Looking at the date of my most recent post, I am vaguely embarrassed. It’s not as though any of you out there eagerly await my contributions to the blogosphere with the anticipation of my four-year-old on Christmas Eve (and we know something about Christmas anticipation around here – and how!). Nevertheless, I have felt the gravitational pull of the blog drawing me back in. It’s a bit like Al Pacino in Godfather III – only without the threats, guns, arias, bad perms, and even worse actresses. (Sopia Coppola? Seriously?) But I digress. As usual.
Just for the record, I fully intend to return to my blissful reverie about our Disneyland trip, if only for my own enjoyment and to ensure I don’t forget the little details that made it so fabulous. But for now, I think a word of explanation regarding my apparent Boo Radley relapse is in order. And I have only one word by way of said explanation: thesis. I’ve been writing. And writing. And writing. I set a deadline for myself to get my second chapter in to my advisor by the last day of classes for the semester. By necessity everything – and I mean everything – was pushed to the side to make way for my chapter. Laundry, emails, three-dimensional people – I lived in a world a part from all of it for a solid two weeks. I was in a writing coma, with only the vaguest of awareness that anything else existed. Only now am I managing to dig out. (I should mention that my girls’ basic needs were more than cared for during this time. They just watched MANY movies while I wrote – a treat they usually don’t get. Snow White on a Tuesday afternoon? For my two princesses, life doesn't get much better than that!)
I wish I could pace myself better. I wish I could write sooner and more regularly. I wish I could find balance between leading an active life and making demonstrable progress on my thesis. But I can’t. And I never have. For as long as I’ve been in school (read: FOREVER!) it’s always been this way. I have to give my mind a chance to get around a problem, theory, or project before I can do ANYTHING. Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen overnight. The entire process takes an inordinate amount of time. I cannot force it. And I cannot write until I’m ready. Once it happens, however, writing becomes a compulsion. I HAVE to do it. And I cannot let up until I’m done.
I used to fear that there was something wrong with my brain – that I was somehow addle-minded. Either that or I was just plain lazy. But one day not long ago, I stumbled upon my Grandmother’s journal, and everything made sense. You see, when she was a newlywed she worked for my Great-Grandfather who was a PhD from Cornell, a former Dean at my alma mater, and a generally brilliant dude. One day she complained to my Grandpa that his father was the laziest man she’d ever seen. He would just sit at his desk, seemingly doing nothing for days on end. My Grandpa’s reply? Just wait. Not long after this conversation, my Great-Grandfather kicked into gear and dictated to my Grandma with something akin to reckless abandon. You see, he’d been trying to get his mind around a problem of his own. Once he did, he worked like fury. And like me, he couldn’t start a moment earlier.
Now, I’m not about to lay claim to the caliber of mind possessed by my Great-Grandfather, my Great-Grandmother (also a college Dean), or my Grandfather (a freaking brilliant chemist and yet another college Dean). But I am more than willing to claim a genetic link in the manner in which we work. I find tremendous comfort in the idea that my brain is wired according to a pattern established by those whose academic achievements I hope to emulate in my own humble way. It makes me feel close to them somehow – almost as though I can lean on them for support along the way. So despite the mountains of laundry, enumerable emails, and countless movies that pile up along the way once I am finally able to write a chapter, I’m trying to embrace my writing comas. In a strange way, it’s kind of like my shout-out to George, George, and Lizzie.
For those keeping score at home: 108 pages down, a mere 150 or so to go.....
Monday, December 22, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The Day The Bear Stood Still....
When last we left our tale, Ginny had worshipped at the feet of Snow White and Ellie boogied down with her Green Army guy. What could possibly compare to such idyllic experiences? One word: Aladdin. Our fourth day in the park began in a rather uneventful way. Ginny had a short but necessary list of rides we needed to hit before our trip was done - the Disneyland Railroad, Casey Junior (what is it with the Bear and trains?), and Alice in Wonderland were required, thank you very much. And so we set forth in spite of extraordinary heat and swelling crowds. Ginny was thrilled, Ellie was a trooper, and by 11:00 we were ready to head back to the hotel for a much needed break. (It appears as though the magic of Disneyland does NOT extend to the granting of limitless stamina!) After all, we had a very important dinner engagement....
To fully appreciate the watershed event that occurred on this, the eve of our final day in the happiest place on earth, we must look back a few months. During our seemingly endless countdown to our vacation, we happened on an episode of "John and Kate Plus Eight" during which the Gosselin gang heads down to Disney World. Their first order of business? Dining at Chef Mickey's - the apex of all character dining experiences. This is where the short ones (and those of us who aren't so short) can rub elbows with a veritable pantheon of classic Disney characters. Our girls watched this show repeatedly, dreaming of a day when they too might experience such joy. So when they found out that Disneyland had it's own version of this revered restaurant - Goofy's Kitchen - they would not be denied. Our date was set, and we were excited. After all, the girls had done beautifully bonding with other characters - from princesses to previously unknown woodland creatures. We had no reason to believe this dining experiences would be any different. We were wrong.
The meal began as our other character meals had. The girls offered copious hugs to Minnie & Goofy, and chatted up Jasmine yet again. We were on a role. And then the earth stopped on its axis. Aladdin arrived at our table. All bets were off. Now Ellie was giddy (he was awfully cute) but composed as they talked about Jasmine, the Genie, and the lamentable absence his loyal monkey sidekick Abu. Ginny, on the other hand, was a different matter all together. Aladdin's very presence stunned her into absolute silence. From the moment he arrived at our table and for a few minutes after he left, Ginny's hands were firmly attached to her mouth. One would have thought Elvis had arrived in the building. Our girl who had charmed the pants off of EVERYONE throughout the resort, and ran into the arms of various creatures with reckless abandon, was rendered speechless. She was in shock. Who knew Aladdin would have such a profound effect on our otherwise gabby and disarming little Bear? Once again, it was the unexpected which would prove so memorable - not to mention thoroughly enjoyable!
Once Ginny recovered (the whole scene still cracks me up!), we finished our meal and retired to our lovely room once more. (After four days of non-stop pursuit of Disney perfection, we needed all the rest we could get!) The alarm was set (for 5:30am - ah the sacrifices we make for magic), and Dumbo laid in wait for one more flight. After all, we had one more day in the best week ever, and we were determined to make the most of it.
To fully appreciate the watershed event that occurred on this, the eve of our final day in the happiest place on earth, we must look back a few months. During our seemingly endless countdown to our vacation, we happened on an episode of "John and Kate Plus Eight" during which the Gosselin gang heads down to Disney World. Their first order of business? Dining at Chef Mickey's - the apex of all character dining experiences. This is where the short ones (and those of us who aren't so short) can rub elbows with a veritable pantheon of classic Disney characters. Our girls watched this show repeatedly, dreaming of a day when they too might experience such joy. So when they found out that Disneyland had it's own version of this revered restaurant - Goofy's Kitchen - they would not be denied. Our date was set, and we were excited. After all, the girls had done beautifully bonding with other characters - from princesses to previously unknown woodland creatures. We had no reason to believe this dining experiences would be any different. We were wrong.
The meal began as our other character meals had. The girls offered copious hugs to Minnie & Goofy, and chatted up Jasmine yet again. We were on a role. And then the earth stopped on its axis. Aladdin arrived at our table. All bets were off. Now Ellie was giddy (he was awfully cute) but composed as they talked about Jasmine, the Genie, and the lamentable absence his loyal monkey sidekick Abu. Ginny, on the other hand, was a different matter all together. Aladdin's very presence stunned her into absolute silence. From the moment he arrived at our table and for a few minutes after he left, Ginny's hands were firmly attached to her mouth. One would have thought Elvis had arrived in the building. Our girl who had charmed the pants off of EVERYONE throughout the resort, and ran into the arms of various creatures with reckless abandon, was rendered speechless. She was in shock. Who knew Aladdin would have such a profound effect on our otherwise gabby and disarming little Bear? Once again, it was the unexpected which would prove so memorable - not to mention thoroughly enjoyable!
Once Ginny recovered (the whole scene still cracks me up!), we finished our meal and retired to our lovely room once more. (After four days of non-stop pursuit of Disney perfection, we needed all the rest we could get!) The alarm was set (for 5:30am - ah the sacrifices we make for magic), and Dumbo laid in wait for one more flight. After all, we had one more day in the best week ever, and we were determined to make the most of it.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Mouse, A Party, and A Green Army Guy
Anyone who has visited the Disneyland Resort knows this well. For those of you who have yet to have the privilege, allow me to offer some illumination. There are two parks at this amazing resort. There is Disneyland Park - the original park straight out of the prodigious vision of and overseen by one Walt Disney. And then there is Disney's California Adventure Park, or as my sister calls it, Ghetto Disneyland. This park could be anywhere. It lacks both the magic and charm of its sister park. It seems the powers that be know this and are addressing it - and how! Over the next few years a major overhaul of California Adventure will take place that looks both promising and fun. I'm excited to see how it comes together. But I digress.
In spite of our relative lack of enthusiasm for the ghetto (we spent almost ALL of our time in Disneyland Park), we committed to spend an entire evening there. You see, during Halloween Time California Adventure Park hosts Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. I've heard of other parks doing this kind of event and never felt compelled to join in the festivities. Nevertheless, the Disneyland reps made this particular party sound so great, we decided to join in. And so, on the "middle evening" of our trip, we traipsed down to California Adventure with the girls bedecked in full princess attire not sure of what we might find, but willing to give it the old college try. As it turns out, we had a lot more than fun. We had an absolute blast!
We simply had no idea what we were walking into that night. The park was decorated to the hilt with character photo-ops at every turn. Princesses and Monsters mingled with Bugs and Toys, with ALL of Disney's iconic pirates in tow. As if that wasn't enough, all of the rides were open to a relatively reduced crowd, treat stations were set up throughout the park, and numerous dance parties kept everything hopping all evening. The girls were beyond excited! In spite of the harried pace we'd kept, and the fact that the party started just shy of their bedtime, Bug and Bear fully embraced the moment. Ginny boogied down with Flik and Sulley, and Ellie had a private lesson in the art of the curtsy from Cinderella. Together, they had King Triton's carousel almost to themselves and gathered a haul of candy they couldn't have obtained after HOURS of going door-to-door back home. As usual, however, it wasn't the any structured activity that made the night so memorable. Like Ginny's encounter with Snow White the day before, we couldn't have planned the moment that would set this night apart.
At the end of the evening, many characters from throughout the park - from classic Disney to Pixar - made their way down the main drag in a Halloween parade/dance party. As was the case throughout our trip, we had remarkable luck and managed to claim a bench right in the middle of the action - so much so that a cute and most unintimidating witch came up to Ellie and asked her to walk out and dance with a few of the characters. Now, Ellie doesn't usually do this kind of thing. She's too much like yours truly. Ellie loves the idea of being apart of things, but when it comes right down to it, fear and bashfulness get the better of her. (For and illustrative example, check out the post about her school program last May!) Such was not the case on this night. It seems that the folks at Disney not only make dreams come true, they instill super human bravery in little people to ensure they have more fun then they could possibly imagine.
Yes, our Ellie danced! And danced! In the parade! With a witch and, most importantly as it turned out, a Green Army Guy from Toy Story who is officially my hero for how he treated my little girl. She was out there in the middle of the street for the ENTIRE dance and boogied her heart out. I only wish you could have seen her face when she ran back to me. She was overflowing with joy and pride as she hugged me and triumphantly reported, "I was really good and really brave, huh mom!" Yes, my little Bug was SO good and SO brave I nearly wept like my grandma right there and then. Luckily, something caught my eye and distracted me from a potentially embarrassing public display of blubbering. Ellie's Green Army Guy had run after her. He gently took her hand and led her back out to the street. (Ellie was MOST willing. She ADORED "her" Green Army Guy at this point!) One more little surprise lay in store for our jubilant Bug - a button specifically designed for and given to those kids who displayed enough chuztpah to dance in the parade. Apparently the Green Army Guy was almost as excited about Ellie's performance as we were and wanted to make sure she got one. (Bless his green plastic heart! I want to put him in for a medal!)
And so ended our unbelievably fabulous evening at Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. It was nothing short of awesome - something I truly did not expect. The girls had yet another ridiculously magical experience to add to their ever-growing list, and we (aka the adults of this motley crew) were reminded how much fun Halloween, Disneyland, and dancing in the street can be thanks to the enthusiasm of the under five set. As for Ellie, she wore her button like a badge of honor for days. Even now it has found a place of honor on the bulletin board in her bedroom. And every once in a while she reminds me that she got this most precious of all treasures because she was "so brave and was such a great dancer!" Who knew that a relatively minor character at a relatively ghetto park had the capacity to bring my girl - my buddy - out of her shell and allowed her to shine in front of Mickey, Minnie, their friends, and hundreds of strangers? And who knew I would be forever grateful for a guy dressed in green plastic and covered in green makeup? You just have to hand it to that proverbial Disney magic. It makes heroes of the most unexpected characters. And makes great brave dancers out of the most unsuspecting little girls.
In spite of our relative lack of enthusiasm for the ghetto (we spent almost ALL of our time in Disneyland Park), we committed to spend an entire evening there. You see, during Halloween Time California Adventure Park hosts Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. I've heard of other parks doing this kind of event and never felt compelled to join in the festivities. Nevertheless, the Disneyland reps made this particular party sound so great, we decided to join in. And so, on the "middle evening" of our trip, we traipsed down to California Adventure with the girls bedecked in full princess attire not sure of what we might find, but willing to give it the old college try. As it turns out, we had a lot more than fun. We had an absolute blast!
We simply had no idea what we were walking into that night. The park was decorated to the hilt with character photo-ops at every turn. Princesses and Monsters mingled with Bugs and Toys, with ALL of Disney's iconic pirates in tow. As if that wasn't enough, all of the rides were open to a relatively reduced crowd, treat stations were set up throughout the park, and numerous dance parties kept everything hopping all evening. The girls were beyond excited! In spite of the harried pace we'd kept, and the fact that the party started just shy of their bedtime, Bug and Bear fully embraced the moment. Ginny boogied down with Flik and Sulley, and Ellie had a private lesson in the art of the curtsy from Cinderella. Together, they had King Triton's carousel almost to themselves and gathered a haul of candy they couldn't have obtained after HOURS of going door-to-door back home. As usual, however, it wasn't the any structured activity that made the night so memorable. Like Ginny's encounter with Snow White the day before, we couldn't have planned the moment that would set this night apart.
At the end of the evening, many characters from throughout the park - from classic Disney to Pixar - made their way down the main drag in a Halloween parade/dance party. As was the case throughout our trip, we had remarkable luck and managed to claim a bench right in the middle of the action - so much so that a cute and most unintimidating witch came up to Ellie and asked her to walk out and dance with a few of the characters. Now, Ellie doesn't usually do this kind of thing. She's too much like yours truly. Ellie loves the idea of being apart of things, but when it comes right down to it, fear and bashfulness get the better of her. (For and illustrative example, check out the post about her school program last May!) Such was not the case on this night. It seems that the folks at Disney not only make dreams come true, they instill super human bravery in little people to ensure they have more fun then they could possibly imagine.
Yes, our Ellie danced! And danced! In the parade! With a witch and, most importantly as it turned out, a Green Army Guy from Toy Story who is officially my hero for how he treated my little girl. She was out there in the middle of the street for the ENTIRE dance and boogied her heart out. I only wish you could have seen her face when she ran back to me. She was overflowing with joy and pride as she hugged me and triumphantly reported, "I was really good and really brave, huh mom!" Yes, my little Bug was SO good and SO brave I nearly wept like my grandma right there and then. Luckily, something caught my eye and distracted me from a potentially embarrassing public display of blubbering. Ellie's Green Army Guy had run after her. He gently took her hand and led her back out to the street. (Ellie was MOST willing. She ADORED "her" Green Army Guy at this point!) One more little surprise lay in store for our jubilant Bug - a button specifically designed for and given to those kids who displayed enough chuztpah to dance in the parade. Apparently the Green Army Guy was almost as excited about Ellie's performance as we were and wanted to make sure she got one. (Bless his green plastic heart! I want to put him in for a medal!)
And so ended our unbelievably fabulous evening at Mickey's Trick or Treat Party. It was nothing short of awesome - something I truly did not expect. The girls had yet another ridiculously magical experience to add to their ever-growing list, and we (aka the adults of this motley crew) were reminded how much fun Halloween, Disneyland, and dancing in the street can be thanks to the enthusiasm of the under five set. As for Ellie, she wore her button like a badge of honor for days. Even now it has found a place of honor on the bulletin board in her bedroom. And every once in a while she reminds me that she got this most precious of all treasures because she was "so brave and was such a great dancer!" Who knew that a relatively minor character at a relatively ghetto park had the capacity to bring my girl - my buddy - out of her shell and allowed her to shine in front of Mickey, Minnie, their friends, and hundreds of strangers? And who knew I would be forever grateful for a guy dressed in green plastic and covered in green makeup? You just have to hand it to that proverbial Disney magic. It makes heroes of the most unexpected characters. And makes great brave dancers out of the most unsuspecting little girls.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
And on the Second Day, the Girls Said "Let There Be Princesses!!!"
As the morning dawned on our second day at Disneyland, we were in full princess mode. Way back in August, on the first day we could possibly make reservations to have lunch with the princesses at Ariel's Grotto, we made reservations to have lunch with the princesses at Ariel's Grotto. This was a moment not to be delayed. Two years ago, we stumbled into this most royal of character dining experiences completely by chance. We had no idea what it was, only that there was a princess-themed restaurant sheltered from what had been a rather cold and rainy day. This search for a happy respite led to one-on-one encounters for Ellie with elite of the princess universe - Cinderella, Belle, Aurora, Snow White, and of course, Ariel. With this experience under our proverbial belts, we were sure that we would be able to cross all of the required ladies off of our list of characters to see, and thus be free to enjoy the remainder of the week unencumbered by the plaguing need to find an elusive princess. Or so we thought. It seems even in the ideal world of Disney, life doesn't always come out just right.
As I've previously mentioned, our bear donned her sister's Snow White dress DAILY for over two months leading up to our trip. For reasons I have yet to determine, Ginny adores Snow White. She worships Snow White. She wants to BE Snow White. (In fact, some days she makes me call her Snow White.) So imagine our chagrin when, as we waited to be seated at our table in the hallowed halls of the aforementioned Grotto, we were informed that Belle and, gasp!, Snow White would not be in attendance at our meal. I think he said something about Mary Poppins and Jasmine making a special appearance, but I can't be sure. My mind was racing through how I would explain to Ginny that she would, in fact, NOT be dining with her beloved idol.
Now this is not to say that the meal was a disappointment. Far from it. The girls had a wonderful time NOT eating and chatting endlessly with the princesses (and nanny!) who were there. Ellie enjoyed some serious face time with her Princess Aurora (the bug's current favorite and her choice for Halloween persona this year) and both of the girls were able to chat with Jasmine who they had not met in our previous visit. (Ginny was over the moon about Jasmine's jewelry, but that's another story for another day.) By the end of the meal, the girls were thrilled and looked in wonder at their autographs books and photograph with Ariel. And then it happened. Ginny's little head popped up and she asked the words I had dreaded. "Where Snow Whitie?" This question came up repeatedly throughout the rest of the afternoon. Did I mention Ginny LOVES Snow White? And this little girl was not to be denied.
For any of you who have been through the gauntlet of searching for a specific character in Disney parks, you know. It is NOT as easy as it sounds. This is particularly true of the princesses. Yes, Disneyland has a Princess Fantasy Faire - a mecca for all things princess where at any moment throughout the day three princesses lie in wait to greet their devotees. But here's the rub: you NEVER know which princesses you are going to get. Between coronation ceremonies, storytelling, and run-of-the-mill breaks, the princesses rotate around the Faire all day. It is virtually impossible to nail down a time and place for any of the royal clique. Impossible, that is, unless you are vacationing with the all-powerful Gramma and Poppy who just happen to have a few connection at the park. Through their network of reliable sources, Marv and Marg found out that Snow White was to be at the Faire first thing Wednesday morning. It was mission impossible. And we were ready.
After a lovely breakfast with some woodland creatures we barely recognized (okay, so Ginny fell in love with a raccoon named Meeko) we lined up at the front gates at the park.......an HOUR before the park opened. We had a princess to find and we took our charge seriously. We lined up like lemmings at the top of Main Street ready to sprint to the back of the park the moment the rope dropped. We mapped out the most effective way to get to our destination and kept our eyes on the prize. At precisely 10:00 am we raced across Fantasyland and up to the queue.
There we were, fourth in line to meet our royal trifecta. And then the worry set in. What if Snow White was not among the first shift of princesses. How many times would we need to do this in order to find her? As the Faire opened (finally!) and we made our way to the front of the line, I looked at Ginny bedecked in her Snow White garb and began to feel a bit of sheer panic. What would I tell my little two-year-old if her beloved Snow was not there? And then we turned the corner.
I've heard of dreams coming true. I've heard of people having that perfect moment when their wish becomes their reality. On this day, I saw it happen on a hot morning in October in the middle of Disneyland. As we walked around a wall made up of fake stones, my daughter's face erupted into what can only be described as absolute happiness. Snow White was there. And Ginny ran....right into the arms of her idol. She kept touching Snow White's arm, her dress, her hair, as if to confirm that she did, in fact, exist and she was, in fact, there. And she wouldn't let Snow White out or her sight. When Snow signed the girls' autograph books, Ginny sat beside her. When Snow White talked to a very excited Ellie, Ginny attached herself to her side. As her visit ended and Ginny walked away, she walked backwards waving and blowing kisses only to have Snow White ask for one more hug. Ginny soaked up every perfect moment with her girl.
It sounds a bit silly now thinking about the entire experience from a slightly more rational perspective (and sitting in my very rational basement - quite the contrast to being in the shadow Sleeping Beauty's castle), but we felt as though we had just experienced an almost transcendent moment. The fact that we as mere mortals had anything to do with our girl getting her perfect moment was indescirbably satisfying. Not to mention the weight of expectation that was lifted the moment we could cross this most important of meetings off of our proverbial list. And what made this moment even more satisfying in everything that led up to and followed it.
That morning Ellie had been able to dance with Winnie the Pooh. I kid you not. She DANCED with Pooh bear. Usually the line to see this silly old bear would take you at least 45 minutes. Yet somehow, he was there. And Ellie found her way to him. And they danced. (We have the video to prove it!) But the fortuosity didn't end there. That evening we were able to attend Mickey's Halloween Treat in the California Adventure Park. It was here, in a most unexpected place, that Ellie danced once again - this time with an awfully cute witch and a green army guy from Toy Story. But that's a story for another post, on another day. As for this entry, I think it's safe to say that the folks at Disneyland aren't blowing smoke when they say it's the place where dreams come true. At the risk of sounding profoundly sentimental, every once in a while - in the right place, at the right time - they really do. Just ask Ginny. I mean Snow Whitie.
Author's Note: The spelling of "Snow Whitie" is not a typo. That is actually what Ginny calls her most beloved of all princesses. And I'm not about to correct her!
As I've previously mentioned, our bear donned her sister's Snow White dress DAILY for over two months leading up to our trip. For reasons I have yet to determine, Ginny adores Snow White. She worships Snow White. She wants to BE Snow White. (In fact, some days she makes me call her Snow White.) So imagine our chagrin when, as we waited to be seated at our table in the hallowed halls of the aforementioned Grotto, we were informed that Belle and, gasp!, Snow White would not be in attendance at our meal. I think he said something about Mary Poppins and Jasmine making a special appearance, but I can't be sure. My mind was racing through how I would explain to Ginny that she would, in fact, NOT be dining with her beloved idol.
Now this is not to say that the meal was a disappointment. Far from it. The girls had a wonderful time NOT eating and chatting endlessly with the princesses (and nanny!) who were there. Ellie enjoyed some serious face time with her Princess Aurora (the bug's current favorite and her choice for Halloween persona this year) and both of the girls were able to chat with Jasmine who they had not met in our previous visit. (Ginny was over the moon about Jasmine's jewelry, but that's another story for another day.) By the end of the meal, the girls were thrilled and looked in wonder at their autographs books and photograph with Ariel. And then it happened. Ginny's little head popped up and she asked the words I had dreaded. "Where Snow Whitie?" This question came up repeatedly throughout the rest of the afternoon. Did I mention Ginny LOVES Snow White? And this little girl was not to be denied.
For any of you who have been through the gauntlet of searching for a specific character in Disney parks, you know. It is NOT as easy as it sounds. This is particularly true of the princesses. Yes, Disneyland has a Princess Fantasy Faire - a mecca for all things princess where at any moment throughout the day three princesses lie in wait to greet their devotees. But here's the rub: you NEVER know which princesses you are going to get. Between coronation ceremonies, storytelling, and run-of-the-mill breaks, the princesses rotate around the Faire all day. It is virtually impossible to nail down a time and place for any of the royal clique. Impossible, that is, unless you are vacationing with the all-powerful Gramma and Poppy who just happen to have a few connection at the park. Through their network of reliable sources, Marv and Marg found out that Snow White was to be at the Faire first thing Wednesday morning. It was mission impossible. And we were ready.
After a lovely breakfast with some woodland creatures we barely recognized (okay, so Ginny fell in love with a raccoon named Meeko) we lined up at the front gates at the park.......an HOUR before the park opened. We had a princess to find and we took our charge seriously. We lined up like lemmings at the top of Main Street ready to sprint to the back of the park the moment the rope dropped. We mapped out the most effective way to get to our destination and kept our eyes on the prize. At precisely 10:00 am we raced across Fantasyland and up to the queue.
There we were, fourth in line to meet our royal trifecta. And then the worry set in. What if Snow White was not among the first shift of princesses. How many times would we need to do this in order to find her? As the Faire opened (finally!) and we made our way to the front of the line, I looked at Ginny bedecked in her Snow White garb and began to feel a bit of sheer panic. What would I tell my little two-year-old if her beloved Snow was not there? And then we turned the corner.
I've heard of dreams coming true. I've heard of people having that perfect moment when their wish becomes their reality. On this day, I saw it happen on a hot morning in October in the middle of Disneyland. As we walked around a wall made up of fake stones, my daughter's face erupted into what can only be described as absolute happiness. Snow White was there. And Ginny ran....right into the arms of her idol. She kept touching Snow White's arm, her dress, her hair, as if to confirm that she did, in fact, exist and she was, in fact, there. And she wouldn't let Snow White out or her sight. When Snow signed the girls' autograph books, Ginny sat beside her. When Snow White talked to a very excited Ellie, Ginny attached herself to her side. As her visit ended and Ginny walked away, she walked backwards waving and blowing kisses only to have Snow White ask for one more hug. Ginny soaked up every perfect moment with her girl.
It sounds a bit silly now thinking about the entire experience from a slightly more rational perspective (and sitting in my very rational basement - quite the contrast to being in the shadow Sleeping Beauty's castle), but we felt as though we had just experienced an almost transcendent moment. The fact that we as mere mortals had anything to do with our girl getting her perfect moment was indescirbably satisfying. Not to mention the weight of expectation that was lifted the moment we could cross this most important of meetings off of our proverbial list. And what made this moment even more satisfying in everything that led up to and followed it.
That morning Ellie had been able to dance with Winnie the Pooh. I kid you not. She DANCED with Pooh bear. Usually the line to see this silly old bear would take you at least 45 minutes. Yet somehow, he was there. And Ellie found her way to him. And they danced. (We have the video to prove it!) But the fortuosity didn't end there. That evening we were able to attend Mickey's Halloween Treat in the California Adventure Park. It was here, in a most unexpected place, that Ellie danced once again - this time with an awfully cute witch and a green army guy from Toy Story. But that's a story for another post, on another day. As for this entry, I think it's safe to say that the folks at Disneyland aren't blowing smoke when they say it's the place where dreams come true. At the risk of sounding profoundly sentimental, every once in a while - in the right place, at the right time - they really do. Just ask Ginny. I mean Snow Whitie.
Author's Note: The spelling of "Snow Whitie" is not a typo. That is actually what Ginny calls her most beloved of all princesses. And I'm not about to correct her!
Friday, October 31, 2008
It All Started With A Mouse....
No really. It did. After two days in Saint George during which Ellie expressed her doubts that we were really going to Disneyland (she wondered if this was just another "Saint George house trip") and a long drive through the foreboding deserts of southeastern California we finally pulled onto Magic Way and found ourselves staring at a statue of Mickey himself. From that point forward, it was all Disney all the time for the entire week! And it began with a bang. After taking a desperate (but cute!) four-year-old on a potty break immediately upon arrival, we walked out of the restroom to the sounds of a shrieking bear. Goofy was in the lobby. I never knew my girls were such accomplished sprinters. But the speed with which they traversed the span of the lobby to reach their favorite member of the original fab five inspired the theme to Chariots of Fire to echo through my head. (Or was that the headache after many hours with excited girls in the car?) The girls got some serious Goofy love, and we were off and running on our ridiculously idyllic week. And it only got better! (How could the week be anything but idyllic with a picture-perfect view of Space Mountain and the Matterhorn outside our hotel room window?!?!)
As you all know, our girls endured ten months of devotedly counting down to this vacation. During that time, they gave most careful and deliberate consideration to our game plan. What would we do once we finally walked through the front gates and into the park of parks? We had our marching orders. And after the aforementioned excruciating wait, they were set. Dumbo. Peter Pan. The Teacups. Snow White. After that, anything was fair game. And so we proceeded accordingly. And we had a blast. Ginny's face was priceless as she waited for her turn to ride Dumbo for the first time. And Ellie flew the titular elephant with pure joy - as evidenced by her desire to make that darn creature move up and down as quickly and dramatically as possible. (Who knew gentle Dumbo was not for the faint of heart, or stomach!) Peter Pan was a hit! And between the girls, Gramma, and me, we made some impressive spinning on the Teacups worthy of a Mad Hatter's tea party! And then there was Snow White. Ginny was psyched. After a minute in line, Ellie was not. Dark rides are not her thing, and the visage of the evil queen did not help. So my bug and I meandered around a shop instead. She felt terrible...until we were told to go out of the shop and around the corner. You see, Disneyland is celebrating "A Year of a Million Dreams." Part of this celebration is a "Dream Fast Pass" which allows the bearer to skip most or all of a line for the most popular rides in the park. These passes are distributed completely at random. And we all got one - even the stalwart souls who braved the scary journey of Ginny's favorite princess. For someone who never won ANYTHING this was way cool! (okay, I was voted to be an officer in National Honor Society in high school, but can you really call it a "win" when your status as supreme geek was confirmed by vote at the age of seventeen?) And Ellie felt a little better for skipping a ride and becoming the benefactor of our good fortune!
By the time evening fell, the girls had their new princess dresses in their possession (the necessary uniform for our lunch at Ariel's Grotto the following afternoon) and we eagerly awaited the Parade of Dreams (their title, not mine). The girls had watched this parade ad nausium on YouTube during the months leading up to our trip, but they were not prepared for just how big this parade would be. (Or how big the float of the Little Mermaid's nemesis Ursula would be. If Ginny could have crawled INSIDE of my jacket, she would have!) This parade boasted every big name in the Disney pantheon. The girls were crazy excited. They waved. They cheered. They danced. And while the parade was beyond lovely, my girls were what really made the night for me.
First, Ginny finally saw HER Snow White. Now, for those of you who do not get the hang out with the bear on a daily basis, you might not know just how big this was. Ginny has worn her sister's old Snow White dress EVERY day. For months. If you were to ask her who she would see in Disneyland, she would always start - and often end - with the fairest one of all. Snow White is the living end for little Ginny. So when Snow White made her appearance on the last float of the parade, I expected Ginny to put her shrieks over Goofy to shame. But the most remarkable thing happened. Ginny stood still. She was silent. She was in absolute and complete awe that HER Snow White was there. For real. (It reminded me of when I finally saw David McCullough last year!) And Ginny was stunned.
As for our Ellie, her highlight had little to do with the parade. Due to the popularity of parades at Disneyland, one much secure a spot nearly two hours ahead of zero hour. This left a LOT of time for two little girls to sit. So Ellie made a new friend. She does this often and at random. For our bug, any stranger under five feet tall is just a friend she hasn't met yet. And this night, she met Lottie from Australia. Lottie sat with Ellie while her mom stood behind us. Ellie shared her treats and new light spinner with Lottie. When the parade was over, Ellie gave Lottie a big hug and told her she would miss her for a really long time. And this was a trend that would continue throughout the week. Ellie met a little Cinderella while waiting for out table at the princess lunch the next day and proceeded to walk back and forth to her table over the course of the lunch to visit her princess pal. Ellie ran into her Cinderella friend later that evening at Haagen Daas in Downtown Disney. She squealed and ran to embrace her long lost buddy. A Snow White in glasses became her friend two days later while waiting in line at the Princess Fantasy Faire. Ellie is a buddy to the core; just waiting to bestow her friendship on anyone!
So at the end of a perfect first day, it hit me. Disneyland is incredible. I've loved it since I was little. (And I am talking crazy love here!) But sharing Disneyland with my girls? Forget about it! That's where the magic is! Pure, unmitigated magic.
As you all know, our girls endured ten months of devotedly counting down to this vacation. During that time, they gave most careful and deliberate consideration to our game plan. What would we do once we finally walked through the front gates and into the park of parks? We had our marching orders. And after the aforementioned excruciating wait, they were set. Dumbo. Peter Pan. The Teacups. Snow White. After that, anything was fair game. And so we proceeded accordingly. And we had a blast. Ginny's face was priceless as she waited for her turn to ride Dumbo for the first time. And Ellie flew the titular elephant with pure joy - as evidenced by her desire to make that darn creature move up and down as quickly and dramatically as possible. (Who knew gentle Dumbo was not for the faint of heart, or stomach!) Peter Pan was a hit! And between the girls, Gramma, and me, we made some impressive spinning on the Teacups worthy of a Mad Hatter's tea party! And then there was Snow White. Ginny was psyched. After a minute in line, Ellie was not. Dark rides are not her thing, and the visage of the evil queen did not help. So my bug and I meandered around a shop instead. She felt terrible...until we were told to go out of the shop and around the corner. You see, Disneyland is celebrating "A Year of a Million Dreams." Part of this celebration is a "Dream Fast Pass" which allows the bearer to skip most or all of a line for the most popular rides in the park. These passes are distributed completely at random. And we all got one - even the stalwart souls who braved the scary journey of Ginny's favorite princess. For someone who never won ANYTHING this was way cool! (okay, I was voted to be an officer in National Honor Society in high school, but can you really call it a "win" when your status as supreme geek was confirmed by vote at the age of seventeen?) And Ellie felt a little better for skipping a ride and becoming the benefactor of our good fortune!
By the time evening fell, the girls had their new princess dresses in their possession (the necessary uniform for our lunch at Ariel's Grotto the following afternoon) and we eagerly awaited the Parade of Dreams (their title, not mine). The girls had watched this parade ad nausium on YouTube during the months leading up to our trip, but they were not prepared for just how big this parade would be. (Or how big the float of the Little Mermaid's nemesis Ursula would be. If Ginny could have crawled INSIDE of my jacket, she would have!) This parade boasted every big name in the Disney pantheon. The girls were crazy excited. They waved. They cheered. They danced. And while the parade was beyond lovely, my girls were what really made the night for me.
First, Ginny finally saw HER Snow White. Now, for those of you who do not get the hang out with the bear on a daily basis, you might not know just how big this was. Ginny has worn her sister's old Snow White dress EVERY day. For months. If you were to ask her who she would see in Disneyland, she would always start - and often end - with the fairest one of all. Snow White is the living end for little Ginny. So when Snow White made her appearance on the last float of the parade, I expected Ginny to put her shrieks over Goofy to shame. But the most remarkable thing happened. Ginny stood still. She was silent. She was in absolute and complete awe that HER Snow White was there. For real. (It reminded me of when I finally saw David McCullough last year!) And Ginny was stunned.
As for our Ellie, her highlight had little to do with the parade. Due to the popularity of parades at Disneyland, one much secure a spot nearly two hours ahead of zero hour. This left a LOT of time for two little girls to sit. So Ellie made a new friend. She does this often and at random. For our bug, any stranger under five feet tall is just a friend she hasn't met yet. And this night, she met Lottie from Australia. Lottie sat with Ellie while her mom stood behind us. Ellie shared her treats and new light spinner with Lottie. When the parade was over, Ellie gave Lottie a big hug and told her she would miss her for a really long time. And this was a trend that would continue throughout the week. Ellie met a little Cinderella while waiting for out table at the princess lunch the next day and proceeded to walk back and forth to her table over the course of the lunch to visit her princess pal. Ellie ran into her Cinderella friend later that evening at Haagen Daas in Downtown Disney. She squealed and ran to embrace her long lost buddy. A Snow White in glasses became her friend two days later while waiting in line at the Princess Fantasy Faire. Ellie is a buddy to the core; just waiting to bestow her friendship on anyone!
So at the end of a perfect first day, it hit me. Disneyland is incredible. I've loved it since I was little. (And I am talking crazy love here!) But sharing Disneyland with my girls? Forget about it! That's where the magic is! Pure, unmitigated magic.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The Best Week Ever!!!
This kind of thing doesn't happen often. For some people it happens not at all. Yet somehow, it happened to us. At the perfect time. We had the perfect week. Our long-long-long-awaited trip to Disneyland has come and gone. And while I didn't think it was possible, our trip exceded our expectations. Perhaps it helped that the weeks leading up to the trip (expecially the week immediately preceding the trip) were chaotic at best. Dave had an exam and a LOT of projects to finish up at work. I had to submit yet another appeal for an extension with CU and get a revised chapter off to my new advisor. And of course, the girls got sick. I almost gave up on the entire process. Everything seemed to go wrong. Complications sprung up like the weeds in my front garden. Even the trip down to St. George where we were to unwind for a couple of days before heading off to the happiest place on earth was fraught with unbelievably heavy traffic. Dave and I feared nature, kharma, providence, or some other unseen power was trying to tell us something. We weren't sure the trip was such a good idea after all. And then the most remarkable thing happened. Everything went right. From the moment we arrived at the Disneyland Hotel life was good. Life was happy. Life was so darn fun. We had the best week ever!
Maybe our trip was perfect because we were so afraid to build it up too much in fear it could never live up to expectations. Maybe the long wait made us appreciate just how precious each second was and how quickly they would fly away. Regardless, we soaked in and embraced every moment - even the cranky outbursts (the girls are still two and four no matter where we are.....so what was my excuse?), the ill-timed potty breaks (how do kids know when you are at the furthest possible point from a restroom?), and the general exhaustion of a week of Disney fun. And the fact we were able to share the experience with Gramma and Poppy - the ridiculously generous benefactors of our dream vacation - made it all the better. The girls and their long-distance grandparents really got to know each other. And the grandparents got to be around for a few significant life moments for the girls.
I realize that it's much easier to have a truly joyful experience when one is able to escape the stresses of everyday life, the pressures of school, the never-ending tasks around the house, and the too often discouraging news coverage of financial crises and political strife (although I must confess to missing my daily David Gergen fix on CNN). In point of fact, it probably was that realization that helped us completely absorb and enjoy every minute we had in our character-saturated Shangri-La. Regardless, our trip couldn't have been better. And we can't wait to go back. In the meantime, I fully intend to bore any and all willing (and not-so-willing) victims, eh, readers of my humble blog to a trip log of sorts. Over the next few days I will post some of the daily highlights from what can only be described as the best week ever! While you all wait for these posts - with baited breath I'm certain! - head over to Grandma and Poppy's blog. You'll find the link on the right. There you will discover a fabulous slide show of trip courtesy of the Poppy himself!
Maybe our trip was perfect because we were so afraid to build it up too much in fear it could never live up to expectations. Maybe the long wait made us appreciate just how precious each second was and how quickly they would fly away. Regardless, we soaked in and embraced every moment - even the cranky outbursts (the girls are still two and four no matter where we are.....so what was my excuse?), the ill-timed potty breaks (how do kids know when you are at the furthest possible point from a restroom?), and the general exhaustion of a week of Disney fun. And the fact we were able to share the experience with Gramma and Poppy - the ridiculously generous benefactors of our dream vacation - made it all the better. The girls and their long-distance grandparents really got to know each other. And the grandparents got to be around for a few significant life moments for the girls.
I realize that it's much easier to have a truly joyful experience when one is able to escape the stresses of everyday life, the pressures of school, the never-ending tasks around the house, and the too often discouraging news coverage of financial crises and political strife (although I must confess to missing my daily David Gergen fix on CNN). In point of fact, it probably was that realization that helped us completely absorb and enjoy every minute we had in our character-saturated Shangri-La. Regardless, our trip couldn't have been better. And we can't wait to go back. In the meantime, I fully intend to bore any and all willing (and not-so-willing) victims, eh, readers of my humble blog to a trip log of sorts. Over the next few days I will post some of the daily highlights from what can only be described as the best week ever! While you all wait for these posts - with baited breath I'm certain! - head over to Grandma and Poppy's blog. You'll find the link on the right. There you will discover a fabulous slide show of trip courtesy of the Poppy himself!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
a bear's world
The Scene: Firmly ensconced in hour ten of what should have been a mere eightish hour car drive home from a weekend at Gramma and Poppy's. We've hit it all - a massive traffic jam (the result of a huge accident earlier in the morning), a lengthy downpour, RVs going 30 mph (if that!) through construction zone after construction zone, you name it. The girls have endured it all with tremendous charm and humor. That is until we hit "the wall." Anyone who has children and anyone who is acquainted with children knows this phenomenon well. It is that dreaded moment when enough is enough. As our Bear hits this impenetrable emotional barrier, she offers the one happy solution her two-year-old brain could muster.
The Dialogue:
Dave: "Hang in there, girls. We're almost home!"
Bear: "I drive now! I drive now! Daddy, peas? Oh peas? I drive now?"
Me: "But sweetheart, you're too short."
Bear (letting her chin fall to her chest in utter defeat): "Oh."
The End.
Post Script: We did make it home - eventually - and the Bear taught me a much-needed lesson in optimism. Needless to say, I owe my little family a ton for weathering the lethal combo of long drive and quick turnaround so I could meet with my new advisor!
The Dialogue:
Dave: "Hang in there, girls. We're almost home!"
Bear: "I drive now! I drive now! Daddy, peas? Oh peas? I drive now?"
Me: "But sweetheart, you're too short."
Bear (letting her chin fall to her chest in utter defeat): "Oh."
The End.
Post Script: We did make it home - eventually - and the Bear taught me a much-needed lesson in optimism. Needless to say, I owe my little family a ton for weathering the lethal combo of long drive and quick turnaround so I could meet with my new advisor!
a bug's life
The Scene: "One of those mornings": everyone is moving so slowly its barely perceptible, nothing seems to be where it should be, no one is eating breakfast, every sock and shoe has lost its mate, and we were supposed to be on our way to visit my 88-year-old grandma 45 minutes ago. And did I mention my grandma will NOT hesitate to call the Highway Patrol if she thinks we've taken too long because she's sure that will mean we've been in a horrific accident and are too injured to use my cell phone?
The Dialogue:
Me: "I give up! This is one bad day!"
Bug: "That's okay, mom. It's a good kids' day. You can borrow from us."
The End.
Post Script: We successfully avoided the 911 call, I gained invaluable perspective, and we all lived happily ever after.
The Dialogue:
Me: "I give up! This is one bad day!"
Bug: "That's okay, mom. It's a good kids' day. You can borrow from us."
The End.
Post Script: We successfully avoided the 911 call, I gained invaluable perspective, and we all lived happily ever after.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Ode to a Creaky Home....
As we are approaching the one year anniversary of our official move into our first house, I thought I appropriate to pontificate on the complete and absolute love I harbor for this home. We actually received the keys over Labor Day weekend last year, but spent most of the month fixing, cleaning, and painting. Oh! The painting! Even though my wrist still cringes at the sight of a paintbrush, it's difficult to believe we've only been here a year. It feels like we never lived anywhere else! So without further delay, I offer just a few reasons I love our home.
I love that the girls rooms are PAINTED in pretty colors they picked out - "precious purple" for Bug (fancy words for lavender), "pretty yellow" for Bear.
I love that the girls have space to run, swing (at last!) and dig in the garden. After years upon years of apartment dwelling, it still brings tears to my eyes to look out over our quarter-acre yard. (Now if I could only get the hang of gardening and yard maintenance!)
I love that I still do a double take whenever I leave home - just to see my cute house one more time.
I love that I fell in love with my house years ago when I walked an old boyfriend out to his car following my sister's wedding reception. ("Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in such a lovely little brick home across the street from such a beautiful reception center?" Me, July 1999.)
I love that I can wash and DRY our clothes within the confines of our home. This doesn't mean that I manage to stay on top of the laundry, but it is a sheer joy to have the freedom to do as much or as little laundry as I need to, whenever I need to. Over ten years of laundromat fun have taught me gratitude for even the most mundane blessings.
I love that our home has a history. The hardwood floors were walked on over sixty years ago! And the creaks and squeaks that have ensued over time were earned!
I love our gigantic twelve-paned window in the living room. Yes, at times it can feel as though we live in a fish bowl, but to have a wall almost entirely made up of a window? And not just any window, but a window that looks out over our enormous sycamore trees? It's heaven.
I love that we have TWO full bathrooms. Need I say more?
I love our cozy family room in the basement. Due to a lack of remodeling prowess by former owners, this room has neither window nor heating vent. Yet somehow it is the most perfect, coziest spot to curl up and read, watch a movie, or just hang out. It's our little bunker that is completely sheltered from the outside world.
I could go on and on and on..... But I will spare you, for now. In closing I would like to include just one more thought.
More than anything, I love that the perfect circumstances converged to allow Dave and me to give our girls a home of their own. A home that will be theirs for the foreseeable future. This is where we will nurse injuries - of both body and soul. This is where we will hold holiday dinners. This is where we will enjoy Cinnamon Roll Saturday for many Saturdays hence. This is where the four of us can always retreat for love, joy, and security. This is OUR home.
I love that the girls rooms are PAINTED in pretty colors they picked out - "precious purple" for Bug (fancy words for lavender), "pretty yellow" for Bear.
I love that the girls have space to run, swing (at last!) and dig in the garden. After years upon years of apartment dwelling, it still brings tears to my eyes to look out over our quarter-acre yard. (Now if I could only get the hang of gardening and yard maintenance!)
I love that I still do a double take whenever I leave home - just to see my cute house one more time.
I love that I fell in love with my house years ago when I walked an old boyfriend out to his car following my sister's wedding reception. ("Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in such a lovely little brick home across the street from such a beautiful reception center?" Me, July 1999.)
I love that I can wash and DRY our clothes within the confines of our home. This doesn't mean that I manage to stay on top of the laundry, but it is a sheer joy to have the freedom to do as much or as little laundry as I need to, whenever I need to. Over ten years of laundromat fun have taught me gratitude for even the most mundane blessings.
I love that our home has a history. The hardwood floors were walked on over sixty years ago! And the creaks and squeaks that have ensued over time were earned!
I love our gigantic twelve-paned window in the living room. Yes, at times it can feel as though we live in a fish bowl, but to have a wall almost entirely made up of a window? And not just any window, but a window that looks out over our enormous sycamore trees? It's heaven.
I love that we have TWO full bathrooms. Need I say more?
I love our cozy family room in the basement. Due to a lack of remodeling prowess by former owners, this room has neither window nor heating vent. Yet somehow it is the most perfect, coziest spot to curl up and read, watch a movie, or just hang out. It's our little bunker that is completely sheltered from the outside world.
I could go on and on and on..... But I will spare you, for now. In closing I would like to include just one more thought.
More than anything, I love that the perfect circumstances converged to allow Dave and me to give our girls a home of their own. A home that will be theirs for the foreseeable future. This is where we will nurse injuries - of both body and soul. This is where we will hold holiday dinners. This is where we will enjoy Cinnamon Roll Saturday for many Saturdays hence. This is where the four of us can always retreat for love, joy, and security. This is OUR home.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Here We Go a Wallowing.....
I'm not proud. I admit it. I have been deeply ensconced in a good wallow this past month. And over nothing of monumental importance in the grand scheme of things. My girls are amazing, healthy, and happy. My husband is patient, funny, and wicked smart. My home is lovely. Summer's oppressive heat at last has broken and the leaves are beginning to turn. So what if my major advisor has decided to ride off into semi-full retirement and will be handing me off to the professor in early modern England who my department just hired? And really, does it matter that I received this news out of the proverbial blue right after I finally finished my first chapter draft and felt like I might be able to do this thesis thing after all? Yes, I will be working hundreds of miles away from an advisor I will meet for the first time in about a week. True, I will never have a class, seminar, or even TA-ship to build a relationship with said professor. And for those of you keeping score at home, my soon-to-be-former advisor was indeed the last professor remaining in the history department who served on my comps committee and original thesis committee. Is that really such a big deal? Apparently, it was. A big enough deal to render me completely numb and utterly useless for a few days. Old movies were watched. Favorite books were read. I think a milkshake was involved at one point. Yet, every day something amazing happened. The sun still came up. Ellie's school year commenced. Ginny learned about a hundred new words. Dave started this round of classes at the U. Dear friends discovered new pregnancies or continued counting down the days of pregnancies long-endured. Life went on. Imagine that. And so I shall plow forth - slightly daunted about writing a thesis for a relative stranger, tepidly abashed for my rather pathetic behavior, and vaguely intrigued by what lies ahead. You never know. This new advisor could be the driving force that will propel me toward the Pulitzer Prize in History. (The Pulitzer. For a book about river engineering projects in early modern England. Then again, maybe not.....)
Monday, August 4, 2008
Does Anyone Have a Cure for a Reading Hangover?
I always do this. It's instinctual with me. I anticipate holding my latest conquest in my hands. I intend to imbibe slowly, savoring every moment. I look forward to days of enjoyment. And then the book comes out and reality sets in. Who in the world am I trying to kid? The second I open the cover I read and read and read. Before I know it, I have finished the accursed tome less than thirty-six hours later and I'm left to ponder what on earth just happened; usually with a raging headache.
I wish I could resist the pull of a good story. I wish I could relish every word. But when it comes right down to it, I am a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Pacing means nothing. The pile of presents awaits and I will not know peace until I have ripped open every one in ninety seconds or less. In the case of my bibliophilic tendencies, I have to know what comes next. Now. Even if it is three in the morning and I can barely see. The desire to read overcomes every other need. I even get cranky when it comes time to eat. Who on earth needs food when an epic battle is about to commence?!?!
This visceral reaction is fairly palatable when it directs itself toward great writing. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, The Poisonwood Bible, anything by Jane Austen – I can almost understand my drive to reach the final page; to know how the story’s arch completes itself. Even the Harry Potter series was a worthy object for my lust for words. But Breaking Dawn? The story about a teenage girl and her vampire boyfriend that EVERYONE is reading? You must be kidding. I read The DaVinci Code hiding in my parents bedroom during a trip from Colorado because I could not stomach reading the ubiquitous novel-of-the-day in a public venue. I could not bear being one of those readers – the ones who proudly engage in the latest pop-lit sensation like it is the literary equivalent of the Crocs fad. Yet there I was. First thing Saturday morning anxiously purchasing my copy of the vampire-werewolf-human love triangle. (I would not, could not bring myself to attend a midnight release party. That madness I reserve entirely for the likes of the boy who lived!)
What makes the entire scenario worse is the fact that I detest romance novels. (Jane Austen forever and always will stand as the one exception to this rule, although I’m not sure she counts. I would argue that she incorporates exceptional depth to her novels with her satire and social commentary so as to transcend the label!) I had only come across one other vampire novel that I enjoyed before last summer. (I threw away an Anne Rice novel for crying out loud! When I was only half-way through it! And I WORSHIP books!) How on earth did I get sucked into this trend? And why oh why did I enjoy it so much? Seriously. I thoroughly loved the ride! And I am only mildly abashed to admit it!
And so here I sit, having traversed insanity. I made it through the tunnel of fanatical reading that commandeered my weekend and found life on the other side. Now that my unyielding desire to read is in remission (for now!), my focus on the outside world is returning to normal; however sluggish that return might be. And I will spend time with the three-dimensional people once more. Unless someone knows of another great read worthy of a relapse into my compulsive ways, that is. Then again, perhaps I should look into the existence of Obsessive Readers Anonymous instead.
I wish I could resist the pull of a good story. I wish I could relish every word. But when it comes right down to it, I am a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Pacing means nothing. The pile of presents awaits and I will not know peace until I have ripped open every one in ninety seconds or less. In the case of my bibliophilic tendencies, I have to know what comes next. Now. Even if it is three in the morning and I can barely see. The desire to read overcomes every other need. I even get cranky when it comes time to eat. Who on earth needs food when an epic battle is about to commence?!?!
This visceral reaction is fairly palatable when it directs itself toward great writing. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, The Poisonwood Bible, anything by Jane Austen – I can almost understand my drive to reach the final page; to know how the story’s arch completes itself. Even the Harry Potter series was a worthy object for my lust for words. But Breaking Dawn? The story about a teenage girl and her vampire boyfriend that EVERYONE is reading? You must be kidding. I read The DaVinci Code hiding in my parents bedroom during a trip from Colorado because I could not stomach reading the ubiquitous novel-of-the-day in a public venue. I could not bear being one of those readers – the ones who proudly engage in the latest pop-lit sensation like it is the literary equivalent of the Crocs fad. Yet there I was. First thing Saturday morning anxiously purchasing my copy of the vampire-werewolf-human love triangle. (I would not, could not bring myself to attend a midnight release party. That madness I reserve entirely for the likes of the boy who lived!)
What makes the entire scenario worse is the fact that I detest romance novels. (Jane Austen forever and always will stand as the one exception to this rule, although I’m not sure she counts. I would argue that she incorporates exceptional depth to her novels with her satire and social commentary so as to transcend the label!) I had only come across one other vampire novel that I enjoyed before last summer. (I threw away an Anne Rice novel for crying out loud! When I was only half-way through it! And I WORSHIP books!) How on earth did I get sucked into this trend? And why oh why did I enjoy it so much? Seriously. I thoroughly loved the ride! And I am only mildly abashed to admit it!
And so here I sit, having traversed insanity. I made it through the tunnel of fanatical reading that commandeered my weekend and found life on the other side. Now that my unyielding desire to read is in remission (for now!), my focus on the outside world is returning to normal; however sluggish that return might be. And I will spend time with the three-dimensional people once more. Unless someone knows of another great read worthy of a relapse into my compulsive ways, that is. Then again, perhaps I should look into the existence of Obsessive Readers Anonymous instead.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
A Moose, a River, a Mountian...Our Trip to Idaho
As Emily (A.K.A. Boo Radley) is catching up with all of the messes I’ve made, I decided I should start working on the Blogg.
It all started earlier this year when my brother, Jeff, called and invited my family to the Ripplinger family cabin in Driggs, Idaho. At the time, all I knew was Driggs is located somewhere in Idaho (I thought it was near Boise). When I found out it was near Rexburg, home of the infamous BYU Idaho (gasp! that’s a swear in our house hold).
This discovery caused a slight tear in my space-time continuum. When I thought cats and dogs would be living together, my wise and intelligent wife informed me that Driggs was closer to the Teton Mountain Range than Rexburg…oh happy day!!! All was well in the world, cats and dogs will still hate each other. This gave me so much joy I nearly cried.
When D-Day came, on the heels of the girls birthdays, I was so excited to go fishing, hiking, and lounging with my girls…and family too. When we arrived at the cabin Ellie saw the large Moose head above the entrance and had a slight freak-out. After I was able to pry her finder nails from my neck Jeff and I were able to convince her that the Moose was just a “toy,” named Mortimer. A slight stretch of the truth, but we convinced Ellie that the Moose was a friend. Ginny on the other hand, wanted to play with the Moose. I sometimes caught her trying to climb up to the Moose to play.
The next day was a day never to be forgotten…unfortunately, I had an incident with a microwave and the metal plate in my head. When the microwave was turned on, I wet myself and forgot who I was for an hour (or I just spent an intense day going all over the place, travelling not my strong suit). As part of the fallout from that incident, I’ve lost my memory of most of that day. All I can recall is there was something involving an old time family portrait, a Chuck Wagon dinner, pictures of the east face of the Tetons, and a place called Jackson, Wyoming.
With Jackson out of the way I was able to start fulfilling my Griswold family vacation aspirations (see National Lampoon’s Vacation movies for further insight) and take Ellie fishing for the first time on the Teton River the next morning. As the good and humble parent I am, I didn’t prepare Ellie for this fishing trip at all, thinking that she could handle anything I throw at her…including a capsized canoe. The fishing trip started out according to plan with me, Ellie, and Mike (my brother-in-law) all in the canoe, with Ellie between Mike and I. In my over-zealous state of mind we charged down the river without thinking of the others in the larger, less capsizeable, fishing boat.
As we rounded a bend in the river I looked back to see if the other boat was coming…it wasn’t. That was unexpected, but no worries…me David, me outdoorsman, me can handle anything on river. Well, not really.
While looking back for the other boat I felt the canoe violently tip to one side. As a seasoned Boy Scout with two (I think) merit badges on my sash, I knew instantly I was going into the water. With the panic that any parent worth their salt would have, I struggled to get into a position to get Ellie. By the time I actually had my head above water Mike had the canoe upright and was at Ellie’s side.
As Mike swam down river to get the equipment which went overboard, I pushed the canoe to the shore, muttering words that would make a sailor blush (I’m still surprised Ellie hasn’t told Mommy what Daddy said on the river). As I was worrying about Ellie and the cold, I saw the other boat come around the bend. A sharp, but brief, exchange occurred between Jeff and me about the recent events and how he couldn’t get the motor started on the bigger boat. Around that time my inner monolog told me, Emily should know about this so we can get help. I reached for my cell phone and it was gone.
In retrospect, I was an idiot for taking my cell with me on the canoe, especially without any water proofing, but prior to setting out on this little adventure I was assured “you can’t tip the canoe, it’s too hard, you’ll be fine Dave.” Taking that advice to heart, I thought everything would be OK, and my cell would be safe, but alas, it is now sleeping with the fishes, literally (If anyone reading this finds a Black Jack II at the bottom of the Teton River near Driggs, call me, just not on my cell phone!).
When the larger boat finally made it to me my temper had abated and I just wanted to get Ellie out of there. My mom took Ellie and “loved her” by wrapping Bug in her jacket for the remainder of the float down the river. Being only a quarter mile from the boat launch I volunteered to paddle up river, get a car, and meet everyone at the next landing (about 3 miles downriver). As mister outdoorsman I took to the river with authority. Paddling left then right and right then left, until I couldn’t feel my muscles, about ten minutes later. After an ordeal lasting 3 hours I was nothing more than a heap of sore muscle and joint tissue. While floating down the river I have often wondered what some of the locals thought as they saw this moron city slicker struggling to make it up river…the looks I got were priceless.
When I finally made it to the launch I was soaked and tired, but with a mission still to complete I forged ahead. Getting into my Parent’s 2008 GMC Acadia I sped down the road to the landing. When I hit about a 100 mph I noticed my car coming the other way. I slammed on the brakes and in a cloud of burnt rubber I was face to face with Lindsay, who stayed at the cabin and received a call from Jeff on the river. With a slight tear in my eye I traded Lindsay vehicles and took my car back to the cabin. I honestly can’t remember much about the rest of the day other than playing Phase Ten with my siblings and hanging my mother’s bra on the Mortimer the Moose, a perfect way to end a crazy day.
All in all, the trip was a blast. We have fallen in love with the Driggs area. Hopefully we will hit the lottery jackpot and will purchase a cabin in the area…someday, if I could cheat on the lottery (hum…). I was privy to seeing one of the most beautiful places on earth. I can’t wait until we can make it there again. Maybe I’ll find my cell phone. We do have pictures and we’ll be posting them when we get the chance.
-Dave
P.S. Seriously, if there is anyone that finds my phone at the bottom of the Teton River near Driggs call me.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Coming Soon to a Blog Near You...
No, Boo Radley syndrome has not taken hold again. (At least not to any significant degree, anyway!) I have just survived (and at times relished, lest my tone seem too negative) a powerful cocktail of birthday week (for the girls) and a Shaw family reunion (in the Tetons). (For those of you who don't know, when the ability to multi-task was handed out, I was reading in a corner, too distracted to line up! Ergo, blogging while experiencing the aforementioned activities was out of the question.) The past couple of weeks were intense to say the least, and fraught with juicy tidbits I hope to share over the coming days. At the moment, however, I am playing a mad game of catch up as I return to my regularly-scheduled life. In fact, I am taking a break from some desperately needed writing time to provide this scant - if charming - teaser. Newsy updates and photos of a July that will live in infamy (well, not really, except for the capsizing canoe....) are forthcoming! I'm sure at least two of you will be thrilled (or at least tepidly cheerful) with this news! As for now, it's back to the Anglo-Dutch wars! (Good times will be had by all!) Cheers!
P.S. Kari, if you are out there, congratulations on getting into the new home! FINALLY!
P.S. Kari, if you are out there, congratulations on getting into the new home! FINALLY!
Monday, July 7, 2008
Family of Nerds
This evening I convinced Em to allow me to add to this Blog...after secretly determining her password (1234...what kind of password is that??) I was able to hack into the secure mainframe of Blogspot!
Truth be told, she has wanted me to add an entry for many moons. Feeling the pressure, I needed to think of something that I could discuss on the Blog (unfortunately, my job in the rocket business is uninteresting to most, except those pyros out there...I'm talking to you Ben!). So I've come up with a master plan...I'll shout to the world that I'm a nerd...oh yes a nerd to the extreme. Well, according to the professionals at oneplusyou.com.
I am a true master, maxing out at 87%...ouch (kind of stings, truth can really hurt)! I admit, I carry a pocket protector with color coordinated pens, but I never expected this...maybe I should've. Trying to not make myself too depressed, I convinced Emily to take the quiz. She earned a respectable 50%, not bad for a Historian.
This only tells me we are as nerdy as any one family can be (although I wonder about some people at work...I'm talking to you, man with the horn-rim glasses I've only seen in Apollo 13). God bless our kids, they don't have a chance at a normal life...please keep them in your prayers...
ME:
87% Geek
Truth be told, she has wanted me to add an entry for many moons. Feeling the pressure, I needed to think of something that I could discuss on the Blog (unfortunately, my job in the rocket business is uninteresting to most, except those pyros out there...I'm talking to you Ben!). So I've come up with a master plan...I'll shout to the world that I'm a nerd...oh yes a nerd to the extreme. Well, according to the professionals at oneplusyou.com.
I am a true master, maxing out at 87%...ouch (kind of stings, truth can really hurt)! I admit, I carry a pocket protector with color coordinated pens, but I never expected this...maybe I should've. Trying to not make myself too depressed, I convinced Emily to take the quiz. She earned a respectable 50%, not bad for a Historian.
This only tells me we are as nerdy as any one family can be (although I wonder about some people at work...I'm talking to you, man with the horn-rim glasses I've only seen in Apollo 13). God bless our kids, they don't have a chance at a normal life...please keep them in your prayers...
ME:
87% Geek
EM:
50% Geek
-Dave
P.S. If anyone knows where I can get some 1960's era horn-rim glasses let me know!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Strike a Pose, There's Nothing to it!
Over the past several weeks, I have received many inquiries regarding if and/or when I might get around to putting some pictures up on my blog. I can only say that any and all reluctance on my part has been the direct result of my abiding inability to work with all things technological ( I can barely type the word for crying out loud) and my general suspicion of those who are more adept at it then I (which is just about everyone on the planet). Nevertheless, at the urging of Dave I hereby acquiesce. But first, a word of explanation. These girls are ying and yang, John and Paul, Simon and Garfunkel, Mac and Cheese; two very different chickadees who often bicker but who adore each other utterly and completely. One would be lost without the other. When Gramma and Poppy sent two highly coveted nightgowns depicting Snow White and Sleeping Beauty respectively, a high-end fashion show naturally ensued with absolute coordination. Paris? Milan? They tremble and pale by comparison. And so I offer a glimpse into the world of the fabulous Bug and Bear!
And on the Eighth Day God Created Ikea....
Okay, so this suggestion may border on sacrilegious. But have you seen this place?!?! With birthday week rapidly approaching, Dave and I find ourselves immersed in our annual rush to finish birthday shopping in spite of our sincerest intentions to do so a minimum of a month in advance. (And I wonder why I don't meet my deadlines. Has ANY parent EVER finished ANYTHING early? If you are reading this thinking "I do all of the time", please stop reading now. I cannot relate to you.) So this year, our rush toward completion involves one final gift: Ellie's big girl bed. Yes, our bug is moving up in the world and within the week will call a full sized bed her own. For the record, our initial intention was to use an antique brass bed that once belonged to one of Ellie's namesakes. Upon extricating said bed out of storage, however, we were met with rusted metal, bent rails, and exposed screws. Not exactly ideal for the preschool set. (Sorry Grammy!) This left us with plan B - go out and find a new bed to purchase for our girl with less than two weeks to go before her birthday. Good times.
Our first stop on our great, if slightly frantic, quest was a local furniture institution which shall remain nameless but has until very recently maintained a stranglehold on the home furnishings market in our area. (We discovered that a Furniture Row - FURNITURE ROW!!! - is under construction next door to Ikea, but its opening date has yet to be determined. Sigh. That remains a dream for another day. And for those of you who haven't lived along the front range, patience. Soon you too will understand.) We attempted to stifle our potentially uproarious laughter as we looked at price tag after price tag for beds priced upwards of $700. The Hannah Montana and Disney Princess decor surrounding said beds did nothing to temper the sticker shock involved, or justify the prices themselves. (Although the decorations did elicit repeated requests - one might say desperate pleadings - for a "princess bed" that bordered on obsessive and which were, I am certain, their primary objective.) Needless to say, we promptly abandoned the hallowed halls of traditional furniture monopoly and found ourselves needing to regroup.
Since no shift in strategy can possibly take place with starving children who threaten to shrivel up if they are not fed, we spontaneously (?) selected a tried-and-true restaurant as our home base for future operations. As luck would have it, said tried-and-true restaurant was no more than a few miles from a place we have meant to visit since it opened to much hoopla and even more meatballs a few months ago - IKEA. So, in the immortal words of our countless forefathers who have lived in the shadows of the everlasting hills, we decided "what the heck?!?!"
Heavenly choirs of angels proffered their idyllic strains as we crossed the threshold.... Okay, so it wasn't quite that dramatic, but this place truly is transcendent. Even the girls were utterly enthralled by the sundry vignettes, brights colors, and seemingly never ending selections of, well, everything one could imagine. Dave and I even got a workout in the bargain as we were forced to chase our girls everywhere. (The chasing of the girls was followed by the enforced carrying of the would-be runaways for the remainder of our visit.) While we were unable to tarry quite as long as we would have liked (has anyone actually been able to carry a nearly four-year-old around Ikea, or anywhere for that matter, for longer than thirty minutes?), it was enough time to stumble upon nirvana. The elusive find. The un-gettable get. We found THE bed. And the "most beautiful fancy mirror Ellie has ever seen!" So as the upcoming birthday dawns, Dave and I will be prepared with the promised nocturnal trappings, and all will be right with the world. After all, the world is inhabited by Ikea.
Our first stop on our great, if slightly frantic, quest was a local furniture institution which shall remain nameless but has until very recently maintained a stranglehold on the home furnishings market in our area. (We discovered that a Furniture Row - FURNITURE ROW!!! - is under construction next door to Ikea, but its opening date has yet to be determined. Sigh. That remains a dream for another day. And for those of you who haven't lived along the front range, patience. Soon you too will understand.) We attempted to stifle our potentially uproarious laughter as we looked at price tag after price tag for beds priced upwards of $700. The Hannah Montana and Disney Princess decor surrounding said beds did nothing to temper the sticker shock involved, or justify the prices themselves. (Although the decorations did elicit repeated requests - one might say desperate pleadings - for a "princess bed" that bordered on obsessive and which were, I am certain, their primary objective.) Needless to say, we promptly abandoned the hallowed halls of traditional furniture monopoly and found ourselves needing to regroup.
Since no shift in strategy can possibly take place with starving children who threaten to shrivel up if they are not fed, we spontaneously (?) selected a tried-and-true restaurant as our home base for future operations. As luck would have it, said tried-and-true restaurant was no more than a few miles from a place we have meant to visit since it opened to much hoopla and even more meatballs a few months ago - IKEA. So, in the immortal words of our countless forefathers who have lived in the shadows of the everlasting hills, we decided "what the heck?!?!"
Heavenly choirs of angels proffered their idyllic strains as we crossed the threshold.... Okay, so it wasn't quite that dramatic, but this place truly is transcendent. Even the girls were utterly enthralled by the sundry vignettes, brights colors, and seemingly never ending selections of, well, everything one could imagine. Dave and I even got a workout in the bargain as we were forced to chase our girls everywhere. (The chasing of the girls was followed by the enforced carrying of the would-be runaways for the remainder of our visit.) While we were unable to tarry quite as long as we would have liked (has anyone actually been able to carry a nearly four-year-old around Ikea, or anywhere for that matter, for longer than thirty minutes?), it was enough time to stumble upon nirvana. The elusive find. The un-gettable get. We found THE bed. And the "most beautiful fancy mirror Ellie has ever seen!" So as the upcoming birthday dawns, Dave and I will be prepared with the promised nocturnal trappings, and all will be right with the world. After all, the world is inhabited by Ikea.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Random Snapshots from a Cluttered Brain...
I love my house. It's almost 70 years old, has creaky floors, drafty windows, and is ridiculously fabulous. I waited so long to finally have four walls to call my own. (And a yard! Did I mention the yard?!?!) For a This Old House junky (it's on my DVR list - seriously - Norm, Tommy, Richard, and Roger forever!) who has carefully maintained a box full of sundry architectural and decorating "ideas" since 1990 for if and when I finally owned a home, the wait was excruciating. And worth it. My house is perfect (even before the planned renovations) and I never want to move!
Ellie has decided to add Kung Fu master to her list of things she wants to be when she grows up - along with astronaut, princess, and occasionally ballet fairy. (Incidentally, she needs to "drive" the space shuttle. She doesn't trust anyone else to do it for her.) Did I mention Ellie went to see Kung Fu Panda this week with Dave and LOVED it?
Ginny possesses the verbosity of an Aaron Sorkin character and/or a Gilmore girl. Who knew? Our quiet little angel face suddenly decided to start speaking after nearly two years of relative quiet. (Relative to her sister that is!) And in full sentences. (For a caveman anyway.) While she fearlessly whips out polysyllabic words with remarkable alacrity (my observations are completely unbiased) my favorite remains "whoopsidaisy." I've got to get video on that one!
Boys will be boys....even when they "grow up", have family "responsibilities", and "mature." I realize I am reifying men here and I officially apologize to any and all gender theorists I have encountered over the years. The work of said theorists notwithstanding, there are some things that never change. (Not only have I offended an entire scholarly community, I am doing so with an exaggerated cliche. Nice.) In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that Dave and Dave alone is my focus group for this study. He took a trip to China Lake to witness the test fire of one of the rockets on which he works, and has yet to come down from the general exhilaration of the experience. Yes, no matter how educated and refined man [read: Dave] becomes, he forever will harbor the desire to see things go boom.
Boys are also fun. We had the incomparable Ben, Mason, and Aidan over for dinner and the annual car show last weekend and the girls loved them! (For further reference, see The Three Bachelors link.) They ran around, but not too fast. They laughed and yelled, but not too loud. They played in the sandbox, but not too rough. It was like Goldilocks had been set up with her ideal playdate on Match.com. The Shaw girls are enamored with the Frank boys and they are welcome back anytime!
Resistance is futile. No matter how long one avoids the uniform of summer otherwise known as shorts, submission is inevitable. After nearly a decade of said avoidance, I recently purchased a couple of pairs. If I am going to spend the requisite hours in our yard with the girls this summer, shorts are necessary. I still have the lovely pasty white skin so prevalent in the Allen clan. At least now that I'm over 30 and the veteran of two pregnancies, I have spider veins to temper the glare.
The Lollipop League (otherwise known as Ellie and Ginny) has notified me that our family needs three puppies. And we are going to name them Underdog, Polly Purebred, and Clarence. Why Clarence? I asked the same question. And the following conversation ensued:
Me: "Why Clarence?"
Ellie: "Because if we named him Shoeshine, Underdog might get confused."
Why didn't I think of that?
And finally, a random confession. My thesis frightens me. This wretched project terrifies me in a very real way. After years of research, note taking, outlining and re-outlining, imagining and re-imagining, and reconfiguring the entire thing about twenty times, I am finally ready to write. A 300-page book. In the next year and a half. Oh to have the writing prowess of David McCullough. I think I need to find my talent....and fast!
Ellie has decided to add Kung Fu master to her list of things she wants to be when she grows up - along with astronaut, princess, and occasionally ballet fairy. (Incidentally, she needs to "drive" the space shuttle. She doesn't trust anyone else to do it for her.) Did I mention Ellie went to see Kung Fu Panda this week with Dave and LOVED it?
Ginny possesses the verbosity of an Aaron Sorkin character and/or a Gilmore girl. Who knew? Our quiet little angel face suddenly decided to start speaking after nearly two years of relative quiet. (Relative to her sister that is!) And in full sentences. (For a caveman anyway.) While she fearlessly whips out polysyllabic words with remarkable alacrity (my observations are completely unbiased) my favorite remains "whoopsidaisy." I've got to get video on that one!
Boys will be boys....even when they "grow up", have family "responsibilities", and "mature." I realize I am reifying men here and I officially apologize to any and all gender theorists I have encountered over the years. The work of said theorists notwithstanding, there are some things that never change. (Not only have I offended an entire scholarly community, I am doing so with an exaggerated cliche. Nice.) In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that Dave and Dave alone is my focus group for this study. He took a trip to China Lake to witness the test fire of one of the rockets on which he works, and has yet to come down from the general exhilaration of the experience. Yes, no matter how educated and refined man [read: Dave] becomes, he forever will harbor the desire to see things go boom.
Boys are also fun. We had the incomparable Ben, Mason, and Aidan over for dinner and the annual car show last weekend and the girls loved them! (For further reference, see The Three Bachelors link.) They ran around, but not too fast. They laughed and yelled, but not too loud. They played in the sandbox, but not too rough. It was like Goldilocks had been set up with her ideal playdate on Match.com. The Shaw girls are enamored with the Frank boys and they are welcome back anytime!
Resistance is futile. No matter how long one avoids the uniform of summer otherwise known as shorts, submission is inevitable. After nearly a decade of said avoidance, I recently purchased a couple of pairs. If I am going to spend the requisite hours in our yard with the girls this summer, shorts are necessary. I still have the lovely pasty white skin so prevalent in the Allen clan. At least now that I'm over 30 and the veteran of two pregnancies, I have spider veins to temper the glare.
The Lollipop League (otherwise known as Ellie and Ginny) has notified me that our family needs three puppies. And we are going to name them Underdog, Polly Purebred, and Clarence. Why Clarence? I asked the same question. And the following conversation ensued:
Me: "Why Clarence?"
Ellie: "Because if we named him Shoeshine, Underdog might get confused."
Why didn't I think of that?
And finally, a random confession. My thesis frightens me. This wretched project terrifies me in a very real way. After years of research, note taking, outlining and re-outlining, imagining and re-imagining, and reconfiguring the entire thing about twenty times, I am finally ready to write. A 300-page book. In the next year and a half. Oh to have the writing prowess of David McCullough. I think I need to find my talent....and fast!
Monday, June 9, 2008
I am the Very Model of Modern Productivity
This morning I needed to call the Office of Financial Aid at CU and discuss a mix up with my application. Yes, I am still on the "take" as it were to fund my education. (Not for long, however. May 2010 I am DONE. Mark your calendars!) Being the responsible human being that I am, and realizing that the "to-do" list for today won't allow for such frippery as phone calls securing my educational funding, I was on the phone when the office opened at 9:00.
Things were going swimmingly. I didn't have to wait too long to speak to an advisor (relatively speaking - 10 minutes is nothing!) and we were off and on our way. That is until the mom thing imposed itself over the student thing. First Ellie needed some help in the bathroom. (I shall spare you the details.) Then Ginny began to wail when she couldn't find her Bink or her stuffed monkey named Bubbles. (The name has nothing to do with Michael Jackson and the monkey has everything to do with the fact that her sister has one.) In the midst of potty issues, finding various pieces of clothing, locating said monkey and Binky, and trying to keep the general din to a minimum, I lost the call.
I am ashamed to admit a momentary lapse of composure ensued (yes, I shouted at my children to be quiet) while I tried to reconnect with said Office of Financial Aid. This time around, however, the wait had inexplicably doubled. Those extra minutes were put to good use as I needed to offer a contrite mea culpa to my girls for the aforementioned outburst, replace a piece of toast usurped by a younger sister, find a comfy pair of panties (not for me, incidentally), and remove an "icky bogey" from Ginny's nose. (We started calling them bogeys because we thought it would be a more charming and therefore less disgusting way to refer to them. I'm not sure why we thought that.) All the while I carefully cradled my phone as if it were the Holy Grail itself. I was NOT losing the call again.
After the better part of a half hour, we finally achieved success. I managed to reconnect with the necessary people regarding my financial aid, we straightened out the problem and I was able to turn my attention to my veritable novel of a to-do list. Let it not be said that life isn't interesting at the very least. And now if you'll excuse me, I have yet to find the Dora panties without the "creepy monkey."
Things were going swimmingly. I didn't have to wait too long to speak to an advisor (relatively speaking - 10 minutes is nothing!) and we were off and on our way. That is until the mom thing imposed itself over the student thing. First Ellie needed some help in the bathroom. (I shall spare you the details.) Then Ginny began to wail when she couldn't find her Bink or her stuffed monkey named Bubbles. (The name has nothing to do with Michael Jackson and the monkey has everything to do with the fact that her sister has one.) In the midst of potty issues, finding various pieces of clothing, locating said monkey and Binky, and trying to keep the general din to a minimum, I lost the call.
I am ashamed to admit a momentary lapse of composure ensued (yes, I shouted at my children to be quiet) while I tried to reconnect with said Office of Financial Aid. This time around, however, the wait had inexplicably doubled. Those extra minutes were put to good use as I needed to offer a contrite mea culpa to my girls for the aforementioned outburst, replace a piece of toast usurped by a younger sister, find a comfy pair of panties (not for me, incidentally), and remove an "icky bogey" from Ginny's nose. (We started calling them bogeys because we thought it would be a more charming and therefore less disgusting way to refer to them. I'm not sure why we thought that.) All the while I carefully cradled my phone as if it were the Holy Grail itself. I was NOT losing the call again.
After the better part of a half hour, we finally achieved success. I managed to reconnect with the necessary people regarding my financial aid, we straightened out the problem and I was able to turn my attention to my veritable novel of a to-do list. Let it not be said that life isn't interesting at the very least. And now if you'll excuse me, I have yet to find the Dora panties without the "creepy monkey."
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Two Weddings, a Picnic, and a Bee Sting...or Ten Epiphanies from a Crazy Weekend
What a weekend it was! Ellie finished her first year of preschool (a surprisingly emotional moment), Gramma and Poppy were in town and staying with us, and we had many a family function to attend. To say it was a whirlwind would be cliche but true. Now that the dust has settled and we are starting to dig out from a weekend spent ignoring the usual routine of house cleaning, yard maintenance, and general organization I have the chance to reflect on the life lessons we learned. So without further ado, I offer the following ten epiphanies from a crazy weekend!
1.) Never underestimate the power of a dollar store stuffed monkey. No kidding. Ellie's teacher gave each of her students a little monkey with arms that Velcro together, allowing the monkey to hang from the child's neck. (Let's just ignore the choking concerns for now, shall we?) These monkeys became quite the status symbol. Every kid at the end of year picnic wore one with transcendent pride. They were the monkey people. And nothing - not food, not playground equipment, not a near by hill ideal for haphazard rolling - nothing could detract their attention from the coveted monkeys. That is until the cookies were unveiled. At that point, forget monkey solidarity. It was every man for himself.
2.) Princess pajamas and a Snow White dress constitute perfectly acceptable attire for a school picnic. Considering Ginny insists on wearing this combo nearly every day, I'm not sure this counts as a true epiphany. Nevertheless, the fact that she will not consider any alternatives even for a public engagement warrants mention. Besides, I can think of few sights more adorable than a mini Snow White running around a playground while delicately lifting up her skirts like a proper princess. All together now...aaaahhhhhh!!!!!
1.) Never underestimate the power of a dollar store stuffed monkey. No kidding. Ellie's teacher gave each of her students a little monkey with arms that Velcro together, allowing the monkey to hang from the child's neck. (Let's just ignore the choking concerns for now, shall we?) These monkeys became quite the status symbol. Every kid at the end of year picnic wore one with transcendent pride. They were the monkey people. And nothing - not food, not playground equipment, not a near by hill ideal for haphazard rolling - nothing could detract their attention from the coveted monkeys. That is until the cookies were unveiled. At that point, forget monkey solidarity. It was every man for himself.
2.) Princess pajamas and a Snow White dress constitute perfectly acceptable attire for a school picnic. Considering Ginny insists on wearing this combo nearly every day, I'm not sure this counts as a true epiphany. Nevertheless, the fact that she will not consider any alternatives even for a public engagement warrants mention. Besides, I can think of few sights more adorable than a mini Snow White running around a playground while delicately lifting up her skirts like a proper princess. All together now...aaaahhhhhh!!!!!
3.) A little civil disobedience now and then can be healthy - even for a three-year-old. After nine months of faithfully wearing her proscribed uniform to preschool every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Ellie decided to assert her individuality on the last day of school. On Friday morning, with tremendous excitement she announced that on this, her final day at her current school (she will be attending a different preschool next year) she was going to wear pink. Considering her general willingness to don her uniform all year, and her giddy excitement over the very idea of spending her last day awash in a rosy hue, how could I refuse?
4.) According to pre-K set, weddings are really an opportunity for their own floor show. Never mind the bride, the groom, or the fancy decorations for that matter. Weddings mean people. And for my girls, an audience for whom they can exhibit their dancing prowess. Yes, much to our chagrin, Ellie and Ginny spent all of their time at the reception of Dave's cousin twirling, curtsying, and generally entertaining the masses. (To be honest, it was hilarious and ridiculously adorable!)
5.) Belle (i.e. the princess from Disney's Beauty and the Beast) is alive and well, and is a member of our extended family. If only I had my camera when Ginny laid eyes on Dave's cousin Rebecca in full wedding garb. Rebecca's hair was spot on for Belle's during the iconic ballroom scene - complete with a pearl tiara. Between the hair (which was even the correct shade) and the "poofy" dress (Ellie's apt description), Rebecca embodied the aforementioned princess. And Ginny was mesmerized. Every few minutes, my little girl would run up to Rebecca, say "Belle" in hushed and reverent tones, and dance away in sheer delight. (Incidentally, Belle is far and away Ginny's favorite princess!)
6.) Bee stings hurt, but constitute an unparalleled PR opportunity. Poor Ellie experience her first bee sting at Dave's uncle's wedding party on Sunday. She was innocently enjoying a beautiful spring afternoon when the cursed creature imposed his will - and stinger - on our girl. After the initial pain of it all, Ellie quickly learned that bee stings garner tremendous sympathy from anyone within earshot of her shrieks and cries. All the way home, all she could talk about was the fact that so many people love her and are worried about her. Ellie still cannot fathom how the bee mistook her for a flower - "I don't even have petals!" - but she is very relieved she survived.
7.) Walgreen's sunglasses are the height of summer chic. In the wake of the chaos inherent in getting two grandparents, two parents, and two little girls dressed, fed, and ready to attend a wedding, Dave forgot his sunglasses for the trek down south. Once we arrived at the wedding site, Dave ran into a neighboring Walgreen's to pick up a replacement pair of shades. He walked out in the grooviest pair of aviator sunglasses - with fabulous reflective lenses. I haven't seen glasses like these since the early days of Beverly Hills Cop. They were cool. Various relatives remarked that Dave could pull them off. We are still unsure if that is a fabulous compliment or a profound insult. We shall ponder on while we bask in the electronic stylings of Axel F...
8.) Uncle Matty rocks! On the way home from Rebecca's wedding on Saturday, we stopped by my brother Matt's restaurant for dinner. Now, Uncle Matty is a bit of a celebrity in our home. He was on a local news program last summer doing a cooking segment on barbecue ribs and Ellie couldn't get enough. We watched the tape ad nausium. To see him in person, in action, at his restaurant was beyond words. Not only did he comp our dinners (I'm still arguing that the preemptive refusal was not necessary in this case!), he took Ellie back to the kitchen to see the cooks at work. Ever since Ratatouille, Ellie has been nuts for cooking. To see a real professional kitchen was a mind blowing experience. Upon her return to the table, she was ecstatic. She clapped her hands and enthusiastically proclaimed "Uncle Matty believes in me! He made all my dreams come true!" Not bad for a Saturday evening at Famous Dave's Barbecue.
9.) October cannot come fast enough. Our cute and very generous Gramma and Poppy are taking our family to Disneyland this fall. For five days! And we are staying in the Disneyland Hotel. The girls can hardly wait for Peter Pan, the various princesses, and, of course, ride Dumbo until they cannot see straight. It's the subject of daily conversation and has been since the trip was scheduled in January. As a self-admitted Disneyland fanatic, I must admit to sharing in their excitement. (To this day, I harbor a not-so-secret desire to live in an apartment above Fantasyland!) While Gramma and Poppy were among us, the girls talked non-stop about the trip, and even made the family watch our Disneyland souvenir video so we could see what we are going to do. If they are this enthusiastic in June, I shudder to think what they will be like when September comes to a close. No kidding. October cannot come fast enough!
10.) I am no Donna Reed. Like Ginny's obsessive wearing of her Snow White dress, this doesn't qualify as an epiphany per se, but it was reiterated again and again this weekend. I am perfectly capable of having a clean house, a well-kept yard, and clean laundry - just not all at the same time. At least not if I want to see the light of day, play with my girls, or attend any kind of social function, not to mention getting any work done on my thesis. In spite of my best efforts, the upstairs bathroom was not clean upon the arrival of my in laws (for the record, it was spotless within a few hours), I still have overflowing baskets of clean clothes (at least they were clean!) in my laundry room, and I didn't manage to finish mowing the lawns until Monday afternoon. I never did wash the girls bathmat. Nevertheless, we had a fabulous, if exhausting weekend. This experience leads me to wonder if staying on top of my myriad domestic responsibilities truly is necessary for my sense of well-being and happiness. I'll have to think on that one. In the meantime, I'm off to fold some clothes. The laundry situation has been out of control for long enough and it's driving me insane!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Bonding with Miss Austen
I just saw this quiz on the blog of the lovely and talented Disco Mom and felt compelled to take it...and post the link. Thank you, Kari, for the fabulous diversion! Incidentally, my apparent similarities with Anne could explain my abiding affinity for Persuasion. Well, that and Captain Wentworth's letter. Now only one question remains: Ciaran Hinds or Rupert Penry-Jones?
Life in Hyperbole
Oh the trauma, drama, weeping, wailing, and otherwise gnashing of teeth that have occurred since last we met. Alright, so it wasn't all bad. Rather entertaining actually. One admission that must be made - life is never boring.
The adventure began Tuesday night (well, last Friday if we are going to be accurate.) Ginny, as she has the tendency to do, was overcome by yet another attack of croup. Foolish mortals that we are, Dave and I thought we had it under control by the end of the weekend and went merrily on our way. The prevailing Gods of health and medicine had other ideas, however. By Tuesday night Ginny was coughing incessantly, quite literally turning blue while gasping for air, and found herself in the emergency room....again. By early Wednesday morning, she was back home, and Dave and I were left pondering the eternal question - are the rocking chairs at the hospital really comfortable enough to warrant our copay? By Thursday night, we were armed with the requisite medication and nebulizer to avoid enjoying the amenities of the ER in the near future. Ginny once again donned her Snow White dress and danced about to the Enchanted soundtrack (interspersed with coughing fits of course). All was right with the world.
While Ginny recovered, Ellie had her own formidable challenges on the horizon in the form of the ubiquitous school program. This time around, she had her very own line to recite. For weeks we have labored over the assigned words. We have rehearsed, cajoled, and encouraged in preparation for this night of nights. On Wednesday evening, we were ready. Sleep deprived and weary from a day of holding the aforementioned croup victim, we nonetheless got our sorry selves to the school (I don't recall the drive to be honest) and waited for our girl's time to shine. Miss Christie introduced her class and the subject of their presentation - the state of Minnesota. The students lined up to offer their recitations. One by one the kids completed their parts moving Ellie closer and closer to the front. Before we knew it, the moment had arrived. Our little girl stood there with the poise of Grace Kelly and the stage presence of Bernadette Peters. She held up her picture, took hold of the microphone and uttered the words that would make any Shakespearean soliloquy pale by comparison..."the state insect is the monarch butterfly." And then she left the stage before singing a note of the songs she'd practiced, informing us that she was done. Oh, what a short but illustrious career.
Yes, it's been a crazy week. It seems the universe is bent on putting everything into perspective, however. This morning while cleaning out my dresser, I ran across my "Mom Bag" - a tote bag with a small illustration and list of contents courtesy of one our favorite authors, Sandra Boynton. And that's when it hit me. As nutty as things may get sometimes, at it's core my life is really no more complicated than a Boynton joke in hyperbole:
Mom Bag!
for toys, books, one sock, baby bottles, pliers, formerly-moist towelettes, PhD thesis, crumbs, pacifier, cell phone, lip gloss, keys, shopping lists, and assorted unidentifiable sticky objects, one of which might be your wallet.
Ah! Motherhood!
The adventure began Tuesday night (well, last Friday if we are going to be accurate.) Ginny, as she has the tendency to do, was overcome by yet another attack of croup. Foolish mortals that we are, Dave and I thought we had it under control by the end of the weekend and went merrily on our way. The prevailing Gods of health and medicine had other ideas, however. By Tuesday night Ginny was coughing incessantly, quite literally turning blue while gasping for air, and found herself in the emergency room....again. By early Wednesday morning, she was back home, and Dave and I were left pondering the eternal question - are the rocking chairs at the hospital really comfortable enough to warrant our copay? By Thursday night, we were armed with the requisite medication and nebulizer to avoid enjoying the amenities of the ER in the near future. Ginny once again donned her Snow White dress and danced about to the Enchanted soundtrack (interspersed with coughing fits of course). All was right with the world.
While Ginny recovered, Ellie had her own formidable challenges on the horizon in the form of the ubiquitous school program. This time around, she had her very own line to recite. For weeks we have labored over the assigned words. We have rehearsed, cajoled, and encouraged in preparation for this night of nights. On Wednesday evening, we were ready. Sleep deprived and weary from a day of holding the aforementioned croup victim, we nonetheless got our sorry selves to the school (I don't recall the drive to be honest) and waited for our girl's time to shine. Miss Christie introduced her class and the subject of their presentation - the state of Minnesota. The students lined up to offer their recitations. One by one the kids completed their parts moving Ellie closer and closer to the front. Before we knew it, the moment had arrived. Our little girl stood there with the poise of Grace Kelly and the stage presence of Bernadette Peters. She held up her picture, took hold of the microphone and uttered the words that would make any Shakespearean soliloquy pale by comparison..."the state insect is the monarch butterfly." And then she left the stage before singing a note of the songs she'd practiced, informing us that she was done. Oh, what a short but illustrious career.
Yes, it's been a crazy week. It seems the universe is bent on putting everything into perspective, however. This morning while cleaning out my dresser, I ran across my "Mom Bag" - a tote bag with a small illustration and list of contents courtesy of one our favorite authors, Sandra Boynton. And that's when it hit me. As nutty as things may get sometimes, at it's core my life is really no more complicated than a Boynton joke in hyperbole:
Mom Bag!
for toys, books, one sock, baby bottles, pliers, formerly-moist towelettes, PhD thesis, crumbs, pacifier, cell phone, lip gloss, keys, shopping lists, and assorted unidentifiable sticky objects, one of which might be your wallet.
Ah! Motherhood!
Sunday, May 18, 2008
What's in a name?
Ah the profundity of a guilt complex! For months I have relished the opportunity to reconnect with friends and family through their insightful and often pithy blog entries. In spite of my own complete failure to maintain contact with anyone with whom I do not share DNA, I have been able to remain abreast of the sundry goings on in others' lives. As of late, however, I decided this borders on a kind of veuyerism - watching others (through publicly accessible virtual spaces, mind you!) while maintaining my own relative anonymity. So in an act of contrition (and an uncomfortable one at that) I decided to attempt to start a blog of my own. It is a small - and terribly awkward - offering to the virtual world in hopes that what were once lopsided friendships will find greater equilibrium.
As for the blog itself, my husband informed me that I may need to provide some explanation for what apparently is a rather enigmatic title. In my previous life as a full-time grad student at the University of Colorado, I would occasionally indulge in what my fabulous friend Portia and I called Boo Radley Syndrome. (Please see Harper Lee's amazing book To Kill a Mockingbird for further clarification.) This condition manifested itself by the desire to disappear into one's home, often with comfort food and a great book, and hide from the general public for a time. Since moving away from CU and increasing our family size by 50%, I regret to admit that Boo Radley Syndrome seems to have become a way of life for me. What can I say? Trying to be mom, wife, housekeeper, and scholar is rather....distracting. Just trying to keep the jam off of my thesis notes could constitute a full time job! So with this blog, I hereby attempt to fend off my Boo Radley tendencies and take a few steps back into the outside world.
As for the blog itself, my husband informed me that I may need to provide some explanation for what apparently is a rather enigmatic title. In my previous life as a full-time grad student at the University of Colorado, I would occasionally indulge in what my fabulous friend Portia and I called Boo Radley Syndrome. (Please see Harper Lee's amazing book To Kill a Mockingbird for further clarification.) This condition manifested itself by the desire to disappear into one's home, often with comfort food and a great book, and hide from the general public for a time. Since moving away from CU and increasing our family size by 50%, I regret to admit that Boo Radley Syndrome seems to have become a way of life for me. What can I say? Trying to be mom, wife, housekeeper, and scholar is rather....distracting. Just trying to keep the jam off of my thesis notes could constitute a full time job! So with this blog, I hereby attempt to fend off my Boo Radley tendencies and take a few steps back into the outside world.
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