Craving Aqua-Net & Old Milwaukee

So Dillon took Mackenzie and went to Blockbuster to pick up Platoon, which he needs to watch for a History class.

He came home with The Lost Boys.

So guess what we're doing.

Getting Hipper Every Minute

Dear Bridget~

Did you know that if you do a Yahoo Search on Fratastic Clothes Cartwheels at Midnight comes up FOURTH*?!

Now that is something I can feel proud of.

Love, Paige

*Or fifth. It keeps changing.

Real-Life Skills

Dillon got his first real job today. Until now, he's been an odd-jobs kind of kid. Lawn work, shoveling snow, car washing, baby-sittting... but his real focus has been on school and football/wrestling, depending on the season. Until now, we had discouraged him from getting a job for several reasons: We wanted him to concentrate on his studies. We wanted him to take full advantage of being a kid while he still has the chance. We didn't want his work schedule to interfere with our vacation schedule.

But traveling be damned. I cannot afford for him to not be earning money any longer. Seventeen-year-old boys have expenses and I am tired of being the Bank of Mom: Hey Mom, can I have money for lunch? Hey Mom, can I have money for the movies? Hey Mom, can I have money to take GirlX out? Hey Mom, can I have money for hackey sacks, t-shirts, crickets, gas, corsages, glasses, braces, computers, college, chap stick?

Now he can help pay for some of those necessities, compliments of Shell Oil.

I was reluctant for him to work at a gas station, because I am a Mom. Moms hear on the radio, and on TV and in the newspapers (hip moms like me read our news on the internet) that gas station employees are always getting robbed at gunpoint and sometimes even shot. Moms don't like their kids to come home from work with bullet holes in their bodies that they have spent years nurturing and repairing and maintaining. It's just not our thing.

But before my voice got all high and squeaky and my chin started quivering, he sensed my Primal Fear and quickly informed me of how he was going to be working in the garage doing oil changes and the like and he told me the bright side:

"I'll learn Skills! Real-Life Skills, not like Nunchuck Skills. And Bow-Hunting Skills. And Computer-Hacking Skills."

And he made me Laugh...a skill more precious than any skill Shell can teach him.

Finding Balance in Blogging

I said I was going to bed almost 2 hours ago.

And then I remembered that my sheets were in the dryer.

And I got distracted and started watching Law & Order while making my bed.

And then I checked my email and here I am.

All of this after I posted something hilarious Mac said tonight, vacillated between keeping and deleting, let doubt win, and deleted it 30 minutes later along with the 4 comments it had already amassed. If you watch "That 70's Show", it was hilarious. If you don't, it made me look like a white-trash-halfwit-sorry-excuse-for-a-role-model and Mac look like white-trash-halfwit-spawn. And I can't have that.

I would love to be the sort of blogger who writes exactly what she thinks and then stands by it 100%. But when something I write has the potential to bring criticism or embarrassment to my kids, I have to reconsider. I can't put either of them in that position for my own entertainment (if someone wants to pay me for it, that's altogether a different story and I will sell out their asses faster than the breeze blows though Kellie Pickler's skull).

I also have a pretty large personal readership, including some kids. This blog started out as a Chronicle of Our Lives in Japan and very much a family-oriented endeavor; a way for our family and friends to keep track of our daily lives from thousands of miles away. As our lives have changed and become more monotonous, the focus of this blog has evolved (hopefully not to become more monotonous as well). Now I write about Me. What I Think, What I Do, What I Am. But I also have to be very conscious of who is reading, and remain sensitive about my content. My Mom and I have a very open relationship but, in general, if I think that after posting something, that I would have a hard time looking her in the face, then I think twice. Because she will read it. And tell me if when she thinks I should censor. And I'm ok with that. It's probably better for The Internet if I keep some thoughts to myself.

A Van, A Board, and a Boy

The extreme sport was skateboarding.

He wiped out and reopened all of the wounds from the spill he took 9 days ago. If you refer to the photos of us with Bridget, you can see how his right arm is wrapped up and there are at least 10 other wounds that you can't see. The accident that produced all that damage involved a boy, a longboard and a van. The van sped up, Dillon's wheels couldn't, and he went down in a crash of epic proportions. He's lucky he didn't end up under the wheel of the van as he was hanging onto the side of it. Hanging onto the side is easier, I hear, than hanging onto the back. (I said he was Smart. Not Perfect. And I would have lectured more, if I couldn't remember doing that myself, but it was a bike and a Buick.) He had road rash and abrasions, lacerations, and even a puncture wound. But after a $40 run to CVS and the incomprable nursing skills of Yours Truly, it was almost all healed over.

Until he went out yesterday. Again, without a shirt. There was no van, but he crashed all the same, reopening the same scabs. He scraped the skin off all the pointy parts of his body - ankles, kneecaps, elbows, fingers... nipples. Actually, nipple. (He must have a list*, as it was only one nipple and the same nipple as last time. Oww, is all I got to say. Oww. Never thought I'd be putting Neosporin Pain-Relief and a band-aid on my 17-year-old's nipple, I can tell ya that much.)

(How many times do you think I can work the word "nipple" into this post???)

(Speaking of nipples, how much hormone do you have to have surging through your body during ovulation to actually make it painful to wear a bra? Intensely. Painful. For 3 days. That just doesn't seem right.)

So. Anyway. Today, he's back to popping the Vitamin M and walking with a limp, and has sworn off skateboarding until his body is healed and he gets his trucks** fixed. Or gets a new board, whichever comes first.

*That's Navy-talk. You know... leaning to one side. Like in the water.
**That's Skater-boy-talk for something on the under-side of a skateboard. Don't know what, but I do know it should be in working order. Or your nipples get scraped off.

Weekend At Brandi's

The little Dogwood out my bedroom window:



Bought Mac a new swimsuit today. Ten minutes after we got home, I went upstairs to find her vacuuming:

Photo of Mac vacuuming in her new swimsuit removed under demand of the Grandma.

The following photoessay is titled...
New Rule. No Extreme Sports Until Old Wounds Heal




































This Chinese New Year Godzilla guards Dillon's room:



Dillon in his Super Fratastic comfy pants:

So the Poncho Thing Is Over, Right?

I have 2 hanging in my closet that I don't see myself wearing any any time in the foreseeable future. As a matter of fact, they wouldn't have been there at all, if not for an unbelievably expensive shopping spree with my sister about a year-and-a-half ago. I had just returned from 4 1/2 years living in the Land of the Fashion-Challenged* and all my clothes were out of style or too small (thanks, Mike's Mexican!) and my closet needed a major overhaul. As my style consultant, she took me to the mall and hooked me up with pants and jeans and sweaters and ponchos; shoes and bags and belts and hats. Even a pink wool coat. All that fall and winter I looked amazing. My purses matched my shoes, which matched my sweaters which matched my ponchos. For an REI/Gap kind of girl, I was way out of my league. I felt a little overdressed, but I looked great.

Now that the urge to serape ourselves seems to have passed, I gotta say: I didn't really get the whole poncho-thing. I mean, if it's cold outside, you can't put on a coat over a poncho... If your long hair is getting in your face, it's awkward to lift your arms up to gather it all up and throw it over your shoulder... If you plan on actually doing anything, you just have to not. Eating, working, loading the dishwasher... all complicated by wearing a poncho. Really. It's no different than a straightjacket...

So, let's see. It took 30 years for the poncho to resurface... if it takes another 30 years, I'll be 65 (ish), and wearing a poncho at that age would just look stupid. I think it's safe to throw them into the Goodwill bag and hope like hell that stirrup pants don't come back.

*Oh, Japan, don't go getting your feelings hurt. There is no denying it.

Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

Crazy Grass Lady actually used the word "perambulator" while telling me about her walks and how she noticed that we have weeds growing in the large expanse of grass between the end of her building and the street. And she was going to bring me a sample.

@@@@@

Mold Testing chick came into my office acting like a World Class Bitch. A few hours later, she saw me walking with Mac in the neighborhood and asked, "You live here?"* And then was nice to me and actually apologized and admitted that she was "just being mean". (I still don't like her.)

*I absolutely do not look like trailer trash. I have no idea what she meant by that.

@@@@@

"I'm An Original Homeowner" Lady called me to irrationally complain that the HOA spent 63 cents to send her a copy of the new By-Law Resolution which she feels that they don't enforce anyway. I told her, "Velma, I am not going to get into this with you today. If you have an issue, you need to take it up with the Architectural Committee." It totally shut her up. She just said, "Ok." And I hung up and high-fived myself.

@@@@@

The Firehouse Man came into my office insisting that we cite his neighbor ("Dead Mom Lady") who has a sign reading "Frog Pond" out in front of her house. Because he "has been to Colonial Williamsburg and has never seen a 'Frog Pond' sign there anywhere". I told him he was not going to put me in the middle of his neighbor war and he just looked at me and said, "I don't care". So I gave him my best "you're an asshole" look and he walked out of my office saying, "Good. Now you're miserable too".

Is it any wonder I need a drink when I get home?

Mathematics Hip-Hip

Has Destiny's Child recorded any hip-hop songs about math?

Mac has the most amazing ability to remember any song she's heard only a few times. I've listened to "Light My Candle" from Rent twice as many times as she has but can only sing along with half as much as she. It's a difficult song of a conversation between Roger and Mimi, with tempo and key changes but she can sing the entire thing without missing a beat.

On the other hand, she's having the damnest time with her times tables. She's always been an "A" student, until we moved here where Fairfax County thinks she's a "B" reader. (Fairfax County is stupid.)

I know parents have been lamenting this quandry since the 70's*, but if someone super-hip could record a Multiplication Table song I know it would pay off. Parents all over the US will plunk down good money for an easy way to teach their kids what 9x8 equals.

The drawback would be all the spontaneous sing-a-longs during math tests...

*Because, unfortunately, I remember them saying it.

Crazy Lives Here

This is my neighborhood. It's a beautiful community of 40 year old brick townhomes with azaleas and mature trees and green spaces and quaint, colonial-style lamp posts.



Since this afternoon was an absolutely beautiful Spring day that lured outside, moms pushing strollers, old men walking dogs, and kids playing on the lawn, Mac and I decided to walk around delivering a notice that, in the next few days, needs to be delivered to each of the 500 homes in the neighborhood. We walked up one street, Mac putting the notices through mail slots, me saying hi to others out walking, enjoying the cherry trees and late tulips. There was one slot she couldn't get the folded flourescent green paper through and pushed and pushed, until she realized she was pushing the paper up against a dog nose. She laughed, he moved, and the paper fell to the floor inside.

Then there was the door with the barking lap dog who, when she dropped the paper inside, grabbed it and started attacking. She could hear the paper tearing as she walked away laughing, "I guess they're not going to see that notice!"

And then we came to a house with the front door open. So Mac knocked on the storm door and waited while an old man walked down the hallway towards her, and hollered, "WHAT!", just as he got to the screen. She was so surprised she actually jumped and start stammering, unable to formulate an answer.

"It's a NOTICE!" I said, "From the office!"

"OH. WELL, I'VE JUST BEEN TO THE DOCTORS AND I CAN'T SEE!" (The side effect of which, I presume, must be Loss of Hearing and Rudeness Towards Little Girls). Whatever.

So then we continued on to the next building. Where a few houses up, we watched a woman get out of her car and go into her house, leaving her front door open. Mac approached and saw the woman walking down her hallway so she knocked on the storm door.

"Were not home!"

And then Mac made a gesture with her arms that said, "I can clearly see you standing in the kitchen, letting the dog out the back door." But instead said, "I have a NOTICE!"

And the lady stood in her kitchen, 20 feet away, and hollered, "Not home!", again.

So she put the notice on her doorstep and we left.

(Who will bet me $20 that the woman will call complaining tomorrow that "the delivery girl left the notice blowing free on her stoop.")

And THEN (!), we continued on to the next building, where she got a bleeding paper cut from the notice. And it was stinging. And bleeding.

So we went home, shaking our heads and yelling, "WHAT!" every few seconds.

Rent

Have you seen Rent? Mac & I have seen it 3 times in the past month, with various members of our family.

I've heard said, "Oh, that's a movie about gay people."

No, it's not. It's a movie about friendship. Some of the friends happen to be gay, and some happen to have AIDS, but mostly it's a story that takes place during one year in the life of a group of struggling Bohemian friends in 1989 New York.

I believe everyone should see this movie. Unfortunately, there are legions of people out there who will be turned off by the musical-ness (and gay-ness) of it and barely make it past opening credits. This is a shame because it's a story that gives voice to people who are "different" and makes the plight of these characters more personal. Ironically, most of those who won't watch it are people who need the humanity lesson the most.

Rent is also a history lesson for those who are too young to remember the initial devastation of the AIDS Epidemic. Back when the life expectancy for an AIDS patient was only a few years and AZT was the only treatment available. Back when some people were watching their friends, disowned by their families, waste away and die right before their eyes. For today's kids, AIDS is a small part of their STD section of Sex Ed., undistinguished from syphilis and gonorrhea. Rent illustrates more of the history.

I'm sure there are a few out there who would take issue with me for encouraging my 11-year-old watch it. But A) I don't care, and 2) I believe in raising informed, compassionate, tolerant, well-rounded children. I don't believe that watching drug use or gay couples will encourage her to start using crack or become gay. In the end, the lesson she took away from this movie is that Everyone needs love and friendship and understanding, and not that it's a Handbook To the Underworld.

And, it's got a kickin' soundtrack.

Easter Cooking With Mackenzie

Paige, "Oh, no! My thermometer is broke! How am I going to know when it's 180-degrees?"

Mac, sympathetic (for she knows the emergency that may ensue), "Oh, no!"

Paige, looking at electronic thermometer, "Huh. Maybe I'll just put a new battery in it."

@@@@@

Mac, "Something smells like Feet. And Vinegar."

Paige, "That's my Cherry-Mustard Sauce for the Ham."

Mac, unconcerned (because she won't be eating any anyway), "Mmm."

And We're Back To Friday

Newsflash!

I have just received the OK from Bridget the Tour Goddess that I may post our photos from our Friday tour of the Capitol:


The Beautiful and Knowledgeable Bridget and Me


Dillon, Bridget, and Mackenzie (who is standing on a curb).


Bridget with Me, the kids and the parents, George and Helen.

See how happy we are? It's because we had a great time and the Capitol Tour with Bridget is 100 times better than the Lame-o White House Tour. And I should know. She really knows her Capitol trivia, but I am mostly impressed that we only got lost once in the labyrinth of hallways underground. There is even a Disney-esque monorail sort of thing (I don't actually know if there is only one rail. I just said that.)

I highly recommend the US Capitol Tour to anyone visiting (or living in) DC. It's a beautiful building that can not be appreciated from photos. Standing in the House Chamber (Room?) and actually seeing where the President stands during the State of the Union Address or the viewing the Old Senate Chamber with it's heavy burgundy draperies or standing at the middle of the Rotunda, where Lincoln, JFK, MacArthur, Eisenhower, Unknown Soldiers, Ronald Reagan, and Rosa Parks have lain in state is a powerful feeling indeed.

Thank you, Bridget, for inviting us to visit a part of History that we probably would not have visited otherwise.

My Family Anomaly

Dillon's at Ali's (his friend, not my sister), Mackenzie is upstairs, Tater is downstairs, and I'm on the sofa in the middle. My parents left a couple of hours ago and apparently, spending an entire week together makes us all need to retreat unto ourselves for a recharge.

We had a really nice visit. Beth was asking me, on Thursday, what we had been doing all week, and when I finished my laundry-list of Fun and Togetherness, she just smiled at me and asked, "You really like your parents, don't you?"

I guess I always knew it, but in answering her it occurred to me that not everyone enjoys spending a week with their parents. I've heard my friends dread the arrival of parents for a visit and begin to stress out that their house isn't clean enough or their appearance isn't 'whatever' enough or that they don't parent their own children well enough. At that moment, I realized how fortunate I am to truly enjoy my parents company. I know that whatever I am, I am Enough for them. They never criticize or expect more than I can give. They come to visit not to evaluate or judge or influence my kids. They visit because they want to. I invite them because I want them here.

So as I sit here, resting my legs, weary from our week of touring, and missing my Mom and Dad, I feel Full. And Happy. And Fortunate to have been born into such a family.

Appeasing the Masses With Photos

Yesterday we went to the Museum of American History.

We've been there twice and seen the "Whatever Happened to Polio?" exhibit, but Dillon can never get enough...



Mac and Kermit:



The kids and the parents at The Monument:



Guess what. Ford's Theatre was closed:



And guess what else! Today we went to the Capitol building, where I finally met my first internet-friend in real life and got a private tour (!), but as I don't think she wants her picture posted, you will just have to use your imagination.

Suffice it to say that she is adorable and smart and an excellent Tour Goddess. Nice. :)

The Battle of Chancellorsville

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day in the Mid-Atlantic. We spent it walking around Civil War Battlefields...


Mom, Dillon and Mackenzie.


Paige and Dillon. He was in my belly once.


Dad and Mackenzie. It might be hard to see Mac. Her hat is camo.


Mac. I don't believe this was the intended usage of cannon.

Time With the 'Rents

My parents blew into town on Sunday. We just hung out yesterday and then today, after I worked until 12:30, we went to the NRA Museum. I know. How weird is that? I'm guessing that's probably not on most people's to-do list when they come to DC, but if your Dad retired last year and bought a gun shop to keep himself busy, then that's what you do.

Here's a few photos from when the kids comandeered my camera:

Dillon with Charlton Heston.

Mackenzie on Safari.


And yesterday, Mom taught Mac how to knit. We don't know what she's making, but we think it may be a bedskirt. It's huge:




And here's my garden:

Dogwood.

Tulip.

My Bird Girl.

When Outside Influence Comes In

Mackenzie has a new friend.

And for some reason I can't quite put my finger on, I've been getting the "trouble" vibe from Friend. She's polite and nice and cute and Mac seems to think she's a lot of fun, but I still feel a twinge of uneasyness whenever she's around.

And then last night she spent the night over here. They came downstairs asking me to go to CVS to buy them some Swedish Fish. But A) I didn't want to and 2) Dillon had my car. So I said, "You don't already have candy?" (Because something Mac said earlier made me think they did.)

And Friend said, "No."

And Mac looked at her and said, "No."

And I had my doubts but just said, "sorry" and sent them back upstairs.

Then I went downstairs to watch a movie with my Tater-man.

Where I saw 2 empty bags of candy on the side table.

I let it go until after Friend left and then let Mac know she was busted. At first she tried to say that she didn't say "no", but then decided to come clean and admitted that she lied to me because Friend had said "no" first.

I told her that if it ever happened again, she wouldn't be able to hang out with Friend any more.

It's been said that I have a hard time letting things go (Beth) and this is no exception. I've been annoyed all day. For one, because Mackenzie never lies to me. I don't want to appear naive, she's not perfect, but she has spent the better part of her 11 years within an arms reach of me. She truly can't get away with anything. I don't think she would have lied if it had only been she and I. Damn with the peer pressure.

But also, I'm angry because I knew they were lying and never said a word last night. I let Friend think she got away with it and letting someone think they pulled one over on me is a one way ticket to obsession for me.

My Protective Mommy-Instinct wants to blame Friend and dislike her, but I know how stupid that is. I have to make Mac stand up and take responsibility for her own mistakes. She should have told me the truth even if it meant contradicting Friend right in front of me. I require her to have that Character. The question is, how to instill it with the least amount of trauma possible? For all of us.

Mao's Revenge

I've been awake since 4-something. It was the Chinese. Not the Communism or the over-population or the extreme poverty. Not Mao's reign of terror that kept me from slumber. It was the General Tsao's Chicken.

I slept fitfully from 11:30 until 4-ish, then woke up using all my intestinal fortitude trying to refrain from vomiting. Now, it's an hour later, I must remain vertical, and I'm thinking that if I had just barfed in the first place I'd feel a lot better right now and what will, in short order be Saturday, will be infinitely more productive.

I used to love Chinese food.

But lately, it loves me not so much. I have to wonder if that's another function of my advancing age. I also can't eat garlic anymore or drink more than 1 glass of wine without serious repurcussions.

And it leaves me to ponder. During the next 40 years, will I be reduced to only eating plain yogurt and white rice?

Popsicle Paige

I have been freezing for almost a week.

So I kept turning the heat up to 70 degrees.

But I was still cold.

The temp was in the 30's this morning.

Frigid in the house.

The heat was off.

Tater turned it off when it got warm last week.

Sprouting Off Again

These are Springing up out my back door.

Breeding Mediocrity

First Laugh. Rolling Over. Crawling. Walking. Reading. Kindergarten... SAT's.

How we got from the Kindergarten milestone to the SAT's, I don't quite remember, but here we are. Dillon took his test yesterday with 40,000 other 11th graders across the country.

He's a bright kid, so I was feeling pretty confident about it all until I saw a story on The Today Show Friday morning about parents who are hiring SAT tutors for their kids. The kids are getting tutored twice a week and taking a practice test once a week.

I think Dillon got a lecture or two on the SAT at school.

They made it sound as if this was a necessary for getting into college. Any college. Not just the Ivy League.

I started to wonder. Am I doing right by him by not buying him study guides and hiring tutors and making him sit down once a week for a practice test? Should I have required him to attend every extra-curricular SAT practice session offered by the school?

I've been thinking about it for 3 days now and I don't think so. Adding all those extra commitments would have also added stress on an already stretched-thin kid. He's in Honors classes and AP classes, and since January, had wrestling practice every day from 2:30 until I picked him up at 6:40 each night with 1 or 2 nights a week devoted to meets. Many nights he stays up past midnight studying only to rise at 6am and start all over again.

I think the SAT tutor is indicative of our over-scheduled society. Because my kids aren't signed up for a different activity each day of the week and don't play an instrument or two, because they aren't involved in scouts and art lessons, I have been made to feel like I'm breeding mediocrity by depriving them of every possible opportunity.

I have often been asked, upon meeting a new mom, "What does your child do?" That question always sends me reeling. What does that mean, "What does your child do?" They're kids. They go to school and do their chores, they hang out with their friends and turn in homework. They have, at one time or another, usually not consecutively, been signed up for Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, soccer, ballet, flag football, swimming, basketball, karate, diving, jazz dance, football, gymnastics, chorus, CCD, drama club, guitar lessons, wrestling and art club. But they haven't zeroed in on any one activity and usually haven't been gone more than one night a week, except for Dillon's high school sports. I want them to have a good time, and learn new things, but I also want them to have time to just Be. Just be a kid and listen to music and climb trees with their friends. I want them to ride bikes and play hackey sack and go to the park after school. I'm not saying that kids shouldn't be in extra-curricular activities. If a child falls in love with a sport and actually wants to play every day after school, I think that's great. I think that child will learn how to use his or her time wisely and the sport will actually be a positive influence on their childhood experience. I'm talking about those kids who are signed up for 4 or 5 activities during the school year and then from 9-5 during the summer. When do these kids have time to be kids?

This is an issue that's been in the news for years now, but I don't see us making any progress. Good grades are no longer "good enough". Kids are exhausted. And they're stressed. And they don't have enough time to enjoy just being a kid. And now the problem has extended to the SAT and college search. It seems as though parents to the right and to the left of me are trying to out-do one another through their kids.

And I have to wonder. Where will it stop?

Retro-Longing

I want to be on "That 70's Show".

I don't mean that I want to be an actor in the cast. I want to beeeee there. In 1978, 17 years old, wearing bell-bottoms and prairie skirts, with long, straight Marsha-hair*, hanging out in the basement with Eric & Donna, Hyde & Jackie, Fez & Kelso (but not so much Kelso), splitting a 6-pack, or riding around in Eric's car while jamming to Classic Rock (though then it was just called "Rock"). I want to eat fondue and Kitty's fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

*Oh, wait. I still have that.

"That 70's Show" reminds me how simple life used to be. No computers, no video games, only 3 channels on TV... we went to school and then hung out with our friends or went to afternoon jobs. We amused ourselves with kick-the-can or "Life". (And the "Circle of Weed", but that's an entirely different post...) We weren't stressed out about AP classes and SAT's and having the "right" activities on our "College Resumes". Granted, many didn't go to college and ended up working at the Electronics Store, but at least they weren't stressed.

I miss the days where the worst thing we did was climb the water-tower to have a few drinks or "did it" in the back of a VW bus. I miss when Life was simple.

Maybe I should stop watching the "That 70's Show" Marathon on Friday nights.