I Should Make Some New Goals.

I just guest posted on Design Mom thanks to the mysterious and generous Gabby. I was gone to San Diego for 24 hours to return to my loving, grateful family (One point for mysterious: Who leaves for a 24 hour trip?! ME!) Coincidentally, the first thing sweet little Margaret said to me when I arrived home was “Get me a drink of water.” (One point for not mysterious: Who lives their life in constant fear of the unrelenting demands of a 3 year-old?! ME!)

Turns out, and I know this will be A BIG SURPRISE TO MOST OF YOU: I’m not as mysterious as I sometimes think I am. My fallback to making dumb jokes about potty training and “woo-whooing” when someone takes my picture in a convertible should have been my first clue, but I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.

Here is a peek into my mind as I assessed how well I was keeping up on my goal of being more mysterious:

Mysterious

1. Using my maiden name when traveling (Valentine sounds so international!)

2. Driving in a Murano Crosscabriolet (not yet released to the public!)

3. Walking through the hotel room to my room (I could be anyone!)

4. Traveling by myself (no talking down a toddler from having a meltdown in public--surprisingly refreshing!)

5. Representing Design Mom as a freelance writer (Time Magazine's Top 50 Blogs!)

6. Name dropping famous people I know (Ever heard of a little band called. . . Maroon5? )

Not Mysterious

1. Referring to myself as a Mommy blogger.

2. When answering the question, “How many kids do you have?” at dinner, I took a big bite of roll, not anticipating it being so hard, and quickly found I would have to gnaw it like a hungry dog devouring a bone and simultaneously say, “Oh, I have 5 kids.”

3. Taking out my crappy camera from Target to photograph the car when everyone else has expensive Cannon's with fancy zoom lenses.

4. Not tweeting during conversations, or ever, and asking someone what they were they were tweeting about (lame).

5. Making a joke about breast pumps and poo during dinner in a self-deprecating way (does it count if they got a good laugh?)

6. Not knowing how to turn on the Murano (new cars have buttons, people! Learn from me!) or why the car when on, won't go (emergency brake, Einstein).


I was driving partners with a Christina from Mommy Loves Coffee and she is super cool.


I took this picture (with my dumb camera) to remember that cool tree on the Nissan Design property. The whole Design Center was so inspiring, with cool architecture and hipsters walking in and out.


This is the show car that eventually turned into the Nissan Quest. The inside of this car was incredible, with orange Jetson-like interior seats and no trunk which makes a larger interior. If it were on sale like this, I'd buy it tomorrow.

(*I received flight, hotel, and food from Nissan, just so you know. They didn't tell me what to write, but they were really nice to me and let me in the lobby, at least, of their Design Center. )

Spring

I'm not fancy enough to have people beating down my door (metaphorically) and emailing me to design/pretty-up my site (literally), so sorry for the annoying "this photo is no longer available" posts where my cute wallpaper used to be. I learned how to change the background to my blog ONCE BEFORE, isn't that enough? And I'm too impatient this week to relearn it. Aren't I glamourous? Do you want to hear about how I clean my bathroom? I have three steps. . . I'm just kidding. That's classified, special information I'll save for my book.

No, I'm not writing a book. (Or AM I? I'm so mysterious!)

But I did get a new hairdo for the Spring. Yes, I am a predictably female and getting my hair done makes me feel better on the inside, too (not so mysterious now). And here I thought I had Seasonal Disorder (SAD), but turns out I forgot to cut or color my hair for 6 months! Whoops!



I haven't had short hair for a long time, and I forgot you have to "do" it. No more ponytails. Wow--this could be a WILD SPRING! I had enough energy to sign some kids up for Spring Soccer and Track. I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it, but signing up is good intention enough for today.

Happy Valentine's Day

I just guest posted for CJane, my sister-in-law (I'm sure you already know the link) and I wrote about Valentine's Day which, incidentally, has me thinking of Valentine's Day and how I see it differently now that I have my own kids.

My son Miles is sending his first Valentine to a girl, on purpose and not in the obligatory you-have-to-give-everyone-in-the-class-a-Valentine-sort-of-way. It's one of those Student Council pink cookies kind of thing and he's giving it to her anonymously. I'm trying not to act too excited, but I don't hide my facial expressions too well. Topher tells me that the more I want to talk about girls with the boys, the more I'll be disappointed.

Owen has spent approximately 38 hours on his class Valentine's box because he's trying to incorporate a mechanical mechanism in it that will "spin" the candy. This is completely his own idea. I just give the kids a shoe box (only one had a lid--I don't keep shoe boxes, I'm a minimalist!), some paper I have lying around, markers, paint, and tell them to go to town. This year I was really special and got some stickers. The kids were impressed. Not "scented, colored doilies" impressed, but "Hey, Mom actually bought some heart stickers!" impressed.

Phoebe would hand write a thank you note to everyone in her class if she could because she's nice and genuine. She actually thought about who would get each Valentine and if they would like the one with a free coupon for a donut or hot chocolate best. I really like that about her. It would never occur to her that some kids (boys) would just write their name on a random Valentine and give it to "whoever." I love that I bought donuts one day weeks ago at Krispy Kreme and they gave me enough Valentine's to give to all my kids' classes. That was super convenient. Things like that make me loyal to a store (I'm not joking).

Hugh wrote his name on each Valentine, as suggested by his teacher, which I thought was weird. She made the suggestion that they don't try and write each kids' name, but just their own name over and over to practice. I'm all about "lowering the bar" and everything but for me, not my kids. Also, it's a Valentine--shouldn't they just be able to do whatever they want without it being turned into homework? First the greeting card companies, now THE SCHOOL wants to be the boss of Valentine's Day? Sheesh.

I got Margaret a pink t-shirt with a kitty on it for Valentine's Day that says "I'm purrrrrfect!" which I'm normally opposed to (cheesy t-shirts with stupid sayings), but since she thinks she's a cat most of the day and she has been potty-trained for weeks now (SUCCESS!!!) and it was on sale for $2.50, she has it. Valentine's Day will most likely be a regular day for Margaret: She will be mostly naked, won't let me brush her hair, and will meow when she wants food, and hide under the furniture when I tell her she can't have a popcicle.

My master plan is in the advanced stages

Oh, so Fall came and went. Summer's over, then there was Fall and now, because there's snow on the ground and Target sends me seven emails a day about free shipping, I know that Christmas is close. The kids are all in school and doing stuff, so it's all a blur to me. But I have these great pictures I want to have so when I have time in my old age to look at and remind myself of what I was always complaining about being so busy with I will remember (because I suspect I might lose my mind sometime in the near future if the present trend of losing the remote is any indication).

Hugh played soccer. He was dedicated (to getting treats at the end) and enjoyed playing (in mud puddles with his friends about 100 yards from the field).

Phoebe started taking ballet with some of her cousins.

They're delicate little flowers who talk me into buying them ice cream after lessons. Let's face it, it doesn't take much to convince me, but I play my role. Oh, I play my role. I have introduced these girls to: Dairy Queen, Dilly Bars, Dipped cones, and Slurpees, and count these collective introductions into their palate and vocabulary as my single greatest accomplishment as an Aunt.

The neighborhood kids like to play at our house. That's a blessing and a curse, isn't it? Inclement weather doesn't slow these guys down. I'm rethinking the Nerf guns I bought for Christmas last year. Definitely rethinking.

Owen played football in the Fall and they kept winning, so I felt bad hoping they wouldn't win so I could stay home and be warm. Those games were cold, but he came home really dirty and tired, which is part of my greater, somewhat evil, plan.

Margaret is focusing on "being awesome" and doing a great job at it. Just recently, she has decided that she is a pink kitty named "Pickles" and meows at us day and night. She still thinks wearing underwear "is gross," but she's fine with sitting in her own filth. Yeah, so, logic's on my side, but it's not much of what I'd call "practical help."

And me? (thanks for asking) I welcome any and all "practical help."

a stick of butter, a loaf of bread, crushed pineapple, and a new pen.

My black ink pen exploded all over me at the grocery store while I was crossing off items off my list. It reminded me how futile it is to make lists, because they never work for me. I always forget something. It's ridiculous. Going to the grocery store is like walking into a black hole and I lose all concept of time and space. I daydream and I'm mesmerized by the neatly stacked shelves and bright marketing. It's all like an Andy Warhol painting--in real life! I'm also easily distracted by sale items and good-looking food, too. Marketers love me because I'm the female between 34-49 head of the household who does the primary grocery shopping, so I know I'm an easy target and I'm being unfairly singled out. (Like when Kacy pointed out that we were humming along to "the cool music" in a Swiffer commercial--that's when I first realized I was now "target demographic.") I don't go to the grocery store hungry, but I'm always in the mood to eat, so there's that, too. It's all just a bad combination.

I thought I was being so great at writing a list down. And I never cross off items on my list. Just moments before, I was patting myself on my back at how organized and prepared and calm I was in this usually stressful situation. I thought is was necessary because I was doing "the week of Thanksgiving" marathon shopping. That's some serious grocery shopping and I have a lot of food expectations for this week (and I think a lot about pie) and I didn't want to have to come back to the grocery store and lose another day of my life. But I probably will and the exploding pen was my message from the universe saying, "A list!? Nice one. You're too weak to withstand my evil magnetic pull. . .You'll be back!"

So there I was next to the deli, distracted by the exotic cheeses, and my black ink pen ran down my right hand and down my list. I tried to fervently blot out my pathetically long list, but it made things worse of course. I had to guess a couple of items. I still don't know why I had crushed pineapple on my list. I think that was a misread. So now I have permanent black ink all over my hand in a cool, twisty pattern that won't wash out and when people inevitably ask me "What happened?!" (Why do people ask that--because they really don't know why ink would get on your hand or because they're making conversation?) I simply tell them that I opened a horcrux and I'm slowly dying.

The name of my blog isn't random

I've had a few "almost famous" moments. I thought I would share them here.

1. I had a crazy day--the kind where you are requested by children and children's teachers and leaders to be in a few locations at one time--and found myself one night at the Pinewood Derby at our local church building. I hate the emotional tension of these things, but since my son Owen didn't care and had fun and because there WERE NACHOS I thought the evening was a great success after a running-around-to-things-others-want-me-to-go-to-but-I-wouldn't-choose-for-myself kind of day. I drove home in my dented minivan with a car full of excitement, some balloons, a participation certificate for "Good Sportsmanship" (Last year we won "Safest Car"--we still laugh at that one), and a derby car missing a wheel, I sat down to fold laundry and watch tv (oh, the luxury!) I saw Mario Lopez on EXTRA! EXTRA! on the red carpet at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show with my brother. You know, just talking to him and asking him 'sup. So, basically we had the same day.

2. Then, this one time, I had another regular day* and I thought it was a pretty noteworthy day because I had finished all the laundry in one day which, while I'm typing this, sounds really pathetic, but I really do get a lot of joy from accomplishments like this because I'm always a little unsure if it's physically possible, with the timing of my machine and the age of my dryer, to consistently dry several loads and finish in one day. It's like a challenge I give myself--a dare I would suggest on Mythbusters or something. So when I accomplish something like that, something I didn't think physically or scientifically possible, it delights me more than it should, but I'm going with it.

Also, (feel free to skip down to the next paragraph, but I'm going to preserve this memory for my posterity) I cleaned out the dryer vent in my dryer. I thought I was cleaning it out with a bottle scrubber, but, turns out (this is the exciting part) I was packing it down! I live in such danger! So I figured it out, and grabbed out chunks of lint for a long time, messed up my wrists in the process, but felt like an Olympian athlete when I was done. Seriously, I love that kind of accomplishment. It's so satisfying! And, it cut down my drying time significantly. Again, boring, but delightful! Then I checked my email and was about to tell my family my success (we Valentine's celebrate all things clean and cleaned-out. They would have appreciated photos.) And my brother James wrote to tell me he was in Paris. At the Lenny Kravitz home which is amazing. Gorgeous. Incredible. Or so I'm told.

3. Someone suggested I write a book to Sheri Dew, who I adore, then someone else said there's no way I could because I have 5 kids. (Someone else is right. Who would do the laundry when I had a deadline? No one else can do it in one day! I have a scientific system!)

4. I was in a movie written and directed by my dear friend Daryn Tufts (Go see "My Girlfriend's Boyfriend!") but my part was cut and didn't make it in the movie. But, then again, Daryn's acting part was cut, too, and it's a really good movie, so I like to think cutting me out of the movie contributed to his art. It's part of the creative process. . . me not being in it.



*Get up, feed kids, clean up, get kids to school (repeat 3 times for 3 different schedules: middle school, elementary, kindergarten/preschool, feed kids, clean up, feed kids, clean up, put kids to bed, put them to bed again.

First Thing Is First

Margaret decided that as long as everyone else was going to school, she would refuse to take any naps. She is not interested in being potty-trained because underwear is, as she says it, "Is gross."

Hugh's in kindergarten.

This is his "first day of school" photo.

Owen's first day of 5th grader.
Minutes before this photo, Owen ditched me for "the outside the classroom" shot, laughing at me trying to catch up with him and saying "SEE YA!" Seconds before this photo, I walked into his classroom and loudly embarrassed him by saying "Owen! Sweetie! Mommy wants to get a photo of my big boy out here!" He rolled his eyes and was mortified when his teacher agreed to pose with him. Owen will learn. Oh, he'll learn. But that look in his eyes scares me and keeps me up at night. He's plotting his revenge, and it'll be good. And exact. And well timed. I'm screwed. (Isn't it good to know 12 year-olds can teach school? P.S. When did I get old, exactly?)

Phoebe's in second grade. She planned this outfit herself, head to toe. This is her second year in French immersion and I, officially, cannot understand or even piece together here and there her conversations. This could be dangerous for a nosey mother like me.

We live in a world where my son Miles is in middle school. (I'll let that sink in.)

He lets me take pictures of him at the bus stop FULL OF GIRLS.

He also humors me as I take a picture of him getting on the bus. He's never ridden a BUS TO SCHOOL before! I like it that Miles let me take this picture (even paused for it). He's considerate of his dear mother. I'm surprised this photo is clear, as I was sobbing when I was taking it. Just kidding! I held the tears in until the bus pulled away and one, single tear dripped down my cheek as I waved and yelled "I love you! Have a wonderful day!" Just kidding! I ran home and tried to stifle the sporatic sobs as I fake smiled and waved to neighbors and fellow joggers and burst into tears as soon as I walked in my front door. Just kidding! I didn't care about fake smiling to the neighbors!