Friday, September 09, 2011


In Roald Dahl's novel, The BFG, young Sophie is kidnapped and taken to a land occupied by giants.

Recently, I've been reading this book to The Mayor and The Rooster.

In the giant's world, their equivalent of soda fizzes downward instead of upward.

Instead of causing burps, soda causes, well... the opposite, an activity know to the giants as "Whizpopping."

When a giant releases whizpops, he is lifted off the ground and filled with a sensation of elation.

This is such a fun experience that whizpopping itself is a sign of happiness among the giants.

Reflecting on the chapter where we learned all this, The Rooster smiled at me and said,

Mama, you're the happiest person I know.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

Hey, No Fair!!

K usually wakes up the children, but he had to leave the house early the other day.

We do it differently, the waking up.

K plays an out of tune guitar and sings a made up morning song that might remind you of alley cats meowing in the night.

I prefer to climb in my children's beds and snuggle them awake.

On this particular morning, I climbed in with The Rooster first and rubbed her back and talked with her until I knew she'd get up and get dressed.

Then I moved into The Mayor's bed.

Because relating to seven year old boys seems to require an element of rough housing, I didn't rub his back so much as gently transition him into several world championship wrestling maneuvers.

As I climbed out of his bed, I said,

You'd better get up and get dressed quickly because I left a fart in your bed.

And then, unbelievably, from The Rooster's room I hear,



They will fight about ANYTHING.

The joys.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

We All Face It Alone

Roo woke up this morning complaining of a stomach ache and wouldn’t eat.

I gave her medicine, I tried crackers, toast, juice... she just nibbled.

She stayed in her pajamas and wouldn’t get dressed.

She stayed home from Art Camp yesterday complaining that she was sick and she does have a cold or allergies, but no fever.

I kept encouraging her to do one thing at a time and I got in the shower.

While I was in there, she came and stood next to the shower curtain.

“I miss you when I’m at art camp,” she said in a small voice.

I pulled the shower curtain aside.

“Is this what your stomach ache and sickness is really about, Roo?” I asked. “Are you nervous about art camp?”

She nodded.

“Is it too new? Is it that you don’t know anyone there?”

She nodded again and started to cry.

She went for a full day on Monday and seemed animated and excited by her time there, but my Roo has a hard time adjusting to new places and new people. She's just as shy as can be until she feels safe and comfortable.

When I got out of the shower we talked about bravery, but Roo cried all the way to art camp.

She kept trying to wipe away the tears and get her game face on, but she was scared and nervous.

I thought maybe she’d grown out of this, but I suppose not. I felt ashamed not to have understood what she was feeling when she stayed home yesterday.

Am I too distracted?

I talked to the art camp director about Roo and she promised that she would help her make a special, new friend.

Roo fell on me crying one last time, kissed me, wiped her tears and walked into the classroom with the camp director.

I looked back at her as I left, but she was blurry.

I cried all the way to the office.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Some People

My son, who was busily schooling me on the art of meditation...

[learned where?]


...some people sit like this [cross legged] and some people sit like this [lotus] and some people hold their thumb & finger in a circle like this and some people...
On and on went the 'some people's, so I said,
Some people call me a space cowboy. Some call me the gangster of love. Some people call me Maurice.
My son rolled his eyes.

I blame Grandma Seattle for playing The Steve Miller Band so much when I was a child.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Chicken Breast Threat Level Orange

I never intended to pose a threat to airport security but on the way out of town, I realized that the fluid filled sacks in my carry on luggage might very likely cause alarm, attract attention, and, frankly, mortify me.

Two days ago, I learned that many of my female colleagues were planning to wear floor length gowns to our office's 'black tie optional' event though I had assumed we’d go with cocktail length dresses since we'd be working the event.

I scrambled, asking friends if they had anything formal I could borrow.

One friend (who shall remain nameless for reasons that will become clear as the story unfolds) loaned me a strappy, red number.

When I tried it on, she eyed me critically and said, “You’re going to need the chicken breasts.”

[That's the face I made too.]

She went to a drawer and pulled out two silicon filled sacks and told me to drop them in my bra.

“Trust me,” she said.

I was skeptical, but lo, said chicken breasts propped up the tired, old girls and gave them renewed vitality.

Who knew?

I borrowed the dress and the…items, loaded them into my carry-on luggage and headed for the airport.

Only when I was underway did it occur to me that the two squishy objects might be an issue at airport security.

Would they unpack my bag and expose my udder subterfuge?


Thankfully, the Atlanta airport security employees let the… support group… sail through the line, but agents at Reagan National Airport were not so easily duped upon my return this morning.

My bag was in the x-ray machine when I heard the TSA agent call out to a colleague.

“What do you think that could be?” I heard him say.

There was a pause.

I piped up, “I can tell you what they are,” I said, “though I’m embarrassed about it."

I wondered how suspicious I looked.

The second agent leaned over to his colleague and whispered with authority and confidence, “PUSH UPS!!

He turned and faced me with a wink and my luggage rolled towards my blush colored face.

I left DC grateful that TSA agents understand that some “secret weapons” are completely harmless aboard an aircraft.

[And for the record, I didn’t end up wearing the silicon support group. I went with the basic black cocktail dress... because I am a chicken.]


Shown here with @Genuine.
I'm especially fond of the way the shadowy light makes me look like I'm missing my two front teeth. Changing blog name to Oh, the Trailer Park now...
UPDATED: Proof that I actually have all my teeth.