many people on Yelp had raved about Crimson and Clover, a place I first noticed about a month ago when I had Z with me and she had filthy hands (yeah, we didn't go in). Now personally, I prefer my vintage clothing to be from the 50s or 60s, preferably a shirtwaist cotton day dress. I will wear a few 70s things, but it's not what I feel most comfortable in. As a young adult in the 80s and 90s, I refuse to believe that those decades' clothing could be vintage. Also, who looks good in a floral romper? Anyway, many vintage stores stock a lot of 80s and 90s stuff, and this place is no exception. But in the back room, they had a great deal more of the older stuff. I tried a few things on and ended up with only one item, a dress in just the style I like. It was a little more than I like to spend on them (almost $30, but keep in mind that I haven't bought very many in a decade, since I could pick them up regularly for $10 or $12), but I love both yellow and paisley, so I couldn't resist. It looks cute on me, too.


Intermission:

And then I was starving! I parked down at 25th and K and ate lunch at Sugar Plum Vegan, which has this phenomenal sandwich, and I overheard a passionate , late 20s, messy-haired multiply pierced guy talk to a monotone, late 20s, messy-haired multiply-tattooed girl about how they should start college sometime, but they don't want it to be "like High School Musical 3, you know?" I was feeling really judgy and eye-rolly when the girl told the guy he'd make a good English teacher or something, you know? I was like, GAWD! I've worked so hard to build this English-teachers-are-the-slightly-less-eccentric-art-teachers vibe, and now mister septum piercing is like "Yeah, yeah."

End of intermission. Part 2.

Then I walked to Prevues, which is an interesting shop. It used to be the place I'd go after I tried Cheap Thrills first, but now Cheap Thrills is gone. About four fifths of Prevues is of no interest to me -- men's, 80s clothes, used band t-shirts, expensive costumery and wigs, stripper clothing -- but there's always one rack of lovely vintage dresses. They are orderly, arranged by size, in nice condition, and unfortunately, over the last ten years or so, the owners have figured out what they're worth. I used to be able to pick up dresses there for a song, but the cheapest thing I saw today was $35. I left with nothing, but that doesn't mean I won't be back.

Next up was Thunderhorse, an L-shaped jog around the block. There wasn't anything I wanted there, really, but it was a very friendly little place, and I'll go back there, too. The one dress I liked was actually much too big for me (a serious rarity), and because I despise the teeny little size two girls who take a nice size 14 dress and chop it down so that girls like me can't have it, I couldn't do it. Somewhere is a big gal who will love that dress, and I'm going to let her have it. But the TV was playing Fawlty Towers, the stereo was playing Blondie, the girl behind the counter was a doll, and the whole place had a nice vibe.

Across the street is French Cuff. After looking around for just a minute, I thought I was going to be out of luck here, too. Many of the items were for women somewhat... jazzier than I am. You know... straps made of gold chain. Sequins. Metal brads. A lot of what the What Not to Wear people would call "zhoozh ." A little blingy, is what I'm saying. But then the nice gal working today showed me around a bit, and soon I found two tops I liked a great deal. I tried them on and one, brand new with the tags, made me feel superfantastic. The other, which I didn't have high hopes for (it had details over the boobs, which can sometimes make me look weird), actually looked nice, too. I bought both, for $23 and $15 respectively.



And now I am fairly well outfitted for work, had little environmental impact beyond the driving to get everywhere, and spent $110.

But how was it for real? A little frustrating, as it took 3 1/2 hours (I guess less if you took out lunch), whereas I could have had as many items at Macy's in less than an hour. And the pre-owned clothing was not that much cheaper, because although the individual prices are all really good, I am a clearance-shopping FOOL at someplace like Macy's or Old Navy. I might have gotten the same amount of clothing for $150 instead of $110, I guess.

Also, the selection was more limited. I might have gotten different items if I had multiple sizes of everything to choose from. On the other hand, I'd have been unlikely to try on that purple Express shirt in a traditional store, and I look really stunning in it (whatever, I'm having a good self-esteem moment). So the limited selection made me go outside my comfort zone, and that's probably good, too.

How about quality? Well, I mostly got Gap, Banana Republic, J. Crew, Express... so presumably as decent a quality as those ever are.

I guess overall, I will do my best to shop like this, although I'm making no promises that I'm going to ALL pre-owned. After all, I just found this web site (thanks Jenny!) and I'm going to need about 10% of those.

Thus ends my adventures in eco-shopping... for now! Remember, I still have about $40 left in my budget and I haven't yet checked out Freestyle Clothing Exchange or the (gasp!) Goodwill boutique.

The little sister

Zadie has been on a campaign for many months to get herself a little sister. Among the many reasons we've given her against it are that she'd have to share her room (she doesn't mind), she'd have to share our attention (totally cool by her), babies have gross poop (she'll help change diapers!), and it could be a boy (this initially threw her, but she has decided that would be an acceptable second choice). Everything we say, she has an answer for.

It's actually a little chilling how determined, single-minded, logical, and persuasive she can be to get what she wants. For example, from the morning of our camping trip until the time we got back, we were not without her imaginary little sister. Everywhere we went, something like this would go down:

Me: Okay, give me your hand so I can help you over the rocks.
Z: Okay, and I'll help my little sister with my other hand!

Literally, there was not a single thing we did, including going to the bathroom, that did not include the little sister. And no matter what, Zadie was helpful, taking most of the responsibility for tending to her, helping her do things, and making her feel better when she cried. She was indispensable in the care of this little sister. I can guarantee you, knowing my child, that this was 24 hours of "See, if you had a baby I could totally help, so it would really make it a lot easier on you. No pressure."

Anyway, the funny part was this -- even though I KNOW she was trying to convince me it would be no sweat to add another kid to our household, some of the examples she gave were utterly horrifying. To wit:

Z: Oh, I'm helping my little sister into her car seat. I have a booster seat, but she has the laying-back kind, because she's just a baby. And then a rattlesnake gets in the car and bites her and also bites me but you don't see it because you're driving.

It's like, WHAT?! Both my kids just got bitten by snakes and I'm so out of it I don't even notice? Yeah, that is a winning argument, kid.

Anyway, pray for me that she decides she wants something else, like a pony. World domination. Whatever.

Camping: we survived!

I'll try to keep it short, but... it's ME, y'all.

We took off yesterday after a nice lunch out. I had asked some friends if they wanted to go camping with us, but they were "camped out." They did, however, recommend Sly Park. I had been there as a 6th grader, just like damn near every other Sacramentan (it's a thing), and I remembered enjoying myself, although I went in early Spring and there were still patches of snow on the ground. I had even mostly forgotten there was a lake.

It was easy to get to and took just over an hour. We were greeted at the gate by a very friendly young lady who gave us our parking pass and directed us to Jenkinson campground. I had chosen that one because it was the only one with tent camping only and no RVs. No offense to RVers (hey Dad), but I thought it might be just a little quieter and less crowded. Boy howdy, was it ever! It is no exaggeration to say that we were the ONLY ones in the entire campground. In the middle of the night, I seriously considered walking to the bathroom in my t-shirt and panties (you'll be relieved to know I thought better of it). Anyway, as we started the drive around the lake, I glimpsed it and almost yelled "No shit?!" It was the most beautiful water! I seriously could have driven into a tree in my shock: it was turquoise like the water in the Bahamas.


We set up camp (okay, I set up camp and periodically Zadie helped carry something lightweight and didn't get in the way too much) without too much trouble. Unfortunately, I've been having the worst luck with air compressors, and my third one didn't work. I had to blow up the air mattress, since I hadn't brought foam pads and I HECKA don't sleep on the ground anymore. I got everything where I wanted it, then we decided to hike to the lake. On the way, we stopped to see if the camp host was in, because I didn't know whether there were raccoons or anything, but he wasn't around.


And "hike" is what I thought it would be. I packed water, sunscreen, bug repellent, towels, a life jacket, and god knows what-all else. And as it turned out, we were about a two-minute walk to the water. Zadie only wanted to get her toes wet, but it was quite warm, so I waded a bit and dunked up to my shoulders. The water was cold, but it felt good. There were just about three other groups there, mostly small ones, although one was playing decidedly redneck country music and dragging people behind their boat in an inner tube.


We hung out there for a while, then went back to camp. I started a fire (even though it was still hot, I wanted to really give Z the camping experience, so I was cooking potatoes on the fire), turned on my new camp stove ($10.99 and AWESOME), and set to work heating up cheeseburgers (veggie, of course), potatoes, and beans. Kind of starch-tastic, but I hadn't really planned that well. While we waited for dinner, we played a little Candyland.


A word on camp stoves -- I haven't had one in years, partly because all the camping I did in the last two decades involved someone ELSE who had one or a campsite that didn't allow fires, but offered the use of a really decent kitchen. Also, the first instructions I ever had for using one were about twenty steps long, involved covering a hole with your thumb, pumping, locking into place, lighting a match, and hoping to god you didn't create a fireball that destroyed your whole family. So I'm a little edgy around camp stoves. But this one is the bomb (no pun intended): You plug in the butane canister, lock it down, and turn that shit to "on." From there, it works just like a gas stove.

Almost immediately after dinner, Zadie wanted marshmallows. My gut instinct was to tell her to wait a while, but then I realized... we were camping. There's no good reason not to do whatever the hell you want. And here, my friends, here is the greatest disaster of the trip. Zadie had asked for the new "jumbo" marshmallows at the store, and I caved. I toasted one carefully, oh ever so carefully, until it was a thing of beauty: golden brown on all surfaces. I placed it between two graham crackers with 4 1/2 squares of Hershey's chocolate (because that is just the right amount), and I held it all together to give the chocolate a chance to melt. I squeezed it, and... the hard, totally uncooked middle popped out the side. Because the jumbo marshmallow is too big to get soft in the middle! What a ripoff. LAME!


Then I also made popcorn, because what the hell, and Zadie's favorite part was when I took the lid off to look and a couple kernels popped into the air.


And I washed the dishes and we looked at the fire, and then Z wanted to go in the tent and read books, so we did, and then she wanted to go to sleep, so we did. It was about 8:20.

In the night, we woke up for a while -- she wanted to be in my sleeping bag with me, and I tried but was really uncomfortable, so I finally just let her have it and covered myself with the extra cold-weather flap. We woke at 7 (my first thought: Did I leave the lantern on? No, that's the sun, doofus), and I made coffee and oatmeal, and then we wandered down to the lake at another spot. We passed a couple rangers, but no other campers at all. It was serene, and even though it was early, it was starting to get warm. We headed back to camp to clean up the breakfast dishes and hang out in the tent for a while. There were freaky-looking bees buzzing up a storm and hovering right overhead, so I was kind of glad she suggested the tent. Then we packed everything up (okay, I packed everything up) and Zadie ate four snacks (because two servings of oatmeal apparently doesn't stick to her ribs).



(Just a note: I never use photography tricks in Photoshop because A: I don't know how and B: I don't even have photoshop. This is just how the sun was shining on her.)


We decided to take the hiking trail, which carried us
along the lake again, and Zadie did some climbing over rocks. I took a ton of pictures, but none of them captured the magic of just how capable she is looking these days. And finally we walked back to camp, where all that was to be done was to hop in the car and go. I knew she was tired, because she kept stopping to sit down, but she never once complained or asked to be carried. And for the record, she fought less about bedtime and was more chipper upon waking than I think I have ever seen her. I think camping agrees with her.




I decided to stop somewhere nearby for lunch, and after just a few minutes on the road I saw a billboard for In N Out, a very rare treat. I watched her in the rear view as she closed her eyes, opened them, let her head fall, jerked it up... I kind of hoped she'd stay awake until we got there, but she didn't. I pulled in, unstrapped her, heaved her up onto my shoulder, and ordered and paid, all with her sacked out in my arms. As we waited, I softly sang "Unchained Melody" into her hair, and I almost cried at how stupidly, stupidly beautiful my life is.

In France they call it "le week-end."

We had a great weekend. On Friday we went for ramen and then ice cream (Shoki and Gunther's, for those curious Sacramentans). Saturday Z had soccer practice, her penultimate one. She wants to try ballet next, which should be interesting, now that she's a year older than she was for her disastrous class.

We did a few errands in the early afternoon, including going to Costco, where they had more samples than I'd ever seen. I usually give all the samples to Z, and I was trying hard to watch my food intake (since I wanted to pig out that evening), but even I had to try the madelines, the lemon mini-cupcakes, and the pita chips with spinach dip! I didn't even feed Zadie lunch, since I'm sure she'd had an adult portion of meat, at the very least.

Then home so we could make strawberry ice cream and caprese salad. I sometimes have too much confidence in my own cooking, but both those dishes are AMAZING and they're not really so because of any work I put in. You buy good strawberries, you grow good tomatoes, and you can't go wrong.

Then we went to poker night, where we swam a bit (though it was surprisingly cool for August), talked about gardening, ate delicious food (Phoebe's deviled eggs and Debbie's arugula and roasted potato salad are favorites here), and then settled in for some poker. I lost respectably, and enjoyed the "cake break" immensely. Our music challenge was "summer songs," and I liked the mix. It's always fun to talk about our song choices, too. As always, Debbie had new surprises in her toy chest for Zadie.

Sadly, the evening ended on a low note. Our friend Maurice's car window got smashed. Everyone helped clean it up, but that's a bummer.

This morning we made waffles, tried my pumpkin butter and Debbie's (quite different!), then got ready for yoga. Zadie and I hopped in the car, and when we pulled out, we saw that someone was parked in the driveway of the empty rental next door. I recognized her as having been parked in front of the house the other day, so I figured she had rented the place and I waved in a friendly fashion. She waved back in a "please pull over" fashion, so I did.

She asked about the owner, how long she'd been away. Well, it's a rental, and the owner lives here in town. She asked how long it had been vacant, and I said that Dawn (the renter) had just moved the last few of her things out about a week ago. "Dawn!" she said. "That's it! That's the name of the person I've been emailing! I found the place listed on Craigslist and I'm supposed to move in next week, but I haven't been able to see inside yet. I wire transferred the money to London to Dawn. Does she write in kind of broken English?" "Uhhh...." I gracefully answered. "That... doesn't sound right. Dawn's not in London, she bought a house in town. And the lady who owns this place lives around the corner. There's no one in London. And Dawn's English, as far as I can tell, is fine. That really sounds like a scam." We talked for a while longer, and I knew what was happening -- the bottom of her stomach was dropping out at the same time that she was denying it could be true. She seemed to think that the person she'd been emailing was the last renter, and that maybe she was taking over a lease while she was in London. I asked if by any chance she could stop payment, but she couldn't. She grew suspicious when she came by a few days ago and saw the property management sign, called the number, and found out that the rent was different than on the Craigslist ad she had seen. She sent more than $1000 by wire transfer to a stranger who has nothing to do with the house next door. I feel awful for her, but seriously, are there any more signs that point to a scam? I went and looked up the ad myself, and it says at the top of the page to beware of any ad that asks for wire transfer, particularly out of the country, and particularly if the owner can't meet you. I guess that's why scammers do it, though - for every 50 people who spot it as a scam, one sends you a thousand dollars. I feel sorry for the lady, though. About three times during our conversation, she'd say something like "Well, do you think the property manager put it on Craigslist?" and I'd have to say "No, I really, really think it's a scam. I think the person you've been emailing has been untruthful with you."

Anyway, we went to yoga and Z had a good time in the child care center. I never really have to worry about her watching TV, because as much as she likes certain shows and begs to watch TV here, if there are other kids around, she'd much prefer to play. But the older sister of one of the kids Z plays with was watching when I came in. I often hang around for a few minutes because Z's not ready to go, and it's no skin off my nose. So I was sitting in there when the other child care worker came in. The main one greeted her with "Oh, you're back!" The younger one quietly indicated the sisters and said "Justin says their mom is on her way." She turned off the TV. They then told her something like "We have to turn it off, because you know your mom doesn't like you watching it." I thought... pretty sneaky! They have a system in place to let the kid watch TV and then warn each other when the parents are coming. I'm not sure whether I should say something, because I actually know and like the parents (we hung out at the frozen yogurt shop one day and we take yoga together), or whether I should just let it go. I mean, the child care lady is like 70 -- can't blame her for putting the TV on to entertain a few of the kids.

Incidentally, we were doing leg lifts on our sides in yoga, and the mom whispered to me "Your lack of cellulite is AWESOME." Which is the best compliment I've had in ages!

While talking to Debbie last night, she mentioned Green Acres, a garden store out on the Jackson Highway (that makes it sound far away, but it's just a couple minutes past the Home Depot). I was like "Oh, it must be near Matsuda's." No, apparently Matsuda's closed and this took its place. Debbie raved about how great it was, so I decided to go today. Well, I know my mom loves garden stuff, so I called her a little early today and asked if she wanted to go with us. She did, and I'm so glad we went. It was AWESOME. I mean, there were acres of plants, of beautiful pottery, fountains, chimes, soil amendments, tools, structural pieces, garden decor... I decided not to buy anything today, but I'm going to make a list, go back with a plan, and come home with a CARLOAD of stuff. It was beautifully laid out, and one employee, upon finding out it was our first visit, shook our hands and introduced himself. Mom said even if you weren't going to buy anything, it was kind of a nice place to walk around, and she was right.

We had Star Ginger for dinner, which is delightful, and now I'm watering the lawn and avoiding writing (poetry) again. I'm also perusing a book of canning recipes. I have only placed ten post-its, so that's doable, right?

San Francisco and beyond...

I keep meaning to write about our mini-vacation, which ended almost a week ago! I've been a little sick, so my usual blog-writing time, after the Z-ster has fallen asleep, has been pretty well taken up by ME falling asleep.

Anyway, Sweetie had to take some vacation time, so we had last Thursday and Friday free to roam! We thought about the coast and San Francisco, and ultimately decided on the City. I called a couple hotels, and most were booked, so I tried Expedia. I used their agree-to-the-rate-before-we-tell-you-the-name-of-the-hotel deal, and I did get a good rate, but I had a reason to be apprehensive. I found out the name of the hotel (The Inn on Broadway), then went on Yelp to read reviews. 75% of them were like "It was clean, good deal for the price, and a little noisy." But 25% mentioned mold, dripping ceilings, rude staff, and spotty wi-fi. Ugh. I hoped I hadn't made a bad decision, and the fear was hanging over my head.

We set off on Thursday and stopped in Berkeley, which Sweetie and I always enjoy. We went to Dark Carnival books, the Craftsman Home store (I bought a lamp -- I'll show you pics when I get a shade for it), and a comic shop, then went to Saturn Cafe. We used to have to wait until our yearly trip to Santa Cruz to get Saturn, but now that it's in Berkeley, we stop there a couple times a year. Yay! Finally we went to one more store, then drove into San Francisco itself.

We found the hotel, which was conveniently located and had free parking. I went to check in, and the people in front of us had been told they couldn't check in because their room wasn't ready yet (it was well after the posted check-in time). We went to check in and our room wasn't ready either. We waited outside, and I heard a guy asking about the wi-fi (didn't hear clearly what his concern was), and I saw the clerk looking apologetic but unhelpful. Oh man, I thought, it IS a fleabag hotel and it's going to be an awful stay. We waited with some degree of tension next to the ice-maker, which emitted a series of tones every few minutes. Soon I decided that the tones sounded like Billy Joel's "My Life." Sweetie disagreed, frowning at me. We waited in silence, heard the tones again, and I snickered. We waited for fifteen minutes, and by the end, he was snickering too, but trying to cover it with harder frowning. I burst out laughing and accused him of totally being able to hear it. He laughed too, but instead said he was hearing the theme from "Arthur."

Finally we got our key cards, but they were for the wrong room (obviously -- it was occupied), so we got new ones, but that room apparently still needed a little cleaning, so we waited on the balcony for a few minutes. At this point, it was not looking good, right? But in fact, once we actually got in, it was perfectly clean and pleasant, with the exception of the fact that yes, it was noisy. But you know what? I didn't expect it to be quiet at Broadway and Van Ness. We brought our white noise machine.

Anyway, on to the fun stuff! We walked to Chinatown, where we mostly just walked around. We walked to the end where the gate is and took a few pictures, and then on the walk back, we got a few trinkets for Z. We had been learning a bit about China (actually, I really did a half-assed job on China considering its size and history), so we thought Chinatown was a good addition.


Then we had dinner plans with Monkeygirl, who is loving living in the city. We met her in the Mission district at a place called Chow, where we had great service, Sweetie and I had a cider, and Z made friends with a kid at the table next to us who looked EERILY like pictures of Sweetie at that age. It was nice to catch up with MG, too. My dinner was very tasty, but a little odd, too. It was described as noodles with miso-citrus-chili-sesame dressing. Sounds Asian-y, right? Also, the veggies were bell peppers and bok choy. It was tasty, but surprising in that the noodles were a very eggy rotini. I would have expected soba or something. But it was lovely anyway. Just surprising.

We pretty much turned in after that. The next morning, we decided to walk to breakfast, so I looked for some nearby restaurants. Well, I read the map wrong, so we had gone about six blocks before realizing we were almost at the marina and we were not going to run into the little cafe. We went to the cannery building instead, and there we had some pastries and coffee (and milk) from the bakery.

We then went to the Exploratorium. A side note -- I used the Google Maps app on my iPhone to figure out the bus route. I'd never done that before, and it is an AWESOME feature. You just tell the phone where you want to go (I didn't need an address, just typed "Exploratorium"), and it figures out where you are, then tells you to walk 1 block northwest, catch the #39, it costs $2, will take you 18 minutes, and you should get off at such-and-such streets. We used the same feature later and it was so convenient. Wish I'd had it in high school when I rode the bus all over town and had to pore over transit maps to do so.


The Exploratorium is always awesome. I've never had a bad time there. We just followed Zadie's lead. She took us upstairs, showed a little interest in magnets and physics-y stuff, then headed for the fish and plants stuff, which was pretty cool. Then we wandered into an exhibit on listening, which was really neat! I tested my hearing, which confirmed that I can still hear high tones, but I've lost a lot on the low end. We walked through a thing with gravel where you tried to walk quietly and could monitor your progress. We went into a room with vibraphone and xylophone and other bangy-music things and made a lot of music. We listened to a few stories about people's memories of sounds. We went into the jukebox room and listened to world music. I can't even remember it all, but honestly I think I could have spent all day in that exhibit if I was alone.

The downstairs, to the beach ball floating above the fan, the giant chair and tiny chair, the bubbles, the spinning thing, the lights, the thing you can sit in and hear people talking normally from across a huge hall, the Alice-in-Wonderland room, the colors exhibit, and so much more. MAN, I love that place. After three hours, Zadie announced that she was ready to leave, so we did, after one quick stop in the gift shop, where I bought her a "survival kit" (binoculars, a mirror, and a compass all in one).




We then took the bus (thank you, Google!) to our favorite shopping area near City Center/Union Square. The bus got really crowded, and when we finally got off it was a relief (although Zadie did make friends with a group of alterna-kids, possibly art school students).

We bought a few trinkets (I got two neat Usborne books for Z, including a lift-the-flap "How Things Work"), then walked back to the hotel. There, we decided where to get dinner. I wanted to try the Greens restaurant, but they were booked up, so we tried a place Jenny had mentioned. It was called Tajine, and was Moroccan -- rather fancier than we had anticipated. We had a mixed experience. My dinner was absolutely delicious. Zadie was, let's be charitable, a little worn out from the excitement, and she barely ate a bite of anything. Sweetie didn't care for his dinner or the appetizer (which I loved). The service was pleasant enough, though not everything we ordered came to the table, but when some friends of the waitress came in, they got excellent service, and there was a striking contrast, I'll admit (although it bothered Sweetie more than it bothered me). And Z's behavior, though probably normal 3-year-old stuff, was moderately mortifying. From inside the situation, it felt like she was jumping on the bench and yelling "anus." From the outside, other diners may have noticed a bit of wiggling, a briefly raised voice, then intense whispers from the parents. Then we were all crabby for the walk home, although a stop at Peet's made it a little better.

In the morning, we weren't sure if we were meeting MG or not, so we headed down to the Mission anyway (that's where some of our other favorite stores are). We looked around for a cafe and found one called the Blue Fig. It looked pleasant and not too crowded. We had a good breakfast (Sweetie and I both ordered blue corn waffles with bananas, syrup, and fig reduction) and the strongest coffee I've had in ages. Then, as it was only about 9 and none of the stores opened until at least ten, we walked around. And around. And around. We did a lot of window shopping and noting which places to come back to. We stopped and got water at a store and sat outside for a bit. We walked past the park and the mission. We also passed a huge brick building with no other markings than a Zoroastrian symbol way up high.

Finally we got to shop a bit, and we bought another mid-century modern chair! We barely managed to get it in the chair, but we did, and then we hit the road.

I had gotten a message from an old friend of mine (and when I say old friend, I mean he is probably the oldest friend I've stayed in touch with -- I've known him since fourth grade) that he and some friends were meeting in Berkeley for lunch on Saturday. We got to Berkeley right at 1 and decided to see if they were still there. They were, and we were right in time for cupcakes! As it turned out, another friend of mine (one I've known since 6th grade) was there, too, and there were quite a few kids for Z to play with. She has declared two of them her boyfriends.

And that was the end of our trip.

We've had some other fun, too.

Sunday, we met a new friend -- the brother of one of Sweetie's high school friends who lives here in town now. We had breakfast at Mighty Kong (it was a mixed bag -- mostly good food and coffee, but frozen potatoes and inattentive service), and he seemed like a nice guy.

Monday we went to the Effie Yeaw nature center and saw deer, turkeys, butterflies, and more. We sat by the river to have a snack, and she used her survival kit binoculars to watch a flock of geese overhead.




That evening, Sweetie and I went to a domestic partnership celebration while Z had a slumber party at Grandma and Boompah's. She watched all of Sleeping Beauty "without being scared" and ate popcorn. We mingled uncomfortably with a LOT of people we didn't know and drank Barefoot white zin (and while there are rosés that are pleasant and dry, Barefoot's is not one of them). We talked to a woman who gushed that she was so glad to have her daughter there, because she could see how all kinds of different people lived. On the way home, Sweetie and I discussed that while we agreed in principle with the idea of exposing our kid to diversity, we were hoping not to have to take her on "diversity field trips" to do so. We hope we live the kind of lives where she is exposed to diverse lifestyles and people just naturally.

Tuesday we joined her pre-school's playgroup and she had a blast playing with them.

Wednesday we went to the farmers' market to buy peaches to make peach butter, and while there, we had lunch on the grass.



Thursday she hung out with Grandma, who took her to the mall for some school clothes and Z went on some kind of bungee jumping contraption.

And here we are on Friday. We have had some freshly-baked bread with peach butter, and now it's time to clean so that we don't have to tomorrow.

Z has begun a love affair with Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and I feel like I am freshly in love, too. You should read this. I have to give up the computer now so that she can watch him, Mr. McFeeley, Daniel, King Friday, Lady Elaine and the rest of the residents of the land of Make Believe.

The not-broken nose and the shredder disaster.

On Monday afternoon, Z was running around the house and I was sweeping a bit in the kitchen. The phone rang, and it was Mom, freshly back from her trip to Santa Barbara. I was talking and sweeping, and suddenly I heard two thunks and then crying. I ran to Z, picked her up, got off the phone, and set to comforting her. As it turns out, thunk #1 was her running face-first into a doorway and thunk #2 was it knocking her onto her ass. When she calmed down just a little, I got a good look at her face. And HOLY GOD, her nose was fucked up!

I wasn't sure if it was broken or not, but it was super-swollen and had a distinct C-curve to it. Sweetie got home a few minutes later and he agreed. I called Mom back, knowing that she knows a lot about health issues, and she said she didn't think a kid was very likely to break their nose, since it was mostly cartilage. I called the doctor anyway, and we went in on Tuesday morning.

The swelling had gone down a bit, and now the curve wasn't so pronounced. In fact, from one angle I still thought it looked crooked, but from another I wasn't so sure. The doctor said to wait a couple days for the swelling to go down and re-evaluate. If it was deviated, they'd have to fix it.

Well, as of yesterday (she's not awake today yet), it was a pretty ugly bruise (surprisingly with no black eyes), but it looks more or less like her normal nose, just still swollen across the bridge. Oh, and dark green with bruising. But she's in great spirits. In fact, she didn't cry for long after it happened, either. When I asked her how it happened that afternoon, she answered sadly, "I was walking crazy."

New story:

Yesterday morning I was gardening, and Z was in the garage playing. At one point, I heard her say "Ooh, paper!" I saw that she was looking at the shredder, which we had moved in there at Christmas and forgotten about. I said, "Please don't make a mess with that." But then (dumb mom move of the day) I walked off to continue doing what I was doing. As you can imagine, the next time I walked by, it looked like there'd been a blizzard. I got mad, not yelling, but telling her I couldn't believe she'd done that, it was "awful, horrible!" and I didn't want to be around her for a while.

We agreed that she would clean it up with her dad later, and she apologized, though in a sing-song fashion and with dancing, and I was still a little bent out of shape, but I mainly got over it.

We went to Home Depot about an hour later. On the way home, I told her what a good companion she had been, how nice it was to be with her when I could trust that she would stay by my side, what a good helper and a good listener she had been.

Z: But I wasn't a good listener this morning with the paper.
Me: No, but we aren't all perfect all the time. You're only three, and you're still learning a lot of things. You apologized, and you're going to clean up, and then it will all be forgotten.
Z: I won't forget, because I feel bad for what I did.
Me: I don't want you to keep feeling bad. I am sorry that I got mad.
Z: But it was only because I made you mad.
Me: No, you're not responsible for my feelings. I have a choice, and I guess I chose to be mad.
Z: Well, I understand your feelings.

Damn, right? I mean, she can be such a pain (thank God Sweetie decided to sweep up the paper*, because it was a JOB), but then she shows such emotional maturity sometimes, too.

*He swept it into a pile, and then her job was to get it into the dustbin.