DietCoke, I bid thee adieu…

My former lover

Good bye diet coke.  My beloved and apparently bad 10 year habit.  My urologist told me that I can't drink you any longer.  You are in the words of my doctor, "the single worst thing you can drink."  He explained all this to me while I sat squirming with mild groin pain on his exam table.  After he reviewed my CT scan, he broke the news - you have a kidney stone.

Diet coke has oxalates which comprise a lot of kidney stone material; and features phosphoric acid which leaches calcium from your bones.  Diet coke creates the perfect storm for stones.  My stone (I named him Timmy) was 5 mm, size of grain of rice.  I had to pee in a sieve and capture Timmy to give to my doctor for analysis.  Just another day in a kidney stoners life.  Sieving your pee so you can then collect the specimen to give to your doctor.  This alone made me vow to never drink the brown rivers of diet coke again.  One of my friends heard this and said she is never coming to my house for noodles or pasta or tea.

Of course I over-googled kidney stones in between peeing through all my kitchen sieves.   In my research I read a lot of first person accounts of giant, painful odysseys that lasted for days, months with cramping, blood and damaged urethras (mostly the men).  It was eye opening.  I had to shut my computer down after a while.  While I waited for Timmy to pass, I drank a ton of water and went to the bathroom about 28 times a day.  All the while thinking that I needed to break ties with my DC BFF.

Since we parted ways, I've been introduced to my new friends, sparkling water and its plainer cousin still water.  Both don't have the conversational abilities of Diet Coke but try to make polite chit chat.  I hope someday they will develop a non-harmful drink with the acidic zest of Diet Coke without the Timmys.



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Just call me Hole in Leg

I fell and hurt my leg while mountain biking last week.  It was during my weekly ride with a bunch of moms.  (sounds funny to say that - like a "bunch of bananas")  Anyway, we moms are a tough bunch of broads who have all fallen before.  Falls I've seen include - the full chest splat with palms and face in down position on messy gravel.  Full leg scrapes from hitting something and falling.  All have concluded with the biker dusting themselves off (a little embarrassed, chagrined you might say) and getting back not that damn thing and continuing on.

My situation was a little different - I would say more exciting for it included full team meeting post-fall, strategy session and lastly, outside medical care.  You see when I fell - I punctured, tore whatever you want to say break the skin barrier - in my thigh.  I grabbed my brake too hard and then went over the handlebars and pulled the bike on top of me.  When I landed - I must have brought a sharp part of the bike hard on top of me.  Once the dust settled I realized that I had a small divot in my upper thigh - you could see the fat tissue and fluid.  No blood though. 

I reacted strongly.  I must call 911.  911 is my original family's 411.  My Oklahoma-raised husband is from more stoic stock; reluctant to dial; more willing to see stop and examine - take a beat.  So we clash often.  My immigrant parents felt they had no one here to help them but 911.  So when I could see my body tissues peeking out my leg - I needed 911.  Moreover I needed to get off the mountain lest I bleed out dramatically into the dry yellow straw on the dry Palo Alto hills.  

At first my 911 pleas met with resistance, no - we don't need to call 911.  I hated them for several minutes while they tried to calm me down.  One friend eventually did call but it didn't go through.  Great, I thought.  I will die here with my blood on the dry yellow straw.  Our next call was to our friend who was a doctor.  She asked us to send her a picture.  Later she told me that I sounded completely freaked out and barked at her - I have a hole in my leg!  Once she saw the picture - she determined that no you don't need 911 but you do need stitches and you do need to keep the wound clean.  

Once she said this I did calm down.  We also figured out that it wasn't bleeding much and on top of that we had gauze.  Yes, one of the moms bikes with several packets of gauze.  Bless her soul.  So we wrapped my leg up Civil War style and we then tried to figure out how to get down the hills to the parking lot.  

This was not going to be easy.   I couldn't bend my leg or put weight on it.  First we thought I should ride my bike and they would push me along on it.  Because I'm not 3 years old - this did not work. 

Then I decided to ride down the hill with my hurt leg just sticking straight down - while my other leg rested on the pedal.  This worked so we went downhill gingerly.  It wasn't fun.  I kept talking manically as is my habit when I'm stressed.  I think I told one pair of lady hikers who looked at my bandaged leg - "I have a hole in my leg!"  I'm not known for being stoic.  What's the opposite of stoic?  Dramatic?  That's probably more apt to describe me. 

So the rest of the adventure is pretty mundane.  I went to Urgent Care - they blasted my wound with water from a giant syringe and then sewed me up.  I can't do anything for two weeks.  I'm bored and scared to go biking but that's life….getting up constantly from tiny to large scale falls.  

2013

What a year!  What an amazing year!  We survived!  We still have oxygen, working sun, food, etc.  Much to be thankful for.  Enough of the boring stuff.  Here's my list of things that happened big and small in 2013...

- We raised more than $5,000 for FARE (Food Allergy Research & Education).  I decided to put my anxiety about D's multiple food allergies into action - to help him and those like him live a more normal life.  The whole family went on a 5k walk with other families and friends of those with food allergies.  It was empowering and sobering as many parents of children who died from allergies were in attendance.

- I started mtn. biking.  Yeah bitch!  I - a 44 year old - mom of two started mountain biking.  Mid-life crisis?  Sure!  Call it what you will.  With my trusty group (called the Re-vuars) of careening mom bikers (called the Re-vulvars), I started biking 2x weekly up and down the hills of Arastradero & Montebello Preserves.  Steep dusty trails are now my friend.

- The kids started woodworking class.  This is not Khan Academy or digital arts but just plain wood working.  I have this hunch that the kids need more tactile, calming things aside from swiping a screen and seeing fabulously rendered digital pictures.

- M started a new job.  Yup another start-up.  Here we go again.  But I'm glad my hub has found his niche….

- Smallest Lenz started kindergarten.  I didn't actually do donuts in the parking lot but I did tell a lot of people that I would on the first day of school.  This is a huge milestone for me.  As a stay at home mom - I thought this day would never come.  Once it did - I felt a little bit sad but mostly fuckin' jubilant.

- More 5ks - S and I ran our second Girls on the Run 5k and I also did the Willow Glen 5k with some dear friends.  Running is still in my blood until my hips start lying (shakira).

- 3rd annual Thanksgiving celebration with my dear friend - Diane.  She has come for three years in a row and I'm deeply happy that we've kept our friendship going.  Now she has a beautiful daughter so we have the kids to corral together and watch them grow.  I love you Dmasterflash.

That's all for 2013.  I'm sure there are other things I can't remember now.  One thing I do know is that this life is short and it can be glorious.  Take advantage of every second - for the next is not promised to us!!!!

xoxo C,

I need cheering up.  Flowers cheer me up.  I'm pro flowers.  

Perfect parenting and other unachievable goals

Everyday I commit 20-100 parenting mistakes.  Depending on the number of kids in the car, my sleep/protein intake, and daily agenda, the number goes up.  I could blame several things including my own spectacular upbringing (no comment) or my two wildly different kids (girl = shy, unassuming and boy=passionate, extrovert).  Or I could blame it on the fact that I sometimes just really want to be alone and will do anything in the moment to escape any communication with anyone under 4 feet tall.

The toughest part of being a parent is that you can't escape.  Sometimes you have to do the exact opposite thing that you want to do.  I call it constipating your id - dismembering your own wants to submit to the needs of others.  Do you want to sit down and watch your TIVO'd Mad Men? - nope.  Instead track down your kids blanket and then read him 60 books about fans.  Feeling sleepy? Downright exahusted?  Nope! sit on the ground and build a really complicated model of a rollercoaster with about 10,000 small pieces whose colors blend in perfectly with your carpet.  God forbid you lose a piece.   To our kids (up to a certain age and maybe beyond), I will posit that we are like giant animated teddy bears who care for them, prepare snacks, pick up their shit (lit and fig) and protect them.  That's why you sometimes feel depleted.

Insert disclaimer here that of course I love my kids and would do anything for them.  I'm just trying to stand up for the parenting community.  The ones who aren't naturally maternal/paternal.  The ones who had to learn to parent the hard way or the harder way or the hardest way.  The ones who didn't have it modeled for them but had to figure it out and submit however awkwardly to their children's needs while muttering under their breath - indecipherable phrases from the "urban" dictionary.  I stand proud as one of these awkward amateur parents. And really is there any other kind if we are honest?

Parents are raised just like kids.  I have learned so much over the last 10 years.  I learned how much free time I actually had.  How hard it is to care and be present for others.  I have learned much respect for my parents who were immigrants to this country and really had no idea what their children faced at school, among friends or beyond.  What's a sleepover?  Girlscouts?  What the hell is that?  They did what I am doing - just taking one day at a time.  I don't think you ever feel like you master parenting - you just have to keep doing it.

My Big Fat Uterus

In late October, I had a hysterectomy, gangnam-style.  No, it was just American style.  My precious baby bag is gone.  My uterus was probably put in a large stainless steel tray to be slowly dissected by a Stanford Medical student and then carelessly thrown out with all the other unwanted organs.  (where do they put those things, ewk)  You see the ol' bag had to go because it was rife with hardened, calcified nodes called uterine fibroids.  The size of my uterus caused my abdomen to look pregnant, four months according to my doctor's measurements.  I knew this anecdotally because my dentist saw me at the gym and asked me if I was preggo. While smiling broadly, she rubbed her belly and then pointed to me,"Do you have good news?"   I said, "No," flatly with an extra heavy sigh.  I wanted to hurt her badly: flick her eyeball or at see her to fall to the ground, incurring a knee scrape, broken nail, busted iphone.  Instead of falling to the floor in a heap as I fantasized, she just let out an indecipherable sound like"meep" and then slunk away.  

I lived life with my 'stone baby' uterus for 3 years.  I was scared to do anything about it.  I knew that a hysterectomy was the recommendation by not 1 but 5 doctors but it seemed barbaric:  chopping out a vital organ through a large incision.  I have had 2 c-sections so they would use the same scar.  It seemed like something that 60 year old women did or at least women who wear elastic pants or SAS shoes (google it).    To avoid unnecessary butchery, I researched all the new medical procedures to deal with the problem.  It was eye opening.  Procedures included using sound waves to disintegrate the fibroids, robotic surgery to cut out the fibroids, to literally starving the uterus' blood supply by inserting tiny beads into arteries in your thighs.  My head was dizzy so I caved into my ruminating tendencies with the force of the great Niagara.  I watched Youtube videos of bloody operations and read HysterSysters - an online group dedicated to women who were thinking about or going to have hysterectomies.  My husband worried as he saw me but said nothing.  He knew that this was just the beginning.  

After 2 more years of delaying this process and buying baby-doll shirts, leggings with wide elastic bands to hide my problem areas - I decided that I was spinning.  I had booked the surgery 2 times and then cancelled it.  As my final stand, I called up my OB/GYN who delivered my kids.  This was the second time I had met with him to discuss the procedure (9 months earlier).  He wanted to do the abdominal method - traditional clip, snip and zip.  I booked the procedure for the following week.  I was very scared but felt like this would be a positive step in my life.  I was tired of feeling pregnant, of having a giant belly, of having to pee all the time, of not being able to lie on my stomach.  It was gross. I tried to "love" my body the way it was but I was starting to despise my not pretty rock hard but not in a nice way abs. 

I went ahead with the surgery.  It was uncomfortable but not painful.  I felt exhausted.  It was hard to walk for first couple of days.  I couldn't even walk very fast.  It was different from c-sections where you have a screaming baby to care for or I mean, the wonder of new life.  This time my hospital room was silent and I could just lie around and watch the weird hospital TV while trying to fart so they would give me solid food.  This time I had two bigger kids who asked me when I was going to come home and who looked really freaked out when they visited me in the hospital.  I knew I had to get better fast so things could go back to normal and I could be a strong Mom again.  

The road to recovery has been slow.  I'm 6 weeks out and I still feel breathless when going on a very easy walk down the block.  I feel like I never have exercised before.  I used to do 10ks and run about 3 miles with no problem.  Now I feel very weird - lack of endorphins is kinda making me sad.  So I'm going to keep walking, build up my strength and eventually get back to running again with my running posse.  Hopefully I won't see the inside of Stanford Hospital for a while.  

Chatum Tanning

Just saw the movie Magic Mike and I had to jot down some notes before I forget:

- No story line but that was ok.

- Channing Tatum is an amazing dancer - I never knew who he was or why he was so famous...

- This movie must have been on Matthew McConnaheybaby's bucket list.  In other words, he should have paid the producers to allow him to be in this movie.  He was having WAY too much fun.  So slimy.  His solo, butt-floss number near the end of the movie was cringe-worthy though side note:  he's definitely been working out and avoiding carbs.  

- I never knew Florida beaches had so many dead trees on them - just littered.

- When strippers start dealing drugs, they get in big trouble.

- Sororities shouldn't hire strippers to come to their co-ed parties - it makes their preppy BFs really mad...esp. the really short ones.  

- My movie cost 11.50 but it was worth it....just for the short departure from my reality:  kids on summer break, Trader Joe's, cleaning, keeping sane....

Mothers' Work

Whether you work outside the home dressed like a human for a paycheck or inside the home wearing the same sweats outfit you wore yesterday enslaved by doughy munchkins who look like you, you are a mom who works.  Moms work their asses off.  If only the fat would then come off their asses, then it might come close to an even trade.  The paycheck moms come home at night to exchange their human clothes for sweats and then do a doubleshift of "inside the home" work.  What is "inside the home" work you might ask?  Well let me tell you because my brain loves to catalogue it as I'm doing it.  Sometimes I like to do inside the home work while uttering a litany of "fucks", "shits", and "I went to college for this?!"  My outrage seems to correlate to the amount of idealization (is that the right word) I had as a 20 year old who thought I was going to be the next Connie Chung (you know, Maury's wife).  I just pictured myself in a suit writing important meeting/work/professional executive stuff in a giant red date book (Franklin Covey) and then talking into a giant football sized cell phone.  I never pictured myself pulling gumball sized poo out of my constipated child's ass or wiping the floor for the 5th time in one day of gooey rice bits, dried playdough and melting chocolate.  I didn't think I could fold a mountain of giant and little boxer briefs while making sure my pasta doesn't boil over and coax my 8 year old from under her bed so she could do her homework.  It all ends up at the doorstep of chardonnay but I digress.

You see inside the home work never ends.  It's like a giant endless pit.  Take picking up around the house.  Well, I pick up a lot of kids' toys and hurl them into the kids' rooms.  I don't actually put them away in a drawer but throw them into their rightful quadrant of the house.  If I'm particularly energized by a run (endorphins make you do the craziest things), a giant vat of coffee (ditto) or a claritin (hello allergy season), I will actually pick up my children's rooms.  This requires the patience of an archaeologist or someone who works in the Library of Congress.  You see, my daughter loves legos.  These are not toys but small plastic shards that must be catalogued and stored or the worst will occur:  the original lego that you paid more than 50 dollars for can never be constructed again.  Giant Millenium Falcon?  Nope not anymore - without that one crucial grey piece - now it's a just a pile of non recyclable plastic bits.  Is that a 1 inch twig brought in on the bottom of your child's shoe?  NO!  It is Harry Potter's Quidditch stick - put it away carefully or your daughter will explode in hysterics or worse beat the shit out of her brother because she will think that he took it.  Poor guy.  He probably did but on this one day you accidentally threw it out or sucked it up in the vacuum - the natural enemy of the lego.   Is that a dead fly?  No.  It is Darth Vader's trademark helmet/head/skull thingey  How can you play Star Wars without that.  You are screwed and you are a lazy no good mother who wastes her money on these plastic bits that will get lost.  You should have bought more natural wooden toys or even done away with toys altogether and made your kids construct treasures from trash - use their imaginations and create cool things from your recycling bin.  Did I tell you mothers' tend to obsess?

Wuck?

So it's been a while since I've posted on my blog.  I've been "kinda" busy.  Strong quotes around kinda because it's meant as massive understatement.  Kids are (almost) 4 and definitely 8.  What am I busy doing?  Driving two kids to/from: school, soccer, swimming, doctors and/or dentist appts and parks, cooking, shopping for food (e.g., modern day version of hunter/gatherer), cleaning house, folding laundry, paying bills and watching re-runs of Sopranos.  Yeah, I watch old school re-runs of the hyper violent show, The Sopranos.  I believe it is a relief valve (emotional fart hole) for any animosity that develops between me and 1) the kitchen, endless dishes  2) small people that I live with 3) that guy in traffic who isn't paying attention to the light  4) and random people who piss me off and my personal favorite 5) poop.

In between, I've been social - meeting up with friends.  Wonderful women who are funny, supportive and listen to my tales of triumph and (sometime) woe.  I cherish my friendships.  I get a high from chatting and laughing with them.  It's amazing how your shitty mood can be instantly lifted by a quick chat with a friend.  Friendship is the Rx for my shitty moods.  I keep forgetting this as I sometimes let dark clouds linger longer than necessary.  I want to make a vow right now to nurture my friends and also to let them nurture me.  I can't be a lone wolf though I often fantasize that I don't need anyone - that I am totally self-sufficient.  This feeling lasts about 13 minutes on Monday morning as I hear the barking of my 4 year old ringing in my ears. Help!  Eeek!  Calgon - take me away even though you sometimes give me a rash!

I will close up for now...here for your entertainment enjoyment is a list of words that sounds like swears/off-color but technically are not.

1) D-hole or J-hole (actually any letter in front of hole sounds bad)
2) Bizznotch
3) Shaq
4) Farkenheimer
5) Nuck
6) Flip! (said really loudly in right context)

things that make me happy...

Happy new year, beyotches!
Things are hunky dory in our home.
Children are doing well. I am keeping busy with child rearing. (sounds so weird, doesn't it? like animal husbandry.) Anyway, I am hand-raising my little goat herd of two. It can be boring, hum drum stuff. So during my time off - after they are asleep - I troll the web for things that make me happy.

1) Hats!

Regard...

2) Comedy/jokes/reality TV/life in general
I love to laugh and find a lot of things hilarious in the routine nature of life.  I believe that laughter is the best medicine and we all need to take ourselves less seriously.  SNL skits, Jersey Shore, Kathy Griffin, my hubbie's jokes, my parents' jokes (they have awesome senses of humor)....these things sustain and feed me.  Life can crush you.  You have to hold yourself up with laughter.  Even the unruly, bawdy, unsavory, sailor-y kind! (my favorite!) Fart joke, anyone?   Next...

3) Home cooked meals.
I love to go to someone's house and eat their food.  Better if they actually prepared it.  I also love to plan and cook meals for others.  I used to hate to cook.  In fact, I held cooking as one a low-level chore that women had to do for their husbands. (hey, I was raised by a very traditional Korean woman).  So, it held no appeal for me.  Then I gave birth to a little rascal who was allergic to everything under the sun so I had to belly up to the stove practically every meal to produce something that would nourish and not injure his innards.  This brings us to present day.  2011.  I am cooking a lot and as a result, enjoying food more.  When you prepare your own food, you notice the subtleties of other people's dishes.  You try to figure out what spices they used or if they steamed or stir-fried something.  It's amazing!  Food is art.  Food makes you feel good.  It's essential and makes us go.  But...I still love diet coke.

4) Diet coke.
I know I have to give up DC.  I love it so.  I probably have rock hard aspartame crystals in my body.  It's like cigarettes.  It pains you to give it up.  I'm trying to switch it up to water with tons of fresh squeezed lemon juice.  The tartness seems to satisfy my deadened, overly stimulated by diet coke taste buds.  We'll see.  I need hard core prayer on this one.

5) Dressing up
I have been working out a lot lately so the ol chassis looks (in the words of Larry David, creator of Seinfeld and Curb your Enthusiasm) prehtee, prehtee good.  (translation:  i'm lookin' kinda decent naked).  So dressing up is more fun.  Not an exercise in silk seam stress-testing.  Will this sheer tank top rip open like an envelope during dinner is not a question that I need to ask right now.  Instead, it is...what can I wear to show off my ripped (ok....just toned) back.

6) My family
I have worked hard for this family.  I love my husband (my best friend) and my kids (2 little munchkins).  I look at them and I feel a deep joy.  One that I have never felt in my life.  I am home and I thank Jesus for bringing me here.  Amen, sisters.

Carry on and keep being awesome.  I'm glad I get a chance to share this with all 5 of my readers.  

A boy

Daniel turned 3 earlier this month. He's a big boy now! He pooped for the first time in the toilet for the first time in his tender young life. I was so proud. I've heard that you are supposed to positively reinforce this type of behavior so Sophie and I really went overboard in our praise. We whooped and hollered like he had found out how to make gold from his butt. He looked at us a little suspiciously like, "Just because you act like that does that mean that I'm going to do that again." Anyway, I'm hoping that he soon tires of collecting his feces in a wearable waterproof pouch.

The little guy kills me though with his teddy bear looks and straight talk express. Every time I yell at him (not often...ok 1x day), he always looks at me and then yells back even louder. He consumes my negative energy and then flings it back at me with his garbled toddler words. Today he ran away from me at Whole Foods almost reaching the parking lot where cars were driving by. Luckily there was a man there on the curb to catch him. I grabbed him (all 38 backaching pounds of him) and gave him a little pinch. Once we strapped him in his carseat, I said you are getting a timeout! Then he looked at me and said,"No! I'm not!" or something to that effect. Sometimes the straight talk express is really touching. Yesterday night, I was web surfing (ok escaping) and he looked at me and said, "I love Mom." Then he looked at me and said, "Kiss, 3 times..." I freaked out. Melted. So touched was I. I could've just died right there and been happy. It's amazing when little kids start to talk. They can describe what they've been feeling all along and you get to be there...front row!

I once heard that raising children is not fun but joyful. Joy being more lasting than fun. I agree. Parenting is so hard on me but it etches my life with joy.

Meal Planning Monday 10/18/10

When did I become so domestic? I know, right? F-in weird? 20 years ago, I was trying to be hip in Berkeley with my cool, Asian-wanna-be-Annie-Hall look, smoking my Camel Lights. Now I'm a full time mom publishing her dinner menu for the week!? WTF. The past is the past and I've dialed down a little of my extreme views and now I'm just trying to feed my kids. The little one has tons of food allergies (wheat, egg, nuts, peas/legumes, seafood) so we're limited but not lacking.

Let's help each other. Publish your menu here. Or get some ideas from me or others. No novels necessary just jot down some ideas. K?

Monday - Chicken drumsticks with zukes, cherry tomatoes and potatoes (one pot meal cooked in chicken broth and parmesan cheese, gluten free!)
Tuesday - Ground beef with noodles (stroganoff-ish)
Wednesday - Veggie drawer brown rice stir fry
Thursday - Leftover/clean the freezer night
Friday - Pizza night (either make or buy....ok who am I kidding, buy!!!!) Mom's night out, bitches!

Random thoughts while driving

I drive a lot. During the day, I feel like my car is another room in my house. As such it is filled with appropriate accoutrements e.g., clothing, food, magazines, books, furniture, bowls, eating utensils. You name it. I could live in it for 48 hours with my kids and they would be well cared for. So during these long drivings jags, I have random thoughts. I thought I mights share some of these.

- If squirrels didn't have cute tails, we'd all be screaming our asses off seeing them scampering all over the place. They look like little rats. ew.
- Why does that woman in my neighborhood take walks with her (giant) patio umbrella. She looks like a deranged clown who robbed a sidewalk bistro and doesn't know what to do with her stolen good.
- Does Los Altos experience more pedestrian fatilities because it lacks proper sidewalks? Do they really have that much faith in the local geriatric and/or pimple-ridden driving population? I for one feel nervous walking around my neighb because you never know if it's going to be a 75 year old trying to work her voice recognition dialing software in her new Jag or a 17 year old texting someone that he's late to Spot Pizza.
- Why do some of the moms at my school drive like drugged loons? I don't get it. When you drop off your giant 6th grader, do you need to sit there and watch him take the 100 steps into school? Move it!
- Do all cops have brown hair? Yes!
- Why does butter and animal fat taste soo good. (if you say ew, you don't know how to eat)
- Why do people continue to run when it's obvious that they are in a lot of pain. I swear I saw this woman limping down the street all patched up from knee to ankle. I totally get the addiction to endorphins but come on!
- EVERYONE TEXTS while driving. You can see the tops of people's heads as they look down at blue screens. Geico, man, Geico!
- I can't remember what Alec Baldwin looked like when he was hot. I simply don't remember and that's not good.

That's all for now...

Bronx Beat

Flowers, again.

I recently took a flower arranging class from a fellow parent at my daughter's school.  Check out the results...the one thing I learned....when in doubt...pick green!

Summer!

I love summer.  It is a relaxing time; people move more slowly through warmer air.  You can see more ease on people's faces.  They look peaceful, walking in their shorts and flip flops, perusing a farmer's market.  It's not the bundled down look of winter with people wearing raincoats and hoods.  Food tastes fresher because everything is in season.  I planted tomatoes for the first time this year.  They taste great! I can't help but rub my hands on the leaves and smell them.  It's got this great tomato-ey smell.  Compared to my humble crop, Safeway tomatoes remind me of red rubber balls.  

This summer has been very mild.  Temps in 70s most of the time.  No 100-degree record breakers yet.  I remember one year the temps topped off at 104+ for 3-4 days.  While we were on vacation in CO, my parents dealt with the sweltering heat by going to my Dad's office in Cupertino where the air conditioning (left on over the weekend) roared away on empty cubicles and conference rooms.    They also went to the mall where they found similarly minded folks lining the walkways, sitting on the floors and couches.  I wish we had one or two of these 100+ days before we hit Fall....it just seems fitting.  I look forward to the next one.  

I love watching the World Cup...here's why!

Not me but one day I'd like to
wear this outfit to a World Cup

1) non-violent competition of nations
2) everyone plays like their country's stereotype.  (Brazilians dance; Germans march; Koreans act like scrappers; Americans pull the underdog thing)
3) the dudes are not too bad to look at.
4) no one ever scores; it's like hours of foreplay....then bam!
5) community feeling - you know the whole world is watching with you.
6) you never know who is going to win.
7) no instant replay for referees.  it is what it is
8) US does not dominate so we can get a brief geography lesson on where the teams are from.

Flowers for hours...

Dude, I'm really into flowers right now.  I love peonies especially the electric pink color.  I can stare at flowers for hours.  So beautiful....enjoy.

Life is like a shitty first draft

I finally figured it out:  life is not perfect.  No matter how hard I try, worry or plan - life is like a shitty first draft.  Life provides a waterfall of metaphors (get it?).  It is like stumbling in the dark naked with a sharp knife on a Vaselined slip-n-slide.  Ok, it's not always that bad but life as I know it now is definitely a shitty first draft.  I pride myself in being proficient in many things.  I gain ego strokes from knowing that I'm the best or better than a lot of people at something.  Parenting is not one of these things.  I feel like I'm stumbling in the dark and just trying to hang onto the side of the boat while huge waves crash down on me.  

I don't get to correct my mistakes at the end of day - I only get another day.  Everyday is like a first draft that you have to turn in to the teacher whether you like it or not.  

This pains me especially because I hate writing first drafts because they are pretty shitty. If you are a writer, you know what I'm talking about.  First you have the great idea to about write about something.  Then if you are me - you procrastinate about fleshing it out further.  You instead put into a notebook and then forget about it.  Worse, you might come across it several weeks later and then file it under "good ideas to write about."  What are you putting off?  You are putting off producing a shitty first draft.  A shitty first draft is something that we all have to go through.  It's wobbly, confused prose.  It doesn't even hang together.  Your first few paragraphs may register some sparks but mostly its farts.  I hate first drafts.  As the words come out, you wince or tighten up your sphincter (maybe just me) because you know it's not what you really want to say but it's the best you can do for now.  It's the placeholder for your genius that is to come or to be determined.  I love TBD - so much promise, so non-specific, so non-committal.  But TBD has an expiry date.  It can not last forever.  TBD must give way to....a shitty first draft.  

Spring sprang.

It's time to find the plastic tub in your garage that holds your shorts and capri pants!  Yay!  I love Spring.