Just Another Day

So Elizabeth wants to know "your most embarassing moment while doing the wild monkey dance. Details, we want details." Well, I know that Elizabeth isn't one to mince words, so I am going to take what she wrote at face value and respond. I need to take a deep breath, for I am still scarred to this day. I can't believe I am actually going to share this story with the Internet. Ok, one day I was hanging out in the jungle, just kinda minding my own business. I was up in a large, gnarled tree that had long, leafy vines hanging from it. The smell of exotic fruit mixed with damp earth filled my nostrils. The next thing I know, some monkeys casually swung up to the branch I was occupying. It was a little crowded, but I made some room. "Hey," they said. "Hi!" I responded. "Would you like to dance with us?" they queried. "Well, I wouldn't mind, but I have to ask what might be considered a rather rude question." "Shoot,"

So here are quite a few interesting topic suggestions from Gina : cheesy: your favorite celebrity boyfriend? Hmmm, I tend to be not very discriminatory regarding celebrity boyfriends. There is no solid criteria for me, sometimes they don't even have to be good looking for me to have a mild crush on them. I have, at various times had crushes ranging from Michael Palin of Monty Python's Flying Circus (and if you have never checked out any of his travel series, I highly recommend them) to Micky Dolenz of the Monkees. I have to say that if I were to pick anyone though, it would have to be a young Mel Gibson. Ok, yes, I must leave this topic as I am starting to drool onto the keyboard. serious: do you believe in global warming? I think more evidence points to it than not . whimsical: are you a good witch? Or a bad witch? I am a bad, bad witch. touching:what is your favorite moment with Mr. Personality? Oh my, out of all the moments with my son I have to pick one? I think

So, yeah, so if anyone wants an invitation to Gmail, let me know. I have like a billion of them. It is free and pretty cool. I use it for all of my blog-based email and most of my personal email as well. Gmail is Google, and the ONLY drawback that I know of is that there are unobtrusive print ads on the right side when you check your mail. It is still in Beta, and I have answered a couple of questionnaires from them about their service. Also, when you establish your email address, I will automatically get an email telling me about it. Bwaahaahaaa! I can already taste the power!

So like many people I know, I have a bit of a weakness for chocolate. The way I avoid this character flaw is to simply not keep chocolate in the house. That way, I have no temptations to eat any, and I have yet to have a craving strong enough to send me out of the house in search of a Snickers. We had a park and dinner date with some very old friends of ours this weekend. We figured we would let our kids build up an appetite playing on the swings, and then head off for a great little Mexican place not too far from here. We had a wonderful time and we had already hugged our goodbyes and were heading to the car. As I was loading up Mr. Personality, I noticed J walking toward us with a box in his hand. "J wanted to give this to you," he said. "Oh, thanks!" I replied, and took the box. I immediately knew what it was. "Oooooooh nooooo, J, we don't need this!" I wailed at him as he made his way back. He just grinned and waved. You see, it was a two po

So my dear friend Suzanne from Mimilou wants to know what I miss most about my pre-child life. How's about just being able to walk out the door when I want to? Seriously, I was just thinking that very thing not too long ago. I wondered at the fact that I used to be able to throw some clothes on in about thirty seconds, pick up my keys, and walk out the door whenever I felt like it, to go where ever I felt like going at the time. Spontaneity? What's that? The prep time that goes into an outing these days seems to almost equal the time we spend at the actual destination. Mr. Personality is exactly where he wants to be at any given time, so wheedling him to get dressed and such to go somewhere is a time-consuming process. And, whether he dresses himself (sort of) or if I dress him, it still seems to take forever. I am a prepared mother, or at least that is what I like to fool myself into thinking, so whenever we go out, everything has to be just so. Change of clothes, fresh w

So chichimama wants to know "...favorite thing to do without Mr. Personality. And favorite thing to do with Mr. Personality." Can I just say, horrible selfish mother that I am, that I like to do just about anything without Mr. Personality? From being able to sit on the computer without an interruption, to eating a meal in peace, curling up and reading a book without a grimy face attempting to place himself between the book and my face, to shopping unencumbered by a small person who refuses to sit nicely in the cart, I like it all. I don't know if it is a phase he is currently going through, but he is uncanny in his impersonation of a barnacle, and it is beginning to wear on me. We were all at the park on Sunday, and even Hubba-hubba told him that it was time to cut the umbilical cord, buddy. So after he is asleep, I breathe a deep sigh of relief and wish I could stay up reeeallllyy late so as to get the maximum barnacle-free time. As for with Mr. Personality, Disneyla

So today was my first day alone with Mr. Personality, and I can honestly say it was not one of my more stellar days of motherhood. I am still sicker than I would like, and my fuse is much shorter than it should be. I wasn't much fun, and I'm sure it was a bit of a shock for him to have the reality of Mom after the, shall we say, easing of the rules under Grandma. As I was pleading with him to please listen to me, for the sake of my sanity, I began to notice all the different tactics he uses in order to delay my request. For some odd reason, I flashed back to "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu . It is a revered, 6th Century BC text of battle strategies. Hubba-hubba owns it, and I have glanced at it a few times. I did a search for some quotes from the text, and I was flabbergasted to find this one: If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him. If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be wea

So my recent illness prompted a call to Grandma to come in and help out with Mr. Personality, as this week was not a very good one for Hubba-hubba to call in sick. Kindly, my mom has come for the past three days, and it never fails to amaze me at how well, even at my advanced age, she still knows exactly which buttons to push. Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate my mom and all that she has done for me, which is quite a bit. But we have always had what I would consider to be a rather "surface" relationship for a mother and a daughter, and I have never really known how to fix it. I don't know why, but for some reason, she tended to focus her attention mostly on my sister. When it came to pushing for the really high grades and the expectations for scholarships and top-tier colleges, it was all about her. The really huge, blow-out fights that I remember were mainly with her as well. I think it came as a pleasant surprise that I was good at school, sociable, and

Stomach: This is getting boring. Large Intestine: Yeah, I thought it would be more fun than it actually is. Stomach: I don't think I want to see any more melba toast for a good long while. Small Intestine: I was holding a grudge over that baby squashing me all around, but I think I'm over it now. Small Intestine: Don't look at me like that! So what if it was over three years ago? I was uncomfortable! Stomach: Whaddya think? Tomorrow? Large Intestine: 72 hours without solid food should be enough of a punishment. Small Intestine: Those five Imodiums that she took are still working. We gotta get the water flowing back through the pipes, if you know what I mean. The only way to do that is with some food. Stomach: You just know she's gonna want a hamburger though....

The scene: Gina's digestive tract at approximately 2am Tuesday morning. Stomach: I'm bored. Large Intestine: Yeah, me too. Stomach: You know, I realized as we were watching the Golden Globes how much Gina has just let herself go. Small Intestine: Yeah, it's a real shame. I mean, if she were to lose some weight, she could give that Scarlett Johanssen a run for her money. Long silence Stomach: Well, let's just say that I think she could at least beat out Melanie Griffiths. Large Intestine: Melanie Griffiths for sure! Stomach: OK then, who's with me on making sure that nothing more solid than oatmeal passes her lips for at least the next 48 hours? I say we just send it out both ways and that should give her a great jump start on losing some of that extra blubber! Small Intestine: I'm in! Large Intestine: Well, who gets to go first? Stomach: Hmmmm, I think we should just do rock, paper, scissors. Stomach: Damn, I will never understand why paper beats rock, bu

Because I love you so much, my friends, I have decided that discretion is the better part of valor. I am unwilling to inflict another post on you such as the one below. A big shout-out to my homies Heather and Gina , for taking pity on a poor girl with rather painfully obvious writer's block. I will do two things, one is to post what I would consider for myself the last resort of blogging. Ten random songs from my iPod shuffle. I am going to commence turning it on, and will list the songs in their complete and unchanged order, no matter how embarassing the title or artist. Can you just feel the anticipation? I can. Although, keep in mind that this iPod shuffle is supposed to have upbeat, fast music to keep me grooving while I fold the laundry and such, so there will be no slow or classical music. I simply cannot afford to buy a whole bunch of songs, so my playlist is rather limited. And even though I am branded a craven thief by eb , I refuse to download songs I didn'

So I wonder how I've managed to get this far in my blogging life without mentioning my nose? No, I actually like my nose. I think it's rather nice. It's my sense of smell that I am alternately grateful for and yet often drives me crazy. I have one of the most sensitive noses, ever. I can smell almost anything, even from very far away. It is very upsetting to Hubba-hubba, as he can never get anything by me, if ya know what I mean. At times, I rejoice in the fact that my olfactory senses let me revel deeply in a beautiful smell. I love softer scents for that very reason. Vanilla, almond, you get the picture. They wash over me and actually give me a bit of a buzz. And no, I don't walk around sniffing candles, thank you! At other times, I hate the fact that I can smell cigarette smoke from what seems like miles away. I can be sitting in the car and smell cigarette smoke from someone two or three cars away. Other smells hit me the wrong way as well, and can actually

So I thought about it and discussed it with Hubba-hubba. And then I signed Mr. Personality up for a soccer class. Now, I in no way think I have a Pele on my hands or anything even remotely like that. My thought process was, hey, it involves running around with other kids outdoors. Sounds good to me. I had a bit of resistance from Mr. Personality at first, even though I talked it up all week. I tried to explain what a coach was, and what he would be expected to do in class, and so on and so forth. After bribing him with the treat of eating inside McDonald's for dinner, (which so does not normally happen) we made it to the first practice with not too many screeches and only a slight reddening of the face. I thought we were both fairly prepared for Kidsport Soccer, but I was completely unprepared for the coach. I had noticed the instructor's name, and we will, for anonymity's sake, call him Fabio. Which to be truthful, isn't really that far off. I knew he had to be

So one of my New Year's resolutions was to cook more. I enjoy cooking, even though at times I can find it an exhaustive task. Between the prep, the cooking and then the requisite clean up, usually all I want to do is sit down for a bit. Since Mr. Personality was born, I have tended to make things that were semi-prepared, or just needed me to toss a few things in here and there as opposed to making things from scratch. There are actually many things I enjoy more than cooking, and in the past, I have opted to do those instead. This directly opposed the view of myself that I had built up as a mother. How could my child reminisce about his favorite dish when Mom's favorite thing to cook for dinner was spaghetti? All his future wife will have to do is brown butter for his pasta as well as I can, and poof! There goes the pedestal. One of the major problems I have is how to keep Mr. Personality occupied while I am doing all that pesky measuring and mixing. He desperately wants

So today we went to visit a local library. Well, semi-local anyway. But this wasn't just any old library. It was the Cerritos Library . The city of Cerritos is a little-known burg that sits rather uneasily between Los Angeles and Orange counties. It has a huge tax base, and overall is a very nice city. It also boasts the best high school in the state, based on API rankings. It has also been held at various times to be one of the best high schools in the country. I suppose the thinking in the city was, well, since we have these great students, let's build a great library for them. And boy, did they ever. The structure itself is an architectural award winner, which cost the taxpayers a cool 40 million. It is three stories of glimmering titanium tiles, the first in the country to display such finery. It has, count them, 5 fountains on the outside plaza, which it shares with City Hall. This place is almost 90,000 square feet, with over 200 computers and 1200 laptop ports.

So for as long as I can remember, my goal was to be a stay at home mom when I had children. Oh, I flirted briefly with being a lawyer, a teacher, and at one point a famous actress, but they never quite seemed to fit. I don't know if there was some specific reason why I felt that raising children was going to be the thing I did best in the world, but that is how I have felt since I was a teenager. I consider myself to be a fairly progressive feminist. But yet, in the media lately, and around the ever-chattering blogosphere, there seems to have been a resurgence in the us vs. them mentality. All I know is that I can only speak to my own feelings and experiences on the topic, and nothing I say is meant to bash or criticize. The current tide washing ashore at this moment is the ever popular "it is beneath women to stay home" theory. Women who stay at home are abandoning the feminist movement, setting it back. How will girls ever grow up to believe that they can be scient

So today as Mr. Personality and I were painting with washable (of course!) tempera paints, I remembered how much I love to color and paint. I have no talent for it whatsoever, I just enjoy looking at colors, mixing them, and seeing the result. I suppose that if you were to walk into my home, this love of mine would become readily apparent as soon as you walked in the door. I loathe white walls. For me, white walls are antiseptic, sterile. They convey nothing but bleakness and specifically in my house, a horrendous glare. When we first saw this place, every vertical surface, including the fireplace mantel, was a stark and unyielding white. I am well aware of the trick of painting walls white in order to give the illusion of more space. And seeing as how we bought a house with just a bit over 1100 square feet, I suppose it worked. When our offer was accepted, mentally I said, that white's gotta go, or I can never live there. My first order of business before moving in was to pai

So over the weekend, we sat huddled by the fireplace, getting deluged by rain. The Rose Parade, for the first time in over fifty years, was rained upon. We native Southern Californians usually dislike the rain, and avoid doing too much when it happens to show its face, which isn't really all that often. Today, you would have been perfectly comfortable wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Despite this bizarre weather courtesy of global warming, the weekend storms managed to drop some snow on the upper elevations. We are planning on taking Mr. Personality to the snow very soon, as it is only about a two hour drive away. That is, if this week's high temps will not have melted it, which I am crossing my fingers that the hot weather won't last long enough to reduce the snow significantly. Even though I have only been skiing twice, I am willing to brave the mountains once again. You see, Hubba-hubba had kindly offered to teach me to ski. We vacationed often in Lake Tahoe in our for

So for most of my purchasing life, I have been a label whore. Or at least, if I couldn't afford the label, I knew damn well I was supposed to have it. I was always reading In Style or Cosmo or whatever and picking up things that caught my fancy. Hubba-hubba and I could not be more different when it comes to the label thing. A city near us has the Big Dog manufacturing center. About 10 years ago, he found out they were having a "seconds" sale and thought we should pay a visit. There we found T-shirts for 3 bucks or less, with only minor imperfections. And since normally Big Dogs is a mid-priced brand, he was pleased with his thrifty finds. I know few men who would be willing to sort through hundreds of shirts in a huge cardboard box on the ground, but he was happy as a clam thinking about all the money he was going to save. But for some reason, that was a life-changing experience for him and he now refuses to buy shirts that are more than five dollars. I cannot e

So it has been raining for past few days, and today was the first nice sunny day we've had in a while. Silly us, we thought it would do Mr. Personality some good to go to the zoo and run around with his fellow wild animals. Suddenly, he has been hit by the most horrible of viruses, "Antisocial." There happens to be a playground at this particular zoo, and he would only play on it if no one else was there. He begged us to come on the equipment with him, but we said that there were too many children and he needed to play with them anyway rather than boring old us. Commence screaming fit to wake the sleeping iguana behind glass 100 yards away. Finally, after much shushing and more screaming, we told him it was time to wash his hands and leave. Commence screaming and "I will become dead weight so that as you are holding my hand, I will simply arc down to the ground and make you look like bad, uncaring parents." Then it was time to leave, and by this time, he was