Posts

Showing posts from 2015

I Came From a Dry Creek Bed

Image
My sister and her family recently bought a house.  They moved in this past weekend, just in time for Thanksgiving 2015.  It must be a thing our family does: exactly forty years ago, my family moved at this same time of year from San Francisco to Sonoma.  We enjoyed our first "country" Thanksgiving -- pizza -- on paper plates, sitting on the dining room floor in our new-to-us (but built in 1918) home.

My sister's move prompted me to tell my kids about that Thanksgiving in 1975 and about moving when I was seven.  My daughter asked me if the new house was a lot nicer than the one we left behind in Bernal Heights.  No, I told her.  I loved our SF house, as much as I loved this new one. I loved the way our old house was actually two of those classic San Francisco houses, smashed up next to each other.  Ours was connected on the inside, with our bedrooms and living areas on one side, and my dad's pottery studio on the other.  I loved that we lived right across the street …

Cupcake Dreams, Redux

Image
In honor of this child's 9th birthday, I am reposting this gem, which, I must confess, I never tire of listening to.  Don't think I ever will.

* * *  

I want to be a kid again.  I want to tell stories the way my youngest daughter does.  I want to dream about cupcakes.  And I really, really want a Dream Teller of my very own.

During dinner last night, Little T was devouring my homemade spaghetti sauce and making me feel like Martha Stewart, Julia Child, and Ree Drummond, all rolled into one, and she mentioned that she knew she was going to have a good dinner tonight because her Dream Teller told her so.

Come again, daughter?

Your what?

That's right.  She has a Dream Teller.  Every morning, after a night of dreaming about cupcakes and unicorns and whatever other lovelies visit her while she is sleeping, her Dream Teller tells her what her dreams mean.  Here's last night's:



Actually, I don't want to be a kid again: I want to be THIS KID.

* * *

Kelly Corrigan, on illness

Image
Kelly Corrigan has done it again: written something that resonates loudly and beautifully.

Take a moment to click through and read what she has to say about illness and what it wants from us.  She has indeed made herself useful with her words:


Click here to continue reading.

Thank you Kelly!

* * *

Cheapest, Best School Lunch EVER

Image
Isn't it the greatest thing ever when you screw something up and have to settle for a really lame Plan B, only to be rewarded by a super awesome unforeseen consequence that basically makes you look brilliant?

That happened to me today! Yay!

We just came through one of the most soccer-packed, social-packed, traffic-packed, logistics-packed weekends of our lives, which is indeed saying something.  Before the weekend even started, I texted the following to my husband:

"Can you hear the circus music yet?  I CAN!"

My eldest saw that text in the car on the way home on Friday evening...he got a chuckle.

But I digress.  It's just that the weekend was so completely fricking insane that I couldn't manage to do any grocery shopping, so I had to settle for my last minute fall back: take the kids to Safeway in the morning on the way to school to get them breakfast and lunch.  But then, I was so sleep deprived, and in such a non-caffeine dither (no coffee in the house either!)…

That Omelet Doesn't Threaten Me

Image
A Tip for Mothers. Or Fathers. Or People.
This is a public service announcement.  Probably kind of a long one.  But here it goes:

At least a year ago, a mom I know told me a story about the day her teenage son made himself an omelet.  She told the story to illustrate that he is more capable than she had previously imagined.  I'll admit it: I was impressed.  My teenage sons can barely make toast.  And there she was, waxing eloquent about the vegetable chopping, and the spice using, and the whisking, and the this and the that and the competency.

I won't go so far as to say that my confidence in my children -- or in my ability to raise them to be capable adults -- plummeted just from the story of the omelet.  But I do remember thinking: "Man, I wish my kids could do that."  And I've thought about that kid every now and then over the past year or so, especially when I make frittatas for my family, which I do with some frequency, giving me occasion to ponder the big …

A Back To School Tip From an Expert

Image
With five kids in the house, back to school shopping is a gargantuan undertaking.  (Bet that's the sole reason the Duggar's homeschool: phooey on that conservative Christian ideology -- she just doesn't want to weigh the pros and cons of glue stick packs.)

But also with five kids in the house, I have some folks for whom this is not their first rodeo, and they are full of helpful hints.  I thought I'd share this critically important one with you, my dear readers, if in fact, I have any readers left.

My 10 year old took a look at her school's 6th grade supply list and immediately noticed something was missing:

"Mom.  You have to get me hand sanitizer.  It's always a good idea to have hand sanitizer in your desk.  That way, when the kid sitting next to you picks his nose and uses your pencil, you can use it on both your hands AND the pencil.

I learned that one the hard way."

OK, back-to-school shoppers around the land! Benefit from my child's lesson l…

Broken Down Basket

Today's post is courtesy of Literary Mama, who posted the following prompt on their Facebook page this morning:

Free write about something that is special to you and no one else.

Funny that as I was showering and dressing and getting my coffee, as I mulled over what I might write about, the prompt changed in my mind to: write about something you and only you care about.

So naturally, I thought of my laundry room floor.  Nowhere else am I more apt to be found muttering: "No one cares.  No one cares.  Only me.  I'm the ONLY person who cares about this floor!"

At certain points along the tidal wave, I'm not so much muttering as I am growling at the nearest child, or ranting at the nearest teenager, or silently, violently, grabbing clothes and towels and socks and sheets from the floor and jamming them into "clean" baskets.  Clearly: no one cares about the laundry room floor except for me.

Coffee in hand, I sit to write.  I look at the prompt again.  It'…

Get Ready to Ramble

Image
I feel a rambling, unfocused post coming along…

I received an honest to goodness piece of mail on Friday, a card from a good friend.  Tears, people.  I shed tears.  She wrote such lovely things about our friendship, such good reminders to me of what really matters, and what really doesn't, and she wrote in an actual card, not in a Facebook post.  Such novelty!


So the front made me laugh and the inside made me cry and all at once, she made me want to be better.  A better mom, a better friend, a better calm (let's make that a noun, shall we?), a better presence, a better Lover of Life.

But then I woke up on Saturday morning and I. Was. Daunted.  I was the very picture and definition of Daunt.  I desperately wanted a lovely day, a love-filled day.  I wanted to be grateful and peaceful.  Oh, and I wanted to shop at Costco, do all the laundry, clean the bathroom, fix Little T's scooter, buy myself some new clothes, read my New Yorker, and take a looooooong nap.
None of that go…

Wherein a Cynic Rethinks Some Things

Image
All those awesome happy beautiful good life photos we see on social media: they're all a total crock, right?
When my kids see their friends' super cool Instagram photos and respond by decrying their own boring lives, I whip out my tried and true lecture entitled The Problem with Social Media and wax on and on about the insidious nature of the filtered, photoshopped, edited, culled and selectively presented Beautiful Life we think everyone but us is having. 
It can make me crazy, this 24-7 invasion into our homes and minds and psyches, and I feel a certain sense of urgency about making sure my kids know that all those sick shots are not necessarily an accurate portrayal of life. 
As you might imagine, my kids roll their eyes at me a lot. 
I'm a bit of a fun sponge like that. 
Today I had occasion to re-consider my opinion.  Because ya' know what? This weekend has been super average -- dare I say boring. My house is a mess, I've been kinda grumpy and my kids have be…

Thank you, Philip Levine

Image
On Valentine's Day, Philip Levine, our 2011 Poet Laureate, died.  To mark his life and the small but significant impact he had on me, I am re-posting a reflection I originally posted back in 2011, shortly after his appointment as our nation's "First Poet."  I still think about this post, and its impetus, frequently.

* * *

Written August 11, 2011. Yesterday, the Library of Congress announced the appointment of Philip Levine as the new Poet Laureate of the United States. The job of the Poet Laureate is "to raise the national consciousness to a greater appreciation of the reading and writing of poetry." (Taken from the website of the Library of Congress.)

Prior to that announcement, I knew little to nothing about Philip Levine, although his name was familiar. But the news came to me yesterday while I was lamenting the quality of my children's exposure to arts and culture, at least any arts and culture that doesn't make my ears bleed. So when, in the car…

Sights and Sounds

It has been such a busy and challenging year so far.  Many highs and lows, many, many activities, and not much down time.

Today: the perfect antidote.  A much needed day off.  Some California winter weather (read: sunshine).  A trusty dog.

Not much in my world cannot be made better by hearing and seeing the following:



What sights and sounds soothe your rough edges?



On Laundry and New Beginnings

I don't make New Years Resolutions.  Per se.

Instead, I spend the whole last week of each year in a perpetual state of "Oh My Gosh I Need To Read More, Eat Less, Breathe More, Yell Less, Calm the F Down, and Take Charge."

Then I resolve to be a better person.  All vague and stuff.  Because really, resolutions don't work.

Do they?  December 31 is just a day on a calendar.  It doesn't matter.  It's not significant.

Is it?

Anyway, who the hell knows?  I only know one thing for certain: I spent an inordinate amount of time on my two week vacation sorting laundry, doing laundry, folding laundry, finding laundry, and re-organizing the laundry area of our garage.

The one thing I didn't get done was putting it all away.  And I am oh so very terrified, now that I've been back to work for two days, that all my hours of thankless labor will be a big fat waste of time because while I am at work, I fear the small and grimy hands that could be rifling through my n…