1/18/09 Decked out

I'm in the wrong blog to talk about this, but we had a huge shock last Thursday. Over $17,000 to build a very basic deck, plus $5,000 for no-maintenance material?!

I can't handle this anymore! These sorts of surprises are draining and depressing and exhausting, and suck all our time and attention for days or weeks until it's resolved. We're reeling from the idea of having to throw together a deck from very vague ideas of what we'd want, and spending ten times as much as we'd expected.

And this deck isn't just to set a barbeque on. It's required by PG&E to reach our service panel and turn up our electricity, and it's required by the city to pass final inspection. Every day delayed is another day we're not at home. This deck is urgent. We'd planned to build a throwaway deck to meet code and do a "real" deck after we'd been home for a while, but $17,000 is no throwaway deck.

Friday, I went to talk to a building official at the city to ask a few questions, and a few verrrry interesting things came up. We can step the deck down one step, which means it would only need two steps up, which means no handrails. And below 30 inches, which ours would be, no guardrails around the deck are needed. No railings? Hmmm! A world of possibilities opens up.

Dave's and my dinner out Friday night was partly spent hunched over printed designs with a pencil, and Saturday we stopped by the house for some quickie measurements and layout ideas. This morning we invested real time at the house, with the kids, to measure and lay out options and see what we could do. We had to be prepared to meet with the recipient of the muchos dineros on Monday.

We were hoping that the quasi-novelty of being in our own backyard would keep our little bunch busy. It did -- Katrina was very busy pushing a little wagon right out to the street, and Gabriel was very busy keeping her out of it, running after her numerous times and calling for us (we did the obvious after that and kept the gates closed).

What a terrific big brother he (usually) is.

Our yard has been dug up and refilled, so much of the construction debris is now underground. The earth is soft, there are remnants of sand piles, and just enough outdoor toys in the garage that the kids had a great time digging.


My little scragglemuffin. Poor thing has a temperature tonight.


We were interrupted a lot, but Dave and I figured out that we can probably get away with a bare-bones minimal code-meeting platform. I'm holding my breath until it's confirmed in blood from the city building department, but I think our efforts just dodged us a $22,000 bullet. Or at least, we ran away from it for a while, and gave ourselves a choice about where and when it lands.

The friends we ran into Friday night have also recently been through a major remodel. The woman, Cathy, asked me, "Have you had your meltdown yet?" She's a wise one. Hers was over kitchen knobs, she said, it just sent her over the edge. My full-blown freakout is just around the corner.

Tonight after getting the boys to clean up the family room (a painful operation), they were fighting over Gabriel's marble track toy. So I got out Julian's marble track toy (they both got one for Christmas), and to my amazement, they were very happily cooperating and building a marble track together. The moment was picture-worthy, if not the actual scene.


Someday they'll be making messes in our own house again.


1/18/09

1/17/09 Grownup meals

Every so often I have a glimpse of what it's like to truly be a grownup again at meals. With the kids in daycare full-time, I actually get a lot of grownup time during the day, but meals are scarfed bites at my desk. At home, most mealtimes are spent with me on my feet, in service mode, fetching or cleaning or cutting or wiping or serving. The boys set a place for me only as a formality; I rarely sit down and join everyone. Many times recently, I've wished there were an easier way, a way to get a break from the intense effort of mealtimes.

Take-out, right? You'd think. But on weeknights, take-out presents numerous timing issues; we actually get everyone fed and ready for homework and baths sooner if I can start dinner as soon as I get home. Betsy, who's well-versed in the art, suggests calling in and picking up takeout on the way home. I'll have to try that, but I can well imagine that the various food weirdnesses in this household will quickly reveal flaws in that plan.

Restaurants? Worse. During the week, restaurants are out of the question; we can't tie up an hour of Gabriel's valuable evening time, and Katrina is a time bomb after 7pm. Weekends? Still iffy. Despite the recession, restaurants around here on weekends often have a wait.

Maybe I was feeling cocky after a nice evening Friday night at a good homey local restaurant I sat through the whole meal, didn't cut anyone else's food, didn't pick anything up off the floor, didn't ask for extra napkins, didn't clean up any spills, didn't wipe anyone's face with my fingers. I ordered food I wanted and was able to eat it fresh and with my right hand. I had two glasses of wine and enjoyed lots of grownup talk (including with some new old friends we ran into).

I was glad to see my little bunch after sleepover this morning, and planned for a morning of nothing. I had one weekend goal: get shoes for the boys. This was critical weeks ago; they both have enormous holes in their shoes, and it just can't wait any longer. This evening, we also needed to stop by the house to look at how some new deck design ideas would work. This turned into a Plan: house, dinner out, shoe-shop.

Dinner out? Now count the number of letters in the word "PLAN."

Stop by the house, fine. 10-15 minutes, kids stay in the car, the boys managed to emerge from the experience with bones intact.

Dinner? ARRRGH.

In a word: Katrina. She was impossible, unbearable, and downright antisocial. I spent most of the dinner outside with her, with three attempts to bring her back inside to eat. Twice I pulled her fast out for throwing -- first a fork, then a cup full of milk, then as the tantrum escalated, anything she could reach. Outside, she varied between being mildly interested in a fountain, and throwing herself on the ground in a hissy-fit.

I sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the ground, and wondering what sin I committed in a previous life to bring this scourge upon me. Do I really deserve to be banished out here with this irrational, obnoxious little brat? Can't I just go inside and sit down and have a few bites of salad without having to drop my fork, leap to my feet and rush outside, still chewing my bite? Didn't I pay my dues with Gabriel? I'm done with this! I woefully watched several cheery families walk by, carrying calm curious toddlers. Why can't she be like that?

I chewed a few bitter bites of salad after Dave took over tantrum-duty, wishing I was home. Gabriel had gone outside to help with Katrina, and Julian was absorbed in a coloring project. This is no fun. Well, I consoled myself, at least I don't have to clean up.

After that major investment, we were getting shoes, dammit. Besides, I'd left no margin for error: the boys only have one pair of shoes, and both were really shot. Besides, shoe-shopping should be fast, and the mall (ick) has various distractions, right?

No, shoe-shopping was incredibly stressful too. She wouldn't get out of the stroller (fine), but wouldn't accept sitting in it not moving either. Dave finally took her out into the mall and wheeled her around. Meanwhile I hurriedly searched the racks for boy shoes, as the complexity of putting together sale prices, sizes, and light-up soles oppressed me. I could hear Katrina screaming and fussing and crying, and I could feel my insides pressurizing, my stomach churning, my heart sinking.

I know we'll get past this. I know she won't always be two. I know that these negative characteristics will have positive manifestations later. I know she won't always turn a nice evening out with the family into an ordeal. But will someone please tell me when?!

Yesterday before our morning jobsite meeting, I had some extra time, so before dropping Katrina off, I took her to a park near Tonya's so we could spend a little playtime together. My working-mom-guilt is strong about how rarely I take her to parks. When Gabriel was a toddler, I took him to parks several times a week.

It's a really lovely park.

Katrina liked playing on the play structure, though for some reason refused to go down the slide.


As I expected, our departure involved a fiery protest, a football hold, and stares from strangers. Just because I can fit her in for 20 minutes doesn't mean she's going to smother me with gratitude.

Before our rattling excursion tonight, I found some time to let Katrina go around the house bare-butt, so far the only measure she permits toward potty-training. I tried again to persuade her to put on training pants (so I know if she goes), but she was adament against it.

Then I thought hmmm....wonder how she feels about Curious George underpants? There's the hook! I showed her all the underpants in Julian's drawer, and that got her started. It didn't exactly work as I planned, since she kept wanting to change them to something else. Julian's skivvies are marked with an unfortunate variety of licensed characters -- Shrek, Scooby-Doo, SpongeBob, Spiderman -- and soon I found it was easiest to put them all in a basket and let her go to town.

She was more interested in putting them on than wearing them, but it's a start.

Strong personality...willful...opinionated...high-spirited....all code for "pain in the neck!" I love my little girl, and when my blood pressure returns to normal, I can even laugh about what she does and admire her forceful spirit. But it'll be easier when I can be a grownup again.

1/17/09

1/16/09 A night out

Sleepover tonight, I'm off the air.

1/15/09 Plane rescue

I was driving home from work today when I heard about the extraordinary story of a disabled airplane landing in the Hudson River today, and everyone getting out alive and mostly uninjured. Absolutely amazing. I have a thing for survival stories, so real-life current ones are especially exciting.

This particular plane crash involved a nice convenient sinking, which gives a whole lot more time, visibility and fresh air than a fire, which I've heard is really what most plane crashes turn into. Not to mention landing so close to a ferry terminal -- it doesn't get better than that! They were swarmed by boats within minutes.

In the old days, my thoughts would turn immediately to, "What if I were on that plane?" I have confidence in my own ability to scramble to safety; I'm agile and resourceful, I can swim and climb, I'm not claustrophobic or acrophobic and not given to panic. If there's a way out, there's a decent chance I'd get out.

But that was before I was a mother. Now my first thought is, "How would I rescue my children?" It's unthinkable, but I can't help thinking about it. In an emergency, who would I unstrap first? How would I keep track of all three? How would they react -- would they listen to my pointed instructions to go now? Would I send the boys ahead, away from me, while I stayed behind to get Katrina? Would they go? Could I fight my way through panicked crowds carrying a toddler and keep the boys moving? Would people help me? What if we had to get in water -- would I be forced to make a choice who I'd save? Would I leave them if it became clear the only person who could possibly be saved was myself?

Chilling thoughts. Futile, upsetting, perhaps even counterproductive -- but will any of my critics say they've never envisioned scenarios like this themselves? It's unavoidable, and perhaps necessary to face my worst fears. Those terrifying wild-imagination thoughts were reality today, for 155 very very lucky people.

1/15/09

p.s. I wonder if this will re-ignite the debate about mandatory retirement age of 60 for pilots. The pilot is 58.

1/14/09 Julian's anatomy

Tonight I was urging Julian along in the pre-dinner-handwashing process, and as I often do, I rubbed some water on his face and very lightly squeezed his nose. He cried out in pain and complained that it really hurt. Quite often he has a huge hard snot in there, and that can hurt if there's any external pressure applied. Julian somehow always needs to blow his nose, but Gabriel, rarely.

I pressed lightly on the side of each nostril and asked, "Does it hurt here?" "No," he said, getting over it and walking away, "It's in the spongy bone tissue!"

He's been at that anatomy puzzle book again, it seems.

1/14/09

1/13/09 Back to preschool

We got Gabriel's weekly "bookbag" yesterday, with the book, the book's journal, and writing activities for that book. I begrudgingly withheld judgement on this lovely new imposition on our time until seeing it, but now, I'm positively stunned. What on earth is this about?

The "Activity for Writing" for this week's book is to help the child make a poster -- a poster?! about raising ducks. "Write some words together that explains what was drawn." In discussing the book, we can ask the child "How many words in the sentence?"

Then there's a paper titled "Ways for Parents to Write with Children," which says the parent and child work together to create messages and stories -- but the parent does the writing! "This is an opportunity to demonstrate how writing works and to draw attention to letters, words and sounds."

?!!?!?!!!! Did we just timewarp back to preschool?

The journal's printed pages are duplicated in several languages, and the supporting papers explain that if we're more comfortable reading in our home language, that's fine, it still shows the child the "how" and "why" of reading. Hmm, wonder who they have in mind -- perhaps the millions of English learners whose immigrant parents don't speak English? Like they have time for this? And who picked Cupertino for this program?? There are many, many immigrant parents here (a majority, I'm sure), and many English-learning parents, but they're mostly highly educated and committed to sending their kids to medical school by age 10. This program isn't aimed for them.

The incredible thing is that Gabriel's class has had to do daily independent reading since day One, but this program suddenly instructs the parents to do the reading -- and writing.

It's so awful, so inappropriate, so ridiculous I'm not even going to worry about it. Dave thinks we should at least get Gabriel to read the book and write a sentence or two in the journal; I think that's busywork that only adds to our already considerable homework load. If he wants to read the book, great, but I just can't add to the time I (we) already spend standing over him budging him to do homework. Good grief, give the kid some playtime already.

By the way, tonight's regular homework included, among numerous other things, coming up with 5 words with the phonogram "ey." I'm good at word games -- Boggle, Scrabble, crossword puzzles and I go way back -- and I couldn't come up with much more than eye, key and grey ("they" was their example so we couldn't use that) offhand. Dave gave up and Googled. Gabriel also had to come up with 5 words with "th," which was pretty difficult for him, and he needed to be walked through it. This is not easy homework! So after this effort, which was only 1/4th of tonight's homework, he's supposed to "practice writing letters with the assistance of the parent" and do a "picture walk"?!

I just can't imagine what the school is thinking with this. The program is perhaps a decent suggestion for English-learning parents who are concerned that their kindergartner isn't reading at all yet, but it's completely inappropriate as extra required work for overall very proficient first-graders. Especially first-graders who are already expected to do a lot of far far more challenging work.

The good news is that the book itself is pretty good: Robert McCloskey's "Make Way For Ducklings." Julian enjoyed it. He sat down and read it cover to cover.

1/13/09

1/12/09 The broken heart

Just how many times, for how many days in a row and weeks on end, does one have to repeat to their children in the morning: "Get dressed! Eat! Get your shoes on! Get your jacket on! Get in the car!!"? How much is too much? At what point is a mother justified in completely going off the deep end?

I don't have an answer about the justification, but I do have a data point about the deep end.

This morning, as I was attempting to herd my little clan for a hectic Monday, I found Gabriel playing with his slot cars, again, instead of putting his lunch in his knapsack and getting ready to get into the car. Maybe I'd have more patience for this if I weren't also pushing putzy Julian through brushing teeth, and keeping Katrina on track as well (though she's uncharacteristically cooperative in the mornings) (mostly) (usually) (where you have to calibrate "cooperative" to "Katrina."). But the nonstop pushing and cajoling and teeth-gritting reminding every morning, without fail, was too much when I saw him putzing around playing, again.

I was furious. I picked up his slot car track and violently dragged the fragile plastic behind me as I went to get a plastic garbage bag. "G E T Y O U R K N A P S A C K R E A D Y >>>> NOWWWW!!!! <<<<< " I screamed with complete, sincere, total venom. He resisted, and I lifted the slot car track and threw it into the corner. A few pieces of black plastic sprayed upon impact. "NOOO!!!!!!" he cried out -- you could hear it echoing in the canyon. He furiously got his things together and got in the car, crying and screaming the whole way.

Naturally, it didn't end there. On the way to school, he hurled every threat he could think of at me, saying bloodcurdling things that kids a few decades ago would get lashings for. I was shaken and still pretty mad, and tried not to respond. "That was a CHRISTMAS PRESENT, Mom!" he choked out furiously, so upset he couldn't quite cry. "It didn't even last to my birthday. YOU BROKE IT!!!" No amount of repeating that he might have had something to do it sank in. "YOU HAVE TO PAY ME SIX MILLION DOLLARS!"

When I brought him to the CDC, he refused to go with me. I had to drag him across the street, then he hid and made me find and run after him to drag him into the CDC, where I shoved him inside the door and slammed it behind him. "I don't love you anymore, MOM!!!"

After dropping off the other two, I went to my planned Y workout, but I couldn't concentrate. I knew he deserved something big, because with Gabriel, taking away a sticker just doesn't cut it. But I'd gone too far. I didn't just break his slot car track, I broke his heart. "You broke the part with the ELECTRICITY!" He knew it wouldn't last forever and wanted to get as much out of it as he could.

Gabriel doesn't cry easily, and he doesn't like to cry, so his crying is often accentuated by anger at being put in that position. Embellishing, dramatizing, playing victim, manipulating, trying to get attention by crying -- not in his DNA. He's no actor. He means it. Even beyond that, he rarely leans on me for emotional support, and always handles problems on his own (to a fault) -- to see him so upset cuts right through me. So the thought of his crying furiously really ripped into me as I forced myself through a drudgerous mile on the treadmill.

As I was wrapping up a quick ab exercise, I decided to take a shower at home instead of at the Y, as I'd planned. I counted the seconds at every light and rushed as fast as I could into the door to inspect the damage. There were only a few broken pieces, one critical, but the most fixable. Though I was sweaty, uncomfortable, and late for work, I pulled out some superglue and set about to repairing the damage. (I was not just a little irritated that such fine closeup work in a poorly lit room on tiny black objects is becoming downright difficult. Even if I had any idea where my reading glasses are, I doubt they'd do much anymore.)

I did the best repair I could, tenderly holding each piece together until the glue set, and hoped that by the time he got home, whatever good the glue could do would be at its best. Worst case, I'd get new pieces, or a whole new box.

But didn't he deserve some serious consequences for not listening to me for the 1000th time? And as Dave pointed out, he doesn't leave us a lot of choices. Still, his disappointment and grief were deep. Slot cars are the closest thing to true love a 6-year-old boy has, he feels it deeply. I was OK with him being mad at me, that happens -- the comment about not loving me didn't bother me at all -- but his intense loss was too much for me to take. If anyone made him feel that bad, I'd do anything to make it better for him.

I think it's official. No one can break my heart the way my firstborn son can. My husband used to hold that sole honor, but he has to share it now. And that's what I was doing this morning instead of going to work, squinting and straining to see while placing tiny pieces of plastic together with tweezers: fixing my own broken heart.

I didn't tell Gabriel I fixed it, and avoided the question when he and Julian both asked. I wasn't sure it would hold. But he was playing with it again this evening, able to enjoy its natural life. He'll accept its inevitable demise, but he doesn't have to accept an early one. He was happy. That took the edge off my shame.

And tomorrow, if he putzes around in the morning, I'll take away ice cream.

1/12/09

1/11/09 Cable Car Sunday

For once, we were good, fun entertaining parents today, rather than overwhelmed workers or frazzled homeowners -- we took the kids to the city for a cable car ride! We happened upon a positively glorious, glowing, gorgeous day to explore what I keep forgetting is such a beautiful and interesting city.

No trip to San Francisco is complete without a drive down Lombard Street. Gabriel was elated, Julian cautious, Katrina in the middle. As usual.


Our main goal was the cable cars, though. We started at the Aquatic Park so we could see the turntable.


Hang on!


Katrina was something between intrigued and intimidated, though as usual she held very very strong opinions about where she should sit, what she should hold on to, or if she should stand.


Even a view of an old prison is fabulous (that's Alcatraz).


We went to the Cable Car Museum, where we saw the huge wheels that turn and wind the actual cables, and rang a genuine historic bell.




A trip back to Fisherman's Wharf, where we got a late, so-so, expensive lunch, and then back home. The excitement took its toll on all three!


I wish we had a better way to explore the city -- really, you need a place to land, a ground zero, and explore it in bits and pieces, wander around neighborhoods, rather than all-day excursions with specific targets. But especially when Katrina gets older, I know we'll be heading north much more often.

1/11/09

1/10/09 Reading

Usually Dave puts the kids to bed and reads to them, but tonight a late dinner made it work out so I put Katrina and Julian to bed. Frankly, by story time, usually I'm sort of "done" with kids for the day, so I do the reading out of duty, but I always secretly hope they'll pick a short book.

Tonight, though, I found myself prolonging Katrina's storytime, reading three books to her, including pop-ups and flap books (which take a lot longer). It's so nice to have her sit calmly in my lap and almost cuddle. She repeats a lot of the sentences I read and points things out in pictures, but she really lights up when it comes to identifying shapes. I noticed a few months ago when she was pointing out "octagons" (which are often hexagons), and thought it was a passing phase, but this does seem to appeal to her. Finally she'd had enough and I reluctantly put her down.

Julian was very tired and actually wanted to go to bed early, and given his whiny obnoxious evening, this was not an opportunity to be missed! I gave him a quick bath and then read a long story to him, talking about it with him along the way, and enjoying his characteristic wide-eyed fascination. So different from Gabriel's intense focus. Gabriel concentrates on stories too, but he's almost sharp about it, where Julian is absorbing. You can just about see the spreading beam coming from Julian's eyes, and the pinpoint laser coming from Gabriel's.

It still baffles me why Gabriel's school picks reading, of all things, to force parents and children to do together as an extra activity. Reading together of all things is the first thing we do, the last to go. There's no lack of reading together in this household, and we happen to have concrete evidence of that in the boys' excellent reading skills, Julian's especially. The real value in reading together is to establish the habit and lay the foundation for learning, whether or not they actually learn to read before kindergarten. We understand that. Not to metion, we like to.

Reading together is fun, and should remain that way, not a chore. Er, not a chore the school imposes, anyway. Modern-day parental guilt does plenty of that.

1/10/09

1/9/09 The Last Resort

It's horribly irritating to be in the car after The Three are re-united at the end of the day -- they're incredibly loud, so active the car rocks, and in under a minute, someone is crying (often me).

I found a way tonight to keep things calm -- an obvious one, and one that wears off fast, but if I keep it fresh it should keep working. I played one of my favorite Eagles songs, called "The Last Resort," about missionaries taking over Indian land. It starts with some piano, which caught Gabriel's attention immediately. With him focused on the music, the other two's antics were reduced to mere childhood play. It was magical.

The only strange thing is when we get out of the car, and Gabriel stated evenly: "Definitely a transposed F-sharp."

I'm not sure what he meant by that exactly, but he makes these sort of comments from time to time. It's eerie. It reminds me of the kid in The Sixth Sense: "I see dead people...." I know there will come a time when he knows many things I don't, but I'm not ready for that yet. Right now, for a short time anyway, I'm still smarter, faster and stronger. But I've never heard music the way he does.

I'm still not over the supreme irritation of the "Heritage Doll" school project. Thank goodness we have such an alligator-skin kid, who's not too embarrassed by the minimum begrudging effort his parents put into helping him with this grotesque, creepy figure.

Basically I printed photos onto a piece of cardstock, which he cut out and glued onto the doll template. Well, she did say to "be creative," does that have to involve yarn and macaroni? Dave also talked to him for a while about our history of motorcycling together. I'm sure that was the point. Yeah, whatever.

But it doesn't end there. Gabriel's school is on a mission to force parents and children to spend their idea of the right sort of time together.

Today Gabriel came home with a notice about a numbered book bag he's going to take home every week, with a journal and instructions for activities. The notice specifically says not to have the child read the book on his own, it's intended for the parent to read with the child, then we do a writing activity with the child to put into the journal. "This is a great opportunity for you and your child to share the joys of reading. Have fun!"

Please cover your ears while I SCREAM!!!!!

Does it not occur to them that perhaps that isn't the way we WANT to spend time with our child?! It takes away from time we spend together, especially relaxed, productive -- or not -- time. Never mind the two other children we would like to spend time with. I'm sorry, but my two-year-old isn't interested in your idea of how to spend precious minutes with our first-grader. We might prefer to do, say, piano practice.

Or science experiments. Julian got a book on experiments for Christmas (birthday?) and he's been looking at it a lot. He'd picked one experiment he really wanted to do, so we did it together tonight -- lamely, we didn't have the right materials -- but the boys and I had fun trying.

There'd have been no room for this on a weeknight if a "writing activity" were demanded.

Apparently the vast majority of kids in Gabriel's class don't have two parents who work. But even if I weren't working, I'd still resent this assumption that we parents want to put so much into school-dictated activities at home. Homework and required school projects are already a huge drain on our time together -- quantity and especially quality -- now this??

Besides, I have other things to worry about, like this corner cabinet in my new kitchen. I love open shelves, and specifically asked for some, where I'd planned to put frequent-access items: plates, glasses. But the frame around this opening creates a lip -- 1-1/2 inches deep!!! -- that prevents sliding things in or out easily. It also encroaches into the opening on the sides and the top. It looks great, but it works horribly. I know it won't "look right" without the frame, but it won't work right with it.

The last person I want to go up against is my kitchen designer, who's been a source of respite and peace through all this. It's my kitchen, I know, but, can't we just all be friends and agree on everthing?

That squishy sound you hear is my backbone melting.

1/9/09

1/8/09 Attitude problem

I'm having a serious attitude problem with this stupid "Heritage Doll" project for Gabriel's class. I don't have black construction paper. SORRY. Suppose I'm a working mom who's remodeling and has two other children and who just doesn't have all the right supplies? Not to mention the time. Or desire, or "creativity" we've been admonished to have. Or even the heritage! I SO resent having to spend my evening dressing up a stupid paper doll.

I have a friend who thought a project her daughter had to do for kindergarten was too much, and just refused to do it. Why don't I have that kind of nerve?

I need an assertiveness training class. Online -- so I don't have to face anyone in person.

1/8/09

1/7/09 The Wringer.

I'm exhausted.

I was planning an almost-full day of work, with a "treat" to myself of a short workout at the Y after dropping off The Three. Bzzt. I'd barely pulled out of the driveway before I was divert to the jobsite (after dropoffs) for what should have been a brief consultation, and turned into another grueling 3-hour session. And I left saying, "I *can't* decide on this now, I've GOT to go to work."

The hall niches don't fit.

A dryer vent has to be moved.

The 1x1 tiles in our beautiful living room fireplace design won't fit, will have to be cut and hand-tumbled, and there's not enough of them.

The electrical light box above a vanity isn't centered and the medicine cabinet that's supposed to go there is too tall.

The sliding patio door can't be swapped, a whole new unit has to be ordered and installed. The labor to replace it will likely be more than the door itself.

That's just the "little" stuff.

Meantime, the fence between us and our incredibly patient next-door neighbor has a 12-foot section removed, and another kitty-korner neighbor had no idea that guys would be digging under his fence today too.

Here's the view of our house from our neighbor's yard through the huge hole in the fence. This view should never exist -- there should be a fence!.


Our incredibly patient neighbor is a meticulous landscaper. I can't imagine how he felt about this.


This is what showed up to dig up our yard.


Meantime, our jobsite foreman did some fast-talking with another neighbor, one we've never met but who lives kitty-korner to us. A five-foot-square in the far corner of his property is the unlucky grantor of an easement to PG&E to locate an upgrade an electrical meter.

This poor blindsided neighbor unfortunately bought his house with the easement in place. Our two next-door neighbors, on the other hand, out of unprecedented goodness of hearts and benevolence voluntarily signed one, through an unimaginably complex circus of hoops we (mostly Dave) had to go through with PG&E, the County, the City, the assessors, the surveyors, the title reports, the notaries....just so that our neighbors could sign away the rights to 10' of their property for PG&E to dig up at the behest of their noisy neighbors, who've forced them to live with construction dust, traffic and noise for months now.

I'm listening for ideas of how to thank our beleaugered neighbors -- Harry & David's biggest gift basket isn't nearly enough.

Oh, and tonight, we all had to go pick up Dave's car, AND work on Gabriel's scrapbook, AND have an "intervention" talk with Gabriel about some trouble he got into at school today. By all rights he should have been writing two letters of apology, but when it gets to be 9:30 and we're all about ready to scream, it's just too much. The "heritage doll" is going to have be a biker babe, and that's fitting, since they ("we," once) are known to get dressed simply and very very quickly. She crams for the test and does the whole multi-week-long project in the one night before it's due. My kinda gal.

Now I will slither my sorry rear end to the couch and stew about all else that's gone wrong today. Can I think of *anything* positive?? Oh yeah, Katrina happily sat on the potty at Julian's school for another teacher, just for a few minutes while he was getting ready to go. I figure potty-training will save us about $60 a month, between the diapers, wipes, and lower daycare costs. The aggravation leading up to it...not so sure.

1/7/09

1/6/09 The Statements

This morning after I dropped Gabriel off, Katrina looked sadly after him and said, "I lost Gabriel!"

Tonight she was sitting in her high chair, engaging in the usual inexplicable dinnertime fussing. Then she suddenly shifted into an angry-sad cry. Something offensive about the rice, I guess. I asked her, "What's the matter?" She stopped, scowled at me, and then said with irritation, "I'm CRYING!"

Every potty-training tool at my disposal is met with instant, total, complete, vociferous rejection. No little potties, no ducky ring on the big toilet, no training pants, absolutely not Mom. Total, unabashed, unwavering outrage. So I'm getting creative, like playing with a doll sitting on the toilet, or putting a footstool in front of the toilet with the ducky ring and just leaving it there without saying anything.

One tool not to use is older siblings. Whose bright idea was it to use two little boys to demonstrate peeing? That's a mistake I won't make again. They think this is hilarious, and put on a show, like peeing in a big circle around the edge of the toilet, or they turn their heads suddenly to say, "LOOK KATRINA!" Every motorcyclist knows: you go where you look. Ugh.

Meantime, she was unimpressed by her brothers' urinary antics. And I know she gets the point, that's clear from her adament refusal. Maybe if I tell her she can't....yeah right, she'll fall for that (hey, check out the wings on that pink barn animal flying by!).

This child...she's going to be the end of me. At least the hilarity of her comments match the force of her resistance.

1/6/09

1/5/09 The worst part of the day

Ugh...back to the grind.

I thought the worst part of my day would be the dropoff runaround. It wasn't.

Then I thought the worst part of my day would be the pickup runaround. It wasn't.

Then I thought the worst part would be Katrina's still-daily dinner tantrum. It wasn't.

Then it seemed clear the worst part of the day would be the boys fighting before dinner. It wasn't.

No, the worst part was opening Gabriel's homework folder and discovering that he has two -- two -- "family projects" due Friday. One is a "Heritage Doll," in which he's supposed to decorate a paper doll with traditional costume from his family's heritage. (What traditional costume? We don't have heritage! "Be Creative!" the instructions call. Uggghh!!) The next is a "My Family Scrapbook." Dragging my reticent, literal son through these open-ended projects is torture.

I know what the school is trying to do: involve parents in the homework and the kids' lives, and get families talking about their history. But do you have to make me do that on a weeknight when I have lunches to make, clothes to put away, and a grumpy toddler to get to bed?

I had a telling conversation with a co-worker today, about kids playing together. She commented that her girls, ages 8 and 10, play together a lot; and I followed up by saying my boys do too, but they fight a lot. "Oh, my girls fight too, but I just ignore it."

Ignore it, really? How?

"Sometimes the older one just wants to be left alone and she won't talk to the younger one and makes her cry, but she goes to her room and...." No, I stopped her. I said fight. I'm not talking about hurting feelings; I'm talking about hitting, kicking, punching, pulling, tripping, pinching, biting, throwing things on someone's head, scratching faces with toys, grabbing clothes, shoving, rolling on the floor together, destroying things around them, and making a huge extremely annoying racket. That's fighting. "Oh," she conceded, "Boys."

I can think of maybe one or two times anyone's cried around here because of something someone else said. Ignore it? Fighting around here is too loud, too destructive and too irritating. If only.

1/5/09

Addendum: I video'd some sample semi-fighting, it's not great but gives an idea of the fine line between playing and fighting. This is pretty tame, but without me standing there with the camera, lines get crossed quickly. The funny part is Katrina's reprimand: "No throwing, Gabriel!"

And suddenly, they're friends again.

1/4/09 Downtown Ice

The one thing I've wanted to do this entire holiday was to take the boys to Downtown Ice, a seasonal outdoor ice rink in San Jose. Finally today, somehow, I made it happen.

Gabriel's first experience on ice skates was at Downtown Ice, when he was just shy of 4, with me and Aunt Laura to help him. We had no idea how to teach a child, and it had been decades since I'd been on skates. Laura could skate, but it wasn't long before our backs ached.

2005


(I look so innocent...little did I know I would be pregnant in a few weeks, if I wasn't already.)

A lot has changed since then! Both boys have had ice-skating classes, and I had another baby. This excursion motivated skating lessons for myself too, despite said baby. (One thing that hasn't changed: I wore the same vest today as in 2005!)

With the boys being older, I can put their skates on and send them off to the rink while I do my own skates. They're not old enough to tie their own skates, however, and one thing I don't like about skating is the 20 minutes of creative pulling and tying of ice-skates, including my own. Velcro, anyone?

(My boys.....so cute. I'm so proud of them.)

I've never been so warm skating before! Outdoors in downtown San Jose is a whole lot warmer than indoors at most skating rinks. It was a glorious day. Some people were skating in tank tops.

Unfortunately, Julian pooped out within 10 minutes, claiming his legs hurt. He can skate fine, but it seems he just doesn't like to. A shame, because it's so fun for me doing stuff like this with both of them, if they both like it. Dave says Julian isn't much fun at the BMX park anymore either.


Gabriel, on the other hand, is full of enthusiasm, determination, and willingness to try. We worked a little on forward crossovers again, which is about the limit of my skating skill. He's shaky, but he likes to try, and it's a good start!


Then, inspired by cousins, we had hot chocolate when we got home. OK, so it's 65 degrees out. You still have to have hot chocolate after ice skating!

It's really fun doing this once a year as a lark, even though the actual skating isn't that good. The sun creates wet spots, it's small and crowded with mostly first-time skaters. Still, I'll certainly take Gabriel again next year....maybe even Katrina too. That's a really exciting thought!

I wonder how hard it will be to come across an activity that all three will like? Better yet, all five?

1/4/09

1/3/09 The French

I took Julian and Katrina to a birthday party today...

(...excuse me, I'm being informed, "Office is closed, boys!" and the office door is being shut by a self-appointed authority....)

...and enjoyed hanging out and catching up with moms I knew, and getting to know other families I didn't know. This included a French-Canadian couple, the 3rd family I know now that hails from Quebec.

I learned something about Canadians today. Talking with the Dad, who's from somewhere in Quebec, I asked about his wife, and he said, "She's French." I made the usual joking inquiries about whether or not Canadians and French can understand each other. He said it was like a Texan talking to a Scot: same basic language, but with heavy accents and different expressions.

Later, his wife arrived, and we made instant friends. She had a strong accent that sounded a little odd, but her English was fine. It wasn't until hours later that I realized: she's not French from France, she's French-Canadian. Apparently being "French" in Canada is as clear a distinction as if she were from a different country. Indeed, the two did sound like they were from different countries, as he sounded like an ordinary Canadian ("It's cold oot-side") and she clearly was not a native English speaker. They were both fun, bright, interesting people and I got a huge kick out of talking to them.

Katrina managed to make a name for herself. OK, I have to preface this by saying she mostly played pretty well, but by 1:15 was clearly ready to go: pushing me off the couch, getting her shoes, putting her jacket on. But the cake hadn't been cut yet though, and leaving a birthday party before the big payoff because of a grumpy little sister is something I only had the heart to do to Julian once in his lifetime. This is a problem with bringing a 2-year-old to a 5-year-old's birthday party.

While the kids were gathering for the singing, Katrina got mad at me for something, and hit me with a toy. Only she picked the wrong leg, and hit another mom instead! When she realized her mistake, she looked at me with contempt, and then hit my leg, as if it were my fault that she'd attacked the wrong leg. I brought her to the other mom and told her to say she was sorry, but she burst into angry tears, and actually started to shake. I was glad that she reacted that way instead of escalating, as Gabriel would have done. Still, the little pest!

Before the party, I took Julian for a much-needed haircut. I liked his moptop look, but while his hair is completely straight, it actually has a lot of body and will stick out strangely. Katrina watched the operation with interest.

The haircut ladies eyed her too, and misunderstood my appalled reaction. It's not just that I love her long hair, but I will need serious sedation before attempting to get her to sit for a haircut again.

We walked around the apartment complex a little before the party, where a newly dapper Julian enjoyed a fountain and some ducks.


Lately I haven't wanted to stay at birthday parties with the boys, especially not with Katrina, but I had fun being a grownup and a yakky Mom again today.

1/3/09

1/2/09 The Organization

Spent all night organizing stuff that is a relentless PITA to organize, but is even more annoying not to be able to find when you need it.

I'm determined to have a catalog-perfect utility closet when we move back home, with everything categorized into clearly marked boxes: "tape," "glue," "string," "picture-hanging," "drywall anchors," "batteries," "shelf pegs," "nightlights," and hundreds of other such sundries. This is the sort of drudgery one should only ever have to do once a decade.

But I have an ulterior motive. Now Dave will have to go actually look for something himself, rather than asking me. "Look for the box labelled 'zip-ties'...," I'll tell him, "....under 'Z'!"

I got a Sign today. I went to the nearest Target to buy more storage boxes, and discovered empty shelves. It's closing tomorrow. It's time to go home.

1/2/09

1/1/09 Happy New Year!

We had a delightful, inspiring and fun New Year's Eve with our longtime moto-friends, Reid and Rubye.

Though I've known Rubye just as long as Reid, Reid was the motorcyclist, and I got to know him over many, many rides across many mountains, deserts, forests and states. He knew Dave too, but I did a lot more rides with Reid than Dave did, and over the years, we became solid friends.

(I always marvelled at how this soft-spoken, gentle, kind, insightful, wise man was an animal as a rider. Don't try to keep up with him lane-splitting, and if you plan to ride home with him after a 3-day weekend, you'd better have your bike packed, gassed up and running at 5:30am! I remember numerous trips when I'd get up at O'Dark Early and find Reid's campsite vacant. He'd be home from Hayfork or Quincy by 10am, when most riders were still sleepily unpoling their tents and looking around for coffee. He wanted to spend the day with Rubye.)

The kids went to Melissa's for a New Year's Eve sleepover, and didn't give me so much as a glance over their shoulders when I tried to kiss them good-bye. Dave picked them up this morning and they were really wiped out by their sleepover, so we took it super easy today.

The only thing we did today was a short trip to the jobsite, where Katrina lasered right in on a wagon in the garage. "I'm ready!" she declared. To be pushed around at her whimsy, she meant.


The boys couldn't match her energy.

They passed on the fascination of the new granite bathroom countertops and a sliding door I just realized opens on the wrong side(arrrrrghGHGGHH!!!).

Katrina's been increasingly....increasing. Everything. For starters, she's doing more and more "girl" things. We're finding her baby doll and stuffed animals all over the house, tucked into blankets, with cloths wrapped around like diapers, or bibs set up in the high chair.


She's also getting more demanding, more insistent, bossier -- is that possible? She got two timeouts today for hitting. She needed to be put back a few times, but she mostly sat and cried in timeout. GOOD.

After a sound nap (the first she's taken all week), she happily played with Dad's iPhone. I think Dad enjoys these moments more than she does, though he won't admit it.


Julian got a terrific skeleton jigsaw puzzle book for his birthday. Tonight he came to me again and again, joyfully announcing something he's found in the book: "MOM! The hand has TWENTY-SIX bones!!" Dr. Doudna, perhaps??

First things first. Kindergarten before medical school. Incredible...the school district finally updated their archaic registration system of having parents fill out 1000 forms with all sorts of obscure information at the school. If you don't have your dentist's phone number, you're supposed to go back (I never did).

But now we can pick up registration packets ahead of time. Welcome to the 2000's. I guess an ONLINE FORM (Hell-LO?! Silicon Valley anyone?) will have to wait until the next century.

Kindergarten Registration:
February 2 – 12, 2009 at the neighborhood schools.

Registration packets maybe picked up by the parent at the neighborhood school beginning January 26, 2009. Packets are numbered sequentially and must be returned between February 2 - February 12, 2009, to be valid.

Any child who will be five years old on or before December 2, 2009, is eligible to attend kindergarten for the 2009-10 school year.

(That typo/spelling error of "maybe" instead of "may be" bothers me. This is a school for Pete's sake!)

I don't "think" this is a concern, but:

STUDENTS MUST BE RESIDING IN THE DISTRICT AT THE TIME OF REGISTRATION.

Well, define "reside."

When I submitted my TB test to Gabriel's school in December, an office staff member pulled me aside, acting verrrry serious. "What's this address?" she pointed out accusingly.

Duh, I'd written our rental address on the TB test application. Our rental house is in the same city as our real house, but in a different school district. I casually explained the situation, but she acted as authoritative as a hall monitor, put me on notice to submit a current PG&E bill, and warned me she'd report me to the school district. Oooh. I couldn't stand her "YOU'RE BUSTED" self-important attitude.

I can easily submit a current PG&E bill, despite the anachronism. So what? We do all our billing electronically and could easily Photoshop the proof. Whatever.

Regardless, I'll be registering my little boy for kindergarten next month!!!! Yay! Wah! Yay! Wah! Yay!

Mean time, happy next year, everyone!

1/1/09

12/30/08 Full Day

Amazing how much fuller and more intense a day with all three kids by myself is than a day of going to work. As though this is news.

Today:

Gabriel earned himself two hours of timeout in his room by 9:30am.

Gabriel tossed his Bear into the air (as he so often does and is not allowed) in his room, and hit the glass light shade on the ceiling. It broke and came crashing down, hitting his head and then breaking into pieces on the carpet. I had to carry him outside to brush glass bits out of his hair. He never cried. I would have.

I had to lock the backyard door when the boys left it open for the 315th time to prove a point. Oh, oops, are you guys outside? Oh WELL. Julian cried, Gabriel growled and threatened to punch me.

A misguided effort to illustrate the introspection and discipline of martial arts went awry, when I showed the boys Kung Fu demonstrations on YouTube. As I should have expected, they went on a total rampage afterward ("Hi-YAH!!"). Note to self: well, duh.

An enormous box arrived today, and the kids opened gifts from Uncle Ronan and Anney. Katrina got a penguin that's nearly as big as she is, and watching her carry it around giggling is priceless. The boys are beside themselves with their car toys. Thank goodness this arrived last, Uncle Ronan always upstages everyone else.

And I found the perfect craft table to replace the nasty dark-brown 1970s oak stereo cabinet that the previous owners of our house left behind, that's served us as a hokey "craft area" for years. This is my best news of the day.

Somehow this morning I managed to plan a trip to south San Jose, and then letterboxing in Los Altos right afterward. Those up on Bay Area geography know that this isn't exactly "on the way." I was in a hurry when I chose this letterbox, and did so because it was the first one I came across that was Katrina-friendly (no hiking). Then again, sitting for the required 4 minutes or so to exchange stamps isn't Katrina-friendly no matter what.

The real attraction of letterboxing is going to parks or other places where the letterbox is planted. This was a park we'd been to before, but only briefly after doctor's visits. The kids all had a great time playing on the play structures.

Katrina can sort-of clumsily run now, looking like she's going to trip with every step.

I was very surprised that she tried -- and succeeded -- climbing up to, and on top of, this rock bridge. This is quite doable by a 2-year-old, but a first for this unathletic 2-year-old.


Gabriel hawked over her protectively.


She was very enthusiastic about the slide until she actually had to look down.


Julian pretended to be barely hanging onto a steep slide, and then would let go and slide down with an "aaaAAAAHHHH!"

I was chatting with another mom who also has 2 boys and a girl, same agespans, but her oldest is only 4 (and her baby is only 1 month). She seemed anxious about Julian's apparent distress, and unsure what to make of my response, which was to glance his way and take a picture. Rookie.

Finally, time to find the letterbox. Katrina was unwittingly very funny in her usual instant contrariness when the letterbox hunt included counting steps. "No!" she protested, "I can't count!"

It took some real looking, and I had to return to the car to get the stroller to contain Katrina, but we did find it. The boys were thrilled.


I love photos like this. Life appears so idyllic. Then, an hour later, you're brushing glass shards out of your son's hair.


Or worse, you're committing the offense of insisting on closing the front door. Katrina was outraged. I captured an amusing little clip of her tantrum -- and bonus! The camera defused it.


Later, I showed all three the video of Katrina throwing the tantrum. Katrina didn't seem to understand that it was actually her. "That's crying baby!" she observes. The boys found it very funny.


Today I feel like I've lived a week. Netflix delivered my next "Desperate Housewives" DVD today. I'm so there.

12/30/08

12/29/08 Mom for a Day

All three by myself all day! It's been a while since I've done this. Eh, it's like falling off a bicycle. You lose control, smash your head, scrape your knees, cry for a while, and then....oh, um, errr.....where was I again?

Of course, no day is complete without some remodeling work. Today was meeting the granite guys at the jobsite and repeating 20 times: "The 30-inch vanity has ONE drill hole for the faucet; the other one has THREE."

I had to bring all three kids to the jobsite, never a good idea, but I had no choice. Fortunately, Dave found the time to come with me. Good thing. Katrina first ran around in circles happily, before we went inside and she got all P.O.'d about having to being carried around.

She never lets her brothers hold her hand and guide her anymore, though they're both very willing to leap into the role of caretaker. Bummer.

I took the crew to Lowe's to check out light fixtures. Katrina saw the blue car cart and flipped. This pause for a photo was met with angry disapproval. Naturally, the boys had to get in on the action.

I've finally started reviewing photos for my annual calendar -- yes it's coming folks! -- and can't believe how many photos I have of everyone smiling except Katrina, who's crying and objecting furiously! This is just another one.

Then I took them to the "old" gym, whose daycare was inexplicably open (their hours aren't nearly as broad as the Y's). I plopped them there with lunch at 10:30 and went for a workout, that I needed more intellectually than physically.

And again, Katrina was furious about having to leave the gym daycare.

Her new reaction to anger is to bite herself. Great. She knows she's not supposed to bite us, so she bites herself and even threatens us with her nefarious plot: "I'm goin' tah bi' TREENA!" She also tries to pinch or hit us, but it's half-hearted. Like Gabriel, she lashes out in anger, but unlike Gabriel, she doesn't like being scolded. Either that or she's just easier to scare.

Despite her wily personality, neither Dave or I have ever had to swat her. Talking to her sternly is generally enough and she backs down -- not out of feeling sad that Mommy is angry, but moreso out of fear -- or practicality. Even Julian got a well-timed smack from time to time at this age, turning a long irritating impasse into sad crying and the end of the conflict. Gabriel wouldn't back down no matter what. Katrina doesn't concede the way Julian did, she stays mad, but unlike Gabriel she recognizes futility and looks for other ways to get back at us. She hasn't figured out yet that biting herself isn't the way to do it.

The kids had had enough buzzing around for the day and spent a relatively quiet afternoon at home. Downtime. Ah. And I survived it!

12/29/08

12/28/08 Triple shot

Encouraged by a foot-buzz-free run two days ago, I wanted to do a "real" run today at Rancho San Antonio. It was a crisp, glorious day, just begging to be spent outside in the mountains.

Talking with Gabriel about it this morning, he asked me numerous times if he could go with me. I had to regretfully tell him no, I was planning to run too far for him. He asked again and again, and I promised him we would run together, but I had a hilly 7-mile route planned.

Still, this vacation is taking its toll -- the boys were bouncing off the walls yesterday. They really, really needed to get out today.

Then I had a brainstorm in the late morning: take everyone to Rancho San Antonio, I'll run with Gabriel for the first 1.5-mile stretch, going back and forth to touch base with Dave, Julian and Katrina. Then I'd head off for a real run after the first part of the trail. Brilliant! The kids get out, I run with Gabriel, and I get a real run in.

My first instinct, as usual, is to get a photo of all three together. And as usual, Katrina had other ideas.


Gabriel and I started off together, and I was delighted that he had no trouble with the first stretch, which is half a mile of UP. While we waited at the top for Dave to catch up, I showed Gabriel a short, but very steep, hill on the beginning of another trail. Again, no problem.


When Dave caught up, we started on the gradual downhill, with Julian for part of it, and me and Gabriel running ahead for the other part. I can't tell you how thrilled I was to see the boys really RUNNING. They really needed it! But Julian wasn't close to keeping up with me and Gabriel, he pooped out fast.



At the end of the trail (at the farm), Katrina got out of the stroller briefly, then demanded to get back in.

Gabriel had done really well running with me, though toward the end of the downhill part he was starting to get tired. I considered taking a shorter route than I'd first planned, and running some more with him, but I'd gotten my heart set on this particular route today. I felt bad, he was really disappointed and wanted to keep running with me, but I was heading out to trails for which there is no easy bailout, and he would have had to keep going for a long, long time. Very few people, even 6-year-olds, run over 7 miles with a 1000-ft elevation gain without some training.

As it turns out, that included me. I had a really tough time, gasping for breath at the top and fighting stitches on the way down. The relatively easy 4-miler I did two days ago was all flat, and led me to believe that I was ready to do hills again. Not really. Not to mention the return of my old foe: twinges of tendonitis in my ankles.

I wasn't the only one wiped out by our foray.

The boys were a lot calmer and manageable this afternoon! Despite my tough run, I feel athletically satisfied for the day. And I'm really happy that I might really have a running partner in Gabriel.

Katrina, on the other hand....she's really been a pill. Dinner went fairly well though. She still sits in the high chair sometimes, but lately more often than not, she insists on sitting on a regular chair, and is OUTRAGED at the suggestion of a booster seat.


I get to be full-time Mom this week! I think that's a good thing.....?

12/28/08