Speakin' My Language

The Lakers are playing tonight which means this evening's conversations with Honk will be about as stimulating as a Will Farrell movie. Here's one that took place five minutes ago:

From the kitchen I yell to Honk who's eating dinner in front of the TV, "How are they (Lakers) doing?"

him: "It's great, Hon! Thanks so much!"

me: "Whaaaat?... No, not the food! The Lakers! What's the SCORE?"

him: "Ohhhh..." (Still no answer to my question.)

me: "So, exactly how much of what I say do you hear when the game's on?"

him: "Not bad. How are you?"

The Teacher Becomes the Student

"Where did you learn that?" I've been asking this question a lot lately. It seems my daughter has mutated into Google Girl, a walking, talking encyclopedia of preschool facts. All day long Lil' Miss Smarty Pants fires a barrage of "Did you know...?" questions at me. It's like living with a Snapple bottle lid.

She says things like, "Mom, did you know red and blue are colors of the rainbow and together they make purple?" or "Did you know dreams come from our head? Our head makes up stories while we're sleeping." Yesterday, while pushing her on the swings at the park she imparts more of her scientific knowledge to me, "Mom, when the sun's out it makes shadows on the ground. See?"

Who is teaching her this stuff? Her preschool teacher? Dora, maybe? And what kind of lousy excuse of a mother am I? Shouldn't she be learning this stuff from me? And while we're on the subject, since when did a cocoon become a "chrysalis"?

This morning as I was madly trying to squeeze some honey onto my toast she starts in again, "Mom, did you know bees make honey?"

"Yes, actually. I did know that one." (I am pathetically proud of myself for this achievement.)

"Did you know the bees use sunflowers to make it?"

Now I am very quiet. I intensely focus on buttering my toast, hoping she is not expecting some kind of response from me. I'm not sure about this one. My gut tells me she's giving false information, but her confidence is making me second guess myself. Deep inside my brain, the questions begin to swirl, "Bees use sunflowers to make honey? No they don't! Or do they...? I don't think so, but maybe they do... I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!!!"

Something tells me motherhood has a truckload of butt kicking in store for me.

To Walk is Human, To Swim Divine

Never in my lifetime have I witnessed such fear and pessimism about the future. The economic crisis, terrorism, and global warming have cast a dark shadow over many Americans and their dreams for the years ahead.

But recently, I discovered that for some (okay, for one) the future is much more grim than just melting ice caps and evaporating 401K's.

A few nights ago, I sat in the bathroom reading a magazine while Lil' Miss and Baby Dude were taking a bath. As she was assisting her Barbie mermaid dive in and out of bath bubbles, Lil' Miss looked up at me and excitedly announced, "Mom, when I grow up I'm going to be a mermaid!"

me: "Oh yeah?"

her: "Yeah!"

Not wanting to break her heart by revealing the mythical nature of mermaids, I decided to crush her dreams for the future instead. "Well, Honey, I don't think you can become a mermaid. I think you're either born a girl or a mermaid. It's either legs or fins."

her: "Oh..."

me: "Do you think you're going to be okay with a life of legs?"

her: "Yeah, I guess so..."

I've never seen such dejection on a four year-old's face. For Lil' Miss, this is the worst reality of the Great Recession. I know, kiddo. Bipedalism stinks.

Please Pass the Kleenex Box (again...)

I recently accepted a part-time teaching job at a private school in our area. I know, I'm very fortunate. In this tough economy, most people are happy just to hold onto the jobs they have, let alone find new employment opportunities that just so happen to meet their family's every conceivable need.

However, right now I must admit that I'd rather be accepting a job at Hogwarts. Maybe as their new professor of phlegmology? Then I could point a wand right at my nose and cast the disappearing spell, "EVANESCO SNOT-O!"

I'm sick of being sick.

Is There a Doctah in the House?

Bubby always had a way with words. They usually went something like, "You never call, you never write...," or "A little makeup couldn't hurt every once in a while," or "Are you really going out looking like that?" The words I heard most often growing up were, "I don't care who you marry as long as he's a Jewish doctor." She was slightly hung up on the idea. I could've been a drug dealer or double agent to the Russians and she would've been as happy as a matzo ball backstroking in a bowl of chicken soup so long as I was married to a chosen physician.

Honk never had a chance with her. ("Not a Jew?" "Not a DOCTOR?") Eventually though, the surfing gentile won her over with his charm and equally sarcastic wit. But not without any residue. For the remainder of her life, she never called him by his first name. Claiming "senior moments", Bubby always referred to him as "Sheldon" in a desperate attempt to Jew-ify his last name. He got her back by always responding to her with some random name, "Yes, Nancy?"

I think she was still secretly hoping I'd make it up to her by becoming a doctor myself. That's the least a good Jewish girl could do for her Bubby, right? But recently I was reminded just how far I really was from fulfilling the medical dreams Bubby had for me.

I had just picked up Lil' Miss from preschool and was meeting Katy and the boys over at Rubio's for lunch. The kids were all huddled around the gigantic aquarium while we were deciding what to order. Suddenly, the room was filled with the shrieking screams of a baby. My baby. I spun around and found Baby Dude hunched over on the ground, his head just inches away from the corner of a metal post. He was screaming hysterically. I raced over, picked him up, and that's when I noticed the blood pouring out of his forehead. There was a deep gash above his left eye. It was gruesome, right out of a horror movie. I'm pretty sure I saw tendons, muscles, and maybe even a few organs exposed in that wound. Blood was spilling out of it and streaming down his face, onto his clothes, and onto my clothes.

There wasn't a moment to lose. Baby Dude needed medical attention, stat! While I was no doctor, I figured it was as good a time as any to prove that I could act like one. And that's exactly what I would have done if the room hadn't started spinning and my legs hadn't turned to rubber. I just stood there, holding my screaming, blood-gushing boy, and crying right along with him. I was about as useful as a latka in a frisbee contest.

But, thankfully, help was on its way. Katy immediately grabbed paper towels and applied pressure to his wound to stop the bleeding (which evidently is a much better approach than just standing there moaning, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"). Katy fielded questions and suggestions from the concerned customers crowding around us. Katy kindly refused the creepy church leader's offer to stay at Rubios and watch our other kids while she and I took Baby Dude to the hospital (freak!). Katy moved car seats and ushered all of us into her van after everyone in Rubio's begged her not to let me get behind the wheel. Katy drove us to the ER, steering with one hand and passing out suckers and fruit loops to all of our sobbing children in the back seats with the other. Katy did damage control after hearing my hysterical, hardly-coherent phone call to Honk in which I instructed him to "LEAVE WORK IMMEDIATELY, THERE'S BEEN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!" Katy quickly called him back and whispered into the phone, "Your son's fine, but you need to go to the ER and be with your wife." Katy basically saved the day.

When Honk arrived at the ER a few minutes later, he too was a cool cucumber. He calmly picked up our boy, checked out the gash and commented, "Nice one, Frankenstein." Honk helped hold Baby Dude down while the doctors glued his head back together. He watched them with the interest and intensity of an observing medical student. I, on the other hand, stood shaking in the corner, facing the wall with my back to our precious little boy until they were done. As we left the ER, Honk turned to me and asked, "Honey, why are you such a wuss? Seriously, you need to toughen up. He's a BOY. We're gonna be back here with this kid like eighty more times in the next fifteen years." (Don't sugar coat it, Honk. Tell me how you really feel!)

No, I'm still not even close to doctor material and I have a strong feeling that I won't be much better in the future. But I'm sure Bubby would be proud of me. I may not know how to stomach the gory messes of life, but I sure know how to surround myself with people who do. And that's worth some kind of degree, isn't it?

Babysitter's Note

A few days ago, I subbed at the middle school where I used to teach. I don't leave the kids all day like that very often which probably explains the absurd note I left for our babysitter. If you'd call it a note. More like a case study in maternal neurosis. Here's the note beloved babysitter Amy had to sift through early Wednesday morning:

"Hi Amy!
Thank you so much for watching the kids today. My mom will be here at 1pm to pick them up and take them back to her house. She'll put Baby Dude down for a nap at her house so don't let that fellah fall asleep. Do whatever it takes, Amy, and look alive, little boy. Look alive!

Here's just a few "foods" for thought about the day:

Lunch stuff is in the fridge- goods to make pb&j, turkey and cheese sandwiches, etc. I also bought you a salad because I couldn't remember if you were one of those "free-range" types and based on their customer service, I'm pretty sure Vons could care less about the quality of their turkeys' lives.

Help yourself to whatever else you can find- EXCEPT THE SPAGHETTI! It's older than Dick Cheney and probably tastes just as bad.

Baby Dude could also be fine with cut-up turkey, apple slices, string cheese and raisins in case you're like me and get a kick out of making separate meals for everyone.

I left money on the counter for you to take a walk to Golden Spoon after lunch if you want. Be forewarned: Lil' Miss may present a very convincing argument that "My mom MAKES me eat two toppings of m&m's on my frozen yogurt." Be strong, Amy. Be strong.

And some activity ideas...

• play with toys
• read books
• puzzles
• playdoh
• sing songs
• sidewalk chalk
• hopscotch
• go for a walk
• go to the park
• practice shapes and letters
• paint
• play in the front yard
• play in the backyard
• dance (no, I don't know where she learned those moves...)
• brush up on conversational Spanish
• compose sonnets
• joust
• arrange flowers (neighbor's flowers, please...)
• think outside the box
• think inside the box (see Baby Dude's closet for large box)
• party like it's 1999
• study Nostradamus
• reinvent the wheel
• shoot the breeze
• trap freeloading neighborhood cats who use our backyard like a tollroad
• Ignore abovementioned activities and just watch cartoons the whole time (Just make sure you turn the tv off and quickly grab a book to read to them when my mom's car pulls up in the driveway.)
  
  Sorry if I was too detail-oriented (not neurotic, not micro-managing. Detail-oriented.). I just didn't want you to feel stuck or lost like I do most of the time as a mother. Call us if you need ANYTHING! ~Leilen"
  
  Okay, so maybe this wasn't the EXACT note I left her, but it was pretty close. My first draft was even worse. Yes, I write multiple drafts and revisions of my babysitter notes. You got a problem with that?
  
  

Marshmellow Heaven

The kids never leave Lainey and Nudge's house empty-handed. The last time we headed home from their house Lil' Miss and Baby Dude were clutching dixie cups filled to the rim with miniature multi-colored marshmellows. Thanks, Mom.

A few minutes into our drive home, I heard Lil' Miss let out a deep sigh and lament, "Huuuuhhhhh! Only one left..."

I immediately jumped on the opportunity to engage in one of my favorite past times- inanimate object impersonations.

"Oh, please! Please don't eat me!" I pleaded. "I know I'm sweet and soft, but I don't want to go in your stomach. I want to live! I want travel, maybe take up watercoloring... I have a family who will miss me!"

To this, my precocious little princess replied, "Don't worry. Your family's ALREADY in my tummy!"

25 Things

1. I hate tomatoes but love salsa. Yes, I realize they’re pretty much the same thing.
2. I daydream A LOT about Italy. I fell in love with the land, culture, people, and history while backpacking in Europe with friends after college. Sometimes I can hear it calling me back. “Leeeeileeeeennnn, Leeeeeileeeennnn…”, but in more of a big-fat-Italian-woman-yelling-at-me-to-get-out-of-her-restaurant kind of voice.
3. As a kid, I was convinced that my extraordinary young life was the subject of an ongoing documentary. Every joke I told, every milestone, every contemplative moment alone were all caught on tape by hidden cameras tracking my every move. A small part of me is still waiting for the video release of “The Leilen Show”.
4. I’m a wee bit neurotic about matching colors. Shirts match shoes, walls match curtains… you get the point. Working with my dad to choose the color scheme for my website was the only time I thought he might actually throw me out of his office. Being “matchy-matchy” is my one O.C.D.
5. I enjoy the Great Outdoors, but I don’t crave it the way my “woodsy” friends do. I’d rather go to a great museum and stare at paintings of beautiful sunsets and majestic mountains. Embarrassing, but true.
6. I’m filled with dread every time a small utensil slips down the kitchen drain. If there’s ever a time that my garbage disposal would mysteriously come to life I just know it would be when my unsuspecting fingers are dangly in its jaws.
7. I no longer correct people who mispronounce my name. I enjoy hearing the variations of name mutilation. It drives Honk bonkers.
8. I don’t like authentic cuisine. I’d take a greasy plate of nachos at the local Don Jose’s over real south-of-the-border tacos from a stand in Rosarito any day of the week.
9. I spent my entire childhood wishing I could be Pippi Longstocking, that adventurous, big-toothed redhead with levitating braids. I ached to fly an abandoned airplane by flapping my arms, commandeer an island overrun by pirates, and turn a bed into a hot air balloon. The pet monkey and horse I could do without, and maybe that whiney Aunika too, but Tommy I’d keep.
10. I’ve always enjoyed writing but never thought I was very good at it in high school. Now I teach kids how to write.
11. In the sixth grade, I was sent to the school district as a finalist in a penmanship competition. If you’ve seen my handwriting you understand how ironic that is.
12. I think my ears are otherworldly, very Lord of the Rings-ish. At Christmas, Honk always reminds me how good it is of Santa to let me, his most trusted elf, come home for the holidays.
13. I was born into a family of musicians but I can barely keep rhythm. I really didn’t mind except during family jam sessions when I became the “Clapper in the Wings”.
14. I love all things ancient. Someday I hope to go on an archaeological dig in Turkey or Iraq. I’d also love to learn how to read cuneiform. How cool would that be to write my grocery list in cuneiform? Lugging a wet clay tablet around Vons might get old though...
15. I really don’t like being in charge. Second or third in command is fine with me. This is strange considering I was a teacher, but there you have it.
16. I’m a hippie at heart, but don’t tell my husband this. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to convince him otherwise.
17. I love to drive around old cities and look at the houses. Beautiful Victorian architecture makes my heart race. If a wrap-around porch or dormer windows are involved, I might be moved to tears.
18. A bouquet of flowers is always nice, but a bag of starfish or sand dollars could really get my motor runnin’.
19. I was surprised by how natural motherhood came to me. I had never spent much time with babies and never claimed to suffer from “baby fever”. My first ever diaper change was in the maternity ward. But then, if those mothering instincts didn’t kick in! I remember calling Amber a few weeks after Lil' Miss's birth and proudly announcing, “She’s three weeks today! I’ve kept her alive for THREE WHOLE WEEKS!”
20. Of all the world’s heartbreaks, I’m most burdened by abused kids. I hope to be a foster parent someday.
21. I have a thing for hammocks. Add a cozy quilt, a great book, and a glass of lemonade and kids, you’re on your own!
22. I always blame my “fashionlessness” on an unwillingness to spend a lot of money on clothes. But even if money was no object, would I do any better?
23. I value honesty in my friendships. Although the truth hurts, I always feel like my friends really care about me when they call me out on something. How much you wanna bet I get eight million phone calls this week from all of you with old grudges against me that you’re dying to get off your chest?
24. The older I get, the simpler I want life to be. I hope my faith, relationships, and life pursuits become more about love and joy and less about everything else.
25. Maybe I wouldn’t mind teaching college someday. Just throwing it out there.

Kings and Queens

While perusing the books and toy department of TJ MAXX...

Lil' Miss: Mom, did you know I'm really good at riding my bike?

me: Yep.

Lil' Miss: I'm the Queen of Riding Bikes!

me: Hmmm.

Lil' Miss: And Baby Dude is the King of Diapers!

me: That's for sure.

(Silence.)

me: Hey, what about me?

Lil' Miss: You're the Queen of Diet Coke!

ee: No, you've got me confused with my soda mentor, your Annie Weenie (Auntie Wendy).

Lil' Miss: Oh... well then, you're the Queen of... of... PRESENTS!

me: That's convenient, considering where we are.

Beating Around the Blush

Yesterday, I walked into my bathroom and caught Lil' Miss red-handed. Or should I say red-faced? With powder brush in hand, she was dousing her cheeks with my blush. I think she was going for the Russian nesting doll look.
I was shocked. She was busted. But just as I was about to reprimand her for getting into my make-up she quickly reassured me, "No, Mom, it's okay. I'm fiiiiiine. It's me, Mom. It's JUST ME! "

Either she really believes I share her fear of face paint, or that was the shrewdest act of punishment evasion I've ever witnessed.

Why Your Internet Connection Keeps Crashing

I imagine the internet airways are pretty tied up today because of this:

Banish Boring Words is finally available for preodering today!

http://books.barnesandnoble.com/search/results.aspx?WRD=banish+boring+words&r=1

How to make an "Impression" on a Potential Employer

1. Complete application and drop off paper work at job site. Don't call ahead of time despite potential employer's email request that you make an appointment. Just show up unannounced. This will establish you as an independent, "out-of-the-box" thinker.

2. Bring someone along with you, if you like. Perhaps the company of your two-year-old in a stroller? Just be sure not to strap him in so he has full range of motion when the time is right.

3. You probably thought you could just hand off your paperwork to the secretary and be on your way. Not so. The secretary will ask you to wait in the lobby while she phones the head of HR to come out and speak with you. Do not be alarmed. Although you will interrupt HR's urgent project or important meeting when she gets your call, just remember that you are more important and worth every moment of her valuable time.

4. When she takes you back to her office, she will waste no time going over the necessary information. Simultaneously, your two-year-old will announce that he is "done" sitting quietly in the stroller. His squawking and arm flailing will reach new heights of hysteria that leave even YOU speechless. Immediately remove two-year-old from stroller while never breaking eye contact with HR. Stay calm. HR is too impressed by your multi-tasking to be annoyed by two-year-old.

5. Continue pretending to listen to HR's instructions while holding two-year-old in your arms. He's really "done" with this place now and is going to let you know it. You will suffer repeated, close-range blows to your face from those sweet, chubby little hands. The slaps will be coming at you so quickly you will not be able to stop them. Keep smiling and nodding at the appropriate times. You will find it increasingly difficult to maintain your composure when he grabs a handful of your lips and begins to twist them around on your face like a knob. Continue with the smiling and head nodding. You are truly showcasing your crisis management skills now.

6. Unexpectedly, your potential employer will appear and invite you into a conference room to meet the entire staff. Put aside the challenges you've faced thus far because now's your time to shine. Smile and shake hands with confidence as if to say, "Look at me! I'm your gal!" Try not to read too much into their facial expressions. True, a few of them look confused, maybe even a bit uncomfortable, but they probably just ate too much for lunch.

7. It's time to leave the job site and give yourself a pat on the back. You were the picture of professionalism!

8. As you buckle your two-year-old into his car seat, happen to glance into the car window. You may notice long, dark streaks across your cheek in a shade of red bearing a striking resemblance to the lipstick you applied this morning. At this point, I have no further assistance to offer you. You are on your own with this one. Good Luck! (You're going to need it...)

So, Where've You Been?

I haven't been around much lately. In fact, my time here has been dwindling significantly over the last couple of months. At first, I blamed it on the hectic holiday season, but come on now, it's February already. Besides, I wouldn't exactly call not shopping, not cooking, and not going anywhere a "hectic" Christmas.

Then the blame shifted to the kids. They are clearly "anti-blogging". Every time I sit down to do a little tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard, one of them suddenly appears with a Code Red situation for me to handle. Just five minutes ago, Lil' Miss called me into the bathroom to help her clean up a wad of wet toilet paper on the bathroom floor which, by the way, was not wet with water.

Baby Dude prefers a more direct approach to "Operation: Abort Mother's Blogging". While I'm on the computer, he climbs up on my chair, wiggles his way behind me, and hooks his arms around my neck in a choke hold. Shockingly, I don't write very well while being strangled to death. I know, I'm a weak person.

Dude's also adopted a new nighttime persona- Mr. Light Sleeper. And did I mention that his room is right next to the computer? So every time I attempt to bust out a few words, he lets me have it. I can hear him flopping around in his crib and then he starts in with that ridiculous moaning like I was blowing a trumpet in his ear. Such a baby! I told Honk I needed a laptop because I CAN'T GET ANY WRITING DONE IN THIS HOUSE ANYMORE! and he said something about millions of jobs lost, homes in foreclosure and impending financial doom, but yeah honey, we'll get you that laptop.

Truth be told, the absence of blogging probably has a lot to do with the financial crisis. So many unanswered questions about the future. Everything feels uncertain and unknown. I can't think straight! I guess all this stress and fear has really put a crink in my creative hose.

But maybe I should be writing no matter what. Maybe it will remind me that life goes on. I mean, God is always with me anyways, right? Can blogging be a sign of faith?

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Not to go all Taoist on you, but lately I've been thinking about the philosophy of Yin and Yang, the idea that everything in life has opposing forces or dualities like dark and light, negative and positive. No, I'm not really considering the ascetic life of a Chinese monk (although an occasional vow of silence is seriously tempting...), I'm just saying that I can see some truth in it.

Take my job, for instance. As a part-time writing tutor, I can set my own hours, help contribute to the family income, and continually flex my teaching muscles. Not to mention, since my business is based on referrals, I've never had to do any marketing (with the exception of one hot, miserable summer that I spent schlepping tutoring flyers throughout local neighborhoods while Baby Hulk and Lil' Electra clawed each other's eyes out in the jogger). But best of all, I can still be home with my kids. Is there a Yang, a "light" side to my job? Oh yeah, and man, that light is BLINDING.

But let us also consider the Yin. While tutoring does allow me to be home with Lil' Miss and Baby Dude, I'm not really there for them. I'm working, an action defined by my kids as "not playing with us". And so far, I haven't been very successful at revising a student's essay while outwitting Lil' Miss in a game of Old Maid at the same time. (Believe me, I've tried.) It's a tough balancing act, one that keeps me dog-paddling in a pool of guilt. But fortunately, we have a slew of fabulous babysitters (whose names and phone numbers I will never, ever, EVER give you, not even if you pin me down, sit on my chest, and dangle a loogie over my head, so don't even ask). My kids absolutely adore our sitters and would happily leave me face down in a ditch if it meant fifteen minutes in their presence, so that helps. But even still, I feel pulled in two directions, one of which is not bringing me any closer to a "Mother-of-the-Year" banquet held in my honor.

Moreover, I'm forced to deal with some "interesting" behavior due to the nature of my clientele. I'm still not exactly sure how this happened, but I pretty much own the local market on tutoring third and fourth grade boys in writing. It's a bizarre phenomenon. As are those boys. God love 'em, but they are a strange breed. They can be hysterically funny and head-waggingly weird all in an hour's time. When asked to elaborate with details about why their summer trip to San Francisco was so amazing, they randomly blurt out, "I like CHICKEN!" When pressed to develop a resolution for their story about buried treasure they explain, "Then I'll wipe out all the pirates with my machine gun and blow up their lifeless bodies with hand grenades!" (Notice there's still no mention of buried treasure, but at least some good action verbs...) My personal favorite was the use of a shotgun in a lovely story titled, "Saving the Puppy". On the bright side? I've become somewhat of an expert on World War II aircraft and weaponry. Yay!!

Sometimes I feel more like an animal trainer or cat herder than teacher, like that long forgotten white-woman-turned-Indian, "Dances with Squirrels". Although they crack me up most of the time, these boys can also drive me batty. Last week I watched in horror as one of them with a nasty winter cold played basketball with his used Kleenex. Don't believe me? Here's the "Snot Box" he was aiming for.

Their distractibility is mind blowing. It doesn't take much- a rustling leaf in the backyard, a car alarm going off, the sound of their own breathing- to launch their minds like misguided missiles into mental galaxies far, far away. The discovery of eraser shavings on the table or the sight of a water ring left by their cup could easily hypnotize them for eons. "Well," you say, "at least their sitting still, right?" Sure, if by "sitting still" you mean kicking the legs of my table, tapping their pencil like Ringo Starr, and asking to use the bathroom every three seconds.

My tutoring sessions have become breeding grounds for absurd tangents and unsolicited advice. Summarizing an article about the history of kites could easily segue into a discussion about the intelligence of octopuses and whether they'd make good tutoring students. I especially enjoy their insightful parenting wisdom such as, "Hey, you know what you should do when Baby Dude cries? You should just put him in his room and lock the door until he stops. Just leave him in there, for hours and hours... Some things just take time with kids." I usually respond with, "Remind me not to call you in eight years to babysit them."

It's all pretty harmless so I wouldn't exactly say my job has a dark side. Maybe just a shady one at times. But this is true of most things in life. There are always things to be thankful for and always things to complain about. I guess it just depends on what you choose to focus on. For example, I'm pretty thankful that I don't have to tutor octopuses. How's that for optimism?

A Year in Review

Some of my friends like to look through their calendars at the end of the year to reflect back on memorable people, places, and events. I think it's much more interesting to clean out the "Favorites" file on my internet browser. As I search to delete old websites that I've bookmarked over the year, I find myself smiling the same way I do when I look through an old photo album. I even learn a few life lessons along the way. Here are just a few of "my favorite things" of 2008.

1. www.crateandbarrel.com
Apparently, I was in the market for one of these entryway benches because there were at least fifteen other sites similar to this one, all of them benches of dark wood, approximately thirty-six inches long. Funny how I completely forgot about it, the bench I just HAD to have, the bench I fantasized about, arranged under our entryway mirror in my mind a thousand times...

2. http://www.theracingexperience.com/
I spent weeks researching various car racing schools for Honk's birthday. I think this example serves as some pretty good evidence that despite my incessant throat clearing, a decade of dinners consisting of tacos, spaghetti, taco salad, and spaghetti salad, and whiny complaints about dirty, discarded socks, I am still the BEST WIFE EVER!!!


3. http://www.cuddlebabies.com/
I remember how stoked I was to discover this site. They sent me a printing kit so my kids' actual handprints could be scanned onto silver charms. Very cool. These charms earned me the highly sought after "Daughter-In-Law-of-the-Year" award.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend these precious charms to you because dealing with their customer service was about as enjoyable as having a broken arm reset. They overcharged me, never returned my phone calls, and basically gave me the run-around. (Bitter? Who's bitter?) This one is a great reminder that you can have a great product (or image or message or philosophy etc., etc.), but if you don't treat people well, who cares? As it stands, I'd rather wear my children's toenail clippings around my neck than one of their stupid charms (unless they'd like to return my money and my phone calls in which case, YES, of course I'll wear your adorable charms...)

4. www.disney.go.com/magicartist/coloring/index.html
I'd say about half of my 2008 bookmarks were princess-related sites: princess videos, princess toys, princess gowns, princess games... This one is an online princess coloring page from the Disney website.

Holy Fairy Godmother, was that girl crazy about princesses! Almost everything we did and everywhere we went involved some element of princessmania. How many trips to the grocery store, the bank, and the library did those princess gowns make? At some point they no longer felt like cartoon characters, but like distant relatives or ancestors whom we kept alive with our dress-ups and reinactments.

But those gowns don't get out all that much anymore. Occasionally, when a friend comes over to play, Lil' Miss might take out her princess barbie dolls or open the lid to her chest and rummage around for a certain gown, but not all that often. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think Lil' Miss's princess stage might be coming to a close. For all my eye rolling and deep sighing while assisting in those countless princess wardrobe changes, I will really miss those ladies. (sniff, sniff...)

5. http://www.customcorsets.com/
About this time last year, I was being prepped for abdominal surgery. After delivering Baby Dude, I discovered an abnormal lump under my right rib cage. I showed family members and close friends who felt it and said, "Hmmm... You should definitely get that thing checked out." I went to my Primary Physician who felt it and said, "Hmmm... You should definitely have a surgeon check that thing out." I went to a reputable Newport Beach surgeon who felt it and said, "Hmmm... hernia? tumor? CANCER? You should definitely have an ultrasound taken of that thing, whatever it is... I'm still scheduling you for surgery next week."

I went to get an ultrasound and quietly asked the technician, "So, listen. I know you're not supposed to say anything, but just between you and me, what do YOU think it is?" She never took her eyes off of that ultrasound machine when she whispered under her breath, "So they really ruled out a floating rib?"

"A WHAT? I asked.

"A floating rib. Go look it up. I'm just saying, it looks and feels like one to me..."

I raced home and typed in "floating rib" on the internet. In case you're an anatomical nitwit like myself, allow me to introduce you: Reader, Floating Rib. Floating rib, Reader.

Floating ribs are classified as our bottommost ribs which are not attached to our ribcage. They are actually joined to our back vertebrae, making them more... pliable. During my floating rib research, I discovered numerous accounts of women who after giving birth to big babies (Baby Dude definitely fell in the "big baby" category at 9 lbs, 11 oz.) discovered ribs poking out of their abdomens. Apparently, big, uterus-hogging babies can actually push out or reshape the floating ribs. My reading convinced me that it was definitely a floating rib. It had to be! It was the only thing that made any sense. But I was still scheduled for surgery in a few days!

Meanwhile, the ultrasound tests came back inconclusive. I mentioned the floating rib to my primary physician who said, "Hmmm... could be!" I mentioned the floating rib to my surgeon who said, "Hmmm... could be! Uhhhhh... let's postpone surgery for now."

Good idea, doc! Geez, so much for faith in the medical profession! If I ever encounter another body oddity again, I'm going straight to an ultrasound technician and to the only true, unbiased source of knowledge left on this planet- Wikipedia!

Relieved that cancer, tumors, and surgery were no longer on my long list of things to worry about, I still had to deal with the rib protrusion. It looked like a baby alien had burrowed itself in my body cavity and was trying to poke it's head out through my stomach. (Maybe an exaggeration, but only a slight one.) What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Pretend that everyone's ribs open and close like security gates? Now how was I supposed to enter and win the Mrs. Huntington Beach beauty/bathing suit competition? (Hey! What are you laughing about!) I had to explore my options and that's when I came up with this brilliant idea:

That's right, a custom-made corset. Think Elizabethan-Courtier-Meets-Suburban-Housewife, minus the sultry poses and seductive eyes. I know. Not exactly what you were thinking for me, but I was desperate! How else was I supposed to force my mutant rib into submission?

Lucky for me (and for my family, friends, and anyone else who comes in contact with me), I would soon discover from internet testimonials that these expensive boa constrictors for the waist are uncomfortable, sweaty, and must be worn all day and all night for MONTHS AT A TIME. I tried to imagine how I'd carry out my motherly duties with one of these things on. "Sorry, kids. Mommy can't play Hide-n-Seek anymore because I can no longer bend down. I also can't give baths, cook, or do any other activity requiring physical movement. Mommy would also appreciate it if you didn't make her laugh or turn too quickly unless you enjoy watching her cry like a wounded puppy."

It's been quite a while since I've come back to this site. It's a good reminder that life's uncertainties and unexpecteds can make you feel terrible and desperate in the moment. But usually, time has a way of working things out or helping you to forget. At least until bathing suit season comes around again...

I know, this post was WAY too long. But we're talking about a whole year here! I could waste an hour of your reading time just talking about port-a-potties, so what'dya expect?

It's amazing to think about all that goes on in one year, isn't it?