Kathryn

This doesn’t smell like my house. There are new weeds growing since we got the keys on Thursday and there are no condo association “guys” to come and obliterate them. We are the guys.

We’re also the guys who need to replace the refrigerator tomorrow. Crazy thing about us, we like freezers that FREEZE food. We also like outlets that provide power. Hence a call has been made to the electrician.

I have discovered that I have a “bum-leg”. It is my right leg and it doesn’t look like a bum. If I’m using that expression properly, I think it means that it just hurts a lot when I threaten to do something that smells of work. What a weird expression. I guess I could also say I have a “bum-finger” and a “bum-back”. But I wouldn’t risk saying “bum” anything to Laylee.

Yesterday I told her I was “pooped” and you can only imagine the hilarity that ensued. It was somewhat close to the Chaucerian 12-year-old-boyish delight I experienced when I found a typo online a couple of years ago about a disabled man who had been confined to a wheelchair after he was tragically “shat”. I can imagine that would do the body some damage.

The backyard is wonderful. Bamboo is taking over the world.

I actually packed dirty dishes and dirty laundry and I’m pretty sure I haven’t found them yet. I think they’re in a garbage bag somewhere with my brain… and possibly my digital camera. It may be a while before I post pictures of the house. I haven’t seen it since we got home from Houston (the camera, not the house).

I still feel like we made the right decision and this will be “home” someday, the home where our kids will spend a good portion of their growing-up years. But at this very moment it feels like some interlopers are about to honeymoon in my home and as I went to say goodbye to the old pad, I realized I had locked myself out with “their” keys to “their” new condo on the counter inside with a note welcoming them.

Yeah…”welcome”… and so help me if you don’t treat her well.

Pick me up some apple boxes while you’re at the grocer. We’re moving, you see…

Everywhere we go, Laylee begs for “more doom please.” Sadly, she’s not tall enough to experience anything but the most juvenile form of doom. At the Houston Aquarium they have a miniature Drop of Doom with some pansy name like “The Magic Lighthouse” or something else equally inane. Luckily the girl can’t read so I introduced it to her as “The Drop of Doom” and to the protestations of Dan and Grammy I took her for a ride.

Why they would be concerned about her dropping in 2 story freefall repeatedly, I’ll never know. She almost didn’t have a meltdown on the seahorse merry-go-round so I thought she was certainly ready to try out something a little more adventurous. As per usual, I was correct.

Her commentary as we rode the ride one billion times consisted of 2 phrases repeated over and over again. “Hold tight to me Mommy” and “Again Please.”

Now everywhere we go, she’s on the lookout. “More doom PLEASE!” I’ll see what I can conjure up for you, sweet pea.

Due to the fact that Grammy and Papa are much smarter than Mom and Dad, sweet pea Laylee has developed some added creativity in her parental manipulation techniques.

After over an hour of swimming:
Papa: Okay kiddo, I think it’s time to get out.
Laylee: I don’t think so.
Papa: Oh really? Come on.
Laylee: No, my clock says it’s not time to get out.
Papa: You don’t have a clock.
Laylee: Yes I do.
Papa: Where is it?
Laylee: It’s right here. (pointing to a wet spot on the pool deck)
Papa: Oh really, and what does it say?
Laylee: It says it’s not time to get out yet.

Then last night at dinner, Laylee informed us that she needed to spit out the green bean in her mouth because her teeth were too tired to chew it. “My teeth are SO sleepy.” Yah-huh? Well, my uvula’s practically been in a coma for 3 weeks now and you don’t see me complaining. Chew the darn green bean.

Being out here in the Bible belt, Magoo’s picked up some added religiosity. Since we’ve been in Texas with Grammy and Papa, he’s not only learned to fold his arms for prayer but he has also been healed. Yes folks, he who was lame can now walk, or at least careen around like a flailing psychobot.

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It’s the summer. I’m on vacation. It appears that many of you are on vacation now or are soon to head out on your own adventures. What are your tried and true methods for making sure things go smoothly in your travels? HA HA! We all know that’s not possible. So, how do you at least minimize the chaos? (Laylee calls the sunscreen “frosting”)

Here are a few tips from the DYM:

1. Always refer to yourself in the third person, hopefully in acronym form, while on vacation.

2. Pack a separate bag for each person, regardless of the size (of the person or the bag). This way you’ll have less chance of your three year old wearing your infant’s full-length jeans as capri pants.

3. If you’re staying for longer than 5 days, unpack your clothes and organize them if storage is available.

4. Don’t forget your swimsuit if your parents have a pool in their backyard and end up buying the least nappy suit left on the picked-over racks at Wal-Merto.

5. Make the lists. First do a master list of items each person will need (ex. Pez Dispensers). Then create a list of items specific to the individuals (ex. Snow white attire). Make a list of group-use items (ex. Squeegee). List items for carry-on luggage. Lastly, make a list of things you will need to grab last minute as you leave the house.

6. Bring all pertinent house-selling and buying info with you, if you plan to close on two house deals the week you get back in town.

7. For the plane ride, pack a bag with lots of easily accessible pockets. Memorize the contents of the pockets so you can reach down and grab a wipe, a headset, or a goldfish (I choose the cracker variety) in 2 seconds or less. Mary Poppins’s bag may look cool, holding all that stuff, but think how long it took her to find anything in there. What seatmate, including your child, is gonna put up with a pole lamp on their lap while you dig around for the duct tape?

8. Have fun and share your secrets here.

Lessons learned from watching the Stanley Cup finals with Daddy and Papa.

Next up – the finer points of cross-checking.

When I downloaded the photos from the trip so far, I found this little piece of artwork, created by Daniel to make me swoon. It worked. It also reminded me of the shmoopy meme JD tagged me for a while back:

Two for Togetherness
Two things you compliment your husband on while in his presence:
1. His eyes.
2. His sweetness.
Two compliments you make about your spouse to your friends:
1. He is a genius.
2. He is amazingly patient with me.
Two traits you married him/her for:
1. His amazing white T-shirt collection
2. He remembered my name
3. His amazing human-spell-checker skills
Two days you cherished the most with your husband being together:
1. The day I looked like a piece of cheese.
2. The night we decided to get married. We were kneeling across from each other holding hands late at night. I didn’t want him to leave my apartment and go home. “What are we going to do about this?” I asked. He had a good answer
(Of course our wedding day and the birth of our children were kind of nice too.)
Two material things you could give your husband if you just inherited a fortune:
1. The saxophone of his dreams, complete with personal recording studio
2. All the photography equipment he could ever dream of, complete with Mac G-5 to edit the photos.
Two things you would miss the most if she/he left for two weeks:
1. His calming influence. I know it’s hard to imagine, but I’m a bit of a spaz.
2. His toes in bed with me
Two thoughts that crossed your mind when you first met/saw your spouse:
1. “This skinny white guy speaks Chinese? This, I must see.”
2. “I could marry him.” This is true. I have documented proof.
Two favorite dates:
1. Valentine’s Day lunch at the Space Needle
2. Trip to the local Pottery Painting shop to make the You Are Special plate
Two funny odd things you love:
1. Seriously, none of it seems odd anymore.
Two places you have lived with your spouse:
1. Provo, UT
2. Puget Sound, WA
Two favorite vacations:
1. Cape May, NJ — beach vacation/family reunion
2. Christmas 2005 when we got to see everyone from both of our families

While I’m at it, I think I’ll play along with Cheerios on My Butt over at Children and Cheerios on the Loose.

Turn On’s and Off’s

What is your favorite word?
Cheese

What is your least favorite word?
That I can say on this blog? MOMMY! — when said with a shrieking whine

What turns you on spiritually,creatively,emotionally?
spiritually — music or silence
creatively — clean and organized space
emotionally — service, music, my children

What turns you off?
WHINING and rudeness

What’s your favorite curse word?
For the LOVE!

What sound or noise do you love to hear?
Dan’s key in the front door lock as he comes home from work.

What sound or noise do you hate?
Okay, I think I’ll get in trouble if I say WHINING one more time. So… um… persistent whining, accompanied by pulling on the hem of my clothes.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Documentary film director or museum designer/curator.

What profession would you not like to do?
Massage therapist

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say at the pearly gates?
SWEET! Welcome. Well done.

So a while back I signed on to read a child-rearing book along with Krista. I was pumped. I was literate. I was attempting to rear the children. No big deal, right?

The book is What Do You Really Want for Your Children? by Wayne Dyer.

Well, I’ve had the worst time keeping up with the reading so I haven’t wanted to blog anything until I was completely caught up. Then I went a step further and decided not to read Krista’s book discussion until I was caught up so I wouldn’t “spoil it.”

I really enjoyed the first couple of chapters of the book, all the idealism, some of the guilt. His premise is that we should be raising “no limits” kids, kids who believe they can do anything, kids who sail smoothly through life’s stormiest seas because their parents are perfect (okay, that’s not exactly what he said, but he really emphasizes the need to teach by example, to be healthy, thin, confident, calm, freakishly happy, etc). The nice thing is, he gives parents hope that we can become the kind of parents our no-limits seedlings deserve, sort of.

Last week I realized that this book is made up of chapters, each with a separate topic and I could skip to where the rest of the bloggers were reading and join them. Each chapter covers one thing we really want for our children. Of course it was my bad timing that I chose to read last week’s topic. I told Krista that I did not have very nice things to say about the chapter but she encouraged me to blog it anyway. She hasn’t exactly agreed with every word he’s written either.

I Want My Children to Be Free from Stress and Anxiety. Nice thought, right? Well, here are the opening paragraphs from the chapter:

The world is perfect; there is no anxiety in it… anyplace. There are only people thinking anxiously. – Eykis

Every day you hear about people having anxiety attacks. You have seen the statistics on the phenomenal increases in the use of tranquilizers, uppers, downers, sleeping pills, anti-stress tablets, antidepressants, and drugs for every kind of so-called anxiety attack. We are relying more and more on external elixirs to rid ourselves of something that does not even exist.

Anxiety does not attack! People choose to think anxiously about their world and then look for a pill to rid themselves of this mysterious thing called anxiety.

Yes, Wayne, it is mysterious and imaginary, all at the same time. [Swift kick to the gut.] Are you kidding me?! I know that we live in an over-medicated culture, that people are looking for an easy solution to their problems and that doctors over-prescribe when medication is not necessarily the answer, but can you really say that anxiety doesn’t exist?

Can you look me in the face with my dark hollow eyes the month after Magoo was born and tell me that my post-partum trauma was all in my head, that a week after my son was born, the hot and cold flashes that wracked my body and the crippling anxiety that woke me from a dead sleep, if I could sleep at all, were imagined because I was not a strong enough person?

Tell my mother and husband who babysat me night and day for 5 weeks when I was suddenly transformed into a completely different person that they should have encouraged me to do more positive self-talk and that would have caused my body to become capable of eating food or keeping down water when I attempted to drink.

Maybe talk to my doctor who explained that a certain part of my brain was over-actively pumping my body full of adrenaline, making me unable to keep food down or sleep. At all, which is why I had to be taken to the emergency room.

Another quote from the book:

Children can be guaranteed a lifetime without anxiety, provided you are prepared to encourage them to believe that they have a large measure of control about what they carry around inside themselves.

Wow, my parents must have sucked. All this time, I thought they did a great job but I found myself with no guaranteed anxiety-free life. Not only did I grow up to be a post-partum woman with “anxiety attacks” which required medical attention, I also experienced anxiety when my dog died, when I auditioned for the school play, when I went through the fire safety class in 3rd grade, when a kid in junior high flicked boogers on me in the hall and called me filthy names, and when I spent months interviewing survivors of rape for a documentary I directed in college.

If only my parents had taught me that I had a large measure of control about what I carried around inside myself, I would have been able to deal with all of this, anxiety-free.

I think what I dislike the most about Dyer’s blanket statements is the same thing I dislike about phrases like “rape prevention” or “protect yourself against rape” which imply that if you are raped, you didn’t work hard enough to prevent it or you didn’t do a good enough job protecting yourself.

Of course doing certain things can reduce your risk of being raped, just as certain patterns of thinking can reduce your risk of feeling anxiety, but you can’t PREVENT it, short of living in an isolated bubble.

And as far as anxiety goes, you can’t prevent it even in an isolated bubble if you have a chemical or hormonal imbalance. The brain is a complex organ and there are real, true medically-sound ailments that can befall it. Even if you’re not suffering from a chemical imbalance, being anxious does not mean you’re a loser or a failure.

I spent a good portion of my life thinking that people with mental illness were somehow less, some way weaker than me. What happened after Magoo’s birth caught me completely off guard and made me realize for the first time that you truly do not have complete control of your brain, there are some things you can’t pray your way out of and medical treatment was invented for a reason.

Now to give Dyer the benefit of the doubt, I think he is referring to people who he thinks are popping pills like candy to deal with every little problem that crosses their path. Of course that’s not a desirable way to live, just as alcoholism, chocolate fudge sundae addiction or any other mind-numbing mechanisms are not positive solutions to a bad day at work.

However, I think it’s irresponsible to make blanket statements about mental health and leave no room for mercy for people in situations he seems to know nothing about.

Of course I want my children to live as stress-free and anxiety-free as they can, but I also want them to know that if they have a health or other problem, they can come to me or to a trusted advisor and seek help, not placing further anxiety on themselves because I have taught them that anxiety doesn’t exist and that they are weak for feeling it.

Now, I will keep reading and try to post something positive about the book next time. For every one thing that’s annoyed me about this book, there have been approximately 1.74 other things that I’ve found insightful. This means that in the realm of parenting books, I’d have to classify it as a success. You can’t agree with everything, right?

It seems fitting to direct you to an amazing post Misha wrote about depression a few days ago that is definitely worth the read.

Dan, Papa and I spent a fabulous day at NASA, yes, that NASA, where the astronauts are.

My mom took one for the team and spent the day watching the grandkids, yes those grandkids.

To make it up to her, we brought home a NASA shot glass that she can use to take her “medicine.” That’s what SHE calls it.

Now I will take you on a guided photo tour of this top secret facility and its many top secrety secrets.

The massive security gates at the entrance to the compound are manned by women who mask their pitch black martial arts skills with petite smiling faces, pleasant conversation and laughter. You see, they don’t want the terrorists to know they’re being screened. They even trick you into paying for this initial shakedown by disguising it as a “parking booth.” Yeah, right.

There was some kind of hold up in the line. The delta level security agent told us it was caused by the woman in the car in front of us “taking a few minutes to come to grips with the fact that the ‘parking attendant’ could not speak Vietnamese.” I guess she still harbors some bad feelings from her experiences in Nam. The woman must have required “special attention”.

After paying admission, we went through the second sophisticated level of security. They had a box… with instructions, no masking their intentions this time. They wanted our guns and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

All of the employees throughout the museum, from the ticket takers to the trash receptacle collectors were actual astronauts, wearing official blue jumpsuits.

They had a MickeyD’s-style play place on crack.

It came complete with projectiles, a gauntlet and video screens so the parents could watch their kids getting the hud kicked out of them and loving it.

We had to line up against a wall so this guy could take our picture for our “file”. No fingerprints, urine samples or retinal scans were taken at this juncture.

As we went through the metal detectors and boarded the tram, they continuously reminded us that we were not at a theme park but were in fact entering a highly sensitive government agency. I was confused by this. The security guards at Disneyland have much bigger guns than this sorry excuse for a firearm.

My dad wore a Dick Tracy-style gangster hat, causing us no end of grief from the feds. Couldn’t he have worn a bandana like a normal person?

Dan, on the other hand, wore a hat bearing Chinese symbols, which can roughly be translated to mean, “I Come in Peace.”

Everything was designed to give the feeling that we were really in outer space. I find it problematic that it costs a dollar less to buy a soda in outer space than at my high school reunion.

Apparently astronauts like pink flowers. My dad says they are called Crepe Myrtles. Apparently secure Canadian males like pink flowers too and have the ability to identify them when called upon.

Since we had only one adult and two children in our party, we found it difficult to follow all of the complex instructions laid out before us. Instead we chose to link arms and pray we would not be hurled from the tram as it took off at super-sonic speeds of up to 10 miles per hour.

We passed the space cows, Texas longhorns. Go figure.

97 steps took us up to historic mission control, a place that made us all tingly thinking about how Tom Hanks and Bill Paxton almost didn’t make it back alive. I hear that if Tommy had died in that shuttle disaster, Keanu Reeves was slated to play Robert Langdon in The Da Vinci Code.

The orange chairs were surprisingly comfortable.

We saw a bunch of stuff with acronyms. I think there are more acronyms at NASA than in a teen chat room on MySpace. It’s all classified of course, unless you’ve got the 20 bucks or the daddy with 20 bucks to get you into this not-theme-park.


Please don’t let the Russians get ahold of this technology. Space station, smace station.

I think this may be one of the best quotes I’ve ever read. Right now I think we’re in a sort of semi-friendly cold war. That is WAY better than the unfriendly kind.

Here is the first watch worn on the moon. My dad wondered how Neil fit aboard his ship. I don’t care how strong his arm was, that is the biggest fetchin’ watch I’ve ever seen.

Rescue me please. Dan was no help, locked down in the cargo bay. At least there weren’t Snakes on this Plane. (We recently saw a preview for Snakes on a Plane and almost had a heart attack from laughter.)

We saw the mockups. We lived space.

This guy, suspended above our heads when we weren’t expecting it, freaked me out to an almost thumb-sucking degree.

We took almost 200 pictures. Dan liked the buttons.

We had a blast and now I’m thinking of becoming a SAHM-turned-astronaut. Yes, I’m serious. What’s a little Master’s degree in Aeronautical Engineering, really? A couple years of my life… big fat hairy deal. I wanna go to the moon. They have caramel sundaes on the moon, right?