Not Calm (dot com)

the new flusher

is making me very happy.  I called the landlord to tell him that our bathtub faucet was leaky and needed a little attention.  The plumbers came today, and not only did they fix that faucet, they fixed the toilet.

Dude.  I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. 

Awhile back, the flusher thing broke, so I went to the hardware store (I love going there even more than the office supply store -- that is something) and got a new set up.  I installed it, and all was good.  For maybe half a day.  Then, the chain just never had the right tension, and the toilet would run and run and run forever until I went in and gently pressed down on the handle and made the little flapper thing flop back down.  The problem is that SIX people live here, and they all pee here, but I'm the ONLY ONE who hears or cares about the running toilet.  Ninety seven times a day I was in there, applying gentle pressure on the handle until I could feel the flapper thing flop.  Sometimes I'd lift the back of the tank off to make sure the chain hadn't come undone, because that happened a lot, too. 

I had a perpetual sore back from lifting the toilet tank lid.  We have an old toilet.  It's quite sturdy and that lid is heavy.  But, the plumbers, sent from heaven I'm sure, fixed it!  There's even a shiny, new handle.

It's the little things, people, the little things.

Here's a Christmas shot as well.  They didn't get nearly enough stuff. . .

the future is now

So.  Spain.  It looks like I'm really going to get to go, though my tactic is to expect it all to fall through -- right up until my toes touch Spanish soil.  I think this is one of those times where the disappointment of Something Going Wrong would be far too horrible to contemplate. 

Today I added a minute or two to my fifteen minutes.  So far, I think I'm up to about nine minutes.  There was the time when I was seven-years-old that I was on the front page of the local (Richardson, TX) daily news.  I think it was some sort of puppet show thing at my after school care.  My buddy Kevin was in the photo with me, so we each get two and a half minutes for that.  (That newspaper may be in my mom's photo drawer. . . I'm not sure.)

Nearly ten years later, I passed out while in the very front and center row of a Howard Jones concert.  I was carried by the bouncer guy high up in the air in front of the whole Concord Pavillion.  I totally made eye contact with Mr. Jones, and then passed out again.  Later we waited by his tour bus and got to meet him.  That's all worth thirty seconds. 

On second thought, take away fifteen seconds for the stupid scrubs.  I have so many, many cringeworthy memories.

I racked up a few minutes as a go-go dancer.  That was forever ago, too.  Proof:

I danced with a band called A Western Front.  They played shows all over the place.  This one time, I danced by myself in a cage made of PVC pipes in a college bar in San Luis Obispo.  I had a little riding crop kind of whip thing with raw hot dogs tied to the end that I whipped into the audience. 

I know!  But there was a good reason.  Really.  Have you ever been to the mall and seen a place called Hot Dog On A Stick?  Take a closer look at my go-go outfit, and you'll see that it's an interpretation of that uniform.  The reason for that has to do with one of the band's songs, a wholly inappropriate number about the (very young) girls who work at Hot Dog On A Stick entitled, Pump the Lemon Barrel.  My friend BB on the left, she and I were lemon barrel girls.   We were in one of their videos that was *this close* to getting airplay on MTv.  Anyhow, hot dog on a whip was f u n n y at the time. 

Oh, and this one time, we opened for (or more accurately, shared a gig with) the Gin Blossoms.  (Hey Jealousy. . . ring any early 90's bells for you?)  They thought we were awesome (we totally were, by the way) and asked me and BB (probably, it was all about BB -- she's got those freaky supermodel genes) to dance with them.  We said no.  We were too loyal to the boys in our own band to dance with anyone else.  That next weekend the Gin Blossoms were on Letterman. 

*sigh*

Four minutes sound right?  Plus back the fifteen seconds -- taken away for the scrubs -- for the whole caged-in-front-of-hundreds-of-frat-boys experience. 

This summer at BlogHer, I placed in an Our Story writing contest and won my lovely Canon elph powershot.  Seven point one megapixels -- swoon.  That's another minute.

Okay.  This brings me to today.  Today I went to my friend Matt's house and recorded vocals (good lord help us all) for a song he's putting together for this contest sort of thing.  I think I'll count today as a minute, and totally add more if anything comes of it. 

So, 2.5+.5-.25+4+.25+1+1= 9

Know what is freaky?  I just guessed nine up at the top there, totally didn't pay any attention to the numbers I assigned to anything, and it all added up to nine.

Tell me about your fifteen minutes (or less) of fame.  Cause now I'm feeling a little ridiculous.

Feliz Navidad

I just spent over two hours wrapping presents, and I barely made a dent.  I had to call it a night when I was wrapping some pajamas for the girls.  I used this paper that's been knocking around my wrapping paper box for a couple of years.  It's shiny, like foil, but, well, soft, really.  I can't describe it better than that.  It's silver and has little red trees and messages like, Merry Christmas, written on it.   Very original.

While I was using that paper to wrap gifts, I caught a nasty whiff of something like BO mixed with cumin.  So, you know, I checked myself, because it was b a d and if that was me, I needed to do something about it.  It wasn't me.  I was, in fact, on the fresh side even though today was long. 

Ever since I was pregnant with Lex I've had a bloodhound nose, so I sniffed around for the source. It was the wrapping paper.  How that is possible I don't know, but I do know that the wrapping paper was the cause. 

That's when I decided I was done for the night. 

I'm going to put this next bit after the jump so I don't jinx it.

winter shadows

I made it to my massage appointment today, and tomorrow I'm having lunch with a friend at a real restaurant.

There once was a time when those two things might happen on the same day, and I wouldn't think it was so amazing, but now having them happen even in the same month makes me feel spoiled or something. 

Funny how things change.

The kids are out of school for winter break, and they are barfy, ear-infected, snotty, poopy, cranky, and demanding DE MAND ING to go play with friends.  John's off work till January 2nd, so I'm trying to actually post for Blogging Baby rather than just saying I blog there.  They are patient and kind to keep me with my 8 posts for all of December.

We are mostly ready for Christmas, but I never really feel ready.  I'm still in a pretty major funk.  The barf isn't helping.  At all.  The massage helped.  I just stretched out and relaxed and had those half-asleep thoughts that don't make sense once you open your eyes.

It's been cold here, at least cold here for here.  The kids have a red metal wagon that was full of rainwater.  I told them yesterday morning to go check it out and sure enough, it was icy.  They were thrilled.  John got good pictures of it.

i got the ms. pac man hi-score, and several second-graders were impressed with my skills

The party was fun.  That isn't the cake I ordered, but isn't it cute in all it's cupcakeness?  Gotta get Miss Sick Sophie to the doctor.  The ONLY time they could see her today is right at the halfway point of the hour-long massage I was going to have this afternoon.

Now, I'm off to the post office to mail presents. 

ho

ho

ho

 

the year without a santa claus

My boys have a really short Christmas list this year.  Short, as in, one item only.

*sigh*

Yes, they only have eyes for Wii. 

And, since I'm not able (the willing part is doubtful, as well) to camp out overnight starting at 4 pm the afternoon before they are maybe available the next morning, it is not looking like it'll happen for them this year. 

This morning, my brother and I had the two-state approach in operation; he and his girlfriend called me while waiting in line in Portland while I was driving to a store here.  Of course, we didn't have any luck, so I ended up getting them two games.  There will probably be a note from Santa that says:

Dear Boys, 

I heard that your mother promised you a Wii if only you could keep your room clean.  And, dude, she means CLEAN.  So, it looks like you're doing a stellar job, and I have high hopes for your success!  Here are a couple of games to kick things off. 

Merry Christmas,
Santa

P.S.  Be nice to your sisters, and help your mom more.

I think that may be pushing it toward the end there, but they are admittedly long in the tooth to still be believers.

Today is Nathan's birthday.  Eight years old.  We're going to go invade the local arcade place for a couple of hours to celebrate.  Fifteen kids, only ONE parent is not dropping off.  I'm skeered.  Very.

I took this photo of him while he was concentrating on carving his Halloween pumpkin.

Yes, his lashes look like that all the time. 

lucky

My mom took me shopping and bought me a bunch of new clothes for Christmas.  It's kinda wrong how good it makes me feel to have new pretty things to wear.  I guess I need to just embrace my shallowness. 

what's on my first index card

I just finished reading Bird By Bird, by Anne Lamott.  She's got me all inspired to write more and to write creatively and maybe to make an actual book.  She suggests using index cards to write down ideas; she keeps blank cards in her handbag, her glove box, by the bed, in her back pocket on a walk.  I like that idea.  I'm going to appropriate it.  I scrounged around for an index card last night, and it says

nearly winter

I feel like I'm repeating myself, but all I can think of to write about is that I'm sad.  I was blog surfing not too long ago and I read a line that said something like, "I'm feeling kinda down, but I don't want to say I'm depressed because I don't want to look like a weak woman."

?
also
!
and
WTF?

That makes me want to write about how I'm feeling all the more, you know?   I cleaned out the boys' room , and I got all teary about throwing out stuff like the belt to the Superman costume and Nate's old blue visor with the green crocodiles on it (I actually stashed that with some school papers and artwork that I'm keeping because I couldn't let it go yet).  I just feel sad that my boys don't want to dress up like superheroes anymore.  It's not exactly because they're getting older, it's that as they get older they get self-conscious and less spontaneous and more worried about how they look and what's cool.  I miss their openness to everything, I guess.

I've got to get Sophie to school, and since she's in her underpants and hasn't eaten and school starts in a half hour, I'd better get with it.

Updated. . .
So, I just went back and actually read the post I slammed.  Read it *all* the way through this time.  I guess I need to be a little less punchy about stuff, because she went on to talk about possibly seeking professional help and perhaps looking to medication as well.  I apologize for tuning her out when what she wrote hit me the wrong way.  I'm fairly sure she doesn't read here, but, you know, if so, truce?  Hope you feel better, too.   

it's possible

that if a thousand dollars dropped into my lap, I'd spend it all on these.  Not just a pair; all of them.  I don't see anything wrong with that. 

bingle jells

Last night we went to see Lex sing holiday songs with his school singing group. 

That's Willow in the pink jacket standing on John's lap.

We didn't arrive in time for seats, so I stood in the back, John and Willow found a chair, and Nate, Sophie, and a friend who was with us sat on the floor up front.  It was really warm in the cafeteria.  (Is our elementary school the only one that calls it "cafetorium," and am I the only one who just cannot call it that?) 

My mom, ever the smart woman, requested that I call her after the band played, so she could time her arrival accordingly.  The poor band.  Most of them just started playing in October, and they were cute and tried hard, but they still sounded kinda like geese.  We all have to start somewhere, though. 

I ended up passing the time with a woman in her late (?) eighties who lives across the street from the school.  We know her just from walking by her house when she is outside.  I remember that we saw her on New Year's Day this year when we went for a walk.  She'd come over to hear the kids sing and to find some company.  Before the band started, we stood outside the door getting some cold, fresh air and she told me a little tiny bit about her life.  She's from Chicago originally, then lived in New York and all over the East Coast.  Living in New York didn't impress her much, since she had grown up in a big city.  I just looked around and said, SO, I'm from Chicago, this isn't new to me!  I told her that I'm going to Chicago for the first time next summer, and she told me all about how fun it is and all there is to do.  She's lived across the street from the school since before it was a school, since it was just open space.  She told me that the first time she went to downtown San Jose, she didn't know if she should laugh or cry.  It was full of a bunch of hick ranchers in fancy hats, she said, back then, everyone wore hats.

Every once in awhile during our conversation, I got a good blast of booze from her breath.  She was holding it together just fine, but my nose told me that she must've been sauced.   I don't know if she's lonely or not.  She said one of her three children, a son, lives nearby.  She mentioned that she'd offered to let him have her house, but that he preferred his own.  I got the feeling that she was not lonely so much as she was just bored and stuck in suburbia with a body too frail to go do the more exciting things that she preferred. 

My mom got there just as the kids started singing and stood with us.  Between each song, one or two kids would come up and say a little line about the song into the microphone.  Every time they did, my friend would lean over to me and say, "How cute!  I couldn't understand a word she said!"  It was funny (though, honestly, it made my eyes water a little), and she did it every single time. 

I'm always, always thinking of things to add to a conversation after the fact.  Last night I found myself wishing that I'd asked her if she ever considered selling her house (the houses in our neighborhood (even the ones that haven't been updated and only have three bedrooms) go for about $800,000 (dude, that is why we are renters, through and through)), and moving to a swingin retirement community in Chicago.  And, her name; I forgot to ask her name.

not alone

*updated*

The BlogHer Ad Network has been running public service announcements this season, which you've probably seen in sidebars all over the web.  I was really glad to see that Doctors Without Borders was chosen.  Some people I know were involved in making a CD titled Not Alone, which benefits Doctors Without Borders.

That pic doesn't go anywhere, because I have to go get Willow in two minutes and stuff like that takes TIME for me to do, but here's a link to the page that has ordering information.  You'll find our very own Matt (he's not really ours, we just borrow him sometimes) on the first track of the first disc.  And John, too!  I just got in trouble, because, well, because I forgot that John was on it as well.  In my defense, I have a lot of things to keep track of.  Ooops. Also, I think that since John is on there, his brother Greg probably is, too.  I know I'm not.  That much I'm sure of.

And, here's a post from the lovely Rita of Surrender, Dorothy, giving you the scoop on what BlogHer, The Find.com, and you can do to help raise $10,000 for Doctors Without Borders without even opening your wallet. 

Sophie wandered away to do yoga in the early morning sunshine

Sophie wandered away to do yoga in the early morning sunshine
Originally uploaded by jenijen.

blue and christmas, but not blue christmas

We left the house on Sunday morning at 8:45 to go to the mountains so we could cut down our Christmas tree.  It's all decorated and festive in the living room, waiting for presents and the two boxes of ornaments that belong to the girls which I can't seem to find.  The boxes, not the girls.

It's John's birthday today, and Matt's (link so not safe for work or kids) as well.  Last night I made them some homemade veggie pad thai and a chocolate cake.  Then we stayed up too late watching some of season three of Six Feet Under.  Since grown ups never get to have any fun on their birthdays, so it seems, John went to work early this morning, and the girls and I took Matt to the airport so he could sit on a plane until it's no longer his birthday.  True, when he gets off the plane (well, off the train after the plane) he'll be on his way to perform at this show, but still, not a fun way to spend a birthday. 

Nate's birthday is next up, and I need to get planning.  Poor December birthday folk - always getting the short end of the stick. 

The last of the gold and red leaves are falling from the trees, and the sky today is blue as blue gets.

my parenting life and my dream life crashed into each other

I've always had such odd dreams.  I try not to tell people about them, because I know it's irritating, but I can't help but tell a tiny part of the one I had this morning between slam #2 and #3 of the snooze button. 

I was visiting my boyfriend, who was the guy who voices Sponge Bob.  We were at some function (which was at my Grandmother's house, natch), walking around and holding hands.  I was *so proud* to be with him, even though, since we lived far away from each other, he insisted on an open relationship.  He wore a gorgeous suit.  Nice shoes, too.

(So, I just went looking on the web for a photo of Tom Kinney (SpongeBob's voice) to see if he looked, you know, as good as he did in my dream.  Why is he so elusive?  I only found a couple of photos, but they aren't good enough to get any real idea.)

I have to go to a couple of parent-teacher conferences, and then I'm going to come home and finish my Christmas shopping right here at this desk.  That'll be something to celebrate.

updated!

Kenny.  K E N N Y

sigh