And So It Begins

Well, after nearly two months of keeping the house "show ready" and chasing after the girls with Windex to wash their fingerprints off of the sliding glass door, we have received an offer on the house.  The offer is nothing less than shitty, but we are lucky to be getting additional monies from Herr's new employer to cover the loss.  Here's the catch:  the buyers want to close on July 31.  As in 4 weeks from now.

Herr and I are flying to Nashville on Saturday to find a house,  but not before I go see Dave Matthews with my girlfriends tomorrow.

Sometimes, it Really IS More Complicated

In yesterday's newspaper, there was a front page article on Nathaniel's death and the amazing decision his parents made by donating his organs.  Because of his organ donation, three people are alive today.  After reading the article, I was completely in awe of Nathaniel's parents and Nathaniel himself.

According to the newspaper, they still aren't 100% sure what caused his death and are awaiting autopsy results.  However, in February, he had febrile seizures,  which are normally harmless and are caused by a fever. He recovered from the seizure in February.  However, he had a seizure at school last Tuesday. Because the doctors weren't able to keep his body temperature and oxygen levels stable, his brain swelled and he died.

I can certainly understand now why the daycare director answered me the way she did.  As far as she knew--there was a seizure.  Besides, I am sure she has very little experience in dealing with an issue such as this, even if she had coaching from the corporate attorneys.  The teacher who witnessed the fall with me really IS in Belize and won't even find out until tomorrow that Nathaniel died.  Now that my conspiracy-theory imagination is on idle, I do understand that it was much more complicated than a fall.  

I decided to send them a sympathy card.  By the way, have you ever bought a sympathy card?  I spent 30 minutes in the card aisle at Target tearing up and trying to choose the card that sucked the least.  In the end, I wrote them a note sharing my last memory of Nathaniel from the perspective that he was an amazingly tough kid and that it was a testament to them as parents. I didn't go into detail about the fall--I just didn't see the point.  The seizure would not have been caused by a fall.

While I can at least sleep at night now, knowing that the daycare wasn't trying to do a massive cover-up, it is still really tough to imagine that these sorts of medical tragedies happen.  It's tough to imagine the hell the parents are going through.  But the silver lining in this very dark cloud is that there are two children and an adult alive right now because of his gift.

Gone Baby Gone

I was instantly sick to my stomach on Monday when I saw the letter that Herr had brought home from daycare.  One of the children, "N," had "become ill on Tuesday, June 10 and died of complications" on Friday, June 13.  The note went on to say that "N" had been a hero because his organs had been donated and that we needed to respect the privacy of the family at this time. Since I don't socialize with any of the parents, I don't know any last names at daycare--I just know a few names of some of the children.  I called the daycare because I wanted to know if "N" had been in either of the girls' classes.  If so, I needed to figure out how to handle this with them, if at all.

When I called the daycare, the Director informed me that I certainly did know "N" because he and his father walk in the exact same time I did every day.  At that moment, my heart stopped.

I am one of three parents who show up at 6:30AM to drop off my kids.  In addition to me, there is a woman who drops off her two toddlers and a father who drops off his toddler.  For over a year, the father and I have said good morning to each other, commented on how much our kids have each grown.  I told him it was a phase a couple of months ago when "N" was getting belligerent when he would drop him off.  I saw this little boy go from being a baby brought into the facility in his car carrier, to being a 16 month old who was a wobbly walker.

My heart stopped for another reason.  Once I was told it was "N" who had died, I remembered that last Tuesday morning, I had been a couple of minutes late in dropping off the girls. "N's" father was walking out as I was getting Genna out of our car.  We exchanged nods and I went inside.  The classes in this facility do not have walls.  They are divided by bookshelves that come up to one's hip.  I was on one side of a bookshelf, getting the girls' breakfasts ready.  One of the teachers, "N" and one of the other toddlers was on the other side. The teacher and I were chatting about who knows what, when she suddenly said, "N, you are going to FALL!"  She and I both froze as he fell.  Hard.  He hit the bookshelf with the back of his head.  It made a strange thumping noise.  Neither of us moved.  I didn't move because, well, kids fall.  I trained myself to not scream out when the girls fell as toddlers, because I didn't want to scare them or encourage them to cry.  We waited a split second, but he didn't cry.  He didn't make a sound.  He just looked a little stunned.  I looked at the teacher and said, "Now THAT is one tough kid."  She said, "I know!  It's amazing."  I then turned around, kissed my kids good-bye and left.

After remembering all of this, I asked if "the fall" had anything to do with "N's" death.  I was told, "I can't tell you."  To me, that tells me that it did.  I couldn't sleep Monday night because I had convinced myself that I had been a foot away from him and didn't do anything when he fell. I spoke to the director again yesterday and told her that I needed to make sure that the fall didn't have anything to do with his death.  Guess what she told me?

"There was no fall."

"Oh yes there was," I said.  " I was there when it happened."

She then went on to say that she couldn't tell me what happened but, "there were a lot of different factors involved in what happened," and that she was sure that "the girls probably saw the ambulance come on Tuesday morning," and that "it was all really complicated."

I am beside myself.  On the one hand, my heart is completely broken for these parents who have lost their only child.  I cannot even imagine the utter torture they are going through.I pray I never have to experience that.  However, I am very suspicious of the fact that the daycare refuses to disclose the details of his death.  I know that if he had died from  a contagious disease, the health department would require that parents be notified.  I would think that any time a child is taken away by ambulance from a daycare and later dies, it has to be disclosed. What if he had gotten into something poisonous?  What if he choked on something?

I keep thinking about the fact that the teacher who witnessed the fall hasn't been in school since that day. Is the school trying to cover up the fall?  Is the teacher REALLY in Belize this week and doesn't even know that "N" died the way they are saying?  I don't think that any negligence occurred when the fall happened.  However, if the fall was the cause of his "illness" I don't know what happened after the fall, or how long before an ambulance was called.  What happens if the school gets sued?  Only two of us saw the fall.

I know that I wouldn't be reacting this way if I didn't know who he was or saw what I saw last Tuesday.  I would be devastated for the family, and I would still want to know the cause of death, but I don't think I would be this obsessed with it.  If I could be sure that the fall had nothing to do with his death I would be able to let it rest. Eventually.

What do you think?  Do parents really have the right to know?  If the daycare is going to deny that his death had anything to do with the fall, do I drop it?  Do I contact the parents?  Do I wait to see if the school gets sued?

A Letter to the Men in my Neighborhood

Dear Steve, Mack, Bill and Lon:

I feel quite lucky that we moved to a neighborhood where the homeowners really care about their homes and do so much to keep things beautiful. We have no cars on cinder blocks or unkempt lawns here. Most of you quickly shovel or snow blow after a snowfall. You clean your gutters, paint your shutters and wash your cars regularly.

Most of you cut your grass twice a week--TWICE a week! It is amazing that the grass has been growing so fast to warrant that, but you all are totally on a schedule. It has even shamed Herr into doing the same thing in order to keep up with all of you and not have the loser lawn on the block.

I do, however, have one request. I need all of you to start wearing shirts when you cut your grass. I am begging you. I am trying to sell my home. I think your collective moobs and bellies may be hampering our home sale.

Mack, I first noticed that you were doing the semi-nude lawn care last year. I cringed last year when he would see me and wave. Now that we don't speak and you don't wave, it is a little easier to take. However, you insist on wearing shorts that were obviously from your 1984 high school gym class. They are shorter than Daisy Dukes and REALLY tight, Mack! Have some dignity.

Steve and Bill--I almost feel bad for including you in this letter. After all, you are both well over 70. I realize that you both probably have the, "Fuck it--I'm old and I won't wear a shirt outside if I don't want to" attitude. Maybe you are trying to speed up the Golden Years by getting skin cancer. Whatever your reasons may be, I need you to consider my children. They have asked on more than one occasion why you both have such "long" breasts. I know that we can all look forward to having boobs that look like socks full of nickels, but lets keep them under wraps, shall we?

And Lon--don't think I forgot about you. How can I forget you when your image is permanently burned into my retinas?! You spend, by far, the most time prancing nearly naked in your front yard. Then, as if all of the cutting, trimming and sprucing wasn't enough, you then will take your garden hose and water your perfectly black-topped driveway for an HOUR. Not your lawn. Your DRIVEWAY!! What the Hell is wrong with you? Do you not pay for your water? I sure as Hell pay for mine. Is there such misery in that house of yours that the only thing left for you to do is water your driveway? Since you do this every damned Sunday, it stands to reason that people who are driving up to our Sunday afternoon open houses are seeing your crazy half-naked, water-wasting ass and thinking, "Ummm, let's go to the next house on our list."

Now before you all start thinking I am a big old bitch, hear me out. Have any of you ever seen me in the front yard in a bikini? No. Have you ever seen any part of me flopping around? NO. Between my pasty white-girl complexion, varicose veins and my jiggly, mushy parts, I know that it is not in good taste to be strutting around my front yard like I am Giselle Bundchen. That ship has sailed.

By all means, do what you want in your back yards. I don't care if you do naked Slip n' Slide back there. Just please start wearing a shirt when you are in your front yards.


Sincerely,


Misfit Hausfrau

I See Now That I Could Have Lied

Ella's bangs had gotten long and annoyed her.  This morning when I was trying to get her ready for school, she impatiently pushed her bangs to the right side of her face.

"Wow honey, your bangs have really grown fast.  I think we need to get Miss Krystal to cut them," I said.

Ella quickly agreed because Ella LOVES Miss Krystal.  When Miss Krystal isn't styling hair at GadZooks, she teaches ballet.  In Ella's eyes, she's a princess.  But then I remembered how tough it was to sometimes get an appointment.  Plus, I knew that there was NO WAY  that Ella was going to get her hair done before I did.  At that moment, I told  Ella that I would trim her bangs up in a jiffy.

After about 5 minutes of desperately looking for scissors, I finally found a pair that appeared to be a cross between kid's safety scissors and nail clippers.  I figured I had luck on my side because I had never used them before so I knew they would be sharp.

I was wrong.  It didn't help that the scissors had a cutting surface of less than two inches, so what would have been a simple trim with any other pair of scissors, turned into several attempts to trim her bangs.  I couldn't get them even, so the bangs got shorter and shorter. Finally, Ella said, "My hair looks great Mommy!"  I believed her.  They were short, but somewhat cute-ish.

When we got to school, one of the teachers said, "Ella, your hair is so beautiful!'  Ella preened, smiled and graciously thanked the teacher.   I was pretty pleased with myself that I was able to successfully trim her hair. I mean, she got immediate compliments for Christ's sake. Right then and there I decided that I would no longer take her to the salon.  I could TOTALLY cut her hair from now on.  It really was much easier than I thought.

 As I was getting Ella's breakfast together, the teacher pulled me aside and said, "Wow, did Ella cut her hair?  Don't worry, I think almost every girl her age has done it. "

"Uh, no.  She didn't cut her hair," I said, quickly realizing my mistake in admitting to the disaster.

"Really???  said the teacher with a perplexed look on her face.  "I don't understa...  OOHHHH!"

Genna's Lofty Goals

While I drove the girls to school this morning, I told Genna that she and I may fly to Indiana next weekend to visit Busia.

"Is Ella coming with us?" Genna asked.

"No, she will stay home with Daddy." I said.

"Yeah," said Ella, "When I turn 16 and am REALLY BRAVE, Mommy is going to take me to Paris so that I can see where Madeline lives!"

"OH YEAH?!" said Genna. "When I get really really big and REALLY, REALLY tall, I'm going to fly to NEW JERSEY!!!!!"

Is Anyone REALLY Ever Ready for This Conversation?

I pride myself in keeping my children in a bubble. We are strict with their diets, they don't watch commercial television, they don't play on our computers, and Herr and I choose their friends. Yes, I AM one of "those" mothers. Bite me. There's just one problem. For 40 hours a week, they are out of the safe and secure bubble. They are at daycare.

Simply put, daycare is the Devil's playground. These poor kids don't stand a chance at having an innocent life when there is "Libby" in Ella's class whose real name MUST be Heather because she is an evil little child who dictates who can be friends with whom and when. She also has told Ella on several occasions what she can and cannot wear. Then there is Chase, who has taught Genna such lovely words as, "Shut up," and "stupid." Ella told me just this week that Miss Rene let her try some different sodas to see which one she liked best, even though she knows she is not allowed to drink soda.

While I have tried really hard to not be a pain in the ass mother at school, I have pretty much worn out the carpet to the Director's office from the entrance because I am always bringing up something. I was the one who complained about the fact that parents leave their cars running in the parking lot and we have to breathe in the exhaust every day. I actually had to complain to the corporate office about that one. I also have complained in the past because they have lost the girls' medical information twice, and then made me hurry up and produce new copies so they wouldn't get fined by the state. I have also complained about the fact that they give virtually no notice for things like the Mother's Day Tea and the Spring party, so I am not able to change my schedule to attend. I know that the Director is counting the days until we transfer the girls to their other location that has a kindergarden in the Fall, or we move to Nashville, whichever comes first.

In all fairness to the daycare, there are some things that happen that no one can control.
Recently, Ella came home from school and informed me that she had just found out where babies came from.

"Oh, yeah? Umm, tell me what you heard."

"Well," she said, "First you need to be a grown-up. Or a teenager."

"Whaaa? Who told you a teenager could have a baby?!"

"Oh, Jade told me."

"I see," I said, as I made a mental note to have a talk with Jade's mother,"Then what happens?"

"Weeeellllllll, once you are a grown-up or teenager, you get a boyfriend, get married and then a baby shows up in your belly. I want a baby in MY belly. Do you have one in your belly right now, Mommy? You kind of look like you do."

A Wedding to Remember

One of the things that really sucks about moving so much is that we have dear friends scattered from one coast to another.  That is also one of the good things about said friends.  Herr and I just returned from a remarkable weekend away.  Our friend from college, Mark, married the love of his life, Phil.  Herr and I had been planning for this weekend nearly as long as Mark and Phil planned their wedding.  Not only was Saturday the wedding, it was also Herr's birthday. Combine that with Mother's Day AND the fact that this was all happening in the New York metro area, we had the perfect storm brewing for a completely decadent weekend.  We were determined to pack as much fun in 48 hours as two nearly middle-aged parents could possibly muster.  Shit--I've actually admitted in print that we are middle-aged.

We didn't care that it poured the ENTIRE day on Friday.  That just added to the adventure.  Herr and I got into Penn Station around Noon and immediately started running around like a couple of kids on Senior Skip Day.  It probably helps to know that we are not the type of couple who hangs out at the touristy places.  We are walkers and explorers and love to just soak in everything, even if that means inhaling the fumes of death coming from the subway grates or getting poked in the eyeball every ten minutes by someone's umbrella.  After grabbing a bite to eat near our hotel, we walked the streets of Midtown getting completely soaked.  

Based on a recommendation from  Tony  (Thanks Tony!), we went to dinner in the Lower East Side at Freemans.  Getting there was a blast.  When we couldn't get a cab (it WAS 6PM Friday and it was POURING) we went ahead and threw caution to the wind by getting into a gypsy cab. The poor driver just couldn' t understand that the restaurant was in an alley and didn't have a street number.  When I told him to drop us off just before the alley, the driver became very put off and said, "No Miss, I drop you off at door."  I tried to explain that the alley couldn't accommodate a vehicle, but he shook his head and insisted he would drop us off at the door.

The food there was fantastic.  We enjoyed the hot artichoke dip and I had some kick-ass macaroni and cheese.  Herr had sausages on a bed of greens, which were quite yummy. We didn't expect to have entertainment, but we did.  It came in the form of the table next  to us.  The young woman complained to the server that she didn't know that when she ordered the, "whole fish" it would come out of the kitchen with the head AND tail and that she didn't know there was so much skin and bones. She said that the skin was grossing her out.  The server quietly suggested that she flip the fish OPEN because that's the part to eat.  Voila!  She still couldn't manage because she was too busy having a lover's spat with her boyfriend.

After dinner, we went back to the hotel and took a nap because, um, we're LAME and we needed to rest up before we met our friends for drinks at the Waldorf.  Since we are usually in bed at 9PM on most Friday nights, we knew we needed to rally.  It was a wise choice on our part since we ended up not getting back to our hotel until after 1AM.

Herr and I ended up running around Chinatown and Little Italy and SoHo Saturday morning.  I got a great manicure in Chinatown and got to stop by Pearl River Mart.  I couldn't possibly come to New York without running in there and picking up some crap I never knew I needed. On this trip, I bought the girls some brocade mary janes and alarm clocks that bark like a dog.

The wedding itself was at Mark and Phil's loft in Hoboken.  We got there around 5:15 and enjoyed some champagne and milled about until the ceremony started.  It was a really intimate setting and incredibly beautiful.  Phil's friend Dina spoke during the service about the rings and that they symbolize much more than the circle of life.  It was pretty moving and I got a wee-bit misty-eyed.                                                                 

People commented that they were surprised that Mark got teary during the services.  PULEEZE!  I have been blind-ass drunk with the man many time during college and after.  He and I have both gotten teary eyed over some pretty ridiculous stuff.  I would have been much more surprised had Phil cried, or had Mark NOT cried.

After Mark and Phil were officially hitched, we got on the bus (or "coach" as Phil kept referring to them) and headed into the city to have a reception at the Modern. The reception was in the private dining room at the Modern.  We were blown away by how beautiful the room was.  It overlooked a courtyard that was filled with people having drinks and enjoying the beautiful evening.  

I feel I should mention that, while I have attended many lovely weddings, Mark and Phil's wedding has completely raised the bar in terms of elegance and good taste.  Think about it:  Mark has spent his career in the New York restaurant industry and has a position with a company that gives him thousands of contacts in the hospitality industry.  Phil is a man of impeccable taste.  A wedding planned by two gay men is just no match for a hetero couple. Frankly, it isn't even fair that a gay wedding and a hetero wedding be compared to each other. I should also note that their friend Thomas, who is an event planner, also helped them out. Those three are the equivalent of Superman, Spiderman and Aquaman combining forces to fight evil.  Herr and I were the equivalent of Scooby and Shaggy.  Also, a gay wedding is always going to rock because there are going to be fewer problematic people there.  There will be no creepy Uncle Al there because he probably doesn't approve, and Mark and Phil wouldn't want him there anyway!

During the champagne and hor' douvres portion of the evening, Herr and I were able to meet and mingle with many of Mark's friends whose stories we have heard over the years, but never got a chance to meet.  It was definitely like putting the pieces together of a huge puzzle.  It was evident that Mark's friends felt exactly the same way about us. 

The food and drink were impeccable, but the people at the reception also made it a night to remember.  Mark had left me a voicemail the Saturday before, telling me that he was on his way home with a huge bottle of wine so that he and Phil could figure out the seating chart. They needn't have stressed.  Everyone was incredibly nice and interesting, and several were quite entertaining.  I have a feeling that I could get into trouble with a couple of his friends if I spent any amount of time with them.

After the reception, Mark made sure we all got goody bags from Kyotofu. I had every intention of saving our goodies to give to the girls, but that didn't happen.  It wasn't until I ate every finger licking goody out of the bag that I actally looked at the name on the bag and noticed that the word, "Kyotofu" contains the word, "tofu."  Shut up--I was drunk!  Those treats were amazing!

The night was still young, so Mark and Phil had planned for everyone to meet up in the lounge at the Shoreham for a nightcap.  I couldn't help but notice Phil and Mark stealing glances at each other while we were there.  It was so sweet.  It reminded me of my wedding day.  Except mine was at the St. Louis County Court House.  And we were couple of #14.  Actually, it didn't remind me of my wedding at all.  Our wedding was nice, but there was a rather large twinge of fear between us.  We were so young and poor and didn't know what life had in store for us. Mark and Phil don't have to worry about that.  They should know that their lives together will be just fine. 

House For Sale

You read the title correctly--our house in on the market. To the maybe two readers who don't already know, Team Hausfrau is, yet again, relocating. Herr has gotten the position of a lifetime, so we are moving on. While I am thrilled that Herr has received this amazing opportunity, I am a little nervous about moving again. Herr has promised that this is our last move. It better be. We are moving to the land of Dollywood and the Grand Ol' Opry. Nashville, here we come!

The only snag is that we currently have to lie to all of the neighbors on our street about where we are going because our neighbor across the street works for the same company as Herr. Since we no longer speak to those neighbors, we can't risk having the neighbors talk to other co-workers and then get Herr fired before we sell the house. And since we don't know who those neighbors are friendly with on our street, it is just best to lie to all of them. The neighbors behind us know the truth and we are really sad to be leaving them as we have become close to them over the past year.

This move will be good for a lot of reasons. We will be closer to the grandmothers and we will be only 90 minutes away from the girls' godparents. We are also going to be living in the same town as my cousin and his wife who are also relocating there. It will be strange but nice to be living close to family.

So there it is. The fun has only just begun...

Cook Forest

We are back from our weekend in Cook Forest. Our friend Jenny from Pittsburgh invited a group of us years ago to experience her family's annual reunion at these cabins and we have been visiting the last weekend in April ever since.

When we started to come as a group maybe 10 years ago, it was a weekend of heavy drinking, poker playing, hiking, canoeing, laughing, reading magazines and books, eating a ton of junk food and staring at the campfire until 1AM. Now, we have nine additional creatures who party with us. Those would be our children. They range in age from almost 10 to 7 weeks old. While it is definitely a different vibe now (on account of the bubbles and sidewalk chalk), it is still just as much fun.

It probably helps that we don't drink so much anymore.

Here are Ella, Ava, Genna and Flora probably planning a takeover of the junk food.



Herr and Genna playing in the stream

Hausfrau Update

Life has been going at a frenetic pace here at Hausfrau Haus recently.  In the past three weeks, I have flown home to visit my mother, hosted Easter dinner and had friends from Pittsburgh stay, painted some rooms in our house, and drove to Pittsburgh with some girlfriends to attend a baby shower for our friend Jenny.  There has also been a case of strep and my birthday thrown in for good measure.  To top it off, Herr  is leaving this Saturday morning to attend a conference  that will seem to last forever.

This is all the tip of the iceberg.  Changes are a-brewin at Hausfrau Haus.  It is going to be a very interesting summer.

By the way, if you are looking for some new music, I highly recommend the latest Counting Crows cd.  I am also listening to Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings constantly.  It's not a new album, but I have really been enjoying it.  

Happy Belated Easter!

Better late than never.

Letter to Herr's Former Employer #2

Dear Proctor & Gamble-

You may recall that I wrote you a letter not quite two years ago concerning your corporate fuckery in deciding to dissolve the division my husband and several scientists were a part of. Do you remember that? Didn't think so. You are too busy counting your mountains of cash.

At any rate, our life is fine, thank you very much. My husband is gainfully employed and we have recovered from the trauma of being hoodwinked to move half-way across the country, only to be told, "Ha Ha! We were kidding!" a mere 11 months later.

I have spent the past couple of years boycotting your products (except for Swiffers--damn you to HELL!). While I loathe the Target brand of teeth whitening strips, I refuse to purchase yours. We have switched to Colgate and no longer use Crest. While it certainly takes me longer to read the packages to see who the manufacturer, I feel it is worth it and my little way of sticking it to you.

Yesterday, I went to the store because I was in need of some, shall we say, "feminine hygiene" products in a hurry. I ran to the CVS by my house and noticed that Always were on sale. I was in too much of a hurry to actually care that they were a P&G product. I just needed to get home. I raced home, went to the bathroom and ripped open the the package of pads. And then I saw it. You people had the audacity to print on the backing of the pad, "Have a Happy Period."

What. The.Fuck. Is this some kind of sick, twisted joke? Who in the HELL at P&G thought it was a good idea to put those words on pads? Was it someone who actually HAS periods? I refuse to believe that any woman in this world who has experienced the monthly torture of the bleeding, the skin breakouts, the CRAMPS, the crying jags while watching commercials on television, the cravings for fast food and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, would EVER think that it was a fine idea to put the perky words, "Have a Happy Period" on a God-damned maxi pad. Do you think that the average woman will see that and say, "Aww that is so nice that P&G is wishing me nothing but sunshine and lollipops during my period."?

Let me repeat the words I wrote almost two years ago in my first letter to you: Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.


Sincerely,


Misfit Hausfrau

Am I Being a Bitch?

Tonight, I received an email from a relative, requesting my address and my sister's because her mother is getting ready to send out baby shower invitations.

My mother, sister and I are waiting for thank you notes for the rather generous wedding shower gifts AND wedding presents we gave to her and her husband TWO YEARS AGO.  None of us got so much as a kiss-my-ass.  

I was raised in a home where we used manners.  I was raised in a home where we wrote thank you notes.  Period. Amen.  I have instilled this habit in my girls.  They may not really know how to write yet, but I write the notes for them or they draw pictures.  When they are older, they will be expected to do them or they won't keep the gift. And as I am writing this, I am panicking, thinking I may have forgotten to write a note for a birthday gift Genna got after her birthday--shit!  

Am I being unrealistic?  Too uptight?  Too Sanctimonious?

Career Aspirations Dashed

When I picked the girls up from daycare yesterday, Ella was not typical chipper self. After a few minutes of whining in the car, I asked her what was wrong.

"Mommy, Evan told me that mermaids and sharks aren't real."

"Well," I said, "sharks are VERY real."

"But mermaids aren't."

"No, you're right. Mermaids aren't real."

Then the tears started.

"BUT MOMMY, I want to be a mermaid when I grow up!!! What am I going to be NOW?"

"Honey, you can be anything you want to be."

"BUT I WANT TO BE A MERMAID BUT THEY AREN"T REEEEEAAAAALLLLLLL."

"Ella, it's OK. Whatever you decide to be when you grow up will be great. You'll see."

*Sniff*

"OK, I guess I'll be a fairy then."

I Knew This Would Happen Eventually

Overheard last night after scolding Genna for being fresh:
"Ella, Mommy is so mean. She is not going to be my friend anymore and she can't come to my private party. Hey Ella, only you and Linus and Bosco are coming to my private party. And Mommy and Daddy. Oh, no. Mommy can't come cuz she's so mean. Come on Ella, my party is downstairs."

What three-year-old has a private party?

Thoughts on Seattle

It's hard to believe that merely a week ago, we were lounging around having an amazing breakfast at our friends' house in Seattle. Herr and I spent a fantastic four days there, entertained by our friends, Frank and Laura, who have lived there for eight years.

I feel I should mention that Seattle is the hilliest.city.ever. It is hillier than San Francisco and Pittsburgh combined. When one walks to the Public Market, it is a breeze to walk down. Once laden with groceries for dinner, it is a BEAST of a hill to walk back up. I am thinking that the residents of Seattle, in theory, should have amazing calves and thighs.

We spent a lot of time exploring the neighborhoods of Seattle. Sometimes, we spent time deciding which road we should take:


















Sometimes we drove around until we found the perfect view:













I also spent the four days trying to figure out how we could get some quick cash to buy one of the 200 dream homes I saw there:
It wasn't just the houses I loved--the views they had from their windows were most assuredly priceless.











Laura also took us past sites that were of interest if you love movies like, "Sleepless In Seattle." She even drove us past the apartment that was the backdrop for one of my favorite movies of my collge years, "Singles."
















I also had the luxury of going to a movie! Herr and I always talk a good game about going to the movies when we have the very-occasional babysitter, but we are usually too tired once we've eaten dinner. Laura and I went without the guys as Herr and Frank would have been forced to relinquish their male memberships cards had they gone to this movie.

We got to visit all of the things we wanted to see while we were in Seattle. We visited the Olympic Sculpture Park which was really cool. I took some really neat photos at the Gas Works Park, which is on Lake Union. I had all but begged Laura to book us a couple of mani/pedis instead of going to The Museum of Flight, but it turned out to be much cooler than I anticipated. We got to see the inside of an older Air Force One. They also had an exhibit called, "Style in the Aisle: The History of Fasion in Flight." I'm not stupid--how else would you get women to come to this museum and willingly stay for 3+ hours without a mall in sight?!

The only thing that turned out to be an enormous disappointment was The Seattle Underground in Pioneer Square. Herr had been really excited to see this and had been looking forward to it for a couple of weeks. Unfortuantely, you learn AFTER you have paid your $14 per person, that the tour is a venue where failed comedians come to die. Our tour guide was Gail. I'm all for a little dash of humor with my history lesson, but we quickly tired of Gail's Ellen DeGeneres-talking-under-her-breath-with-the-punchline schtick. Once we were able to head up to the street, we turned left while the rest of the group went straight. At least we had been able to enjoy the Elliott Bay Book Company while we were in Pioneer Square.

The best part of Seattle was the food! When Frank wasn't feeding us amazing food, he and Laura were taking us to really good restaurants. It would seem natural that a visit with Frank and Laura revolves around food. We all met 17 years ago when we worked at an Italian Restaurant in Bloomington Indiana. Laura, Herr and I were servers, paying our way through IU and Frank was the Chef of the restaurant. We are two sets of couples who married after our employments at Grisanti's (there are actually two more couples who married after working there!) We know that if we are with Frank, we will eat well.

Geraldine's on Capitol Hill was amazing for breakfast and totally worth the wait. La Carta de Oaxaca may very well have been the best Mexican food I have ever had. It is a favorite of Frank and Laura's, and for good reason. Laura said that if you think you want to go there for dinner, there is no point in trying unless you get there at 5:00PM. She said that people wait around the block for hours just to eat there. It is a tiny family-owned place that may seat about 30 people. They have a "small plate" menu, so you can order a ton of different things to try. The fish tacos were pretty amazing. Tuta Bella was also outrageously good. It is one of only a handful of true neapolitan pizza restaurants in the United States. The salads and pizza were so.damn.good. They also served this crazy chocolate latte thingy made with Nutella which may as well be labeled, "crack in a cup." It has replaced Starbuck's, Gingerbread Latte and the best latte ever. Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't mention our wonderful meal at the Palace Kitchen. While it did have a more sophisticated menu than most, the Grilled Chicken Wings with coriander cream were pretty damn flawless. I am not a wings kind of a gal, but they were good. They were so good that Herr has been inspired to try to replicate them at home.

And now, I am back home, wondering how I can parlay my blog into a food review site...

February 15

I remember February 14, 2001 like it was yesterday. Herr and I were having a lovely dinner at a restaurant outside of Pittsburgh. I had been edgy all night, worried about my parents. You see, my father was nearing the end of his life. He had been dying a slow and agonizing death, but in the weeks after Christmas 2000, he had started to rapidly deteriorate. His heart transplant surgeon and nurses drove to my parents' home two hours away to say their good-byes to him after it was determined that there would be no more trips to the hospital. They had known him for 10 years. I supppose the end has to be near if that happens.

I had been spending a lot of time in Indiana helping my mother care for him. I had been there the previous weekend and planned to go home in a day or two, but I told Herr that I had a feeling that I should go home that very minute. My husband, being the voice of reason, reminded me that it was a six hour drive home and I couldn't see at night when I drive. He told me to pack a bag when I got home, go into the office in the morning and leave for Indiana after I had time to talk to my boss.

The next morning, I got to my office before 7:00 so that I could check some emails and leave some voicemails before I left. My phone rang at 7:10. When I picked it up, it was my mom, telling me that Dad had just died. Even though I knew that this news was coming, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and couldn't breathe.

I don't beat myself up much anymore for not going with my gut and driving home that night. Except on February 15. I would have given anything to have been there so that my mother wouldn't have had to go through the torture of watching the bumbling EMTs try to figure out how to get him out of their bedroom. The angle of the room and the narrow width and zig-zag of the hallway made it impossible for the overweight EMTs to take him down the hallway and out of the house. Instead, they took him out through a fucking window like he was a piece of furniture.

I would have given anything to be there to hold his hand because he was so very afraid to die. While he would never admit it to my mother, he had some concerns about the afterlife. No more Packers and Cubs games, no more breakfasts at Louie's Cafe, no more books to read, no more money-making schemes to plan, no more time with his family. He was worried about Mom and what was going to happen to her after he was gone. A week before he died he made me promise that I would always take care of Mom and my sister. Time was running out and he was terrified. He did not go peacefully. He fought tooth and nail. It wasn't until the hospice worker told him to just close his eyes and let go that he finally did.

Most of the time, it seems like Dad died a lifetime ago. In some ways he did. My life is so much different now with two children, changed jobs and having lived in 5 different places since 2001. But every February 15, the pain and the tears return. Every year I am surprised that the rawness of my feelings and the pain in my stomach is just as strong as they were the day he died.

Happy Valentine's Day

In case you were wondering, Ella was in charge of choosing their outfits and accessories. If you are familiar with Ella's creative sense of style, this should come as no surprise. She lives for holidays that have a corresponding "color" to them.

Genna Turned Three!

Genna had her birthday party on Saturday. She was pretty pleased with herself. Despite some coaching with Ella over several days, she still managed to forget that she had a birthday a couple of months earlier. She got pretty jealous of some of Genna's loot--particularly a Tinkerbell Doll. Ella went on and on about the doll and asked me to leave the party and buy one right that minute. After I told her to chill out, she asked if she could have one for her birthday. I told her that if she still wanted one 10 months from now, maybe she would. Then she asked who bought it. When I told her that our neighbors, Lori and Brian purchased, she walked over to them and asked if they would buy one for her when it was her birthday. At least she asked with manners--at least I think she did.

Herr and I are off to Seattle in about an hour. Sans children. Awwww yeah.
We'll be back Monday morning.