End Of Summer

Tales From The Crypt

This evening, Canetto picked Avery up from school and then picked me up from my office so we could go out to dinner. There's a new Foster's Grille in Fairfax, which is good, because Foster's has a GPFKTASB rating (good place for kids that also serves beer).

After dinner, we went next door to some new gelato place. Avery wanted to sit with three kids she didn't know because they were all sitting at the kiddie table. Because they're kids, they were all like, "sure...come eat your gelato with us at this hippopotamus shaped table."

We walked across the street from there to see a musical performance. Fairfax Arts League was hosting an art exhibit and also had an Irish band playing outside in the plaza. They also had a face painter, so our daughter was transformed into a tiger. (Well, transformed into something kinda sorta resembling a tiger...not the best face painting, ever.) (Good God. It has reached a point where I can actually compare and contrast face painting.) (This is what having a kid does to you. A couple of days ago, I also purchased some size 3T Disney princess underpants.) (I wonder which "Imagineer" came up with those?)

While we sat on the half wall surrounding the fountain on the plaza listening to the Irish band, our little tiger danced her little heart out, much to the delight of the onlookers. She was the only one dancing and she was so completey un-self-conscious that it was adorable.

At that moment, Tim looked at my hands and said, "what's wrong with your hands?" and I looked down and realized that they were that creepy dead person shade of blue. Both palms were very blue and splotchy and the skin from the tip of my fingers down to the top knuckle on the back of my hands was also very blue.

We figured that we better leave in case I was, in fact, dead. (It was not cold outside and I don't normally have circulatory issues.) After we got home the blue tint went away. I'm trying to find out what may have caused this and don't have any idea -- webMD is turning up about a gazillion things it COULD be, but none sound feasible. Any ideas, anyone? Anyone ever experience anything like this before?

Fondly,
Smurfette

Moving Violations

I was running some errands at lunch time, and apparently made an illegal U-turn, as that is what the kindly officer who pulled me over told me.

He asked for my license and registration (which I could not find) and ran it through the super-duper-cop computer. While he was doing that, I did manage to dig out the entire contents of my glove compartment and locate the registration.

The cop came back to my car, handed back my license and said, "I'll let you off with a verbal warning this time...please pay more attention in the future."

(I'm pretty sure the toddler car seat and stuffed pink bunny in the back seat had a little something to do with his benevolence.)

I've only been pulled over a couple of other times, thank God. I'm terrible at it. My heart was beating fast for a solid hour after the lunch time incident.

One of the other times, I was returning a rental car at an airport and missed the rental car return lot, which meant that I had to circle back around the airport and drive through the loading zone again. I was already running late, and therefore, going about 40 mph in a 15 mph zone (oops!) and a cop walked right out in front of me and put his hand up. I stopped and he walked over to my window and said sarcastically, "the speed limit through here is 15 mph, do you think you could drive anywhere close to that speed?"

Hey, if putting up with a little sarcasm means I get away with a verbal warning...I'll take it any day of the week. (Well, except Tuesday.)

Like A Horse And Carriage

Phone call with my mom this afternoon:

Mom (happily): "While Jack and I were on our cruise to Bermuda, we got engaged!!!"

Me (also happily, Jack is a good guy): "That's great! I'm so happy for you."

(pause)

Me: "Um...you don't have to get married, do you?"

My Little Wamily

>Sniff<

If you ever need a reason to love people, read about how the universe has embraced www.mattlogelin.com during the worst/best time of his life. Be sure to note how gorgeous his daughter is...she looks exactly like his wife.

Yolksters

Before any of us had kids, Canetto and I spent a crazy weekend in Boston visiting our friends, Dave and Marianne.

It was the first time we had seen their (really nice) apartment, and they entertained us by revealing the coolest aspect of the entire place -- a security camera at the building entrance. Everyone in the building could access the video feed from this camera by turning to a certain channel on their television sets, so we spent a lot of time watching people come and go while drinking and catching up. (It really is more fun than it sounds, I swear. Although, it does help to be somewhat of a voyeur. And somewhat of a drinker.)

As the evening went on, we started kidding about what we could put on the front porch that would cause a reaction from the people coming and going from the building. We didn't want it to be gross or scary -- just odd. Finally, we settled on eggs. We figured that if we cooked two perfect sunny-side up eggs and left them plateless on the doorstep, we'd get all kinds of weird reactions from people.

You've never seen more insane preparation for something. Dave meticulously cooked the eggs and then put them on a paper plate. As Marianne and I watched, he and Tim did the stealth mission to deliver the eggs to the doorstep without being detected.

After that, we watched no fewer than 20 people come up to the buidling entrance. Every single person did at least a double-take; a couple of people looked terrified; one mother put her arm out in front of her young child as though to shield him from the danger that was the sunny-side up eggs.

Entertaining as it was, this was only a warm up for a fun night out in Boston, so we did have to leave after a while. We have no idea what became of the eggs, and I still sometimes wonder if any witnesses put much thought into why there were two perfectly cooked eggs on their apartment doorstep.

Same Underpants, Different Decade

As we headed to the Zoo yesterday morning, Tim reached into his pants pocket and said, "Oh...I forgot that I had a pair of underpants in there." as he pulled a tiny pair of girls' underpants out.

To which I replied, "Wow. Fifteen years ago that would've had a totally different meaning."

Dear Kevin M:

The schlussel partei is the funniest thing I've read in forever.
Well played.

(Addendum: And then Leon follows up with a strong, "my leather pants are becoming wet with excitement.")

Which makes THAT the funniest thing I've read in forever.

Lakeview Terrace -- At A Theatre Near You September 19th

So I see a commercial last night for a new thriller starring Samuel Jackson. It looks interesting/creepy, so I watch it all the way through -- only to see that one of the cops at the end of the trailer is none other than Jeff Cockey.

He has a speaking role in this one. He plays a bad cop who videotapes strippers in some bachelor party scene. Wow. What a stretch of his acting abilities that must've been.

I'll so go see it. I missed the last one he was in because I cannot remember the damn movie name (it's an Adam Sandler movie -- Defending the Zohan, Living the Vida Zohan, You've made a mess of the Zohan, Lindsay Zohan...I dunno.)

Whatever. My job is giving me ulcers this week, so I wish he'd just get famous and make me his publicist already.

Labor Day Goins' On

Saturday
BrickFair -- a Lego Expo at the Sheraton Tysons Corner. Yet another one of those things that I would never have thought of doing in a million years before I had a kid. Unlike Hillary, who will be meeting us there with her child, Sammy, husband, Scott and father in law, Stu. Her husband, Scott, is running the Rock 'n Roll half marathon in Va. Beach this weekend and has postponed their departure time in order to take in the BrickFair -- he is such a Lego fan.
Sunday
Zoo -- after spending some time there last weekend, we realized that we have not spent nearly enough time there this summer with Avery and are hoping to remedy that with a few hours running around there early in the morning.
Cookout -- at our friends house (The Johnsons). They have a beautiful backyard and pool and always serve great food and drink. Plus, they always have a bunch of kids running around to entertain ours.
Monday
Annual Labor Day Cookout/Kickball Challenge--in our cul de sac.

I'm hoping to also fit in some time to find the perfect pair of jeans and also some other clothes for some of the more adult outings we have coming up in coming weeks.

Liverpool

A photo from Liverpool in 1988. That's me, my college roommate, Jan, and our sorority sister, Amy, walking by the Cavern -- where the Beatles first played in 1961.

I have always loved the artsy-fartsiness of this photo.

Mother Of The Year, Part Infinity

Last night at the grocery store, I had a cart full of food and just one more item to get before checking out when Avery said, "I have to go pee pee." I have no idea where the bathroom is in the grocery store...so I was driving that damn cart with the huge plastic car attached to the front that all kids need to ride in that makes the entire cart extremely unwieldy all over the back of the store to try and find the restroom. (Aside: once, I went shopping with Tim and Avery -- and Avery was acting up. So, Tim took her outside, leaving me to finish the grocery shopping alone with the ridiculously huge car-cart. I looked like some sad mommy wannabe, pretending what it would be like to have an actual child with me as I grocery shopped.)

Anyway...we looked all over the back of the store for the restroom and I could not find it. So I said, "please hold it" and we went up front to check out. Of course, after I had emptied the entire contents of my cart onto the conveyor belt, I could see the restroom in the front of the store...about 10 feet from the checkout line. At this moment, Avery said, "Mommy!" and I looked back to see her emptying the entire contents of her bladder onto the floor. I had no idea what to do, other than to feel guilty, as she had given me plenty of notice that she had to go to the bathroom. So, I grabbed a couple of diapers out of the diaper bag (we still keep them in case of emergency even though she's strictly an underpants girls now) and put them on top of the puddle.

The cashier could not have been nicer. She looked at Avery and said, "That's okay, sweetie. We'll get someone to clean it up. Don't you worry about that at all." Then, she quickly finishing ringing me up and had someone push my cart to the side so that I could take Avery to the bathroom.

I took her into the bathroom and assured her that it was my fault and not hers that she had an accident.

She seemed fine with that, I wish I was.

What In God's Name Happened To Me In My Childhood?

My ADD has gotten the best of me. Rather sheepishly, I approached the IT Department at my company yesterday and asked them to block a list of blogs and web sites that I visit every day -- sometimes repeatedly.

I suppose admitting that I have a problem is progress.

Blogger is still not blocked, however, so you can probably expect to be hearing a lot more from me. Baby steps.

Somewhat related, as this all has to do with my neuroses, I was chatting with a friend yesterday and mentioned the drill for when Canetto is out of town. It is as follows: I go up to bed at about 9:30 (because it is dark outside and I am scared of the dark). I turn on the home alarm system, bring both the home phone and my cell phone upstairs with me and barricade Avery and myself into my bedroom. (When I say barricade, I mean I lock the door, then the deadbolt that my darling husband had installed on the door above the normal lock because I'm a freak, and then I drag a heavy chair halfway across the room to put in front of all of that. Then, I sleep with the light on and wake up about every hour and a half all through the night thinking that I heard something.) It's a mystery why I never became a police officer or enlisted in the armed forces, huh?

This friend I was chatting with looked at me and said, "You know why I like you? no matter how neurotic I get...you always make me feel better."

I'm A Giver

Tim (quizzically, looking at memo section of HUGE weekly check I write to Avery's school that says family #0032): "Is 0032 our family number?"

Me (sarcastically): "No."

(long pause)

Me: "And family #0032 really likes me."

Snore And Roar

First of all, apologies to the National Zoo for erroneously listing this event as "Snore 'n Roar" on my Facebook page. I hate the apostrophe N almost more than I hate people spelling C words with Ks (Krispy Kreme -- I'm talking to you!) and yet, I saw one where none existed. I'll blame the marketing profession in general (those krazy kards).

That aside, this is one of the coolest events I've done in the DC area. We signed up for the "Commissary" tour when we originally decided to do this back in April ("We" being me, Hillary and Hillary's mom, Nancy.)

On Friday, I met up with Hillary and Nancy at 5pm at the Zoo, where we brought a picnic and dined for an hour before the event began. (Hill even managed to sneak in a bottle of wine -- don't tell the Smithsonian.) At 6:00pm, we met up with our tour guide and other group members and received our tents. We selected our campsite (near a lovely waterfall) and set up our tent, then regrouped to begin our tour. (Being the seasoned campers that we are, Hillary brought a Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag, Nancy brought a pillow in a white eyelet pillowcase, and I completely forgot a pillow and the pump to blow up my queen-sized air mattress.) We toured the commissary, which handles all of the food delivery, processing and distribution of food for every animal in the Zoo. Two animal nutritionists (two of only fourteen in the entire country) led the tour and were so interesting and interested in their jobs. We learned a lot, asked a lot of questions and did a few hands-on activities. We also got to go into walk-in freezers where we saw things like frozen whole rabbits in individually wrapped packages -- still with their fur and everything. That creeped me out more than a little bit. At the end of the tour, there was a scavenger hunt in the facility. Being the freakisly competitive people we are, Hillary and I developed a strategy of splitting up and also not lingering in front of clues, so as not to give any information away. We kept doing recon missions and then reporting back to Nancy who stayed in a central location to record answers. (Please keep in mind that our competition in this hunt was a bunch of parents with their eight and nine-year-old children. It was very important that we win.)

We did win and documented our dash across the finish line...only to find out there was no prize. (Well, other than the satisfaction of knowing that we kicked some elementary school ass.)

After that, we got to take a flashlight tour of all the nocturnal animals. It was awesome to be at the Zoo at night with very few other people.

The next morning, there was another scavenger hunt planned for us that gave us a pretty good walk around the Zoo. This time, there was a prize, but we were beaten by another group. (It was a very "Amazing Race" moment as we crossed the finish line and realized that someone else had come in first.)

Anyway, I had to sleep for about three hours when I got home. Not the comfiest night's sleep I've ever had...but a very, very cool event otherwise.

A couple of days ago, I signed up for our next Zoo even -- a "Cool Cats" tour and activity for Avery on a Saturday morning in November. (Which should assuage some of the guilt I felt when telling her I was going to go away over night for Snore and Roar. She asked, "you're going to the Zoo? Can I come?" and I had to reply, "No. This is not for children."

What Can I Say? The Man Can Work A Sequined Suit.

Chris Isaak was great. He always does a really good show.

I was worried at first, because we got great seats this time, and Miss Uber-Fan (totally acted like a teeny-bopper, although she was certainly not teeny, and was also not a bopper -- she was about 35 years old) was seated next to me. She kept screaming "Wo-HOOO!" and "Go, Chris!".

As I am a very tolerant and patient person, this led me to roll my eyes a lot and Tim to begin getting scared, because he knows how charming I am whenever someone like that is seated next to me. Somehow, though, (God's will? Miracle? My prayers working?) she left after three songs and never came back. (Her blog today probably reads, "so at first, I was totally seated next to this uptight, eye-rolling bitch and I thought the show was going to suck. But then I got up and moved to where the fun people are.")

He sang a lot of great new stuff and even did a couple of covers (and I'm a sucker for the covers -- 'specially Cheap Trick's "I want you to want me")

As we were waiting in line for the bathroom at one point (Canetto and I had a few beers in the car before we went in), I told him the story about the time I went to Wolf Trap with Meredith back in the day. Her father had scored us some backstage passes for the Harry Connick, Jr. show. We were sooo excited. The concert was great...then we went backstage and lined up to have our few minutes with Harry. I kept thinking of all of the clever things I could say to him and what the perfect balance would be between complimentary and suck-uppy. For about twenty minutes I thought about this and it was finally my turn to be memorable and say something to him that no one had ever said before.

I shook his hand, looked right at him and said, "Hey." Yup. That's it. "Hey."

I'm sure that made the liner notes for his next CD.

Great Article

And a very important article written by my friend, Ericka:

http://www.independent.com/news/2008/aug/14/how-my-unquestioned-faith-medical-profession-went/

But Enough About Me, Let's Talk About You. What Do You Think About Me?

(NOTE: This post is a recap of the past weekend and a look ahead to the coming one. Yes, I could just insert a copy of my calendar page here and be done with it. Silly readers. Don't you realize just how indulgent it is to have a blog? You must be inundated with the many insignificant details of my past and future plans. It is so good to have a forum.)

I love weekends. I know I am alone in my radical views.

This past one -- great! On Friday, Canetto had to work late on a proposal, so I took the Pants to the Schirmer's house to visit with them and new baby Charles. Avery was such a big girl and so sweet. While I held Charles on my lap, Avery sat right next to me and caressed his legs very softly and talked to him very quietly. (I'm sure she's making her case for siblings...every day I get a request for "lots of brudders and sisters.") (And yes, she does say it just like a mobster.) (Which may be appropriate, considering that they would be "joining da family.")

Saturday, we went to Chris and Jay's house for a barbecue to celebrate Jay being back from Iraq. We brought a gift of a baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and a Chevy matchbox car. There were a million kids there under the age of five. Good for Avery and fun for us, too. It's a lot easier to mingle with people sometimes when you have kids in common.


Sunday, we finally made good on our promise to take Avery to the Water Mine in Reston. (Where do the summer weekends go?) How did I not know this place existed? What a great way to spend a couple of hours on a summer weekend. She laughed and played for three hours straight. We had such a great time. (For those, like me, who were not aware that this place existed --it is near the Reston Zoo and has many water slides and a river rafting pool -- totally cool for the 10-and-under set.)

Hanging out with Avery is getting more and more fun. Mainly because she is beginning to understand why potty humor and the word "butt" are so hysterical. (Wiping sentimental tear from corner of eye.)

On the way to the water park, we all joined in singing one of our favorite family car songs:(sung to the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell")

Avery has a cute butt
Avery has a cute butt
Heigh-ho the derry-o,
Avery has a cute butt

(Which then morphs into Heigh-ho the derriere and then goes into additional rounds with both daddy and mommy having cute butts. We're an easy-to-amuse family.)

This week? Thursday night is our annual Chris-Isaak-at-Wolftrap concert. Canetto got the tickets the moment the ticket sales opened for the season so we have great seats. We have been going to see him for years and he always puts on a great show. Friday night, I'm going to Snore and Roar at the National Zoo. (Oh, what a cute thing to do with Avery, you're thinking. A behind the scenes tour of the zoo and then an overnight in a tent on the zoo grounds? What a cool mom you are. Yes, I am a cool mom, but that is beside the point as this event is adults-only. I'm going with my friend, Hillary and her mom, Nancy. There will be stories, oh yes, there will be stories.)

After a trip to the vet Saturday afternoon in which it will cost me several hundred dollars to traumatize my cats with a car ride and shots and find out that Brooke will need her anal glands expressed again, Tim and I are having (a kid-free) dinner at Bazin's in Vienna with our friends, Julie and Andrew.

Sunday marks Avery's first-ever friend birthday party. (Well, the first one at someone's house -- they've had several in her classroom.) I don't know who's more excited -- us or her. I shopped for Megan's gift yesterday afternoon and felt tremendous pressure for it to be just right. (And also, as a mom of a same-aged kid, I wanted it not to be messy, loud, or have a million small pieces.)

You Don't Have To Get All Huffington With Me

My friend (and Meredith's husband), John Marshall, made the front of the Huffington Post today!

www.huffingtonpost.com and scroll down to
Outwit, Outchoose, OutVeep

Also check out www.tyrannosaurusrocks.com

Fly Me To The Moon

Painfully shy does not even begin to describe me in the first 16 years of my life. I could not talk to anyone on the phone, I got straight A's in school because I was terrified of attention being drawn to me if I ever had anything other than the right answer and I rarely spoke a word to anyone.

This is a bit of background for the story I'm about to share.

When I was in morning kindergarten at the Van Duyn school in Syracuse, New York, I had an admirer named Billy Bartlett. He was my teacher. (Okay, that's gross even for me...just seeing if you were paying attention.) Billy was my age -- a peer -- a classmate -- five years old (did I just reach the point where I'm protesting too much?) In his attempts to woo me, Billy came up with many stories -- including one about him being an astronaut and going to the moon.

Apparently, Billy had a thing for the quiet types -- perhaps I came across as mysterious and compelling in my refusal to say anything out loud. Or, maybe he thought I was a mime. I don't know. But he did decide that I was the girl for him. And he was persisent. And because I was so shy, Billy somehow became my boyfriend (whatever that means in morning kindergarten), even though I don't remember having much say in all of it. (I learned later that this personality type is generally referred to as "stalker" who "preys upon women who are vulnerable and do not stand up for themselves" -- ah, the folly of youth.)

Billy's mom worked at the lunch counter at Woolworth. (How many of my younger readers are choking on their lunch as they read that last sentence? Yes, there used to be "lunch counters" and they used to be at Woolworth. Google it, whippersnappers.) Billy had his mother call my mother to arrange a lunch date one day after we got out of morning kindergarten. The plan was that Billy's older brother would pick us up from school and drive us to Woolworth and we'd have a leisurely, romantic lunch and then Billy's mom would drive me home when we were done.

I'm sure this seemed cute to the parents involved and I'm sure Billy loved it, but from the moment it was arranged I was scared to death. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to his brother or his mom and just having to be somewhere without my mom or dad petrified me.

On the appointed day of our "date," I decided that I just could not go through with it and began my regular walk home with my friend, Cheryl. We got about a block away from school and a car pulled up next to us with Billy, Billy's older brother, and two other teenagers in it. Billy and his brother rolled down the car window and called, "Kathy....Kathy...." I stared straight ahead and kept walking toward home. My friend, Cheryl, tugged on my sleeve and said, "um...I think they're talking to you." Without looking at her, I said..."Look straight ahead and keep walking.." Billy and his brother kept calling my name for the next block or so (and yes, I could hear the other teenagers in the car laughing) and then finally just gave up and drove away. (In my defense...I was already the shyest kid on the planet...and was a nervous wreck about these plans...and then they bring in two other teenagers...just wwwaaayyy too much for my 5-year-old self to handle.)

My mom was furious when I made it home, and called Billy's mom to apologize. (I also remember a pretty intense spanking, though my mother would deny that if you asked her now.) It's amazing I was ever able to have a normal relationship as an adult.

Later that night, Billy's mom drove him over to my house. He came in with a present for me -- a plastic wedding and engagement ring set (likely from Woolworth) wrapped in an empty Cracker Jack box.

I guess the upside for him in my blowing off the date is knowing that it never would have worked out, anyway. I mean, an engagement ring on a first date? That is just moving way too fast. Also, who wants to marry a guy who's never there for you because he's in another galaxy?

The Big O

Oktoberfest is five weeks away. It gets easier every year, as now the whole team knows the drill. Pete and Amy order and pick up all of the food and pre-cook sausages in beer/butter/onions. (Excuse me while I wipe the drool from my chin.) Amanda and Leon order/pick up/set up the keg and glassware and bake and decorate about a thousand (lewdly inappropriate) lebkuchen. Canetto and I set up the festhaus in the backyard and get the house cleaned up. Kevin Morse passes on during the party. We all know our roles and work to make it all come together successfully.

It does seem that the years get shorter in between O'fests, though. Cannot believe we gotta get an invite out in the next week or so. (This year marks the SEVENTH annual Oktoberfest party. My hope is to get to ten, and then take the party to Munich for what would be the eleventh year. Seems like the right way to end the tradition...then maybe we could start doing an annual Cinqo de Mayo party or something....)

(One bit of hilarity? For the past few years, we have managed to time Oktoberfest on the official first day of the Munich Oktoberfest -- hooray for us for being so authentic. However, it has also coincided with Rosh Hashanah. This has made it impossible for my friends Hillary and Scott to make it to the party because they have family obligations for these holidays. As I've said to her for the past few years, "imagine a German celebration NOT taking into account the Jewish holy days..." Anyway...there is no conflict this year and Hillary plans to be at the party decked out in a dirndl. She's awesome.)

Love...Exciting and New...

My friends Amy and Pete had their first baby yesterday -- a little boy named Charles. The whole "Charles" thing is taking some getting used to, as during the entire pregnancy they referred to the child as "Phinneas Einstein". They had a lot of fun with that...whenever anyone asked what they were going to name him, they'd say, "Phinneas Einstein" and then wait for the inevitable, uncomfortable reaction.

When I heard the news yesterday that he had arrived and that everyone was doing well, I burst into tears. Because I hate babies. And when everyone is doing well.

I kid. I was emotional because I know what they are going to experience -- loving this little thing more than they ever thought possible. The only true unconditional love they will experience.

We went to visit them last night and so did Auntie Amanda. We figured the earlier the dilettantes get to influence him, the better. We'd hate for him to show any of us up by having any sort of attention span.

Little Charles has a head full of dark hair and some enormous testicles. He is a little sweetie, too. He let all of us hold him and swaddle him. I've offered to come over and stare at him for hours whenever they want me to.

Words I Hate, Part 4,327

leonine

There Will Be A Test On This Later

I own white pants. There is no good reason for this as I also own a three year old. I was wearing said white pants yesterday when Avery ran up to me, highlighter in hand, and drew a straight horizontal yellow line across my pant leg.

I was talking to my cousin, so I said while pointing to the highlighted area, "that is the most important part of my pants."

Words I Hate, Part 4,326

Morsel. 'Nuff said.

Oh No You Di-int

If you're gonna read my blog and *ahem* "borrow" my posting titles...the least you can do is comment on the postings now and then. I'm just sayin'...

Fab Weekend Plans

Tomorrow morning we're heading to Richmond to see friends of Tim's from high school (Fred and Barb). We have not seen them in years and are really excited to catch up. Fred and Tim were part of a group of guy friends in high school in Rochester, New York, that referred to themselves as the "Fab Five." (Yes, I am a very lucky woman. Especially when you consider that the Fab Five went to a local mall to have their faces dot-matrix-printed onto a felt wall-hanging with the title "A Touch of Class" on it. Sometimes the "A Touch of Class" wall-hanging mysteriously makes it onto the wall during gatherings with our friends. No, it will never stop being hilarious.)

Sunday, my cousin, Jay, and his wife and daughter are coming over for brunch and swimming (the brunch and the swimming are done independently of one another -- it's just too hard to balance the plates). This is our once-a-year get-together that I very much look forward to.

Sunday evening, we're heading to Pete and Amy's house in Arlington for a last hurrah before their baby is born on Tuesday. This will be their first baby and they have no idea how profoundly their life will be changing in just a few short days. They're gonna love it!

Today, Canetto has taken the day off to go to the dentist, clean the pool, do the laundry, pack for our trip to Richmond and make a grocery list so I can do the shopping later tonight. He's a gem. (With a touch of class.)

Sucker Punch

Yesterday at school, Avery wanted to sit on some cushions in the classroom that were already occupied by one of her classmates. This classmate loves his pacie, so he was relaxing there with his pacie in his mouth, minding his own business.

Avery pulled the kid's pacie out of his mouth and tossed it across the room. The kid ran to get it, and she took his place on the cushions.

I'm not thrilled that she did that instead of requesting that he simply move, but I am kinda impressed by her ingenuity.

Dramedy

Yet another Frankenstein word that I hate. Ugh.

Carving A Niche

Avery has been programmed to say that Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States. She can also identify him now. So, whenever he's on the news (or yesterday, when one of his ads popped up on the computer), she points to his picture and says, "Barack Obama."

She will also let me know that "he lives in DC" and that "so do Amanda and Leon." (I believe at one point she assumed that Amanda and Leon lived WITH Barack Obama, which, if you guys are reading, might not be a bad idea considering the upcoming home renovation -- one would imagine there are a few extra guest rooms in the White House and you could argue that you're already paying for it...)

As the idea person here, I'd expect invites to at least a few State Dinners. I could be the special "politically retarded" guest who would try to change the topic from politics to fart jokes. Whaddaya say?

Seamus's Law

It is never more desirable to do a full-body rub against my leg than when that leg is clad in dark pants and ready to head out the door to work.

When People Do Sleep Well, Do They Say They Have "Somnia"?

We're going to see The Dark Knight tonight at the Udvar-Hazy Center. (I love saying Udvar-Hazy and try to work it into conversation as much as possible. Udvar-Hazy, Udvar-Hazy, Udvar-Hazy.)

Should be fun -- I've heard good things about the movie. Would be more up for it if I had not been awakened at 3:00am by the Pants; read Money magazine and wondered if my financial planner was taking too much of a percentage until 4:30am; and then had to be at physical therapy at 7:30am.

Dear Sleep: We had some good times and I will always remember you fondly. Dear Coffee: You are the new love of my life.

We Met The Law And The Law's Fun

Last night after work, I went to dinner at my friend Terri's house. (Lemon pepper pasta with shrimp, feta, fresh spinach and tomatoes...>happy full sigh<.) After dinner, we went to her annual neighborhood ice cream social that was being held in a community park nearby. [One of her neighbors is the mayor of Fairfax -- he was also in her high school graduating class at Fairfax High -- he also owns The Sweet Life Cafe in Fairfax, so he provided all the ice cream for the social. Everyone in Fairfax City is connected in some way -- which was underscored when we spotted the mother of the VP of my company (company is located guess where? Yes, Fairfax) scooping ice cream for the neighbors.]

We mingled, we met neighbors, we patted dogs...it was really pretty fun.

But the best part of the evening was when the policemen and the firefighters showed up -- we had so much fun with them -- especially one firefighter named Andy who was totally sarcastic and hilarious. At one point during our chat with him, he took an important call from his Chief. Apparently, they compare notes on which of these neighborhood gatherings is most fun and the most senior members of the team get to go to the good ones. (Last night was some kind of national neighborhood night out or something, so there were twelve of these scheduled in the area.)

I requested a plastic fire hat from another firefighter (he was handing them out to the kids there), telling him that I had a three-year-old who would love it. His response? "Suuuuure you do."

We ended our evening by asking a nice policeman to take a picture with us pretending we were perps who were getting arrested. He obliged, but did request that we don't put it up on "some crazy web site." Apologies there, officer.

Trespassers

I looked out my bedroom window down to the pool below this morning and saw A SNAKE swimming in the shallow end (it had obviously listened to its parents about NOT going in the deep end unless they were there with it).

Knowing this had the makins' of an adventure, I immediately woke Avery up and brought her outside with me to perform a snake rescue. Let me assure you that if we did not have a 10-foot pole (that's what she said) with a net on the end, I would have left said rescue to Canetto -- I don't need to be a hero.

As it was, I scooped up the snake and tossed him over the fence (you know, so he could find his mommy and daddy).

Then, Avery found a frog in the deep end. I could tell that we were maybe half a day late for this little guy, but Avery felt certain that we could rescue him, too. So, I went through the motions again...scoop/toss/assure toddler frog was finding mommy and daddy.

A few years ago, I also performed a chipmunk rescue from the pool. I'm beginning to think we need a five-inch-tall fence around the perimeter.

Sincere?

After Tim read books to Avery last night, she requested that I come into her room to sing songs.

I sang one, then asked her, "What was your favorite part of today?" (This is a common question I ask when we're winding down at night so we can focus on good things that we did during the day while she's *theoretically* drifting off to sleep.)

She said to me, "Eating a meal with my family. I love you so much." and then not even half a beat later, said, "Can I come downstairs now?"

The Pitfalls Of Working From Home

Today's post from Guest Blogger Amanda:
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So I'm interviewing this guy for a job at the firm today (over the phone), when Leon's Red Sox bottle opener (the kind that talks when you open a bottle) decides to malfunction.

In the middle of this nice gentleman giving me his spiel on why he's dying to work for my company, we hear, "Way back! Way back! Grand Slam! The Red Sox win this one folks!". Twice.

Luckily, I got it together enough to find the mute button on the phone and throw the opener in a drawer, but not before the guy got completely flustered and confused. Oops.

Meanwhile, I'm laughing so hard, I'm about to pee my pants. Didn't pay attention to a word the guy said. I'm passing him along to the next phase. I figure it's the least I can do.

Losin It One Marble At A Time

As I was leaving work yesterday, I stopped into the kitchen to retrieve Avery's bottle from the fridge. (I put it there when I come in every morning so that she has a nice, cold roadie for the way home.)

I looked in the fridge and it wasn't there. I took everything out and looked on every shelf -- not there. And this was the second time in a few days that this had happened. I was not quiet about this...I started complaining loudly about how weird it was that someone would take a baby bottle filled with milk. (Actually, I was sure someone was either playing a joke on me or had thrown it away when cleaning the fridge.) Whatever. One of my friends helped me look and also couldn't find it. At one point I believe I said, "I distinctly remember coming in this morning and putting the bottle on the shelf." Indignant, I was.

I called Tim on the way home and told him about the mystery of the disappearing bottles. His response? "Um...you had physical therapy this morning and I dropped Avery off, so you didn't have a bottle."

Oh.

Mean Girls

One summer, Kath and I took a Basic computer class. This was elective, so we did not take it as seriously as we should have. During the class, we were tested on what we had learned, and even though we didn't receive a grade for this, we didn't want the shame of being the only ones in the class without a certificate of successful completion.

One of the tests involved us turning in a project that we did not know how to do. So we leaned on Max, the resident smarter-than-you-can-possibly-imagine-nerd-type-who-was-not-especially-social-or-popular-and-is-probably-on-some-billionaire-list-somewhere-today guy in the class for help. He wasn't really a friend of ours, but he agreed to help because he loved computers (and probably also because he was just a nice and patient guy).

He saved our butts on this particular test so Kath and I decided that we should reciprocate by taking him out to lunch the following week after class. He seemed pretty happy with the plan.

On the appointed day, Kath and I both noticed that Max had taken extra care with his appearance. He was wearing a collared shirt and had obviously done something different to his hair. Even though we had not discussed this lunch at all in the past week, we came to a silent agreement that we just could not do it.

We still don't know why. It's not like our social status could have gotten any lower (note the elective computer class mentioned above.) We certainly didn't have anything better to do. We actually could have made a friend and learned something from this guy. Who the hell knows, except that our teen insecurities somehow made us decide to simply ignore the fact that we had asked Max to lunch. After class, we both scooted out of there and never again mentioned it. It was always a little awkward around him after that.

Now, twenty-five years later, we both still cringe whenever we think about this and are compelled to somehow make this up to Max. (Who has probably long since forgotten about it and is finding comfort in his bank account.) We have done Google searches to try and locate him and we're trying to figure out how to atone.

For someone who spent most of her life being the target of the mean girls (one in particular that I'm related to), I still cannot believe that I was capable of doing something that I knew would hurt someone's feelings. And to this day I feel like crap about it.

Virginia Beach

Homecoming

My friend, Kira, who has young boys, shared the following story with me. One day, Justin (her oldest, about 8) came to her and said, "Mom? What's a rack?" She was worried that he had heard the term used as slang reference for a woman's chest and was already outlining the whole explanation she was going to have to give about respectful terminology and how that wasn't appropriate and all that. However, she also had eight years of parenting under her belt, which taught her to first clarify. She said, "Where did you hear that?" and he said, "on the news -- they're always talking about a rack (Iraq)". She was relieved momentarily until she realized that she was now going to have to try and explain a war to her 8-year old.

On that note, we recently found out our friend, Jay, is coming home from A Rack! He's been there 9 months (and left behind his wife and now 9-month old son). He'll be home for good in about a week. Best news we've heard in a long time!

The Screening Process

A good problem we've been faced with this summer is how to take advantage of all of the really cool, free activities that are offered everywhere in this area. (If anyone knows of a better area in which to live -- especially when you have children -- I'd be interested to hear it. I cannot imagine that there is one.) In May, I printed out the schedules for the free outdoor concerts, movies, festivals and exhibits that I hoped we might be able to attend. So far, we've been doing a pretty good job of tackling the list.

We're especially excited for this coming weekend's "Drive-in Movie". Fairfax County sponsors this out in Centreville and shows kid-friendly movies with the whole drive-in experience (heavy petting? hickies?). "Bee Movie" is playing this weekend. We already saw this on Memorial Day weekend at the outdoor movie in Glyndon Park in Vienna. But, because the universal anthem of children is "AGAIN!" -- we are seeing the movie again.

Avery has already decided that she is bringing several blankies and babies with her in the car for this. And has been actively recruting her friends and teachers from day care to come along, too. It could get crowded.

Minutiae

Love me some summer weekends. This past Friday, Tim took Avery to the Vienna Town Green concert (where she saw her friend, Ava, again. The girls had a blast). I was beat from my week, so I stayed home and worked on getting the house cleaned up. On Saturday, we swam in our pool and then went to Pete's birthday party in Arlington. That was really fun, but it is just hard to have any good conversations when we have the kiddo in tow. Yesterday, I did my first major exercise since before knee surgery -- a 6-mile walk with Amanda. It felt great and it was fun to get back into the (semi-) swing of things in terms of our weekend running schedule. And, I did my grocery shopping at Whole Foods -- look at me trying to eat better...

They Call Me Sanchez

Meredith wrote me this morning that there is a public access show in NYC called "Dirty Sanchez's Skidmarks." She found it while channel surfing this weekend and immediately thought of me.

Equally appropriate was an occurrence this weekend when Avery inadvertently gave herself a chocolate mustache while eating a chocolate cupcake. While others thought it was cute, Leon immediately went down the "Dirty Sanchez" road.

Really, Leon? She's two. Do you see nothing wrong with going there? Are there no boundaries? (Besides, she strikes me much more as a Cincinnati Bowtie kinda gal.)

It Definitely Takes A Willage

A few days ago, our neighbor, Craig, came over with a locust shell and a locust that had met its demise in his birdbath. He refers to Avery as his "bugologist" and spent a considerable amount of time talking to her about how these locusts come around every 17 years and shed their exoskeletons and all that. She was diggin' it. He left both the no-longer-alive (we don't say "dead" yet) locust and the shell on the table out front so that she could check them out whenever she wanted (which has been every day since).

Also in the past few days while Connolly was visiting, she spent a tremendous amount of time with Avery (even letting Canetto and I go out to dinner alone one night -- big kiss, Connolly - muah!). One day, she bought flyswatters, Dawn liquid and about 300 small plastic cups. Since she has worked for children's musesums and currently works for a charter school, I know she always has something creative up her sleeve. The cups were to build with -- they did that while we were at dinner. And let me tell you -- 300 plastic cups to stack and re-stack and fill up with dried beans and to pass out to all of your dolls -- not just heaven -- but the heaven where Leo DiCaprio is wearing a loincloth while bringing you microbrews.

They did not get to the flyswatters and Dawn while we were out, so Tim and I grabbed those and ran upstairs with them -- yadda, yadda, yadda -- remind me to erase the camera phone.

Just kidding -- that was to make the best bubbles in the world. We did it last night...you dip flyswatters into a Dawn/water combo and they make awesome bubbles. We played last night and of course, invited Craig over to play, too. And then we looked at the locust and the locust shell. Laugh if you will...but it was pretty much a perfect summer night.

Home High-Fructose-Corn-Syrup-Sweetened Home

As always, after a Connolly visit I become more aware of the amount of crap that we eat in our house. (Connolly is appalled by my flavored coffee creamer, the Lucky Charms that Avery eats and the fact that some of the foods in our house are processed/not organic/not local.)

We talk about it and I vow to join a CSA and buy only organic foods and to grow more of our own vegetables and herbs and just generally be more conscious about the things we're eating.

For someone who does not like to cook or grocery shop or plan meals...I need advice on how to eat better for little to no real effort on my part.

She Really Only Hates The Ones Who Deserve It

"I love humanity in an abstract way. I just hate most people one-on-one." (My good friend, Kath, summing up her view of the world.)

Don't Hate On My Glamorous Life, Bitches

We learned quickly that the nanosecond we get smug about anything in terms of our child's behavior or development, we get a big sloppy carl from the Fates.

So we should have been smarter than to discuss how lucky we'd been that Avery has never been a vomiter. Truly...not even much spit up when she was a baby.

This discussion took place two nights before we were leaving for Virginia Beach. (All of my childless friends are right now thinking, "what a relief that the sexy talk does not stop when you have kids.") The night before we left, I gave her a bottle of milk before bedtime that was apparently past its expiration date, information that was not gleaned from reading the date on the carton, mind you. (Oh, well, I've always been a visual learner.)

At about 3:00am, I had a horrible dream and asked Tim if he could sleep the guest room so that I could bring Avery into our bed. She was in our bed for about 45 minutes when she woke up projectile vomiting -- regurgitating her body weight in bad milk, pineapple and corn (you're welcome for that). However, she was only warming up.

I cleaned her up and stripped the bed (she was a champ and did not cry). She asked where daddy was and asked to go sleep with him. So, I took her down there and put her in bed with Tim. Another 45 minutes and Old Faithful was spouting again.

Tim stripped the bed and gave her a bath. And was so sweet with Avery. Truly, the man had vomit on half his body and was focused on making sure she was okay and comforting her. (Vomit-soaked husband...hot!). After the bath...one more vomit.

We still rolled the dice and drove to Va. Beach the next day and there was no more puke. Although, her Grandma and Jack thought it would be fun to take her blueberry picking while I napped. (I was up all night with her and it took FIVE HOURS to get there.) While she was blueberry picking, she ate a ton of blueberries...she was starving since she had nothing in her stomach.

The following day? Four (not a typo) blueberry diarrhea diapers whose stench, color, volume and consistency (you're welcome again -- everything I do, I do for you, gentle reader) brought me to my knees.

Happy Birthday, Krennie!

Today is my mom's birthday -- she's 64. She had two kids by the time she was 22. I'm sure it was not easy at the time (mainly because of my sister -- I was a joy of a baby -- easy, non-clingy, very even-tempered -- stop laughing, mom), but how nice is it now to be the young, cool grandma?

We're heading to Va. Beach tomorrow to celebrate with her. ("We" either being me and the Pants or the whole fam damily -- yet TBD.) We're going to pick blueberries, go to the beach, go out to dinner and go shopping. It will be a full, fun weekend.

My kiddo is always excited to visit Grandma and Jack. She has already had me paint her toenails a sparkly pink and packed her flip flops in preparation. I'm sure she'll be on me tonight about packing the sunscreen...she's pretty vigilant about that.

I Should Get Workers' Compensation

Downside of working in an office that allows dogs? Fleas have been biting my ankles for two days...

I Been Drivin' All Night My Hand's Wet On The Wheel

Since I've never received a request to talk about the best trip I've ever taken (not THAT kind of trip, Timothy Leary-ites, I have no frame of reference for that), I figured I'd go ahead and write a post about it. I'm nothing if not receptive to my audience (Hi, Amanda!)

My father died unexpectedly on Valentine's Day in 1998. I was in my last semester of grad school and had quit my job two months before to finish this last semester full time, with a full load of classes. After my father died, I made countless trips to Virginia Beach to get my mom out of her house and re-settled in a friend's house and to take care of other things. On April 30th of that year, Tim proposed to me. I graduated a few weeks later. These months were a complete blur for me -- although I remember feeling raw and angry and insane. Talk about extreme highs and extreme lows and extreme stress.

(Wow! What does that depressing paragraph have to do with the best trip you ever took, Debbie Downer? Well, I'll tell you impatient-pants...keep reading...)

I had always wanted to take a cross-country trip and had toyed with the idea numerous times. Wanting nothing more than to get away from everything (like you don't know!) and because I was without a job that I had to report to, Tim and I figured that the summer would be the time that we might actually be able to do this. So, Captain Spreadsheet planned out a two-month trip -- beginning with us flying out to Santa Barbara for our friends' wedding and then us renting a car and driving a loop through the western states. He planned so that we'd be camping a lot, but broke up the trip with stays at hotels every four or five days. (He had accumulated lots of free nights in good hotels thanks to a lot of corporate travel.) He took a leave of absence from his job at the time and we spent two fantastic months together doing a lot of hiking and camping and sight seeing (such wonderful escapism). We took a ton of pictures and I kept a journal during our travels. To this day (10 years later) we still pull out the journal and read entries occasionally and reminisce about this trip.

What an escape. And what a great way to find out if you're compatible with your spouse-to-be. In two months, we put 10,000 miles on the rental car and were never apart for more than an hour or so.

I have dreams of doing this again at some point. Preferably in Europe. And preferably with a little less camping next time.

Thank You For Being A Friend

My best friend from seventh grade, Kath, is coming to visit early next week. We met in the gifted program when we were 12 and did many dork-tastic things together during our tweener and teenage years. (For example, when normal kids were hanging out at the mall or listening to records, Kath and I were holed up in her bedroom giving each other the silliest sounding titles we could think of, then the other person had five minutes to write a poem based on the title. We also spent our summers in supplemental gifted classes instead of going to the beach. Yes, we dated much later than most of our peers -- thanks for asking.)

We took driver's ed together, were officers in the junior high French club together, played community soccer together, were camp counselors together, and hung out at each other's houses almost every single day after school. And still...we had to pass notes to each other in the hallway every day. (How else could I fully express just HOW dreamy Matt Lynn was, if not through the power of the written word?)We also used to go to the Naro theater in Norfolk to see movies. (It was an independent movie theater that showed some pretty cool stuff.) We went to see Jon Waters' "Polyester" there -- the one that was shown in "odorama" (a scratch 'n sniff card that corresponded to the action on the screen). Kath got in trouble after that at the dinner table for saying that #7 on the card was a fart.

Because of districting in Va. Beach, we ended up going to different high schools, and then senior year, her dad got a job as an editor with the New York Times, so she moved to New Jersey. Then, she went on to Brown University and then worked for Brown University and has since held jobs that are totally cool and creative and community-minded. I want to be her when I grow up.

I don't see her enough, but when I do, it's like we're 12 again. (Canetto is always like, "I've figured you two out. You say something and she laughs. Then, she repeats the exact same thing and you laugh." To which I reply, "Well, duh.") She stayed a week right after Avery was born and is one of those people that just knows how to make me laugh while I'm completely sleep-deprived and perpetually attached to a breast pump.

My parents always thought of her as a third child, and to this day I'm convinced they liked her more than they liked me. Once, when she spent the night, my parents took her and my sister out for breakfast at 1:00am because I had fallen asleep and they thought it would be fun. I had to hear about how great it was when I woke up the next day. Waking me up to join them is apparently an option that never crossed anyone's mind.

Kath has a girlfriend now and they've been together at least a couple of years and she is so happy. I have yet to meet her girlfriend and all Kath has told me about her is that she looks like Bea Arthur. Moments ago, I was replying to an e-mail from Kath and started humming something without thinking. Realized it was the theme song to "The Golden Girls." My subconscious is a card.

Da Da Da Da BUM BUM Da Da Da Da Bum Bum

Hillary has invited me to a premiere party for the new 90210 on September 2nd.

I'm hoping to dig out and bring with me:

a) my autographed headshot of Joe E. Tata

and

b) the photos I took at Jennie Garth's personal appearance at Tyson's Corner back in the 90210 heydey

(note to self: re-name blog www.screamingloser.com)

The Never-Ending SNL Skit

Last night, I took Avery to Fair Oaks Mall so we could go in the "kid pit" there. When we do this, I always park outside of JC Penney, since it's the closest store to the pit.

While we were going through the store last night, Avery spotted some pink flip flops that she had to have for our trip to the beach this weekend. She tried them on and loved them and I went to find somewhere to check out.

Apparently, at JC Penney, you have to line up behind stanchions at centrally located cashier kiosks. I took my place in line and we waited. We waited while the one cashier scanned the tag on the shirt the young woman ahead of me was buying and then talked at length to the young woman about where she was from in Russia, and asked her to provide an ID, which she didn't have, and then needed a social security number, which she also didn't have, so finally her boyfriend produced some sort of ID that was acceptable. (Mind you, there was no transaction taking place during any of the chit-chat...that would have made this a moderately efficient operation.) The conversation took several minutes, during which the cashier asked the young woman if she would like to open a JC Penney charge card to save 30% on her purchase (OF ONE SHIRT!). Guess what? OF COURSE SHE WANTED TO OPEN A CHARGE CARD. So, we waited several more minutes while the cashier typed in the relevant information and then FINALLY rang up the young woman's one item. She presented the total to the woman and the woman said, "I thought that shirt was 60% off." This led to another lengthy discussion about whether or not that particular shirt was on sale. The young woman finally decided that it was not worth it to go back and find the rack, and finally paid and left. I'm not exaggerating when I say that we stood there for ten minutes.

I walked up to the register with our $4 flip-flops and a $5 bill in my hand. The cashier looked at them and told me they were missing a price tag and that I'd have to go back to where I found them to get a pair that were marked. Sure, I could have done that. Instead, I chose to throw a bit of a tantrum, saying something about "no wonder I never shop at this awful store" or something along those lines and leaving the flip flops on the counter and storming out. (I showed her!)

After half an hour in the kid pit, Avery asked about the flip flops. On the way out, we got some (with a price tag) off the rack and went to a different cashier to pay, ironically flip-flopping on my decision to never shop at that store again.

You Said It, Sister!

When I pulled into the parking lot at Avery's school this morning, there were no available parking spots. This is becoming a more common occurrence as is my level of frustration when this is the case.

I groaned and said sarcastically, "oh, that's just great -- no parking again" and then Avery said (with a big smile on her face), "that's exasperating."

When I stopped laughing, I asked her where she learned that word. She said, "school."
Of course. I'm sure if I taught a roomful of two-year-olds every day, "exasperating" would be on my "frequently used words list" as well.

I mentiond this to her teacher, Esmat. She was not surprised at all that Avery repeated this since Avery picks up everything that anyone says. She told me that yesterday Avery said, "I live in Oakton, Virginia and my grandma lives in Virginia Beach. It's her birthday."

I wonder if there is a way to make money with this?

I Watched Airplane Way Too Many Times

This weekend, I was scratching Tim's back per his request.

Wanting to make sure I got the right spot, I said, "how's this?" and he said, "lower". So, I lowered my voice a couple of octaves and said, "how's this?"

QT With My Cutie

Avery and I implemented "Operation Stay Out Of Canetto's Hair" on Saturday afternoon for a few hours. He had a lot of work to do, so she and I headed to Reston Town Center for the Reston Festival.

She did a shaving cream picture at the Children's Museum of Northern Virginia tent, got her face painted like a kitty cat, we went on a train ride and then she got an ice cream sandwich and threw some pennies into the fountain. Oh...she also danced to the music of the live band that was performing on stage there. As if we needed further proof that she not only looks like, but behaves like, my mother.

Beautiful

My friend, Amy. Isn't this a great picture?

Relationship Shorthand

I'm totally on a Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne kick right now. I rarely read non-fiction, but I just checked out collections of their work from the library and am thoroughly enjoying them. (I bought Joan Didion's book "The Year of Magical Thinking" last year and have read it twice -- once again recently -- and figured I should probably read more of her work.)

I also just read "Richistan" which is all about the "new rich" and how vastly different they are from old money in terms of sheer amount of wealth, their philosophy on giving, and also discusses how most new multi-millionaires and billionaires never truly retire or lead lives like the old money idle rich. A very interesting (and also non-fiction -- what the hell?) book that I checked out because of the title. (I also select wine based on the label.)

(The whole purpose of this post is to make me seem like I have more depth than my Denise-Richards-reality-show-watching-habits would indicate. It's also why I buy the New Yorker sometimes when I'm traveling. I'm a moron.)

Which reminds me...Canetto and I have a running script that we've had for years. If one of us ever says anything that sounds like it could be finished with, "much like your ex-girlfriend" or "much like your ex-boyfriend" we never hesitate to say it. And example was one time we were standing next to a creek and Tim said something about it, "being wider than it is deep" -- (then, according to our script, I pause and say) -- "much like your ex-girlfriend." We don't even find this funny anymore...we do it more out of some weird sense of obligation. One of many reasons why we can never divorce.

Brash Arriviste

Considering this as a new name for the blog. Or maybe just Arriviste.
Since I'll be making at least half a mil a year in ad revenues very, very soon, I'm looking for something catchier.

Thoughts?

Da Don't Ron Ron

When I was in elementary school, Shaun Cassidy was all the rage. (He was actually my first concert...followed closely by Yo Yo Ma...and then no other concerts until 9th grade when I went to see The Clash. Quite the musical timeline, huh?)

The era of Shaun Cassidy was also about the time the kiosks appeared in local malls that would take a picture of your face and then laser-jet it onto a t-shirt or coffee mug. One night, my family went to the mall and my dad, who never let a craptacular fad go by without participating (he got a CB radio and a dictionary of CB lingo), let my sister and I do this. My utter lack of any sort of fashion sense (I wore one shirt to school at least one day a week that had a glittery iron-on transfer proclaiming me a "Native New Yorker") led me to choose a mint green short-sleeved t-shirt and had my face laser-jetted onto it. I could not WAIT to go to school the next day so that everyone could see how cool I was. Seriously...I'm pretty sure I wore that t-shirt to bed that night and could barely sleep. This was totally cutting edge.

You never saw a prouder kid strut into school the next morning. I walked down the hall and into my classroom, waiting for the envious comments that were sure to come. Instead, however, Marie E. said to me in front of the whole class, "is that Shaun Cassidy on your shirt?"

I was totally deflated and never wore the shirt again. The only thing more humiliating? Re-telling this story to a younger friend a few years ago and having her say at the end of my story, "who's Shaun Cassidy?"

At Least All The Swear Words Got Beeped Out

Last night, things were a little tense at the Canetto household. No one over 30 pounds is sleeping, huge bills keep popping up for random stuff and work is stressful for both of us. I figured I'd give Tim some time alone to do some work and offered to take the Pants to Target...you know, to buy the nipples and chapstick we so desperately need.

We got her 85 pounds of gear required to leave the house and packed it into the car, then opened the garage door. I put the key into the ignition and then...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...at an approximate decibel level of SKULL BEING SPLIT OPEN SLOWLY WITH A RUSTY NAIL.

Tim came running out into the garage so we could figure out how to turn the damn thing off. We couldn't. Avery started freaking out, so we untethered her from her car seat and got her into the house, then we closed the garage door so our neighbors would not kill us, and then finally the alarm stopped. So, I did what anyone would do...tried again. And...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP (times a hundred million).

At this point, our next-door neighbor had come over and was ringing the doorbell to make sure that everything was okay. (For a total paranoid freak like me...I cannot tell you how much I love that our neighbors actually come over when they see or hear anything out of the ordinary. I love that people are looking out for us.)

Deciding not to push our luck further, when the alarm stopped...I migrated everything into Tim's car and we took that to Target. All the way to the store, in her little worried voice, Avery kept saying, "what's wrong with the car, mommy?"

Poor little thing. Either she truly was traumatized or she was banking on the fact that I'm a soft touch...all I know is that she ended up with some Hello Kitty underpants.

Maybe We Should Move To Ashburn

Items on the shopping list next to our phone in the kitchen:

1) Nipples
2) Chapstick

And Don't Let The Cot Bugs Bite

Something I've repressed for a long time came to the surface this weekend. Everyone has their issues and I don't believe in bringing people down by delving into some of the darker parts of my past. However, I've known the dilettantes for so many years now that I trusted I could share this particular baggage, and that maybe by sharing, I could begin to heal.

Feeling very vulnerable, I told them all how for three years when I was a teenager, I was forced to sleep on a cot. That's right. A cot.

My parents bought a beautiful home in Virginia Beach when I was in ninth grade. It was a ranch house with four bedrooms -- three on the main level and one on the opposite end of the house over the garage -- it was the only room on the second floor. This room was huge and had its own full bath en suite. Had I been my parents, I would have made this room the master bedroom -- it was much larger than the master and set apart from everything else. However, they decided that my (one year older) sister should have this. And bought her a new king-sized bed to go in it. (They also cried when she went off to kindergarten AND college; AND finished her baby book. Not that anyone's keeping track.)

I was relegated to a small room on the main level -- right across from my parents and right next to the same-sized guest room. A guest room that had two twin beds in it. Even though we had company about once a year, we had a fully outfitted guest room with two beds in it.

It was at that point that my parents ran out of either energy or resources, because they stuck a cot that used to be in my grandmother's attic in my room. It was supposedly temporary, but somehow I ended up sleeping on that cot for THREE years until my sister went to college and I finally moved up to her old room.

Sure, I tried to mask the pain by saying things like, "it's past my cot time" and joking about how my mother required me to "make my cot" before I went to school in the morning. But keeping up the charade got harder and harder. I'd start to dread Christmas every year, with the inevitable telling of "A Night Before Christmas" and pretending that I knew how it felt to be "nestled all snug in my bed" like all the other kids.

It was very therapeutic, talking about this and not having to live with my awful secret anymore. The dilettantes were extremely supportive. And by that, I mean they laughed in my face.

A Glorious Fourth

Friday we went to a cookout with new people. A former co-worker of mine invited us and we knew only her and one more person there. However, everyone was so cool and so friendly...it rocked. We felt totally comfortable there and Tim and I kinda split up and mingled -- taking turns watching Avery, who was also mingling pretty well. The food was excellent -- just ask Avery who had Doritos for the first time -- roughly 600 tons of them. The house where this was held was really nice, and had a huge deck. I tested the waters with a, "women love guys with big decks" and an "I love deck jokes" -- and people laughed. The litmus test for knowing whether or not people have evolved senses of humor? They laugh at my jokes.

Saturday morning, Avery and I headed to Dulles airport to see our friend, Meredith, during her two-hour layover there. We got there at 6:00am (yawn) and had a great visit. I miss her. We see each other so rarely even though we live only three hours away. Then I headed to Amy's house for our monthly dilettante club activity. We've been doing this for 2 1/2 years now, and I still get excited about it every month. As per usual, we were laughing the entire time we "crafted" (ACK!) -- http://dilettanteclub.blogspot.com. Then, the dilettante spouses (and kiddo) joined us for a cookout and judging of the crafts. It would be interesting to see if I could ever make it through more than half an hour with this group without laughing so hard that I'm crying. I honestly don't think it's possible.

This morning, we had some friends and their two kids over. They just moved back into the area after being away for a few years. The kids hit it off -- got along swimmingly, especially when we were in the pool. (har har). I was telling our guest about the dilettante club yesterday and she said, "which one is the really funny one?" (referring, of course, to Amanda), but to which Tim immediately replied, "Kathleen." I love that guy -- chipped tooth and all.

Right now? Kid just went down for a nap, Canetto is doing some work, the house is spotless, the laundry is done, and I'm blogging and watching Gary Gulman and Brian Regan doing stand up on Comedy Central. Life is beautiful.

The Early Bird Gets To Squirm

As I see it, the only differences between getting to work at 7:30 (like I did today -- thanks slackers on my team who are giving me ulcers) and 9:00 (like I normally do) are:

1) Much better parking space
2) Many more contractors at the 7-11 who let me know that I have pretty feet

It's Always* Something

Avery had a hard time sleeping this weekend, what with all the parties, the steady diet of crap and the new Disney Princess cell phone.

Saturday afternoon I tried to get her to lay down and take a nap while Tim ran out to the grocery store. When it was obvious that she was not going to do that, I figured that I may as well take a shower and start to get ready for the party we were going to later that afternoon.

I brought Avery into the bathroom with me while I showered. She immediately found the basket I keep on the back of the toilet tank to store things like extra soap, TP and panty liners.

While I showered, she proceeded to open a bunch of panty liners and have some fun with them -- she stuck some on the shower door, put one on her leg like a band-aid, and fashioned a coozie out of the others for her bottle.

(Yes, she's two years and eight months old. Yes, that is probably too old to have a bottle. Yes, we are awful parents and are probably dooming her to a life of soft helmets and no friends. And no, they don't ask when your kid gave up their bottle on most college applications.)

Shortly after I finished my shower and had removed most of the panty liners from our home furnishings and our child, she climbed into bed and finally fell asleep. A little while later, Tim came home from the grocery store and went upstairs to check on her.

He came back down, helped put the groceries away, looked through the mail and then casually mentioned to me, "she has panty liners stuck on her bottle, you know."

*Please to appreciate the pun.

Overheard At Sephora

It rained last night, so we took Avery to the kid pit at the mall to let her burn off some energy. Tim stayed with her while I ran to Sephora to buy yet more beauty products. (I've spent a ton on this kind of stuff in the past month or so. Figuring, I guess, that if I take more time dolling up my hair and face, people won't focus as much on my gimpy elephantine knees and the fact that I walk like I'm 80.)

I looked all over for a Shu Uemura eyelash curler. I finally found it and was reaching for it at exactly the same time a woman who could have walked off the "Married to the Mob" set was (she had huge hair, very blue eyeshadow and a very, very loud shirt with plastic hoop earrings that matched it perfectly).

A salesperson walked by at exactly this time and mentioned, "that is the best eyelash curler made." I said, "I'm glad you said that, I've heard really good things about it."

Married to the Mob (MTTM) bellowed, "DOES THIS COME WITH EXTRA RUBBERS?"

The salesperson said, "it comes with one replacement silicone pad, if that's what you mean."

MTTM screamed, "ONE RUBBER? FOR THAT PRICE? FORGET IT. I'M GOING TO WAL-MART."

Oh, well...they probably have a better selection of blue mascara there, anyway.

(Saucer of milk, please.)

Impatience Is My Virtue

Wanna know something funny? Even though my doctor told me not to do any sort of exercise for another 4-6 weeks at my follow-up appointment on Friday, June 13th, I (ha ha) was feeling so good that I (giggle) headed off to the gym Tuesday night for a 30-minute bike workout. In my past cardio-rific life (three months ago), this would have been a waste-of-time workout, but I thought it was the (snicker) perfect way to ease back into exercise.

Thanks to my impatience, the past two days were a nightmare. I was in as much pain as I was right before surgery. Elephantitis knees, severe pain...you name it. Awful.

Today, I'm finally feeling recovered from that, though my knees are still slightly swollen.

I learned my lesson the hard way and will now respect my doctor's wishes. I have to, really -- I'm almost out of Vicodin and have no refills left. The only alternative is to get better, already.

The Order Of Things

Avery and I have a morning routine when I drop her off at school. I park, unbuckle her car seat, and she climbs into the front passenger seat of the car. She pulls the visor down and opens the mirror and puts on the pink lip gloss that I always carry in my purse for just this purpose.

I tell her she looks beautiful, then ask her if she wants to walk into school or if she wants me to carry her. (Mondays are usually carry days.)

This morning, we got to school a little bit late and her class was already outside on the playground. I went out with her. She held my hand to help her balance as she walked on the curb around the jungle gym. After a couple of laps, she found a tricycle and sat down on it. She looked up at me and said, "go to work, Mama" and gave me a kiss. I walked a couple of steps toward the door and she got off the tricycle and ran over and gave me a hug and said, "make sure my bunny and blankey are in my cubby for nap time." Then she went back to the tricycle and started to ride it.

I love that little piece of work.

Love Thy Neighbor

I think my morbid fascination with swinging began at a friend's wedding several years ago. I was a bridesmaid and had gone to the bachelorette party with the bride and many of her friends a few weeks prior to the wedding. After the bachelorette party, I showed the photos from that night to Canetto. He mentioned casually that he thought one woman in the pictures was attractive.

At the wedding, I was chatting with this woman. She said to me, "Wow, your husband it really good looking." So I said to her (in an innocent, returning-the-compliment-kind-of-way), "You know, he said the same thing about you when he saw the pictures from the bachelorette party."

Tim walked over at that moment and what happened next is kind of fuzzy, because as soon as she made a not-so-subtle reference to the fact that she and her husband were looking for another couple to "have some fun with" -- I hightailed it out of there --pretending that the bride needed some assistance that only I could provide. (Tim loves this about me...whenever things get awkward I take off and leave him to deal with it. Hi, sweetie!) Of course, her husband was a cop and she was a teacher. Not surprising, from what I've read about this "lifestyle".

A few months after the wedding, I told the bride the whole story, leaving out names so as not to incriminate anyone. The bride said, "That was Rachel, right?". Don't know what's more disturbing...that my friend was friends with a swinger, or that she didn't give me the heads-up about it.

This weekend, we're going to a housewarming party for one of the dilettantes. She and her husband just moved to Ashburn. Apparently, Ashburn has a huge swinging community. (So retro, right?) So, guess what the rest of us dilettantes are getting her for a housewarming gift? A fishbowl, a keychain, some condoms and a copy of "The Ice Storm." God, we're hilarious.

Beer Tasting With L'Amanda

Last night, Canetto and I went to the Dogfish Head beer tasting dinner with Leon and Amanda (heretofore known as L'Amanda because 1) everyone in Hollywood is doin' it and 2) who doesn't love a name with an apostrophe in it?)

L'Amanda, it turns out, were dressed identically to the authors of "She Said Wine, He Said Beer" that was passed around the tasting. They claimed it was not on purpose. We know better.

There were the usual shenanigans: someone asking if we had seen the "small wood" (a piece of the wooden vessel in which Palo Santo Marron is brewed that was being passed around). Amanda and I said simultaneously, "we haven't seen small wood since junior high." (Pause for laughter that never came...well, other than from us.) Also, Amanda had a boyfriend at the next table wearing an "I >heart< beer" button.

We also tried the 90 and 120-minute IPAs, the Immort Ale (my favorite, and not just because of the name, though it did have something to do with it) and the seasonal Festina Peche (preferred by the Indonesians).

This was all paired with about twelve tons of food. Which was nice, because the 83 pounds I gained over the weekend weren't enough. (A highlight was the portobello and sirloin soup.)

At one point in the evening when 1/2 of L'Amanda went to the ladies room, the host of the beer dinner made an announcement that he was going to wait for the "blonde in the red shirt to return from the restroom" before drawing the number for the door prize (Nationals Tickets). So, when Amanda came back from the restroom, the entire beer dinner was staring at her, and then broke into a round of applause. Now, this happens pretty often for Amanda (as she mentioned), but she was still a little surprised by it. None of us won the door prize, but Amanda did manage to convince Mr.-Beer-Dinner-Who-Noticed-Exactly-What-She-Was-Wearing that she deserved a prize for being such a good sport. With a little subtle urging from the other half of L'Amanda, she ended up with a Dogfish Head trucker hat, that she insisted on wearing the rest of the evening. (Hey, if the F-150's rockin' don't come a knockin')

Addendum 1: As hard as we tried, we never got Leon past the double-shush (our personal best is the triple)

Addendum 2: My liver needs a break.

I Really Hope That's A Gun In His Pocket...

Petro called this morning. A quick check of weather.com indicated that hell had not, in fact, frozen over, so I determined that he must need something.

And he did. He is interviewing for a job with our former employer. An employer who DOES NOT HATE FREEDOM. It is such a small world that it turns out he's interviewing with the same guy I interviewed with a couple of years ago when I was going back to work after a short stint as a stay-at-home-mom. Different position, though. Anyway, Petro needs me as a reference. Kind of hilarious when you think about it. He's using me as a reference with a guy who decided not to hire me. That should give him quite a bit of credibility. (Although, after not hiring me, this guy did hire me to do some freelance writing at a ridiculously high hourly rate, so I guess he didn't think I was a total moron.) (Stay with me here. Rationalization makes me happy.)

Petro and I worked together for this employer who is FIGHTING FOR YOUR RIGHTS for years back in the 90s, and then again in the early 2000s for an Internet start-up company. Before it was even trendy, he was totally my work husband. My work husband who CHEATED ON ME WITH SKANKY CO-WORKERS AND HAD A SECRET GAY LOVER. (I see that and raise him a Smelly Dave.)

Anyway, we're going to try and "do lunch" sometime next week to catch up. Last time we tried this, I went into labor and blew him off. (I'm inconsiderate like that.)

(There, Petro, are you happy? An entire post devoted to you.)

The Post Where I Say "Thong" Five Times

Finally...I own some hanky pankys. After hearing some of my thong-wearing friends rave about this underwear for the past year, I finally bit the bullet (thanks to my Trousseau gift certificate) and bought a pair. I cannot wait to try these on and see what makes them so different from other thongs. (For what they cost, they better make my butt look like I LIVE on the stairmaster.)

When I was pregnant with Avery, I wore (very, very LARGE) thongs. One time, I bent over to pick something up in front of my mom and she could see that I was wearing a thong. She thought it was awful that I was wearing one while I was pregnant. To which I replied, "So, at a time in my life when my ass is the largest it has ever been, I'm supposed to draw MORE attention to it with gigantic-panty lines?"

I Like vIKE

Up until the past few days, I never really understood pill addictions.

Alcoholism I can get behind: booze tastes good. It is always served in social settings. It's fun. Even pot. There is at least an action associated with it. It smells good. I can see why people do it. (Even though I don't.)

But pills? You swallow 'em down and then you're done. They're about as satisfying as eating a rice cake.

This week I became enlightened. My post-surgery knee has been giving me some pain so I tried the prescription I got for Vicodin. A couple of pills give me a little happy buzz and make the pain go away.

Right now, I'm just looking forward to them...it's not a problem until I start to need them. Right? I mean, I can quit any time I want to.

I Share DNA With This

Back in the 70s, my aunt was recently divorced and looking to find an apartment for her and her young daughter.

She was checking out a brand-new upscale apartment complex with a lot of amenities. She wanted to make a good impression, so she was wearing a nice dress and heels.

She got to the apartment a little bit early for her appointment to see a unit, so the sales representative suggested that she take a look around the property. My aunt walked into the state-of-the-art workout room which had a wall of mirrors and the following equipment:

Those "exercise" belts were all the rage back in the 70s and my aunt could not wait to try one out. So, she got on the machine, put the belt around her, faced the mirror, and turned it on.

A few minutes later, a tour group came through the workout room with the sales rep. Some people in the group looked at her in horror, others averted their eyes. She was pretty embarrassed, of course, because here she was all dressed up and shaking away on the exercise equipment.

The sales rep quickly escorted the group out of the room. It was only then that my aunt looked in the mirror and realized that the machine had shaken her underpants down around her ankles.

A Real "I D Ten T" Error

One of my favorite quotes in the world is from Dolly Parton: "Dumb blonde jokes don't offend me, because I know I'm not dumb...and I'm also not blonde."

Sadly, only part of that quote rings true with me. To wit:

(IMPORTANT FACT TO KNOW BEFORE READING STORY: All CSS e-mails follow the convention of initial(s), last name @ consolidatedsafety.com)

I was sending my first corporate newsletter out yesterday -- asked the IT Department if the "CSS All" distribution list reached everyone in the entire company (we have a million people in the field all over the country). They said, "yes". So, I sent the newsletter out to that distribution list, and within a few seconds, got a delivery failure notice from one e-mail address.

Just as I was receiving that, Damon (IT guy/friend) said to me, "I forgot that you don't have permission to mail to that list. I need to change permissions so you can do that." And I said to him, "I'm pretty sure I do, Damon, becuase my e-mail went through...as a matter of fact, I already got one delivery failure notice."

So, he says to me, whose e-mail address is it? And I say (not even kidding here and with total seriousness): "C.S. Sall"

Worst part? As it was coming out of my mouth, I realized what I was saying. Just a few seconds too late.