Intervention

I guess after 15 years I need to come to terms with it...

I am a stoner.

Wait--that didn't sound right--not the kind of stoner with low earning potential and a mailing address linked to a fold-out couch in their parents' basement...

I'll try again--I am a person who forms stones. I have silly, screwed up biochemistry that uses calcium to form rocks instead of putting it into my bones where I'll need it when I'm 80. And they're not even pretty stones, like the sparkly ones that can be measured with the 4 C's and used to fund my children's college education. Apparently, my kidneys spend an extraordinary amount of time and effort to create horrible, ugly little brown pieces of gravel, and then, after all of that hard work, my body doesn't even want the stupid little things.

The violence with which the body tries to expel objects that it doesn't want is truly remarkable--so remarkable in fact, that I recently ended up in the ER for the first time with an IV full of Dilaudid & Phenergan after 4 hours of writhing and vomiting. Apparently, I can deliver 7+ lb children without a problem (and in less time) but a 7mm rock is beyond my capabilities.

Sadly, I am a victim of my own addiction. After my first stone in college, (where I seriously thought someone had snuck into my dorm room at 3am and stabbed me in the back) I was warned to avoid chocolate, nuts, and tea, all of which contain high levels of oxalate that combines with my already high levels of calcium to form stones. But honestly, does anyone think a female college student is going to stop eating chocolate? (Or a med student? Or a physician? Or a stay-at-home-mom?)

I had a daily chocolate habit. Even better if the chocolate was surrounding almonds or pecans. I scoffed at people who would order some cake and then eat two bites and proclaim, "but it's so rich..." It's chocolate people! It's supposed to be rich! And smooth, and sweet, and wonderful. And eaten in it's entirety.

~sigh~

Because I've been averaging a stone every 6-12 months, and 4am trips to the ER really mess up my family's schedule, I've decided the mature thing to do is to rededicate myself to my "low-oxalate", chocolate-free diet. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna whine about it.

Supine Tree

Comment from our three-year-old: "The Christmas tree is resting. It was so tired from standing up straight."

Fashion Trends Revisited

My trips to the nearby mall usually occur mid-morning on a weekday, and involve strapping my two small children into their stroller so we can efficiently get in, pick up whatever incredibly necessary thing brought us to the mall in the first place, and get out before my 3-year-old remembers there is an indoor play area (aka The Hot Zone of Highly Contagious Viruses). There is no window shopping; no loitering in the shoe department; no browsing the new releases in Barnes & Noble. It's as if my kids can sense when I really want to look at something and use this time as their cue to begin their Socially Unacceptable Behavior display, so I usually just don't even bother to try.

A few weeks ago, however, I had the whole afternoon to myself to do some kid-free, serious shopping. For the first time in months, I actually paid attention to window displays and mannequins, and then I got depressed, because here is what I saw marketed to women my age:
-Skinny jeans
-Leather jackets in unnatural colors
-Geometric patterns
-Bright, almost jewel-tone colors
-Ankle boots
-Large hoop earrings
-Tight black leggings under over sized shirts or sweaters with big belts ("First you belt it, then you cinch it!" tm the Gap Girls on SNL)

So, if you are in your mid-thirties like myself, all of this "trendiness" should be sounding quite familiar because IT'S THE SAME CRAP WE WORE IN HIGH SCHOOL! I saw a shirt at Macy's that was almost exactly like one that I wore for my senior pictures!

I am now officially old enough to have old fashion trends revisited upon me. How depressing. When the acid-washed jeans start showing up, it will surely send me over the edge.

Twelve Years Ago Today....

We Lost Our Ellie Today...

She would have been fourteen years old next month. She was a wonderful dog, and we miss her already.

Happy Mother's Day To Me!

My husband has learned quickly that the only thing a stay-at-home mom really wants is a little time to herself once in awhile, so he cashed in the frequent flyer miles he's been racking up lately and flew me first class to NYC. Not so coincidentally, my celebrity boyfriend, Clay Aiken, was finishing up his stint on Broadway as Sir Robin in Monty Python's Spamalot, and this was something I just had to see.

My trip got off to a difficult start. Because I am still nursing our 7 month-old, I had to drag the breastpump along, and it apparently looks like some kind of explosive device to the TSA people at the airport. To make a very long story somewhat shorter, they wouldn't let me through and held my Highly Hazardous Breastpump hostage until my lactating breasts and I were escorted back into Unsecure Territory. Ten minutes later, I went back through Security and was directed into a different screening line where they waved me through without comment. Morons.

I spent the next five and a half hours luxuriating in first class, drinking Bloody Marys, reading magazines, and watching a movie. At no point did anyone around me whine, require a diaper change, or demand a snack without first saying please. It was wonderful.

My hotel room overlooked Times Square, and was just around the corner from the theater. After getting myself oriented and unpacked, I took myself out to a wonderfully expensive dinner before heading off to the theater. I am a very nice date!

I had tickets for both the Thursday and Friday night shows. Thursday night, I sat in the middle of the Mezzanine level, which was perfect for me to be able to see the whole stage and appreciate the show. My ticket for the next night was in the middle of the second row from the stage, which was perfect for me to be able to see Clay.

It's hard to explain what Spamalot is about. It's based upon Monty Python's Holy Grail (movie) and uses alot of the same dialogue, but it's ten times more funny and entertaining. To try and remark upon my favorite parts, I would have to use sentences like this:
"After the French Taunters hurl the cow over the castle walls and the knights have to flee, King Arthur, Patsy, and Sir Robin end up in the Very Expensive Forest where they are challenged by the Knights who say Ni to find a shrubbery."
See? It just doesn't make sense unless you've seen it. It was hilarious and clever and silly and thoughtful all at the same time, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Clay was, in my incredibly biased opinion, wonderful in this role. Nobody really wants to hear (or read) my gushing about him, so I'll just say that the NYC press was not very complimentary at first when they heard that he had been cast in a role that involved dancing, comedic timing, and relatively little singing, and he has forced them to eat their words. People who aren't really fans are always pleasantly surprised to find out how funny and entertaining he is. Yay Clay!

I knew that Clay will usually come out the Stage Door after the show to sign Playbills, so I zipped outside and found myself in the second row of people behind the barricades they set up for this purpose. As I stood there, more and more people started crowding around, and I just couldn't believe how lucky I was to have gotten so close. I started chatting with a lady standing next to me, and it turns out that we took the same flight out from PDX. She has a reputation amongst the fans for taking great pictures, so I put my camera away and decided to concentrate on getting my Playbill signed. After about 20 minutes, Clay and his security guy came out, we all cheered, and he started signing autographs at lightning speed. This is a picture the lady next to me took of Clay about the time he was signing my program:

And here is the autograph:

Standing behind a barricade outside of a NYC theater's stage door is just somewhere I'd never thought I'd find myself, much less waiting in a huge crowd to get a celebrity autograph. I have never even really wanted a celebrity autograph before, but as soon as I realized that I had actually managed to get Clay to sign my Playbill, I clutched that baby like I had just been given a million dollars and hustled back to my hotel. I felt very proud of myself. Yay me!

The next morning I wandered down to the Garment District and went shopping. I visited the ginormous Macy's store at Herald Square (they have two floors of womens shoes!) and rode these ancient-appearing wooden escalators. My friends will be happy to know that I finally found a beautiful new purse that is appropriately sized for an adult woman, and my miniature handbag has now been retired.

After a nice afternoon nap, I got myself ready for my second date with Clay and walked over to the theater. Now, Broadway theaters are actually fairly small, and so sitting in second row feels like you're practically sitting on the stage. I am so glad that I saw the show a second time, because I realized that there were quite a few of the more subtle, clever details in dialogue and facial expression that I had missed the night before, and of course, I got to see Clay again waaaay up close. After the show, I went out to the stage door again, and was caught up in the crowd much farther back, so I felt so lucky to have been able to get so close the night before. I held up my camera over people's heads and took a bunch of pictures hoping one or two would turn out (if you squint you will see Clay): The next morning, I took myself out to breakfast at the restaurant across the alley from the theater and finished up our book club book for this month. It's central theme revolves around grief and grieving, so I basically sat at my little corner table and sobbed my way through my pancakes. So FYI, not a book I'd recommend reading in a public place, unless you want people to think you've really lost it.

I got a taxi and headed back to the airport. This is the conversation I overheard the TSA security screener having with the two women checking my stuff:

TSA screener man: "What the heck is that?"

Screener lady #1: "It's a breastpump dummy."

TSA screener man: "Oh. But then what's that?"

Screener lady #2: "The milk..."

TSA screener man: "Oh. Well, go check it anyway."

Screener lady #1 comes over, needs less than two seconds to verify that it is fact a breastpump and the resulting milk, and says to me in a very thick Southern accent, "Everthin' a momma need. You go on wich yo'self honey."

So I did go on with myself, straight to the first class lounge. I tried to soak up my last few hours of quiet and aloneness, and then all of a sudden my plane was landing in Portland again. There is a strange feeling of whiplash to go from caring for two small children, to complete self-absorption in a completely different time and place in the world, and then back home to where you started, all in about 60 hours.

I had been looking forward to this trip since I bought the theater tickets in November, and I had such a wonderful time. It was absolutely worth the wait. Happy Mother's Day to me!

It's Girl Scout Cookie Time!

My husband came home a couple of weeks ago with some Girl Scout cookies. I would like to be able to say that I ate them slowly, basking in sentimentality and appreciating the individual yummyness of each cookie. The unfortunate truth is that I pretty much scarfed them down in about 30 minutes while watching The Biggest Loser.

I was a Girl Scout for 9 years, and in that time I know that I was personally responsible for the sale and distribution of hundreds of boxes of cookies. I was your neighborhood Thin Mint dealer, and I've got the badges to prove it.

Upon studying the box the cookies came in, I noticed two things: 1) The uniforms have drastically improved, and 2) According to the box, I learned money management, mathematical skills, and entrepreneurship from my participation in cookie fundraising. I know that I also learned that nobody likes the Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies (not to be confused with the very popular Peanut Butter Patties) and what "No Soliciting" means.

I also learned about humility. Being a door-to-door salesgirl is a very humbling experience, especially when you've got to wear a dorky uniform and drag your dorky self all over the neighborhood, knowing that there is a very high possibility that you are going to knock on a door and the mom of a schoolmate (or *gasp* the kid themself) will answer. You are then forced to go through the whole "Would you like to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies?" speech while the kid from your class and her mom stare at you, say "no thanks" and then shut the door on you.

My brother, who had to do his own boy scout/sports team door-to-door fundraising, and I were recently discussing how any kid who has the temerity to ring the doorbell at our respective houses has already made a sale. It's probably been 20 years since I had to stand on a doorstep selling something, but I still immediately empathize with the kid's situation and buy whatever they've got, especially if there is a dorky uniform involved.

This is me during my very first year of Brownies, probably around 1981. Notice that I am even wearing the requisite beanie.