I'm More Than My Minivan

Bank of No Common Cents

2011-06-18T13:58:00.010-05:00

The other day I received a call from Boy #1. He was at school, calling from a school phone, not his cell phone. I guess that should have been a clue that something was wrong. "Mom," he said in a panicked voice, "can you cancel my phone and my debit card? Someone stole my backpack with my wallet, my phone, and my keys in it." He had been playing basketball and the backpack was on the ground about 10 feet away from him, and when he went over to get it.....GONE. He had reported it and searched.....nothing. So I hung up and cancelled his phone, which took maybe a minute, and then called the bank. After several minutes of pressing a few buttons I finally got through to an actual human. She asked me numerous questions designed to prove my identity and then cancelled his card. "And can you please send out a new card?" I asked. "No," she replied, "I have to speak to him. He is the cardholder." "Well," I said, "he is a minor, he is at school, without a phone because his backpack got stolen, which is WHY I'm calling you to cancel the card. I'm on the account with him, the money in the account is MY money, can't we use a little common sense here? Wouldn't it seem reasonable that if someone calls to cancel a card that maybe they would want a new card sent out?" Apparently, Bank of America is short on common sense, though. This is the same bank that recently installed thick bulletproof glass with no speaker holes in front of all the tellers' windows--so now you have to scream through the glass, "I'd like THREE HUNDREDS and TWO FIFTIES," etc. But I'm getting off-track. The woman from "customer service" continued......."No, we have to speak to him because you could be impersonating someone to get a new card sent out." "But YOU asked me all those security questions designed to prove that it's OK to speak to me. Are you saying that your security procedures are not really secure?" I asked. "No," she said, "that's just our policy." And, of course, it's useless to try to argue or use common sense in situations like that. I politely said thanks and ended the call. Then Boy #1 called me again. He had found his backpack in a gym, away from the basketball courts. Amazingly, everything was in it, even his money. We ended up going into the bank and getting his card reactivated. Because, in the end, it turned out that the bank had not actually cancelled the card, but had just put it on "hold." The whole thing took two minutes, less than the time I spent on hold earlier when I called to cancel the card. Sometimes, strangely enough, incompetence actually works for you.

I'm More Than My Gallbladder

2009-11-15T09:25:00.004-06:00

So, as you know, the cause of my mysterious stomach problems turned out to be my gallbladder. I had to get rid of it. I scheduled my surgery for the Wednesday before Halloween and got all my ducks in a row. Kids, food, house.....everything was covered. The surgery was scheduled for 2 in the afternoon--not the best time for surgery--because you can't eat or drink after midnight the night before--but it was the soonest available time spot. I figured I'd be too nervous to want to eat, anyway. Mr. Minivan and I headed to the hospital. I had packed a few things just on the off chance that they kept me overnight. Someone had just told me about a friend or relative who had gone in for the same surgery the previous week and had been nauseous from the anesthesia and had to stay overnight. So many people I spoke to had warned me that they had had the same reaction to anesthesia. One friend told me to ask for an anti-nausea drug in my IV. So I was also nervous about that. I always say that the things you worry about usually turn out to be fine--and it's usually something else that you never thought about that is the problem. And so it was. I had no problem at all with the anesthesia. The surgery went longer than usual, which made Mr. Minivan, in the waiting room, a little nervous.

It turned out that two rogue gallstones had escaped and were lodged in my common bile duct, which I think connects the gallbladder to the liver?? I don't really want to know. They had to be removed. The doctor both my internist and the surgeon wanted to perform the procedure wasn't available til Friday, so guess who had to stay in the hospital??? Yes, that's right....me. The procedure is called an ERCP--a scope is put down your throat and maneuvers its way down to the duct where a little basket retrieves the stones and pulls them up. What if it can't get them, I asked. I was reassured that they will get them. If the stones are too big, they are pulverized by a little roto-rooter type thing. Thankfully, I would be knocked out. With the Michael Jackson drug. But more about that later. So far the procedure reminded me of those arcade games where you try to retrieve a prize--that you really don't want --with one of those little claw-things. I always dropped the prize as I was pulling it up. I hoped that the doctor was more adept than I. I also was told that during the procedure I would have to have a stent put in--to keep the duct from narrowing as it healed--which would be taken out in a month. Lucky me!!!!

The gallbladder surgery itself turned out to be no big deal--I was a little sore afterward--my stomach sort of felt like I imagine it would after doing hundreds of sit-ups. I can't really say for sure, never having actually done hundreds of sit-ups. I took two extra-strength Tylenols that night and then nothing else. Being in the hospital sucks. I woke up every two hours to go to the bathroom--from all the IV fluids they were funnelling into me. That was at, like, 1 AM, 3 AM, 5 AM. Then at 2, 4, and 6, various nurses popped in to take my vitals, steal more blood, and change the IV bags.

My parents decided to come in from Chicago for moral support and because they were worried and wanted to help out. I admit, it was a drastic way to get them to come, but you do what you have to do......:) The day after the surgery I had a lot of visitors, several friends and one of my brothers, who also lives here. I also met the doctor who would perform the stone retrieval the next day. Turns out he is from a nearby suburb from mine in Chicago. Small world. He started to tell me about the procedure. I stopped him. "I don't really want to hear about it," I said. "Do you want to hear about the risks?" he asked. For sure, not. "No," I said, "because it doesn't matter--I have to have it done anyway. I have complete confidence in you." I then instructed him to go to bed early and to have no more than one cup of coffee in the morning. We don't need any shaky hands.

The procedure was scheduled for 3 PM. Here's the weird part.......they're going down my throat, remember? I was on my stomach. Yep, it made no sense to me either. I didn't want to tell them how to do their jobs, but really.....
So, I'm on my stomach, with my head turned to the side and my right arm propped up on a little bolster. They put a little plastic ring in my mouth that sort of looked like the ring you rip off a gallon of milk, only thicker. The IV drugs (the Michael Jackson drug, I was told) were already flowing. The next thing I knew, I was on my back on another table and I heard, "You're done!" Freaky. They could have done anything to me. NOTE TO SELF: Check for tattoos. The doctor told me they were the biggest stones he had ever seen. I told him I bet he says that to all the girls.

I went home the next day, Halloween, having already had my own personal trick and treat. I was really tired for a while but that passed. I got a ton of flowers, baked goods, and other thoughtful gifts from my wonderful friends and family along with so many messages of support. Thanks to everyone for caring. Mr. Minivan and Boys #1 and 2 were great! It was wonderful to have my parents here...I wonder how I can get them back......luckily humans come with a few spare parts. Maybe my appendix next.....JUST KIDDING. I feel much better. Next on my to-do list.....getting rid of the stent.

The Gall of it All

2009-10-20T11:26:00.003-05:00

You don't really think about how your body works when it's working right. You just take it for granted. It's when a problem arises that you start thinking about it. For the last few years I have had occasional, random, very painful stomach (or so I thought) spasms. I haven't been able to figure out if there was a certain food that was triggering these episodes, which always came on after dinner, at night, and lasted anywhere from 15 to 40 minutes or so. It's hard to remember. I would feel my stomach area start to spasm, or contract, and disappear into the bathroom--where nothing happened. I got flushed and sweaty and would feel like throwing up but I never did. Sometimes it felt like I couldn't take a deep breath or speak above a whisper. It was scary. The pains would peak and then start to recede. Then everything settled down and I was fine. This happened with no regularity--weeks would go by and there would be another episode. My internist thought it might be spastic colitis. I sort of ignored it until it was happening. A few weeks ago I decided to just deal with it and figure out what the problem was. I was referred to a gastro guy who scheduled an abdominal ultrasound. On the table, I flashed back to the only other ultrasounds I've ever had. Except this time the jelly was warm. Apparently they've made a few improvements in the last 13 years. The technician took a lot of pictures and did a lot of measurements, typing stuff onto the little screen I couldn't really see. I peppered him with questions. "Is this a normal amount of pictures?" "What are you typing?" "Do you see anything?" Of course, he couldn't tell me anything. The doctor had said he might have the results that day. The technician said it would probably be the next day. That night, with no call from the doctor, my mind was racing. "What if the doctor wanted to give me one more good night?" I thought. The next day I got the call--Friday at 5:00. Gallstones. Numerous gallstones. I had never really thought about my gallbladder and now it has to come out. So now I have moved onto the next stage in making myself crazy--looking stuff up on the internet about gallbladder surgery and life after. I've never had surgery before and I am nervous. I have spoken to several friends who've had this surgery and they all say it will be fine. Not to worry. My mother had hers out a hundred zillion years ago--NOT laproscopically--and she is fine. One of my friends, whose surgery was more of an emergency situation, listened to me babble and said, "It's coming out, deal with it!" I suggested she look into a volunteer job counseling hospital patients, but, really, she's right. It has to come out. I meet with the surgeon this afternoon. To be continued......

What I Did On My Summer Vacation or Stalking the Barefoot Contessa

2009-10-15T00:51:00.006-05:00

If you're a Barefoot Contessa fan you won't want to miss this one.....

Fun With Rice Paper

2009-05-02T19:47:00.002-05:00

To see how to make these little beauties, click on this.

Chance Meeting, Continued

2009-04-11T20:39:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I had another strange chance meeting that has absolutely no chance of happening. No chance. And yet it did. To me. Again. Almost exactly two years ago I ran into a friend of my aunt's at the Farmers Market in L.A. You can read about it here. Somehow she knew who I was, yet I had absolutely no memory of meeting her before. I met her family, including her daughter. They were all out in L.A. on vacation from Chicago. I probably chatted with them for all of five minutes. That was two years ago. Yesterday I was at the Farmers Market with some friends who were in town from Chicago, my two boys, and my dad, who was also visiting. We were sitting and eating lunch and I glanced down the aisle and saw a young woman pushing a baby stroller. She looked very familiar to me but I couldn't place her. I looked at her two other kids walking beside her and at her husband. He didn't look familiar to me at all so I figured I didn't know her. Here's the weird part. She looked at me, came up to me, and said, "I know this is going to sound a little crazy, but are you E's daughter?" "Yes," I said, "this is so strange, I looked at you and I knew I knew you but couldn't place you." "We're out here on vacation," she said, "and I was speaking to my mother this morning and I told her I was coming to the Farmers Market and she said "Maybe you'll see E's daughter there again." "And this is E's husband," I said, pointing to my dad. Yes, this young woman was the daughter of my aunt's friend who I had met at the Farmers Market almost exactly two years ago. I spent maybe five minutes with her at that time. After she and her family moved on, my friend brought up the point that now she's going to think I hang out at the Farmers Market every day eating lunch! What a strange weird coincidence. What are the odds? Maybe I need to start buying lottery tickets........

Crazy in a Can

2009-03-15T14:26:00.005-05:00

I've been on this new eating program for a couple of weeks....OK, OK, it's a crazy fad diet that I can't tell you about because my mother reads this blog and she will have me committed....but anyway, I was doing a little research on it last week and one man (who loves it, btw Mom!!!) said he bought this canned chicken from Costco and it was great--each can contained just the right amount of protein to split between lunch and dinner. So a couple of days later I was at Costco to return the Magic Bullet I bought several weeks ago in a moment of As Seen on TV weakness, and of course I walked into the store to "see what they have." The sure-fire way to spend money is to return something, isn't it? Anyway, I picked up a pair of Levis for Boy #1, a novel that looked good, 6000 pounds of broccoli, and.....6 large cans of chicken. Think about that for a minute. I bought chicken. In a can. I can only blame this on lack of calories because never in my life have I ever bought any meat or poultry product in a can. Tuna doesn't count. I came home and assembled a salad to top with the chicken. And then I opened a can. Inside were chunks of chicken floating in water. I was a little doubtful at that point, but decided to try it anyway. I speared a chunk of chicken and tasted it. It was salty, very salty. And the texture was what I guess you'd expect of chicken trapped in a can for only who knows how long. I had just consumed my first, and last, piece of chicken in a can. I don't know what I was thinking. Now when I say, "I bought chicken in a can" I realize how crazy that sounds. After all, grilling or baking actual chicken is NOT too difficult. But when I was in Costco, surrounded by industrial size everything, chicken in a can really DID seem like a good idea. I've got 5 cans left......let me know if you want one.

A Tiny Little Cyber-World

2009-02-18T16:44:00.011-06:00

The other day I checked my email--not my regular email but rather the one I use for this blog. I must admit that I don't check that email account too often because I don't get a lot of legitimate emails. I mostly seem to get stuff from Yahoo and a lot of requests to help people in Nigeria get money due to them--with a portion of it going to me, of course. I get some emails relating to this blog but not a ton. Anyway, I checked my email and I had an email with "Your Brother #2" as the subject--except it actually said my brother's (#2's) name. The email was from a guy who said he had stumbled upon my blog by accident and loved it--"it's a riot and I have bookmarked it"--so I already knew he was discerning and intelligent--thanks Steve!!--and he went on to ask if I was Brother #2's sister. Why, yes, I am. How clever. How strange. The funniest part of the email was this... "and I am assuming that he was the brother you threw against the wall." And, yes, Brother #2 was the unlucky fellow who forced me into hurling him into our living room wall once upon a time ago. This guy went on to say that he had gone to college with my brother and had lost touch with him. He asked me if I could send him my brother's email address. Which I did. And then immediately realized I should have just sent my brother the email and let him contact his old friend. So then I sent my brother an email apologizing for giving out his email address to this old friend. After all, what if he was a serial killer or my brother's arch-enemy?? Then I went back through my blog posts to see what gave me away. I mean--it was only 8 AM on a school day (late start, though) so I really had nothing better to do. I couldn't figure it out. It was driving me nuts. So I emailed my new friend (and possible future president of my fan club as long as he's not a serial killer or my brother's arch-enemy) Steve to ask him how he cracked the case. Turns out he had been at my parents' house a couple of times with my brother while they were in college and recognized my dad from a couple of photos on the blog--or maybe he recognized the furniture. That, along with a few other references to location, was all he needed. If your day job doesn't work out, Steve, the CIA may be hiring....
But really--what a great email to get. It made my day. Oh, and my brother reports he's not a serial killer or his arch-enemy, just an old college friend. From all the way across the country and all the way across decades, it's really a small, small cyber-world.

Tax Time

2009-02-15T18:13:00.004-06:00

I just bought Turbo Tax and am starting to input my tax info. Turbo Tax is great--easy, helpful, and a whole lot smarter than I am about taxes. I hit a little snag figuring out some cost prices of a couple stocks that I sold last year, so I put the whole pile of papers aside for a bit hoping that a break will help my brain figure out how to compute the cost price of a stock that was received when another stock was taken over and morphed into 4 different companies, each with its own percentage value of the original stock. My head hurts again just typing that. Anyway, I heard on the news today that the state of California is almost bankrupt. I also heard that if you are due a tax refund from California you might receive an IOU that will be paid when the state gets some money. What is up with that??? I started to wonder...does it work both ways? I mean, if you OWE money, can you just enclose a note with your tax forms saying, "I'm a little short right now but this note will serve as your IOU--and when I get some money I'll send it in."??? I'm guessing not, but it sure would be fun!

The Dark Side of Facebook

2009-01-07T18:23:00.010-06:00

Being the savvy computer gal that I am, I, of course, have a Facebook page. It is so much fun! I am able to keep in touch with friends and relatives from all over as well as people I just met and people I haven't talked to in years. But--sometimes--Facebook can be a little tricky. I have a very good friend who just got a Facebook page. I sort of forced her to--but that's a whole 'nother story. She loves it now, though--updates her status with great regularity. Anyway, her brother--whom I actually know in person-- has a FB page and became one of my FB friends. FB is the kind of thing where you can flit around and see what is going on with your "friends" constantly or once in a while. Her brother commented on a photo of my friend and me, so I checked out his page to see what he was up to. I don't even remember what his status update said--I think it was that he was going to see someone--although on his page, it had the person's name, like he was famous or something. So it said something like "Going to see Tom Cruise" except I didn't recognize this person's name, so I posted a comment like "Who is Tom Cruise?" except I used the other person's name. Get it? Then one second after I posted I saw that that person (Tom Cruise but not really) was listed as one of my friend's brother's friends. Are you still with me? So I posted another comment--something like--"never mind, I see who he is" or something like that. It was so insignificant I have almost no memory of it. Anyway, I was speaking with my friend today and somehow that subject came up and she told me that her brother had gotten so many comments after I posted MY comment that he deleted my comments. Apparently his friends could not believe that he could be friends with someone (ME) who didn't know who Tom Cruise (you know who I mean) was to him. So then I went back on to his page to see if I could see any remnants of this conversation and guess what??? HE DEFRIENDED ME!!!!! Yes, he booted me as his friend! Can you believe that? Well, needless to say, my feelings are hurt. I will bounce back from this, I am sure, in time. I don't even know what I did to be defriended! But as we all know, chicks hold a grudge, so even if he tried to add me as a friend now, I'd just have to press the Ignore button. Facebook can be lots of fun, but remember, there are lots of peeps out there reading what you post. Be careful out there.

The Mile High Club

2008-12-10T21:24:00.005-06:00

No, no--it's not what you're thinking--Mr. Minivan is on an American Airlines flight RIGHT NOW (OK, American, you don't totally suck) to New York and he is emailing me from the air!!!! Yep, now we can be connected and contacted and stressed out ALL the time, even 35,000 feet up. Or...maybe it's the best idea ever--you can surf the net and play addicting online games and blog (!!) even in the air. I know I will love it--what do YOU think of this new cyberdevelopment?

Deja Vu All Over Again

2008-12-08T19:46:00.010-06:00

It's official. I've become my mother. The evidence is overwhelming. It's not just the words that come out of my mouth....the classic......."Because I said so!"....."If you went to bed earlier it would be easier to get up in the morning!"....."I don't care what all your friends do!" ...and so many more. It's not just that I rip the address labels off of all my magazines before I recycle them, or that I wrap the strap of my purse around my foot when I am at a restaurant to guard against a thief who possibly stopped for dinner. That's just the tip of the iceberg. But today, today as I ripped out several magazine articles and a New York Times article to send to various friends--all with personalized post-its affixed to the articles--- I realized the transformation is complete. Good job, Mom. You can relax now. Your work is done. With me, at least. Dad, on the other hand--- still a work in progress.

UPDATE--Thursday 12/11--I just received a package from my mother containing a nightgown she swears she bought for me a week and a half ago--before this posting went up. I may demand to see the receipt as proof. Here's why--look what is on the nightgown:

Isn't that freaky? I really have become her. Or she has become me.

Thank You Oprah!!!

2008-11-14T12:53:00.007-06:00

I watched Wednesday's episode of Oprah on Wednesday night. Oprah announced her "Clean Up Your Messy House Tour" with the help of organizational guru and clutter buster Peter Walsh. There were a lot of great tips on the show, but one of the best, I thought, was a way to deal with the masses of artwork your children bring home, especially during elementary school. Their suggestion was to take digital photos of the artwork and then create a photo book of the art.
What a great idea! And even better, Oprah and her friends at Snapfish
were offering Oprah viewers a free 20 page photo book! It was a limited-time offer (register for the free book by tonight, Friday, at midnight, and order the book by this Sunday--get moving if you want a free book, too), so I had to act fast. (They are also offering 20% off all Container Store purchases for the next week.) I have lots of beautiful artwork that I haven't been able to part with--especially from Boy #2. I spent most of the day yesterday photographing, uploading, and playing with the layout of my photo book. Very cool. It is now being made and I should have it next week! I now feel much better about getting rid of the slightly rumpled pieces of construction paper I have been saving without knowing why. Thank you Oprah!!! You too, Peter! Now onto my closet......

Coming Soon To a Backyard Near You.......Winter!!!

2008-10-28T11:51:00.005-05:00

It's happening again here. "Winter" is coming and is scaring the #$*!@ out of the natives. I was talking with a friend of mine on the phone this morning and she was telling me that she was considering having a party in her backyard for her daughter's birthday at the end of November. "Do you think it will be too cold?" she asked me. "No," I said, "it will be great--they're kids--they'll be moving around and they can bring a sweatshirt if they want to. " "But I looked up the average temperature at the end of November, " she said, "and it said it could be 71." I was sure I had misheard her. "71?" I asked. "Yes, 71 degrees," she answered. "71!!" I said, "that's perfect--it will be great." "But 71 is cold for LA," she said. "Do you hear yourself?" I asked her. "71 is great--they can bring a sweatshirt," I said again. "Maybe I can rent heat lamps," she continued. Huh? Every time I start to feel sort of normal here something like this happens. I am already wearing long sleeves most days because even though it is 80 degrees most days it is already the end of October. I'm done with summer. I've moved on to fall. I'm ready for some cool crisp days. Bring on those 71 degree late fall and winter days--I've got my scarves and Uggs all ready.

Twilight Zone, Anyone?

2008-10-27T12:22:00.002-05:00

I was talking to my mom today and she mentioned that she had been at her health club last week and was reading an article in an Oprah magazine that she found on a coffee table there. She told me that she hadn't finished the article and was going to take the magazine home, finish the article, and return the magazine to the health club. But she forgot to take it home. So today she was relieved to find the magazine still there. Imagine her surprise when she picked it up, looked at the address label, and found that it was addressed to me!!!! (Insert Twilight Zone music here).

Yes, very spooky. I haven't been in Chicago since the middle of August--but I was there most of the summer, and I had my mail forwarded there using a forwarding service provided by the Post Office--gotta have my mags! And my bills. :( My mom said she must have brought some of my magazines down there and given them to the ladies who work at the health club and somehow this one found its way back to her!!

And to think she didn't rip off the address label before she brought the magazine down there--shocking. After all, who do you think taught me to do that?

The Scariest Halloween Costume Ever!!!!

2008-10-22T21:38:00.003-05:00

I could use a new wardrobe.

I would like to fly my kids all over the country with me and not pay for it.

I'm not exactly sure what the Vice President's job is.

I can talk a lot and not say anything when I want to.

I am good at name-calling.

I can see the moon from my house.

I can do that Midwestern "dontcha know you betcha" stuff too.

I think I'll run for Vice President.

Oh.

I forgot.

I already am.

Dear Roots.com, you REALLY suck!!!!

2008-09-25T09:50:00.003-05:00

Two friends and I ordered a functional and oh-so-fashionable leather cross-body bag from a Canadian company called Roots as a birthday present for another friend. I went to the Roots store to buy the bag first, but they had none in stock, so I went home and ordered it online. I ordered it on September 5th, a Friday, in the evening. I paid for standard shipping, as I believed a week and a half was enough time to get it to her before her birthday celebration. Imagine my surprise when I got a call--I think it was on the following Monday--from a Roots employee--let's just call her Wanda--asking me to confirm the same information I had entered online three days prior. My name. My address. The recipient's name and address, etc. All the information they already had. And had had for THREE days. I thought that was the whole point of online ordering--that I'd never have to speak to a human being at the company. Then Wanda told me that she was now able to "release" my order. "So it will ship out today?" I asked. She told me it would and that delivery time was estimated at 3-5 days. I reminded her that this was a gift, and to make sure that there was no price or receipt in the box. She assured me that this would be taken care of. 15 minutes later, after changing my mind about the shipping method, I called back. "I'd like to change this to expedited shipping," I explained. I was told it was too late--once the order had been released, the shipping method could not be changed. So regular shipping it was. I received an order confirmation by email and waited to receive a shipping confirmation as the email said I would. I waited. And waited.

And waited. Then one of my friends who was going in on the gift started calling me. Daily. "She still hasn't received it." "When did they say it was going to be delivered?" "Call them and find out." On Thursday, the 18th, my friend left me about a 4 minute voicemail--our mutual friend--the one who was to receive the gift--had received a backpack--a nylon backpack with the Canadian flag on it. A clearance, final sale, marked-down-to-$39.95 nylon backpack with the Canadian flag on it. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But it certainly wasn't the chocolate brown leather cross-body bag that three of us had sent her. And it was received almost 2 full weeks after I had ordered online. Happy Birthday, Pammie! On Thursday, the 18th, I called the Roots Customer Service number, which I would advise them to rename the Roots Customer Complaint number, because there isn't a lot of service going on there. My friend got on the phone with me. We eventually spoke to Jackie, some sort of supervisor, who told us that standard shipping to the US from Canada was 15 days. I told her that not only did the website not indicate that--if it had I never would have chosen standard shipping--but that Wanda had told me delivery time was 3-5 days. "Don't worry," said our new friend Jackie--"we want to get this resolved. Don't worry about your friend shipping back the backpack--she can keep it and do whatever she wants with it. We just need to get the correct order to your friend. I will check into this and make sure we have the cross-body bag and I will call you back tomorrow to tell you what is going on. " Tomorrow, which was last Friday, came and went. No call. I called Jackie on Monday--"You never called me back on Friday and you told me you would," I said. "No," she countered, "I told you someone would call you back on Friday." "OK," I paused, "well no one did." "I apologize for that," Jackie said, "I sent an email and am waiting for a response." "Can't you just pick up the phone and actually speak to someone at your company?" I asked. "No," she replied, "we do everything by email. I understand your frustration." I don't think you do, Jack. Between that conversation and now, I have spoken to Audrey, Robert, and Jackie, who I think is now avoiding my calls. They all understand my frustration. They all apologize for the problem. But somehow, the folks at Roots.com can't seem to get this problem resolved. And they've already charged my credit card for the order they can't manage to fulfill. After I blasted Jackie on Tuesday for not calling me back yet AGAIN when she said she would--for me having to call three times that day to get in touch with her--so she could tell me she still knew nothing --(Guess what, Jackie--I already figured that out), she called me twice yesterday to tell me that......she still had no response from whomever she was emailing at the same company. So I very politely told her that because fixing this problem seemed to be beyond her, to please have her supervisor call me back the next day. So, Susie, wherever you are, I'm here, I'm waiting for your call, and I know that you (and all your Roots pals) are SO sorry for this mess and that you understand my frustration. Thanks. That makes me feel MUCH better. Not.

The most humorous part of all this is that everyone I speak to at Roots ends every call with "Is there anything else I can help you with? Thank you for calling Roots.com." Yes, you can help me--just get the bag I ordered to my friend. That would be great.

This isn't over. It's getting personal now. Stay tuned.

LATER THIS SAME DAY: Taking no chances, I called Roots and asked for Susie around 11 AM. "Hi, Susie, did Jackie tell you about my situation?" Surprisingly, Jackie hadn't. So I told Susie everything that had happened, or, maybe, that hadn't happened. She assured me that she was going to read through my "case notes" and get some information and call me back. 4 hours later, I decided to check back with Susie and guess what? Susie had gone home for the day. And hadn't called me back. I left her a voice message that said, among other things, that I was really very surprised that she hadn't called me back. Actually, between you and me--I'm not that surprised at all, given Roots' customer service up to this point, or rather--lack of it. Anyway, I need to get a good night's sleep so I can get ready to battle it out tomorrow. Details to follow as they occur.

NEXT DAY: Damn! My cell phone's ringer was off and I missed Susie's call. She left me a voice mail that said that the item was being shipped out today and she would call me later to tell me when to expect delivery. And guess what? Hours later I called Susie, since I hadn't heard anything from her--no surprise--and guess where she was? Yep--Susie was gone for the day. I left yet another message for her on her voice mail. I think I might apply for a job at Roots--it sounds great--the hours are great, you get to go home early enough to catch all the TV season premieres, and you seem to have plenty of free time AT work since you don't seem to do any actual work. I wonder what the vacation policy is.

TUESDAY, SEPT. 30: The bag finally arrived. My friend loves it. That's what's important, anyway.

Dear American, You Suck

2008-09-18T16:03:00.004-05:00

American Airlines' response to my complaint letter.

Dear Mrs. Minivan:

You trusted us with your valuable time on August 4 and you were understandably disappointed when we didn't get you to Chicago on time. There's clearly nothing more frustrating for everyone -- customers and employees alike -- than having to endure the difficulties associated with air travel when bad weather impacts our flights. From the details you provided, it certainly sounds as if the circumstances surrounding your flight were made even more frustrating by the lack of assistance you received.

When bad weather happens, in the interest of safety, we don't have too many options to get you to where you are going as planned. What we can do, however, is display a friendly attitude to help make the situation a little less trying and I'm sorry we didn't do so on this occasion. At the same time, we are glad that you took the time to share the details of your experience. Your comments enable us to see things from our customers' perspective and help us to improve.

Regrettably, prohibitive cost issues prevent us from stocking additional food and beverages aboard for "just in case" delays. In addition, since our catering schedules are carefully planned well in advance, our caterer can't accommodate unanticipated, last minute food and beverage requests for an aircraft full of customers. We hope you understand.

Bad weather is not something we can overcome and the direct impact on our flight schedules is unavoidable. Accordingly, it is not our policy to reimburse our customers' out-of-pocket expenses, make up for lost time, or offer compensation (like additional mileage) when we don't operate our flights as planned. I am sorry. Nevertheless, you have my assurance that we will continue to focus on the on time departure of our flights and our customer service standards.

Mrs. Minivan, we are eager for another chance to serve you -- we will do our very best to get you to your destination as scheduled and provide you with the kind of service you deserve.

Sincerely,

David
Customer Relations
American Airlines

Was that a response or a therapy session? Because I sure don't feel any better.

This is what I'd like to say back to them:

Dear American,

Thanks for the carefully personalized form letter. You certainly read the employee manual on how to deal with frustrated customers. I appreciate all of your understanding and caring. I am glad that my experience has enabled you to see things from your customers' perspective and that my letter will help you to improve. And thank you for reminding me that bad weather is something you can't overcome. If you look back at my original letter I believe I mentioned that everyone knows that "weather happens." Oh, and when the "just in case" delays become S.O.P.(that's standard operating procedure, FYI, and we all know it IS), it might be nice to have a few extra pretzel packets on board.

Anyway, keep working on your customer service and getting your customers there on time. From what I can see, you have a lot of opportunities for improvement.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Minivan

Oh, crap!!

2008-09-16T13:24:00.004-05:00

The first thing I'm going to do when I become Vice-President is to go after the dog-owners who don't pick up after their dogs. This morning I went walking and on my 1 hour walk in this well-known and affluent community I saw no less than 10 fly-covered piles of you-know-what on the sidewalks. Totally disgusting. Is it too much to ask dog-owners to clean up their mess? I just don't understand people but I think the punishment for anyone who is caught on a crap-and-run should be several hours of community service cleaning up doggy do on the streets of their community. Just my opinion.

A BIG Announcement!!!!!

2008-09-11T10:40:00.026-05:00

I wanted to let you all be the first to hear the big news. After much thought and careful consideration, I have decided to run for political office. At first I thought I'd just run on the local level but after reviewing my qualifications I have decided to go national. Yep, that's right. I am officially throwing my hat in as a Vice-Presidential nominee. I'm not sure of all the logistics and rules--don't know if I can run as a write-in candidate, but I'm going to give it my best shot. If it doesn't work this year, I'll be back in 2012.

Let's just take a minute and let this sink in before I go over my qualifications for you. OK, here we go. I realized this morning, as I got ready to go to a PTA meeting, that I would be a great Vice-President. I've always been very involved with the PTAs of my sons' schools--I have many years of experience working in a group, often with very difficult people. Have you ever dealt with a mother who's been told she can't park in the pick-up line at 3:15 and run into school for "just a minute?" Or one who is trying to save the whole front row of seats at the school play? I have. It's not pretty. So Afghanistan and Iraq should be a cinch to deal with.

It's no easier on the home front. Have you ever tried to wake up a sleepy 6-foot-tall 9th grader who doesn't want to get up? Or remind several male people to put the seat down? Or tell your husband where the jelly is or where the paper towels are for the 5000th time? I do all this--and so much more--every day! So as far as domestic policy is concerned--I truly believe I am ready.

I am a great multi-tasker. Even as I am typing this I am on a phone call and checking out the news headlines on Yahoo. Yet I am giving each of these tasks the careful thought and consideration it deserves.

I was just suckered into--I mean--I was just made recording secretary of the high school's PTA. That's a BIG job requiring careful listening and good penmanship. Not to mention computer skills. And organizational skills. I went to the meeting as an ordinary mom and hit the ground running as the recording secretary. I also campaigned for another spot within the PTA. I had to make a campaign speech off the top of my head and I can basically sum it up like this, "It's time for a change!"

And so I say to you, my dear readers and friends: We need a change right now. It's time for a change. Now more than ever before. I'm all for a woman VP or President--but it has to be the right woman. Especially when she is going to be a heartbeat away from a 70-something President with some not-so-insignificant prior health issues. I think you know who I'm talking about. We need the right woman. Not one picked because she has a great pair of glasses or whatever--but one picked after careful vetting and consideration. Mine are nice though. (I'm talking about the glasses. Not the whatevers.) Yes, we need the right woman. We need me.

Some differences between me and you-know-who:

1. She went to 5 colleges in 6 years. I went to just one. For four years. A good one.

2. She got a passport last year and has been out of the country once, on an official tour of military installations in Kuwait and Germany. A spokesperson's claim that she's also been to Ireland was actually a refueling stop during the Kuwait/Germany trip. I've been out of the country many times. I know all the good places to shop. If that's not a good start to our foreign policy I don't know what is.

3. I stand for freedom of speech, freedom of choice, and freedom to read whatever you want.

4. I will work hard to protect the rights of women, children, the earth, and polar bears.

5. I think sex education is a good thing. Sometime when kids don't learn about stuff like that they actually get pregnant at age 17.

6. I do not have a baby. Or a pregnant teen-ager. Both of whom just might need a lot of face time with their mom in the near future.

7. I am a people person. I play well with others. If my mother-in-law ran for political office, I would support her. If only for the sake of harmony at the Thanksgiving table. And I make a great brownie. And fabulous short ribs. What world leader wouldn't listen to our point of view over a short rib dinner followed by a plate of homemade brownies? It's a win-win.

So.....domestic experience....check. Foreign experience.....check. Organizational skills....check. People skills.....check. Good listener....check. Multi-tasking skills.....check. I think I've hit all the major categories. Check. Check. Check.

So, for those reasons, and so many more, I urge you to vote for me on November 4th!! My campaign starts immediately. Donations and volunteers are needed and much appreciated.

Change starts now!..........

This post was approved by Mrs. Minivan.

Rocker Boy

2008-08-28T20:00:00.005-05:00

Last winter the boys received Guitar Hero as a present. They immediately became obsessed with it and spent lots of time practicing the game. Boy #2 soon started begging for guitar lessons. He started taking guitar maybe in January or February, and after the second lesson or so, his teacher--a REAL professional guitar player who has played with many many bands told us that Boy #2 was really good at guitar--that he was doing things that people who've been playing six months can't do. Of course, I believed him....I'm sure he doesn't say that to ALL the parents. Or does he? Boy #2 has been getting better and better and practices all the time. I've already informed him there are to be no tattoos in his future. Can you be a rocker and have a 9:00 bedtime? I wonder....... And to think we owe it all to Guitar Hero...... In this clip--my first effort after an iMovie workshop at the Apple Store today--I present.....Boy #2, future rocker.

A Hug and A Quiche For You

2008-08-24T18:40:00.004-05:00

Been busy today cooking, baking, dishwashing, etc. Had friends over for brunch and made this delicious quiche. Check it out.

I Love the Sound of Helicopters in the Morning

2008-08-18T14:14:00.003-05:00

When you're at home with the TV on in the background and you hear something that sounds like "if you surrender now blah blah blah....." you know that something might not be right. Especially if you're watching the Food Network. And even more especially if you hear a helicopter circling over your house. I made sure all the doors were locked and called my friends at the police department. The non-emergency number, of course. "Is there something going on?" I asked. "Yes, we're looking for some burglary suspects," I was told. I decided to stay inside for a while. I listened to the helicopter for about another half an hour. Then there was silence. I called my police pals again. "Did we get the bad guys?" I asked. "No," I was told. "The helicopter is gone but now we're searching with dogs." Good to know. I have some laundry to do anyhow. I'll be back with any updates.

What I Did For Love

2008-08-11T23:22:00.003-05:00

There are things a girl will do for her father that no one else could get her to do. No one. My dad had knee replacement surgery last week and is happy to be home and recovering. Before he went into the hospital he left his wallet and other valuables at home for safekeeping. My mom noticed that his credit card was not in his wallet. The search began. We looked in pants pockets, dresser drawers, on his desk, by the computer, all over. No card. "Call the credit card company," I suggested. "Tell them what the last few charges were and if there are no others you'll know it has been misplaced and hasn't fallen into the wrong hands." No extra charges. The search continued. No card. This morning, which just happens to be garbage pick-up day at their house, my dad appeared to be resting when I checked on him. His eyes popped open. "I think I might have left my credit card in a Walgreen's bag," he said. "Tell your kids I'll pay them $10 each to go through the garbage and look for it." Since the little darlings were still sleeping, and you never know when the garbage collectors will decide to come early--I headed outside, my hands encased in protective plastic bags. Several moldy ears of corn and one almost-battle with a chipmunk later, let me just say that I looked through every bit of garbage generated by this house in the last week....and the card was not there. I think the time has come to admit defeat and cancel the card. That's the only way we'll find it anyway. Happy Knee Rehab, Dad!!

Something Special in The Air

2008-08-05T08:45:00.005-05:00

Dear American,

I was on your flight 2074 last night from LA to Chicago. Actually, this flight was supposed to take off at 12:55 PM but was delayed til around 2 PM. Not that I'm complaining--all your flights seem to be delayed these days. If it's not weather it's mechanical. Too bad we never seem to know about the delays til we get to the airport. Oh, well. Anyway. The flight took off and should have landed around 8 PM. The unsmiling flight attendants served us tiny little cups of soda and sold frighteningly large and unhealthy snack items. We were told several times that because of weather we wouldn't be able to land in Chicago just yet. The delays continued. I put my headphones on around 8:30 or 9 and could barely hear the next announcement. I took them off. "Did he just say St. Louis?" I asked my seatmate. "Yes," she said. "It's a refueling stop." I watched as a parade of people walked by to get to the bathroom or to request a drink from the flight attendants who were chatting each other up in the back. I heard one woman ask for coffee. The screaming babies made it hard to hear but, "No, we have no more water," said the flight attendant.

We finally landed in Chicago around 11. And then we sat on the runway in the plane for an hour watching sheets of rain hit the ground and lightning dance in the sky. Several times the pilot announced that the "ramp" was closed and we were just gonna sit. I asked one of the flight attendants what that meant. "We lost a ground crew guy to lightning last year. It's not safe for them to be out there right now." Oh, OK, I understand that. Why couldn't the pilot just speak English? Oh, and the pilot kept thanking us for "our patience." Ha ha. Is it really "patience" when you have no choice? I might have used another word, but that's just me.

Weather happens, American. We all understand that. I don't blame you for this big thunderstorm at all. But don't you think someone who works on that plane should have had the brains and sensitivity to pull the beverage cart out a second time? In 9 hours? It's just common courtesy. Just good manners. And maybe you could have some teeny little pretzel packets available just in case a flight is.....let's say.....more than double its original flying time? I don't know....I'm just asking. And I guess the chance of getting the extra miles to St. Louis is out of the question.

9 hours on your plane, screaming babies, circling, delays, a refueling stop in St. Louis, unsmiling flight attendants, one round of the beverage cart. What a night. I could almost have gotten to London in that amount of time. Next time I'm driving.

Sincerely,

The World May Be Ending

2008-08-03T11:43:00.005-05:00

My dad is an awesome guy. He is fun, interesting, and interested in everything--cooking, sports, cards, golf, reading, theater, and so much more. He loves surfing on his circa 1990 computer, which until this weekend, has been sort of a joke. "Dad--GET a new computer--what is the problem? Mom has a brand-new Mac--you NEED a new computer. This is ridiculous!" He usually had no answer other than a sigh and a distracted "Yes, ok"--which we both knew meant, "Go away and leave me alone." This is a man who has a conflicted relationship with technology. He has a brand-new car with all the most up-to-the-minute bells and whistles. He has, and knows how to use, at least 5 remotes which control his TV and various recorders and devices. He usually has his cell phone with him and always answers it when he does. Yet I sent him a text message several months ago, and I was the one who retrieved it for him TWO MONTHS later!! And then there is this boxy, white computer which he clings to. So I was very pleased to hear that one of my brothers was hooking up my mom's former Mac for him. "You're gonna love it Dad!" I told him. And then my inbox chimed. An email from my dad entitled: "I am now on iChat." "My name is xxxxxxxx. Please feel free to IM me at any moment. Pop" What is going on here? Who is this man and why is he sending me emails? So I IMed him. And he actually answered! And here's the crazy thing. My dad was iChatting. Not only that, he was using abbreviations like "u" instead of "you" and when I told him "gotta fly--bye" he responded "bibi." We've created a monster. My almost 80-year old dad is IMing and using IM lingo correctly. Next he'll be texting me from the golf course. Fill up some water bottles and head for the basement. Clearly, the world is ending soon.

I Feel The Earth Move......

2008-07-29T14:16:00.005-05:00

Where I come from if the whole house starts shaking you look outside to see how windy it is. You usually see the trees and bushes being blown by the strong wind. Not here. Today when the whole house started shaking and I heard dishes clattering and trembling in the china cabinet I looked outside to check out the wind. Nothing. Oh....I get it.....THIS is what an earthquake feels like. It was all over in seconds. 5.8, they said. Epicenter east of L.A. Now the local news is filled with people telling where they were and what they felt. The usual after-storm stories. One friend of mine in Chicago--a fellow news junkie like me--called me minutes after the quake to check on me. Thank you Trixie!!! I called Mr. Minivan at work and told him..."time to move." "Stop," he told me. He thinks I'm kidding. That's the funny part. Why would I want to live somewhere where, if the earthquakes don't get you, the fires and mudslides will? It's been a couple of years. We gave it a shot. We did the Disneyland thing, we've done the celebrity-spotting thing, now we've done the earthquake thing. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe it's time to get out. While we still have all of our dishes and mirrors.

The Happiest Place on Earth

2008-07-20T21:33:00.010-05:00

It's been a tough year. A few months ago I realized something that no one should ever have to face. I never really had a first birthday. My brother stole it. Let me explain. I was born January 1. That same year my brother was born December 30. So do you really think anyone was celebrating my birthday just two days later? I don't think so either. I was probably lucky if someone remembered to change my diaper at that point. I'm sure all the attention was on the new little squalling bundle of joy. That whole thing was tough enough to come to terms with but I've worked through it and I was on my way to a full recovery. Until tonight. I was at a friend's house for dinner and had brought my dad along. My mom is out of town and my dad's Poker After Dark wasn't on til later so he had a free night. We were sitting around the dinner table and I mentioned that I had never been to any Disney park til several years ago when my dad let the cat out of the bag. "No that's not true--we went to Disneyworld and maybe to Epcot too." "No, Dad, I've never been to Disneyworld or Epcot and I've never been to Florida with you." "Yes, we went," he confessed. I mean--he went on, "I remember because I had to go on the Hammer and Thunder Mountain with the boys." "Wait a minute," said one of the guys at the table, "that must have been when you were at college because that was around the time Epcot opened." Suddenly it was all clear. They packed me off to college with my hot pot and a few quarters for the pay phone and immediately headed south. And the fact that it was apparently a family conspiracy of silence was just the icing on the cake of their betrayal. I've quizzed my brothers and they claim I knew at the time and just don't remember. Of course that's what they'd say. I've seen 24 and Total Recall. I know what's going on. What's next? Will I find out that I was found on my parents' doorstep? That I have an evil twin? I don't know how much more of this I can take.
UPDATE: My mother claims that they were very disappointed that I didn't go with them as I wanted to spend Spring Break with my friends in Miami. It's all very suspicious to me. I DID go to Miami with my friends during one Spring Break in college but I just don't remember the rest of my family going to Disney. Could my own mother possibly be in on the conspiracy? Is my whole family trying to alter history or my memory? The plot thickens.........

Youth is Wasted on The Young

2008-07-16T19:10:00.008-05:00

I am so depressed. I am minutes away from Botox or bangs. Today I dropped by my aunt's house and she showed me a DVD she had just picked up from the photoshop. She had had some VHS movies transferred to DVD---- note to self-- do the same--and we sat down and watched for a few minutes. First her kids popped up--adorable toddlers and children--now 27 and 30--and the best part was that although there were a few birthday parties and other "events", the most interesting part of the video (DVD???) was seeing the ordinary, everyday things her kids were doing back then. Riding the Big Wheel, learning to roller skate, the 3 year old pushing the baby in his swing, etc. Note to self--take more videos of the kids--FAST!! Then we saw a few family parties-my brothers and I sticking our tongues out every time we saw the camera. Grandparents as we knew them as kids--not how we remember them when they died--and other older relatives who at the time of the filming were younger than I am now. And then back to some everyday moments. I saw myself at about age 20 or so coming into my aunt's house and playing with her kids. And guess what--I was so cute--yes, I was--beautiful hair, beautiful smile, a few less pounds--OK, OK--a few few less pounds, no wrinkles, etc. But I know at the time I didn't think I was as cute as I was. I thought--"if I could only lose 7 pounds....", "if only my hair were different.....", "if only......" And now I look back at this cute girl on the DVD and I think--"Wow--you wasted some of that pretty because you didn't realize you had it." Why can't we be happy with ourselves as we are? If in 10 years I am going to look back at a photo of myself today and think--"Wow--what a babe!"--why can't I do that today when I look in the mirror?

A Phone Call From Camp and A Letter From Camp

2008-07-10T17:52:00.007-05:00

When your kids are at camp, the LAST phone number you want to see on your phone is the camp's number. Camps don't call to say "hi" or to tell you about a great sale they ran into at the mall. They don't call to ask you to meet them for lunch or to take a walk. No, calls from camp are usually bad news. The last time I got a call from camp it was Boy #1's first summer there and it was the day before Visiting Weekend. He was going for 4 weeks and we were going up for Visiting Weekend and then bringing him home. I was coming back from a girls' trip with some of my peeps and my cell phone rang. I saw the caller ID and my heart started to pound. "Hi, it's Jane the camp director," she said, "Everything's fine.......but.....Boy #1 fell and we think he broke his wrist." Um, so then everything's NOT fine is it? Boy #1 HAD broken his wrist. Luckily, or unluckily, he had broken the same wrist a year or two before, so I was somewhat familiar with broken bone protocol.

Anyway, today, strangely enough--the day before Visiting Weekend-- my cell phone rang, and the camp's name popped up on the screen. Uh-oh. Pounding heart. A man's voice--one I barely recognized--said, "Hi Mom." OK, at least I know he's alive. "Hi, Boy #1," I said. "Nothing's wrong, Mom, I'm OK. Everything's fine." Clearly, he had been coached. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Well, maybe something's a little wrong," he said. "What happened?" I asked. "I did something stupid and let one of my cabinmates cut my hair and one of my sideburns is all cut off," he said, "so I want to know if they can take me into town and get a haircut or a buzz cut." I don't think I have ever been so relieved. If he had asked me if he could shave his head at that moment I would probably have said yes. "Sure," I said, "but don't get a buzz cut unless you really want one--remember--you have 4 weeks of camp left and it will have grown back by then and there will be something to work with. You can just have them even it out. And if you want to wait til tomorrow we can go and get your hair cut then." "No, I want to go today," he said. "And, Boy #1," I added. "Yes, Mom?" he asked. "Don't let anyone near your head with scissors, razors, or shavers, OK?"

Letter from Boy #2 which arrived today:

Dear Mom, Camp is awesome! We have started the Spectacular (competition). I am a Dayton Flyer (team). Boy #1 got a haircut and it looks bad. I can't wait to see you! Love, Boy #2

Letters From Camp

2008-07-07T10:55:00.002-05:00

Boys #1 and 2 are in the middle of Wisconsin at camp. They are having a great time. So far, two and a half weeks since they arrived, I have received 4 letters from Boy #2 and one from Boy #1. I have been writing them every 2 days or so, but apparently that isn't enough. Writing and sending packages--mostly Archie comics--is becoming a full-time job. What about MY summer vacation??

1st letter from Boy #2

Dear Mom, Camp is great. It rains everyday here. Write me more letters. I am the only one who doesn't get letters. I love you. Love, Boy #2

2nd letter from Boy #2

Dear Mom, We had a camping trip. It was really fun. We slept in tents and we had s'mores. We built a fire and told scary stories. I didn't get scared. I just wanted to tell you. Love, Boy #2

3rd letter from Boy #2

Dear Mom, Sorry for sending this letter. It is letter writing day and I have nothing to say. I love you. Love, Boy #2

4th letter from Boy #2

Dear Mom. I am appaled (appalled) ! Not just appaled, scared (scarred) for life!! Today Boy #1 got a package of Archies and letters. AND No, he has NOT GOTTEN the package from Grandma yet. Why don't I get packages from Grandma. I am very angry. I took biking club and have excursions today. I am going bowling.

A very Angry, scared for life, not accepted,

Boy #2

So of course, after receiving letter #4 from Boy #2, I immediately ran to the bookstore and mailed him out some Archies and a Simpsons comic book. And how's your summer going?

My Aching Back

2008-06-03T23:08:00.008-05:00

For the past few weeks, I've been miserable. And for the last week I've been REALLY miserable. In pain, crying, depressed, Lifetime TV-movie watching miserable. I have had acupuncture, x-rays, chiropractic stuff, ice packs, Advil, Aleve, and chocolate. Somehow, I felt much better when I just had lower back pain than when it became "a possible herniated disc." My galpal from Chicago had to talk me down. "It's like the deviated septum of backs," she told me. I've received referrals for back specialists, orthopedic doctors, sports medicine doctors, etc. I've scared the crap out of myself by searching the Internet. A friend told me to ask a fellow baseball mom if she knew of anyone who could help me and she told me she had recently had the same problem with even worse symptoms. She said that she had never even been to a chiropractor before and that she had always been very "Western medicine centric." She's not originally from California, that is. She told me that she had been given the name of this osteopath by someone she knew and trusted and that he solved her problem in 4 sessions. And, that her worst symptoms had been resolved after one session. Well, as you may know, I am from the midwest and, thus, am a bit cynical, but I was desperate. I was intrigued. I was curious. I was open-minded. I could be a believer. Even though she couldn't really tell me what he actually DID to her--with her?--I figured it was worth a shot. So I called Dr. Osteopath and went to see him yesterday. He spent an hour and a half with me--said he didn't need to see x-rays--that the body just "spoke" to him. "You're like the Body Whisperer," I said. The funny thing is that I was on my back on his table for an hour and a half--fully clothed, Mom!!--and I'm STILL not sure what he did--but all I know is that my back and leg pain are pretty much gone. Yep, the leg that had ached for days, and all the way on the drive over to his office--that same leg didn't hurt from the moment I got off of his table. I can get up out of bed with no pain. I'm so much better than I was just a few days ago I can't really believe it. Not 100%--but much better. I tried to get him to say that I shouldn't cook or do laundry for a few weeks, but he just smiled. Thank you thank you baseball mom/my NBF!! Thank you thank you Dr. O! I'm going back to see him next week. In the meantime, my back, my chakra, and my chi are enjoying a bit of peace.

Ancient Chinese Secret

2008-05-17T20:24:00.005-05:00

Twice during the last 6 months I have had a couple of days of horrible back pain. Horrible, terrible, hurts to get out of bed back pain. I've used ice, heat, Aleve, and both times, after a couple of days, my back felt better and I was pretty much back to normal.
This week it came back. Strange. Wednesday I was fine and went for a long, long walk, and Thursday it was painful just getting out of bed. Desperate, I decided to listen to several people who recommended acupuncture. I tried acupuncture once, about 10 years ago, when I had terrible shoulder pain. I blamed it at the time on chubby little baby Boy #2 combined with a heavy tote bag. I didn't love it, I have to admit. Something about needles being jammed into me gave me the creeps. And then I had to be still for a while WITH the needles jammed into me. Hard for me to do. Anyway, today I went to the local acupuncturist. Immediately after making the appointment my back felt better. I guess it's kind of like how right after you call for a haircut you love how your hair looks. She asked me a few questions, and then started with the needles. A bunch in my back, one in my hand, and one on the top of my head, in my hair. Then she rubbed a little oil on my back and placed a heat lamp over my back and told me to relax and meditate for half an hour. As I tried to relax, in this sweltering room, with needles all over me and the oil heating up on my back I realized I really don't like needles jammed into me. Half an hour later, she returned to remove the needles. She gave me some herbal oil to use during the day and some patches to use at night for any pain. Hope it works. She told me I should come back next week. Of course I should. As I wrote the check for $175 I realized what real pain was. My back feels better already.

Potty Talk

2008-03-28T14:39:00.008-05:00

Did you ever have something happen to you that was so embarrassing that you couldn't help but laugh as it was happening to you? Yesterday Boy #2 had a baseball game at a local park. I was sitting at the top of the bleachers, with my two best friends--my tote bag and my cup of Diet Cherry Coke. My tote bag was filled with all sorts of stuff--magazines, sunscreen, a book,my camera, my phone, my datebook, the school directory, my purse, some gum, well, you get the idea. I'm the kind of person people love to make fun of but they love having me around when they need some dental floss, a tweezer, or someone's phone number. I also have this plastic Big Gulp cup from a long-ago visit to 7-11 that I use for my 4:00 pick-me-up can of Diet Cherry Coke. Some people have their blankies, some have their Starbucks, and I have my grungy old 7-11 cup. And my tote bag. And a few other things. Anyway, I was at the game and I had finished about half of my DCC, my toes in their flip-flops were getting a little cold, and to be honest, I really had to pee. So I gathered my cup and my bag and carefully manuevered down from the top of the bleachers. I thought I would make a pitstop in the bathroom and then go see if I had another pair of shoes in my car or at least a blanket. I thought maybe I would sit in my car for a few minutes and then go back to the game.

I went into the bathroom and entered the stall. I was annoyed to see that there was no hook anywhere in the stall. I've noticed this lately. It seems to be a disturbing trend. And you don't want to put your purse on the floor....so it becomes a balancing act. I perched my Big Gulp cup on the giant round toilet paper dispenser and adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder. I grabbed a seat protector and put it on the seat. As I started to sit down, I turned my head and noticed that the seat cover had fallen into the toilet. I didn't want to have to readjust my tote bag and get another one, so I decided to.....squat. Yes, my dear readers, squat. This is actually something I am usually pretty good at, but I don't have a lot of experience WITH a tote bag on my shoulder. Let me tell you, it's not easy. I'm going to say right now that the tote bag surely affected my balance because.....I can barely get the words out.....stay with me here....I'm trying to figure out how to say this delicately. OK, there's no ladylike way to say it. I peed all over my underwear and the back of my jeans. Yes, I did. And don't act like this has never happened to you. We all know it has. So as it's happening I can't do anything, because to salvage the situation, and my jeans, just a bit, I'd have to toss my tote bag on the floor and I don't want to do that. I can at least wash the jeans. I stand up and in the process knock my cherished 7-11 cup on the floor and spill Diet Coke everywhere. And here's the clincher. The giant toilet paper dispenser...? Empty. Of course it was. Icing on the cake. Luckily, seat covers have multiple uses.

I exited the scene of the crime, and raced to my car, hoping I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. I had my cover story ready--about how I had spilled a bottle of water all over myself and was running home to change clothes. Luckily the coast was clear and I hurried home, changed clothes, and came back to watch Boy #2's team win their game.

There are so many lessons to be learned from this story I don't even know where to begin...

1. Always carry an extra pair of underwear with you.
2. And some toilet paper.
3. And maybe an extra pair of jeans.
4. Don't drink Diet Cherry Coke.
5. Don't bring your cup with you to the bathroom.
6. Leave your tote bag in the car.
7. Thank God for leather car seats.
8. Any more? Your thoughts?

More Lunatic Parents

2008-03-24T12:15:00.003-05:00

Boy #2 was invited to a sleepover birthday party over the weekend. (I made the mistake of saying it was a slumber party and was quickly corrected.) The party was to start at 2 PM with the 6 guests meeting at the birthday boy's apartment. Then they were going to go to a movie, then back to the apartment for dinner and birthday festivities. We were asked to bring a sleeping bag if we had one. It seemed clear to me that the boys were going to actually sleep. After all, it was a SLEEPover. But I never counted on these lunatic parents. When Mr. Minivan got back at 11 the next morning with a zombie-like Boy #2 and told me the boys hadn't slept all night I couldn't believe my ears. The kids apparently took a vote and decided to stay up all night. And these moronic parents let them. More idiots. Or is it moronic idiots? No, that's redundant. So I cancelled my plans for the day and Boy # 2 dragged himself upstairs and slept for 5 hours til I woke him. I guess it could have been worse. The boys could have taken a vote and decided to jump out of the windows to see if they could fly.

Brrr....It's Cold Out Here!!!!

2008-01-29T21:46:00.000-06:00

OK, it's January here and I've had it!!! The coldest it has gotten here during the day is about 55 degrees and I seriously think I could snap at any moment. People I know talk about how "freeeezing" it is. Let me explain to you what freezing is. Freezing is when you are so cold that you can't feel your legs. Or your hands. When it hurts to take a breath. Freezing is when the frigid air on your face is so painful it hurts. Hurts so much that when you come inside you wonder why you look sunburned. THAT is freezing. 55 is a beautiful spring day. Kite flying weather.... sweater weather.... long-sleeved tee-shirt under a sweatshirt weather. But here, now, the Uggs are out. In full force. Sometimes paired with a ski jacket and a miniskirt. Sometimes over leggings. Usually with jeans. Scarves, too, are plentiful. People here wear them inside, though, artfully draped over a shirt--lovely, a wool scarf as indoor wear....who would have thought? I see parkas, shearling coats, North Face jackets, occasionally...gloves or mittens. It's winter after all. In the interest of full disclosure I will tell you that a few weeks ago I went to pick up Boy #2 at a friend's house at about 6 PM. It was about 55 or 60 degrees out. I put on my Uggs, my North Face, and an artfully arranged scarf and......it felt right. I was a bit panicked at that moment because the Midwesterner in me realized how insane that sounded. Yet, the emerging Californian in me felt quite comfortable. What a frightening moment. I still haven't totally crossed over, though. I find myself irritated at all the smiling faces in the 60 degree sunshine. "What the hell are they so happy about?" I think. Last week it rained ALL week and I was SO happy. Today at the grocery store I took the photo above. And nobody here thinks it's strange at all. After all, it is "freeeeezing" here. Stay strong, my fabulous Cali friends, spring is close at hand.

Could I Possibly Be a Freak Magnet??

2008-01-17T20:29:00.000-06:00

There is something so comforting about the fact that, no matter where you live, you will eventually come into contact with the lunatics of the neighborhood. We all know them. They think they are better than all of us "regular" parents. They are the parents who don't let their kids watch TV, the ones who don't let their kids eat sugar, the ones who plan activities that exclude certain kids, the ones whose kids are so scheduled they don't have time for playdates, the ones who hold kids to adult standards and don't give second chances, the kind of parents who believe in tit for tat and pay back every real or imagined slight in kind. We've all met people like that. A mom here, a dad there. Just not necessarily all in a perfectly matched his and hers set. I myself had never met one person who had ALL those characteristics and more. Until today. I can't speak too freely. It might not be safe. Here's one universal truth, though. Remember this. Crazy people don't know they're crazy.

Just Another Starry Saturday Night

2007-12-23T11:38:00.001-06:00

Last night we went to a Christmas party given by the brother and wife of a friend of Mr. Minivan. I told Mr. Minivan I was bringing a book. "Oh no you're not!" he said. "What if I get bored?" I asked. We drove up to the guard house of this gated community and once the list was checked, got clearance to go to the house. The massive massive house in a neighborhood of massive massive houses. We deposited the car with the valet and walked toward the front door. The first people I saw when I walked in were Dr. Phil and Robin, and their son and his beautiful blond triplet wife. Oh, and Barry Bonds. But I didn't actually know it was Barry Bonds until someone told me. At that point, one minute into the party, I admitted to Mr. Minivan that I was glad I had left my book at home. The house was huge and beautiful, decorated with Christmas decorations and family photos. Entertainment consisted of a psychic, a DJ, an ice skater--yes, on the ice rink that had been constructed on the lawn next to the pool, and, strangely enough, a group of Medievally-dressed singers that were like the low talker on Seinfeld--low singers, maybe? I assume they were singing Christmas carols but I couldn't really hear them. They looked great, though. Security men in suits all over. I kept watching them to see if they were speaking into their wrists, but they weren't. I also kept seeing guys that looked familiar--maybe I went to college or high school with them--no, I've seen them on TV, that's it. Many of the doctors from Dr. 90210 were there, too. Rumor was that Britney would be there later. I thought it would be the perfect time for an intervention with Dr. Phil but Brit-Brit never showed. I met Joe Pesci (without Angie Everhart--heard later they are no longer together) and yes, every other word out of his mouth IS "f-ing"--WITHOUT the dash. Also met Barry Bonds, Wesley Snipes, Gloria Allred (victims' rights attorney--was Amber Frey's lawyer), Robert Shapiro (was OJ's lawyer), Linda Thompson Jenner (was Elvis' girlfriend, was Bruce Jenner's wife, is mom of Brody Jenner, Hills star and tabloid darling)--everybody was very nice and very friendly. Oh, I forgot to mention I also met Paris Hilton. She was there with Britney's cousin Allie and Sam Lutfi. Yes, that Paris Hilton. She is very pretty, was dripping in diamonds, and was lovely to talk to. She is smart, very charismatic, and is a master manipulator. Oh, and my new best friend. She asked me if her lipstick was OK--it was bright red and she felt it was too red but it was the only one she had. "It's fine," I said, "it's the holidays..,,you can wear red." Yep, one day I am giving makeup advice to Paris Hilton and the next day I am folding laundry. Happy Holidays everyone!!

Parents, Ladies, and Celebrities Who Lunch

2007-12-07T10:33:00.000-06:00

My parents came to visit for Thanksgiving and it was great! We cooked, ate, brined, talked, ping-ponged, Rummikubed, shopped, and just hung out. My dad is a big pizza aficionado and the newest, most-talked about restaurant in L.A. is Pizzeria Mozza, so we went. I made a lunch reservation--this is one of those places where you have to make a dinner reservation a month in advance unless you want to "dine" at 4:30 or 10:45. When we got there I realized why reservations are so tough to come by. I had thought it would be one of those big "sceney" places, but it was tiny. There were maybe 13 tables and about 20 seats total at the pizza bar and regular bar. We were seated--the three of us--at what I would consider a table for 2. My mom and I were on one side and my dad on the other. But it was fine. The service was excellent and the food divine. Things not to miss if you dine at Mozza: the brussels sprouts antipasto, any bruschetta, the chopped salad, and the fennel sausage pizza. The much talked-about fried squash blossoms were quite forgettable. All three of us said we would definitely go back. A few minutes after we had been seated I noticed 2 men approaching the table next to us. "That guy looks a lot like Ray Romano," I thought to myself. Of course, it WAS Ray Romano--being seated at the next table right next to my dad. Ray and his friend also ordered the brussels sprouts although Ray didn't want to because he said he didn't like them. I restrained myself from joining the conversation and raving about the sprouts. The tables there are so close together that I could have reached over and salted his food. But, of course, being jaded about all the celebrities here, why would I? I discreetly whispered to my mom that he was at the next table. But I couldn't lean over and tell my dad because his hearing is not what it used to be and I knew he would say loudly, "WHO? Ray Who?" So I had to wait til we left the restaurant to tell him of his celebrity non-sighting. Maybe it was a celebrity seating?

Is There Such a Thing as a Desperate Househusband?

2007-10-31T07:00:00.000-05:00

As I was scrubbing the liquified cookie crumbs out of Boy #1's lunchbox yesterday afternoon, I had another one of those "I went to college for this?" moments. We have successful lawyers, bankers, doctors, businesspeople. How come nobody says, "She is a successful housewife?" You can come over to my house any time and I will always have a clean towel for you if needed. I will whip you up a snack or a meal that will bring a tear to your eye. I will wrap a present for you, sew a button on, do your laundry while you are enjoying that snack. I will let you sit on my couch and relax while I bring you a selection of magazines. I will even help you with your homework if you want. If that's not successful I don't know what is. Let's not even bring up the fact that in my line of work there are no annual reviews, raises, or expense accounts. I don't even like the term "housewife." It is so 50's, so retro, so June Cleaver. I was talking about this with a friend and she brought up the fact that so many other occupations are genderless, like actor, doctor, banker. But not housewife. So what would a genderless title be, "houser?" "house manager?" Any ideas? On forms that ask for my occupation I usually put "mom," which I guess is more important than "housewife." Jackie Kennedy once said something to the effect of "If you mess up raising your children, whatever else you do in life doesn't matter much." No matter how clean your towels are.

Don't They Have People to Shop for Them?

2007-10-30T16:19:00.000-05:00

The streets here.....are littered. With celebrities. I'm starting to think they're stalking ME. I can't even do the most mundane task anymore without bumping into one. Today, after a school yearbook meeting and many, many errands....returning library books, picking up dry cleaning, returning the pack of card stock that wasn't used when Boy #1 made campaign buttons for his student council run, making a quick drugstore run, and so much more, I stopped by the grocery store that sells the best grapes. And the best watermelon. And where Sidney Poitier and I like to buy our apples. I was buying a few impulse items when I saw a woman who looked like Reba McEntire. Only smaller. I glanced at her and then away and she disappeared. I finished shopping and got into a checkout line. I couldn't see who was checking out in front of me at first because of the way the checkout station is configured. When I could see the customer ahead of me I saw that it was indeed Reba McEntire. The clerk asked her if she wanted help out to her car and she said "No, that's OK." I saw my opening. "We don't need help there," I said. "We need help at home putting it away. We need help unloading our dishwashers and putting our laundry away." My new friend Reba chuckled, "That's right," she said, "Come and help us at home." We're just two women laughing together about all the stuff we have to do. As if SHE doesn't have people to do that stuff. Maybe she doesn't. After all, she WAS buying her own groceries. And she did return her shopping cart to the cart corral after she loaded the grocery bags into her car. Reba and I have so much in common. We speak the same language. Dishwashers, laundry, groceries. If only my friend Sidney had been there.

Brentwood Stars Come Out at Night

2007-10-27T22:52:00.000-05:00

I am on such a roll. Saturday night. Dinner at a diner in Brentwood with the kids. Decided to go across the street to the Halloween store on the corner because, of course, Halloween is in 4 days and if we don't, Boys #1 and 2 will be a Cubs fan and a football player. Again. The store was filled with scary masks and overpriced Halloween stuff and desperate adult shoppers. I decided to step outside while the boys decided which scary masks to buy that they will surely end up taking off in order to actually SEE while trick or treating. I sat on a ledge outside the store and looked toward the street and who did I see? Jake and Reese. Gyllenhaal and Witherspoon. Yep, the Brokeback guy and the Legally Blonde girl. Holding hands. And walking toward the Halloween store. Even celebs get into the Halloween spirit, I guess. As Reese walked toward the store, she adjusted her baseball cap, pulling it lower on her head. Jake had no hat, just a beard and a puffy vest. She is verrrry tiny and very pretty. They were holding hands and leaning into each other. There were no paparazzi in sight, so If they're not REALLY a couple they were doing a great impression of one. Of course I walked back into the store after they did. He picked out a very oversized brown cowboy hat and I didn't see what she got. I was too busy trying not to look like I was staring at them. In the checkout line she leaned back into him as his hand caressed her back and even lower!!! (This is a family blog, you know.) I really need to start carrying my camera with me.

Sidney Poitier, Jake and Reese. My sightings are getting better and better. It's mostly all Oscar winners now. Can Brangelina be far behind?

Guess Who's Coming to the Grocery Store

2007-10-24T19:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I get a little obsessed with the strangest things. For the last few years, it has been the honey crisp apple. I discovered them several years ago at the grocery store and have been spreading the word ever since. Some people preach religion. I preach the honey crisp. They are sweet, tangy, crisp (of course), and delicious. They have become quite popular recently--in fact, a few weeks ago the Chicago Tribune had an article about them entitled "One Sexy Apple." Over the weekend we went out to dinner at one of my new favorite LA restaurants, and I had my new favorite side dish, roasted brussels sprouts with pancetta and fuji apple. I think it also had some fresh thyme gently sprinkled in. It was fabulous. In fact, I have been thinking about it ever since. Perhaps brussels sprouts are the new honey crisp. I went to the grocery store today to buy the ingredients, because with the temperature here in the 90's and the state burning, somehow my thoughts turned to roasting. It IS October, after all. I was in the produce section, looking for the fujis, when I looked across the aisle and saw Sidney Poitier picking out apples. So of course, I walked over to his apple bin and, conveniently, the sign indicating what kind of apples they were was missing. "They're fujis," he said. (If that's not karma, I don't know what is) "Oh, " I said, gazing into his eyes. I'm not your typical fan, you know--anyone can say, "I really love your work, Mr. Poitier." Not me. "Have you tried the honey crisps? They are fabulous. They're life-changing." "Really?" he asked. "Where are they?" I, having been raised right, was very happy to help the man out. So we walked over to the honey crisp section together. The. Very. Elegant. Mr. Poitier. and I. He picked out a few apples. "You're going to love them," I said. "Next time I see you I'll let you know how they were," he said. Simply charming. We encountered each other in the store a few more times before we checked out at different lanes. I walked out a few feet in front of him and watched as he got into his black Mercedes. Then I got into my minivan and went home to real life.

It Barely Hurt At All The First Time

2007-09-07T15:55:00.000-05:00

You're always a bit nervous your first time. You might not know how to do it right, you might not know how everything works, you might not know how to push all the right buttons. The lighting might not be right, either, and you know there will be someone right there watching you. It's a little embarrassing, too, because you know everyone's been doing it all along and you feel like the only inexperienced one out there. But today I became one of you. One of the crowd. One of the cool kids who knows exactly how to do it. I did it. Yes, I did. I used a debit card today for the first time ever and I'm not embarrassed it took me so long, either! Well, maybe just a little... I was on my way to the grocery store and was chatting with a friend about how I didn't like the fact that, at this particular grocery store, every time I wrote a check I had to pull out my driver's license too. She was appalled. But not because of the driver's license. "You write checks? Why do you write checks at the grocery store?" I told her that I liked the fact that when I write a check it's paid for. It's done. I don't have to add a charge to my credit card. Besides, I've always written checks at the grocery store. That's how my mom did it. My friend expained a little bit about the wonderful world of debit cards to me and it sounded pretty painless. I went into the store and soon was confiding my little secret to Chris, the cashier. "I've never done this before." He looked at me as if I were crazy. Even his braces seemed to be laughing at me. I swiped and pressed and entered and it was all over. It was so easy! I loved it! And the best news is that my bank has this program where they round up your purchases to the nearest dollar and put the change into your savings account. I've been waiting my whole life for this...the more you spend the more you save! I can't wait to do it again!

Chew on This For Awhile

2007-09-06T15:08:00.000-05:00

In between criss-crossing the country, buying and returning school supplies, killing moths and scrubbing eggs off my house, and just generally getting ready for the fall, I realized that I need a new project. I told you I was working on one and here it is. I have a few other non-bloggy plans for myself for the fall, too, you will be happy to know. Let me know what you think about cyberspace's new addition.

First Day Blues

2007-09-04T22:50:00.001-05:00

Today was the first day of school here. I love the smell of #2 pencils in the morning. Boys #1 and 2 are, amazingly enough (to me, at least), in 8th and 5th grade this year. They were up early on this steamy hot day, with backpacks that had been packed up several days ago with new school supplies. Their lunches were ready to go, and so were they. They were excited to get to school early to find out which friends were in their classes. It's sort of funny--for the last couple of weeks whenever they were asked if they were excited to go back to school the answer was, for both of them, a definite "No." Yet they were excited to get to school. I, on the other hand, have sort of been looking forward to the start of school for a week or so. Looking forward to having some free time to myself without the constant presence of my "assistants", as I love to call them. I love the routine of the school year yet I know that that routine soon becomes a grind. But I was ready to get started too. What really suprised me about today was that when I left the school after having gone with them and checked the class lists, exchanged pleasantries with other parents and teachers, and brought my baked-at-11:30-last-night-sour-cream-coffee-cake to the first day coffee, I felt a little sad walking away. I think I had gotten used to hanging out with my two assistants and it felt strange not to be with them. I also realize that I have a lot of "free time" facing me. They always say, "be careful what you wish for.." But I have a new project in mind.....I'm busy cooking something up. More to follow.

Call Waiting and Waiting....

2007-09-04T16:48:00.001-05:00

We are having phone problems. When someone calls, they hear about half a ring on their end, then silence. The call doesn't go to voice mail. We hear about half a ring, then silence. If we grab the phone quickly enough, we can get the call before the person hearing the silence on the other end gives up. I called the phone company this morning and after 20 minutes or so was connected with a friendly guy named Steve. He listened to the problem and then told me he was going to run a check on the line and call me right back. After waiting another half hour for Steve's call, I had to leave my house for an appointment. This afternoon I tried again. I called the same number and was on hold for 45 minutes. Why does it seem that it is impossible to get in touch with the phone company on the phone?? About 35 minutes into it I decided to try calling yet another repair number I found online. Using my cell phone, I finally got connected and, with the hold music still playing out of my home phone's speaker--I wasn't taking any chances--I spoke with Theresa who told me that Steve had checked the line and said everything was working just fine. "It's not fine," I said. "There's still a problem. Why don't you put me on hold and call my number on another line?" So she did. "You're right," she said, "I just got half a ring." Geniuses, all. So tomorrow, if you need to call me, feel free to call me at home. I'll be here from 8 until 12, at least, waiting for the phone guy.

The Dreaded Peanut

2007-07-29T10:18:00.000-05:00

Boy #2 went to a one-week basketball day camp with a friend of his last week. I went to sign him up the same day he started, so I had sent him with his own lunch even though the camp provides lunch. I just wasn't sure they'd have a lunch for him since we hadn't signed up in advance. I dropped him off, took the packet of information they gave me, and went home. I started reading the stack of papers. By page 3 I was already a little stressed out. He hadn't taken a backpack, just a water bottle and his lunch bag. Already we were not in compliance. Under the heading of BREAKFAST, on page 4, another reason to worry. "Your child should eat a healthy, nutritious breakfast." OK, in some cultures Trix IS considered nutritious, but probably not at this camp. The milk counts, though, I'm pretty sure. Then on page 10, I started to panic. LUNCH AND FOOD SERVICE: Please do not send your child to camp with peanut butter or any foods containing nuts or made with nut products. Please do not send "lunchables", sugary or junk foods, candy, soda, red or blue drinks, or glass containers. Such items will be confiscated if found. This section was in bold print AND was underlined. OK, so on his first day of camp he had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, contraband which would be confiscated if found. I immediately called the camp and confessed. The director went out to the playground to confiscate and destroy the offending sandwich. Boy #2 ended up eating the lunch they provided.

I just don't remember the peanut arousing such fear and horror when I was a kid. Peanut butter was the most common lunchbox item around. Now the peanut is banned in many schools. Some schools have peanut-free tables for the kids who are allergic. Many schools just ban the peanut because it is easier that way. What happened in 20 (OK maybe 30 or so years)? The peanut, so small, but so powerful, is feared everywhere. Next time maybe I'll just send a little baggie of Trix for lunch--oh--but that would break the zero-waste rule. Maybe if he eats a big enough breakfast he won't even NEED lunch. That could be the best idea of all....

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, Part Three

2007-07-28T10:38:00.000-05:00

Boy #2 and I came back to LA recently for a few weeks. We got home and walked in the kitchen and I immediately noticed several little bugs in the kitchen. They looked like mini moths. I opened the pantry and saw a few more. I started killing them and kept finding more. I called Mr. Minivan at work and asked him if he had noticed them. "Oh, yeah, I saw them about a week ago," he said. Great. I did a little research--thank you Google--and found that they are called flour moths, and they come in the house as eggs in a bag of flour or some grain-containing food. Then they hatch and multiply, etc. I'll spare you the details. Now....it's war. It's us against them. We can't all stay. I bought some moth traps, which are supposed to attract them. The moths are either incredibly stupid or the smartest bugs ever, because although some have been trapped, others are just flying around the trap laughing at me. I spoke to a friend who had the same problem a couple of months ago. She is getting me her exterminator's number. It's the eggs we must eliminate, you see.

Speaking of eggs, a couple of days after the Moth Battle began, our house got egged. Don't know by whom, can't figure out why, don't know why they didn't hit our cars, parked right in front of the house, don't know any of these answers. Our neighbors' houses were fine. Thank you again Google--two hours of scrubbing and cleaning later and the house looks great. Never looked better, in fact.

Problem is, things usually happen in threes. What could possibly be next?

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, Part Two

2007-07-27T16:52:00.000-05:00

Bonjour my charming readers. I am now French. Mr. Minivan and I took advantage of the boys being at camp and hopped across the pond for about a week. We had a great time. I had never been to France before--I loved it! Can't wait to go back. I need to start smoking and learn to drink espresso to really fit in, though. Oh, and learn to ride a motorcycle or scooter. Everyone spoke at least some English, which was great, because I speak only about 6 words in French, and none of them are "Where's the ladies' room?" Our suitcases arrived a day after we did, so we were forced to shop a bit. Luckily, July is when one of the big "soldes" (sale) takes place. (The government regulates the soldes, which take place only in January and July) Unluckily, the dollar is very weak against the Euro. We bought just enough to get by till our stuff arrived. The stores were mobbed--a soldes is a big deal when it only comes twice a year, apparently. Armed with TripAdvisor and Chowhound info and recommendations, we went to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Marais--where we stood in line for great falafel and schwarma. We walked and walked the neighborhoods and the Champs d'Elysee, ate fabulous baguette sandwiches on the street, and had a great time. We went to the South of France for a few days after Paris and drove all over. It was fabulous. I found all the people we met to be friendly and helpful. You can immediately tell who are the Europeans and who are the Americans. It's easy. The ones with the cigarettes are the Europeans. The ones lugging the large suitcases are the Americans. On the way back we stopped in London for the day. If you think France is expensive, go to England. You'll immediately feel much better about the Euro. Prices are similar to what you'd pay in dollars, but they are in pounds. Get it? One pound is worth 2 dollars. So 19 pounds for two drinks in a London hotel doesn't sound too bad....until you realize that is really $38. My 12 pound gin drink was the best $24 drink I've ever had. Actually, it's the only $24 drink I've ever had.

I am regarding this trip as my summer camp and in the words of Boy #2, "Next year I'm going for 8 weeks."

Au revoir, my lovely readers.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, Part One

2007-06-21T14:29:00.000-05:00

Boys #1 and 2 are away at camp and I hope they are having as much fun as I am. Since they've been gone I've slept in until 8 or 9 every day, gone on a long walk with some friends, gone out to lunch several times, gone to a 3:00 movie with my mom, and have barely looked at my watch. I've sangria-ed and gossiped with friends. I've shopped and returned and shopped and returned. I read for a whole afternoon the other day. The other night I watched 3 episodes of Top Chef back to back to back. I don't have to be home by 3:00. I don't have to worry about anyone else's lunch. I don't have to think about who will eat what for dinner. It is fabulous. I am enjoying this freedom so much I am actually considering boarding school. For the boys, that is. Ok, not really. I am back in my old room at my parents' house for a couple of weeks. It's like the home that time forgot here. It's as if technology has skipped right over this house. My computer is tethered to a wall, my room has no TV and barely a lamp. The cordless phones that I bought them last summer sound terrible so I am once again using a phone with an actual cord!! It's like stepping back in time to my high school days. I'm still borrowing the car, asking politely for the keys. Only now they can't tell me what time to be home! Actually, the other day my dad called up and asked me if I needed the car! It only took a week to get him perfectly trained. This town's small downtown is quiet and not crowded. It's sort of like a Stephen King novel--the town without children--what happened to them? They are all in Wisconsin and Michigan and other places, frolicking happily in the woods and the lakes. The parents, meanwhile, are frolicking back at home or maybe at Nordstrom or on their own summer vacations. I see other mothers I know and we all have that same smile on our faces. I miss my boys--I love checking out the camp website for daily photos--but truthfully, it's kind of fun to have this short bit of time to myself.

Ins and Outs

2007-06-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

It's so hard to keep up with trends. It's practically a full-time job. Plastic bags...out. Reusable canvas bags...in. Disposable paper plates.....out. Bamboo plates.....in. Red lips....out. Nude lips....in. Food....clothes.....it's all so complicated. I totally bypassed the tiramisu years, the half-caf, double shot, non-fat, sugar-free vanilla mocha venti latte breve stuff. I'm glad I don't drink coffee. The ordering seems so stressful-- fraught with so many decisions--that's why Diet Cherry Coke is so great. Simple, straightforward--no decisions--unless over ice with a straw counts. Then there are the clothes. Just a few years ago everything was solid colors. This year it's all about the print. I was sure black would always be the new black...until I (and the rest of the world) discovered chocolate brown. And then pink became the new black. I recently heard that the new black is........black. So hard to keep up. Even fruit goes in and out of style. Take pomegranates, for example. No really--take them. So mysterious, so difficult. Last year's fruit of the year. Oprah's talkin' pomtinis, pom (soooo cute, isn't it?) juice is filled with anti-oxidants. Surely a shot of vodka or two with it has multiple health benefits, too, right? One website even has the secret to getting the seeds out without having your kitchen look like you committed a murder in it. I know the secret. Do you? But this year the pomegranate has dropped out of sight. Yep--this year it's all about the fig. The fig is the new pomegranate. Figs are actually the new black. You heard it here first. I'm just waiting to hear Oprah gush about this fabulous new drink--the figtini. Then I'll know to be on the lookout for the new hot fruit. Maybe 2008 will be the comeback year for the ugli fruit. Or maybe it's the kiwi's turn. The ugli-tini or the kiwi-tini? It's all up for grabs.

A Camping They Will Go

2007-06-07T17:27:00.000-05:00

Boy #1 and Boy #2 are going to overnight camp soon and I am very busy getting everything ready. This will be Boy #2's first summer away at camp and he is very excited. He is going for 4 weeks and Boy #1 is going for 8 weeks. They will be going to the same camp and are both counting the days til they get on the bus. I am busy washing, labeling, shopping, and trying to keep all the details buzzing around my brain straight. My lists have lists. Boy #2 needs a soap container and Boy #1 needs new cleats. I have to remember to send Boy #1's extra pair of glasses. I've already packed the squishy pillows and their Crocs. My friend in Chicago bought powdered Gatorade (to add to their water in their cute--I mean manly--Nalgene bottles) for each of them. It is waiting for me to pick it up at her house. People backpack for months in Europe with less stuff than is on the camp list. And I'm sure a lot of it will never be used. I'm sending band-aids, a nail clipper, bug bite stuff, water shirts, cute camp stationery, and more. I know, I know--they're boys--they won't appreciate (or use) most of it. I can't help myself though. If I can't be there to take care of them at least they'll have band-aids and Neosporin.

Boy #2 has already asked if he can go for 8 weeks. "No," I said. "But, Mom," chimed in Boy #1 helpfully, "he can stay. When you come up for Visitors' Weekend, just bring money." It's so simple, really. Why didn't I think of that?

Knock Knock, Who's There?

2007-06-04T22:49:00.001-05:00

The other day Mr. Minivan saw something that no man should ever see. He walked in on me putting on Spanx. If you're not familiar with this fabulous product let me just say that my grandmother would have called it a "girdle" but it is now known as a "body shaper." Somehow this teeny piece of cloth compresses parts of you in a mysterious and magical way. It removes all bumps and lumps--I'm not sure where they go--and transforms you into a smooth and sleek bombshell. Your dress suddenly fits better. You suddenly look better. But the process of putting one on is a little...shall we say....awkward. It involves a little jumping, a little tugging, some deep knee raises, and a little adjusting. I myself don't even like to witness it. I try not to look in the mirror as I'm putting on the Spanx. It's bad enough to look in the mirror when it's all the way on. I prefer to look after my dress is on. Sorry, Mr. M. Maybe next time the door is closed, you'll knock.

The Way We Were

2007-05-25T11:06:00.001-05:00

In my day....

1. We took bologna with mayo and tuna salad sandwiches to school and they sat in our lockers for hours before lunch. With NO ice pack!!

2. My brothers took turns trying to lie on that ledge between the rear seat and the rear window of our big boaty Caprice Classic.

3. I don't remember my parents helping me with any school projects.

4. We used suntan lotion, not sunscreen.

5. My mother made dinner EVERY night. Going out to a restaurant was a rare treat.

6. We walked to school and came home for lunch in elementary school.

7. My parents had only one car until I was in high school.

8. I made $1 per hour at the peak of my babysitting career.

9. Kids played with their friends after school. Nobody really had a schedule. As long as you got your homework done things were good.

10. "Time out" was a sporting term, not a parenting technique.

11. Phones didn't go in your purse. Cash didn't come out of a metal machine.

12. My dad was the lawn service. My brothers were the driveway-shovelers.

I'm sure there are many more, but as you know they say the memory is the second thing to go....
How else were things different in your day?

Forecast: Hot and Sunny

2007-05-08T17:39:00.000-05:00

It has been very hot here for the last couple of days. 90 plus degrees hot. I never believed that heat and humidity stuff before but it is really true. It's not so much the heat as it is the humidity. 95 and humid in Chicago is just nasty. Steamy, sticky, sweaty, sucky. 95 and not humid in LA is....just plain hot. Verrrry hot. I know I feel much more at home here than I did a year ago but not completely because I still find myself thinking about "them" and how "they" do things here. I guess when I start thinking "we" instead of "they" the transformation will be complete. Anyway, it is very hot here. And here's what I've seen people wearing: Sweatshirts, long-sleeved shirts, jeans, and......Uggs. Yes. Uggs. Uggs and shorts on a 95 degree day. I had to restrain myself from going up to an Ugg-clad girl and asking her what her thought process was as she was getting dressed. I mean--what could it possibly be? "I'll wear my jean cut-offs and my flip-flops--no--too beachy. Maybe my wedge sandals---no---too dressy. I know, I'll wear my Uggs!!! They'll be perfect." I've also seen many many people carrying open umbrellas to shield them from the sun. I guess applying sunscreen is too much trouble. Another thing I've noticed that is different here than in Chicago is that people go to the movies on a beautiful day here. That doesn't happen in Chicago. I guess it is because every day is beautiful here. I am trying to think of things people do in Chicago that would seem strange to a newcomer but I can't think of any. Maybe that when there is a threat of a snowstorm people head for the grocery store to stock up as if they might be trapped in their houses for days. Can you think of anything a newcomer to your area might find strange?

Did You Know That I...

2007-04-27T08:03:00.000-05:00

1. Love Christmas music.
2. Had a crush on Cubs 3rd baseman Ron Santo way back when.
3. Hate the smell of lilies.
4. Once ate 4 Krispy Kremes on the way home from Krispy Kreme.
5. Rip the address labels off my magazines before I get rid of them.
6. Love the sound of rain.
7. Once threw one of my brothers against a wall.
8. Stuck a raisin up my nose as a child.
9. Can spell "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" very quickly.
10. Listen to talk radio.
11. Hate coffee and wish I didn't.
12. Have a triple-pierced ear.
13. Love to read in the tub.
14. Love to work lines from movies into conversation--i.e. "I'll have what she's having." Usually I'm the only one who's amused.
15. Won the First Baby of the Year contest from a neighborhood newspaper when I was born.
16. Have very thin fingers and earlobes.
17. Sometimes fall into my computer and can't get out.
18. Used to alphabetize my record albums.
19. Love the idea of being a minimalist but know it's not for me.
20. Have 20-something bottles of hair stuff in my shower.
21. Would rather someone pick up the phone and say thank you than send a note.
22. Have not printed out a digital photo in years.
23. Have a giant box of recipes I have pulled out of magazines and the internet. I know I'll never try them but I just can't get rid of them.
24. Love to sleep in flannel pants and a long-sleeved tee that is so soft and so old that it has holes in it. Mr. Minivan hates this outfit but it is so cozy.....
25. Have 9 or 10 pairs of flip-flops.
26. Love love love trashy novels. Especially the ones with one-word titles. Like--"Deceptions", "Irrational," "Suspicions." Stuff like that. Pretend to be into the book club books but love the beach reads.
27. Hate when people misuse "I" and "me"--it actually hurts my ears.
28. Don't mind folding laundry but hate putting it away.
29. Once tried out for "Wheel of Fortune."
30. Hate crowds.
31. Find it very difficult to do nothing.
32. Find it even harder to do only one thing at a time.
33. Have no hair on my arms and almost never have to shave my legs.
34. Love a free refill.
35. Love Swedish Fish and Raisinets. But not together.
36. Drink too much Diet Cherry Coke.
37. Love sharing food at restaurants.
38. Sadly, have watched every season of "The Bachelor."
39. Think my favorite part of exercising is when you stop.
40. Used to love "Bewitched," "Love, American Style," "The Mary Tyler Moore Show", ""The Carol Burnett Show," "Petticoat Junction," The Brady Bunch", and "Rhoda."
41. Love pepperoni pizza but will not order it.
42. In college, wanted to leave a Bruce Springsteen concert during the last song to beat the traffic.
43. Asked my friends at the same concert, why the audience was booing him. They told me--"They're not saying "Booooooooo", they're saying "Bruuuuuuuuuuuce."
44. Am really into hamburgers right now.
45. Am usually prepared for everything. You need a tweezer, an aspirin, dental floss, a magazine, I'm your girl.
46. Think 50 doesn't seem so old anymore.
47. Am searching for the best cupcake in L.A. Thus, the exercise.
48. Hate roller coasters.
49. Love the previews at movies. Especially love when there are so many that I forget what movie I came to see.
50. Love making lists.

Doctor 90210

2007-04-26T21:06:00.000-05:00

Just kidding. Went to the doctor today for a complete physical. EKG, the little hammer, bloodwork, "say ahhhh", the whole works. What a nice man. Completely normal. Didn't try to sell me a new nose or any strange devices to insert inside myself. He spent a lot of time with me, answered my questions, and has a lovely and very reassuring manner. He told me my heart is fine. My children will be happy to know I actually have one. I don't remember why, but he mentioned blogs and I told him I have one. I gave him the address and he said he would check it out. If you read this, Doc, it was great to meet you, but as I tell all the repairmen who come to my house, I hope I don't see you for quite a while! By the way, do you have a dentist you can refer me to?.....

Dentist 90210

2007-04-18T18:15:00.000-05:00

I had a real L.A. moment today. A freaky, creepy moment. Maybe I'm too old. Maybe I'm too midwestern. Or maybe it's just..I dunno...that I'm normal? I was at the dentist's office. My new dentist. My new L.A. dentist. I had gotten a referral from my Chicago dentist for a dentist here. Unfortunately, between the time I got the referral and the time I called him, he had passed away. His wife was nice enough to call me back and refer me to the dentist she was going to be using. So I filled out all the forms, had x-rays taken, and was sitting in the chair when the dentist came in. We exchanged pleasantries and he said, "now I'm going to put my hands in your mouth." My first thought was "without even buying me dinner first?" but I was soon distracted by what he said next. "Have you heard about the "blah-blah lift" we offer here? A non-invasive face lift?" "Please!" I stopped him. "Don't depress me." "Maybe for a friend, or your mother," he backtracked. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall had he had my mother in the chair. "Look," he went on. "Here's my face with the lift." Then he covered his mouth and two clear plastic curved things emerged from his mouth. "Here's my face without. It takes off about 5 years." "I think you look great either way," I managed to say. Honestly, I didn't see much of a difference. I didn't say what I wanted to say. After all, he has a drill and he knows how to use it. What I wanted to say was, "Are you f-ing kidding me? Just clean my teeth and let me outta here." You walk around holding plastic in your mouth and who knows where else all day and only go back to 2002? You'd get my attention if you said 1997, but 2002? Come on. The rest of the exam concluded uneventfully, except for encouraging me to get Invisalign, a 3/4 reverse crown or some such mumbo-jumbo, and a sealant for my wisdom teeth. In the good old days a dentist would have lulled you into a false sense of security and postponed the hard-sell til the second visit. Everything moves faster now, I guess. Especially the cost of office space in 90210. I feel lucky to have gotten out of there with my wallet, my 2007 face, and my midwestern brain intact.

We're walking....we're walking....

2007-04-16T16:17:00.000-05:00

My friend emailed me to ask me if I wanted to go walking in one of the canyons here this morning. No matter that my last walk with her included tripping three times and falling face first on the sidewalk . I'm an optimist. I'll keep trying. Her next email included instructions for me. "Wear sweat pants or comfortable pants. Don't wear jeans. Bring water and kleenex in case you have to pee in the bushes. It IS rattlesnake season." OK, now I'm a little worried. I KNOW to wear sweats, not jeans--I have exercised before, believe it or not. And bring kleenex for WHAT?????!! How long are we going to be walking for? And rattlesnakes? This is sounding less and less like a fun hike with a girlfriend and more and more like some bizarre urban game of Survivor. But I followed instructions. Except for the kleenex.

It all kind of reminded of me of a time about 20 or so years ago when a friend of mine was in town and we wanted to go out for fondue (calm down--it was the 80's!!) on a Saturday night. I called my brother and invited him and his wife to join us. "Don't wear jeans", I told him, "dress a little nicer." A few minutes later I called him back. "They don't take reservations and there will probably be a long wait so you might want to eat a little something before you go." "Let me get this straight," he said. "We're going out to dinner, I can't wear jeans, I have to cook my own food, and I have to eat before I go." "Pretty much", I said. But --back to the hike.
So we headed out toward the canyon, me with my long, rattlesnake repelling sweats and a t-shirt, and she with her scarf tied over her layers of shirts. We both carried water bottles. I didn't ask if she had kleenex hidden somewhere. I sort of didn't want to know.

The hike up the canyon was one of those experiences where you think you are going to die during it and once you get to the top you are glad you survived. The whole hike took about 45 minutes and included beautiful views of L.A. On a clear day, my friend told me, you can see the ocean and Catalina Island. As usual, though, it wasn't clear. We saw mansions perched on hills, the Hollywood sign, and many other walkers, most with dogs. I survived the hike and felt great after a shower at home. I can't wait to do it again. I embarrassed my friend a little by saying a friendly "good morning" to many fellow hikers. "It's L.A.," she said, "they'll think you want something from them." I can't think of anything anyone would think I needed from them in the canyon. Except possibly some kleenex.

Crazy Here Crazy There

2007-04-12T22:23:00.000-05:00

There's craziness everywhere. I leave Chicago and one year later the principal at our former elementary school gets demoted, a gorgeous blond mom switches teams and now her ex-husband is trying to get the gym teacher she is dating (not that there's anything wrong with that) fired, and a janitor at our former synagogue is arrested for videotaping children in the restroom (clearly there is something VERY wrong with that). Oh, yes, and it snowed yesterday. Several inches. In April. It would seem to me that the problem is obvious. I left and the whole town fell apart. I know it sounds crazy but how can you argue with such evidence. None of these things happened when I was there. I rest my case.

And then I came to L.A. A place where people bring dogs into stores. Yes, they do. I know, I know, they do that is Europe. But last time I checked we used dollars, not Euros. People here also wear Uggs in 75 degree weather. Well, of course they do. It goes with their scarves. And here is another weird thing specific to the entertainment industry. When you call someone--or should I say someone's assistant--and they can't take the call they say, "Can he return?" Or, even more pretentious, "Can we return?" Not, "Can he return the call?" No. That would take too much time, I guess. "Can he return?" What a great time-saver. And everybody does it. I am planning to start doing it myself. Of course I have no assistant so I have to figure out how to handle that problem. I may pretend to be my own assistant. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Craziness is not limited to one time zone. We can all participate. That's the beauty and the promise of America.

The End of an Era

2007-04-11T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tonight I tried to reach the bag of rice from the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. It was just far enough back that I couldn't reach it. I stood on my tippy-toes. No good. I jumped and grabbed at the same time. No good. I grabbed some kitchen tongs and tried to grab it with that, but each attempt pushed the bag just far enough away so that I couldn't. I thought about dragging a chair over and then came up with another idea. "Boy #1," I called. "Come here for a minute." I explained the problem and started to hand him the tongs. He ignored them. He simply stood on his toes and reached for the bag. He got it. No problem. He is almost 2 inches taller than I am. Once small enough to fit in my arms, I now have to reach up to ruffle his hair. It's the end of an era.

Chance Meeting

2007-04-04T23:43:00.000-05:00

Fate. Destiny. Karma. Kismet. You can be in the wrong place at the wrong time or in the right place at the right time. It's sometimes just a matter of chance.

Today was not a shopping day. It was a return day. I parked at the Farmers Market and started walking through to return something at Nordstrom. I wove my way through the aisles of this open-air market at random. I had just passed a man and a woman in a big floppy hat when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn and look at me. I turned back to look at her. "Are you from Chicago?' she asked. "Yes," I answered, wondering who she was. "Are you Donna's niece?" she asked. Stunned, I answered "Yes." How did this stranger know my aunt who lived overseas? And, even stranger, how did she know who I was? Turns out she had been desperately trying to get ahold of my mother to get ahold of my aunt, who was in Chicago. The mystery woman was a dear friend of my aunt's and was visiting L.A. She was supposed to get together with my aunt in Chicago, but was unable to travel as scheduled due to an ear infection. She had been trying in vain to get my mother's phone number to tell my aunt of her change in travel plans, when all of a sudden I appeared in front of her. Very strange. She had somehow recognized me--she told me I hadn't changed a bit. I thought I had a good memory but she beats me hands down. I must have met her in the past but for the life of me I couldn't remember when. She and her husband were so nice--"Come join us for lunch," they urged.

After I did my return and bought 2 pairs of shoes (it is Nordstrom--that's what they're known for!!! And I have to have a reason to come back and do my next return!) I popped into the restaurant they were at and chatted with them and their daughter and her mother-in-law for a few minutes. Truly truly nice people. Now we all have all our numbers and no one has an excuse for being unable to get in touch.

Chance meetings are a strange thing. What if I had stayed at my car a few more minutes before going into the Farmers Market? What if I had turned down a different aisle? Or if I had been looking down or she had been looking to the left instead of straight ahead as we passed each other? If you think about this stuff too much it will for sure drive you crazy. I guess some things are meant to be, some things just happen, and some things are unexplainable. Figuring out which is which is sometimes the challenge.

Life is Short

2007-04-02T17:49:00.000-05:00

I just heard about the death of a dad from our former elementary school. It was a freak accident--he was on a sunset whale-watching tour with his family while vacationing in Hawaii. The boat's 65-foot mast broke off and hit him in the head, causing his death. He was the only fatality that day. I had met him maybe a few times, but I know his wife from volunteering at school. She is a lovely woman. One of his 3 kids has been in classes with Boy #2. I guess a vacation will always be bittersweet for them. It's all so sad. We read about stuff like this in the papers every day. We bring dinner if we can, we write condolence notes. Then we go back to our busy lives. And our lives go on. For the survivors it eventually goes on but it is never the same. We get so caught up in the little things in life. So we say no to dessert, we worry about losing that extra 7 pounds, we get annoyed with our husbands who don't do things the way we want them to and leave socks on the floor. We spend too much time cleaning and folding laundry and not enough time doing simply nothing with our kids. And we worry and obsess about things that are out of our control. Life is just too short, and sometimes it is too too short and it just isn't fair. I bet his wife would gladly pick his socks up every day without complaining if she just had her husband back. When you hear stories like this, especially if you know the people involved, maybe it should be a reminder to embrace the moment and try to find joy where you can. Let that laundry pile up a little. Go to a movie with a friend instead of paying your bills tonight. Eat dessert first. Life is too short.

Will This Day Never End?

2007-04-02T11:28:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to a movie with a friend. I drove to her house and parked there and then we walked a short way to the theater. I carefully changed OUT of my flip-flops and INTO my gym shoes for the walk. Not that it helped. On the way to the theater, I tripped on my own feet or on the sidewalk or on something or other not one but two times. I didn't fall though. Not on the side streets. No, I saved that for the busy busy intersection right by the theater. I tripped yet again--the third time in half an hour and totally wiped out. Landed on my hands and knees. I felt the thud all through my body and my head. My glasses went flying. My friend picked them, and me, up. Passers-by stared, I started laughing. If I hadn't I would have started crying. "I'm fine," I said as my friend worried. We made it to the movies--up six flights of stairs--the escalator was being repaired. I changed back to flip-flops for the walk back. Didn't trip once.

Once I got safely home, I took a hot bath and got into bed. Mr. Minivan was letting the boys stay up too late so I let him deal with them. Boy #2 came into our room to brush his teeth. "Come kiss me good-night," I said. So he raced to the bed and hurled himself toward me. His head met my mouth. Did my teeth survive? I got up and ran to the bathroom to view the damage. Blood in my mouth--where's it coming from? A cut and swollen lip. Please let this day end with no more injuries. I applied ice and thankfully went to sleep. My teeth survived and, barely, so did I.

The Secret

2007-03-19T10:20:00.000-05:00

You know that book that is so hot right now--The Secret? I haven't read it but I have heard about it. I think I may have found the secret though. It could be the power of positive thinking. Or it could be the power of a good friend. A friend you have fun with, can talk to, and just like hanging with. I feel so lucky right now--I have friends. Plural. They are true givers--all of them--with such generous spirits. Boy #1's bar mitzvah is this weekend and I have been in a frenzy getting ready. A couple of weeks ago I called a friend with fabulous taste. Her house looks like it flew off the pages of a decorating magazine. No piles anywhere. Tablescapes and candles everywhere. I asked her if she would help me get the first floor of my house spruced up for the big weekend and everything else. She was happy to. She came over and walked through the house with a notebook. Taking lots of notes. "I think you need some plants there, some mirrors there, a candle there, something there. That was just in the dining room. We are--and when I say "we" I mean "she" is almost done and my house looks great. It looks so good I'm not sure I live here anymore. There is a candle perched on a bed of pebbles in the foyer, fabulous pillows on the couch, pillows on the new bench in the backyard, and plants all over the place. We spent 4 days shopping and arranging. So far. Last night she said she was going to be sad when it was done. I told her not to worry--I still have an office and a whole upstairs to get to. But the best part of all--aside from the backyard bench which I am dying to read a book on--is that it has been so much fun hanging with her and doing all this together. And I think you know what I mean when I say "together." I have been joking around with her--calling her "my decorator"--but really--I am thrilled to call her "my friend."

Card Tricks

2007-03-06T21:28:00.000-06:00

I have recently realized that there is a disturbing new trend going on. Recently I have started really looking closely at my credit card receipts as I sign them and I have been noticing a difference between the copy the merchant keeps and the copy I keep. At least three times in the last week I have noticed that my full card number AND expiration date is printed out on the copy the store keeps!! My copy thoughtfully has all the numbers except for the last four x-ed out. What is going on here? So I have either been giving back "my" copy or crossing out all the numbers except for the last four on "their" copy. It's exhausting having to check up on Big Brother. If we can't trust our friends at MasterCard, who can we trust?

A Teeny Tiny World

2007-02-26T12:01:00.000-06:00

Yesterday Mr. Minivan and I went to a program at our temple with Boy #1. It was the 2nd in a series of three sessions for the 7th graders. The first was attended by the students only. The parents come to the last two sessions. The program is run by therapists from a Jewish rehab center in L.A. whose mission is "to treat and prevent addictive and behaviorial disorders through the comination of Jewish spirituality, the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and psychotherapy." They talked about communication with your kids and many other topics. It was a great session and I am really looking forward to the final one.

The therapist who led the parents' session was a woman who reminded me so much of someone but I couldn't figure it out. I felt like I had seen her before but didn't know where. I figured she just reminded me of everyone I had grown up with. When we left I walked out with her. "Kathy", I said, "are you from L.A.?" "No," she answered, "I'm from Chicago." "Me too!" I said, "I feel like I know you from somewhere." "I know," she said, "I was looking at you and thinking the same thing."
"Where are you from?" we both asked at the same time. "Don't say Highland Park," I said--as she said "Highland Park." Turns out she not only is from my hometown, but we were in the same graduating class in high school. Of course I pulled out my yearbook as soon as I got home. Yep, it was her.

What are the chances of that? My world is getting smaller by the minute.

One Year Later...

2007-02-25T17:06:00.000-06:00

Exactly one year ago today we were in a limo on the way to the airport. With one way tickets. On the way to California. Mr. Minivan and Boy #1 were looking out the front window. Boy #2 and I were looking out the rear window, tears rolling down our faces. We were moving. Now it's a year later and we've all pretty much adjusted. Mr. Minivan still works a lot but is home a lot more, too. He is coaching Boy #2's basketball team. The team has a lot of potential, I'll say that. Boy #1 has made some really nice friends and is currently playing basketball and tennis. Boy #2 also has made some good friends and is playing basketball and baseball. I know where to go to get shoes repaired and to get a picture framed. I know which grocery store always has good grapes and which one has the yogurt I like. I rarely have to use my GPS anymore and almost never get lost. I have even started bumping into people I know. I have made several friends and one very good friend, thankfully. They say what a difference a day makes or a year makes, but the truth is--what a difference a friend makes.

I Heart My Computer

2007-02-14T21:33:00.000-06:00

After over two days of being tortured by my new MacBook Pro which would not connect to my wireless connection I am finally connected!!! I feel like my lost arm is growing back. Today I spent most of my "free" time at the Apple Store or on a three-way call with Apple and my internet provider. The problem is with my modem which does not recognize something or other in my MacBook. I listened to both of them on this conference call and it was like I was listening to ancient Greek. At least the Greek-speakers knew what they were talking about. So I am back online on my own computer, I am recreating my address book, and getting photos I sent out emailed back to me from my friends and family. I even bought a back-up hard drive today. And tomorrow I am going to learn how to use it. Even though Mr. Minivan is out of town it has ended up being a Happy Valentine's Day.

To Die For?

2007-02-14T21:29:00.000-06:00

Some women get flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day. Some lucky ones even get jewelry. I got a stomachache and a plastic rose. Mr. Minivan is on a plane to New York so my two young Valentines and I joined my NBF here and her two kids for dinner. We went to a Japanese/sushi chain buffet that offers lots of beautifully-presented but very average food for one price. Kind of like cruise ship food without the seasickness. Kids are charged according to their height. Boy #1 ate rice and fruit. Unfortunately he is tall enough to be charged as an adult. Each female patron got a plastic rose as she exited. How festive. On a normal Valentine's Day I'd be looking for sexy lingerie to put on. Now I just want sweatpants and my remote. It was such a fun night though--we laughed the whole time. That's what it's all about --not the food. I'd much rather eat at Subway with someone who is fun and interesting than eat at the fanciest restaurant with people who bore me. Happy Valentine's Day to all my friends and family--near and far. I'll meet you at Subway soon!

An Apple a Day...

2007-02-12T19:53:00.000-06:00

My computer woes continue. My MacBook Pro arrived today and I can't get it to connect to the internet although the iMac we have has no problem. I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with my friends from Apple and our internet service provider. We--they--think it might be a problem with the AirPort in the computer. I guess Quality Control blinks once in a while. I have an appointment with a Genius at the Apple Store tonight. Details to follow.....

Jeans' Genius

2007-02-11T21:43:00.000-06:00

Sometimes we bloggers have no idea what our next posting will be. A slight case of blogger's block, perhaps. Thankfully, once in a while you get an unexpected gift. That's what happened today.

Boy #1 was invited to a party about an hour away, so the whole family piled into the minivan to make the drive. We dropped Boy #1 off and Mr. Minivan, Boy #2, and I headed to the local mall to get some lunch and visit my favorite store, Nordstrom. Once we had eaten we went to shop a little. After a while Boy #2 got a little antsy so I took him to get a drink while Mr. Minivan went to the Men's Department by himself. He met us shortly with a shopping bag in hand. He proudly showed us the new pair of jeans he had bought himself. "Are they for you or for Mom?" asked Boy #2. Out of the mouths of babes. Here's a clue, honey--when your child asks you that question--whatever the item--return it. Immediately. They were jeans...with just a bit too much embellishment on the pockets. After I stopped laughing I told Mr. Minivan that the jeans had to go. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with embellished jeans for men. He's a great guy and very in touch with his feminine side--but I had to draw the line somewhere. So we went back to the Men's Department, he tried on the jeans, Boy #2 and I laughed even harder, and the jeans got returned. I guess it could have been worse. I'll let you know when I figure out how.

Super Bowl Blues

2007-02-05T20:34:00.000-06:00

We are big football fans in this house. And when I say "we", I mean Mr. Minivan, Boy #1, and Boy #2. I don't quite know when Boy #2 became a football fan but all I know is this year he knows all about the game, all the rules, all the players, and is happy to sit by himself and watch a football game. How disappointing. I thought I at least had him on my side. You know my side--the I like football for the social aspects of it side. This year, as soon as we knew the Bears were in the Super Bowl, we started planning for our Super Bowl party. And when I say "we", I mean me. I went out to Party City the day after the last playoff game and bought orange and blue paper goods. I even bought one of those plastic football shaped chip and dip holders. I know. It's scary. We sent out an Evite, bought beer and Diet Cherry Coke, and I got out my chili recipe. The party was a lot of fun. At first, that is. Lots of screaming and shouting at the TV, because, as you know, that helps them to play better. Things got a little quieter at the end. But we're from Chicago. We're used to this. We'll get 'em next year.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ

2007-02-05T19:44:00.001-06:00

If you want to be notified when a new posting is put up, please either email me at Martwork1@yahoo.com or resubscribe through Bloglet on the right. As you may have heard--I lost my entire address book of email addresses. Thanks.

Blue Used To Be My Favorite Color

2007-02-05T19:17:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago I turned on my computer and nothing happened. Except for a blue screen. I don't know a lot about computers but I do know that a blue screen is not good. In fact, I believe it is actually bad. So I packed up my laptop and headed for the Apple Store. My friendly neighborhood Genius told me it was the hard drive-which I had pretty much figured out already. As tears filled my eyes--because, of course, nothing was backed up--he handed me a sheet of recommended local sources to try to recover my data. I took my injured laptop to one of them. The good news was that the hard drive was under warranty. The bad news was that Apple couldn't locate a replacement hard drive. (Isn't that sort of like McDonald's running out of french fries?) The better news was that Apple was going to replace my entire computer with a newer, better model. The next bad news was that they kept my computer for a couple of weeks and then told me they were able to recover nothing from my hard drive. So I then sent the hard drive to an even better data recovery company with a "clean room"--whatever that is--in the hopes that my 2 years of photos, emails, bookmarks, tax info and whatever else I can't remember could be recovered. I got the call today. My data is not recoverable. I feel like I have lost an arm. So if you are reading this and haven't backed up your data--back away from your computer slooooowly--and go buy an external hard drive. And learn how to use it. If I can help just one of you out there in cyberspace then my loss will not have been in vain. That's the kind I am--always concerned with others. Just trying to help.

Dear Oprah

2006-11-07T13:36:00.000-06:00

Dear Oprah,

We've been together a long time. I've watched your show for ages. I've even been to several of them. I hoped and hoped one of the ones I attended would be about what not to wear or even the famous giveaway show but that never happened. You did give me a very nice globe at your show about what the world thinks of the U.S. There was no giveaway at the show about the abusive alcoholic husband. After that one I decided to stop going for awhile because the topics kept getting heavier and heavier. I figured maybe it was me. But I don't hold a grudge. It was very cool just to be in your studio hanging with you. BTW, thanks for the globe--it is in Boy #2's bedroom and he really likes it. I don't need another laptop or a teeny-tiny video camera anyway.

We've been together thru good and bad hair days, various diets, the whole Tom Cruise-jumping-on-the-couch-thing, book club. We even went to that Grammy event together. I could definitely see you, me and Gayle together on the next road trip. We have so many good memories, you and I. That's why I'm a little confused about something. I have been a loyal subscriber to your magazine, O, for years. I recently bought subscriptions as gifts for a couple of friends at the price of $18 per year. That's why I was so surprised to get a bill for my own renewal at $28 per year. I called the magazine customer service line last night and spoke with Jenny. I told her I thought the regular price was $24 per year. "OK, we can make it $24," she said. "But I just paid $18 each for gift subscriptions," I said. "OK," she said, "we can make it $18." I never realized I could set my own price. Have magazine subscriptions become like airplane tickets--where every passenger pays a different price? And shouldn't loyal returning customers get the best price without having to call and ask for it?

I'm not mad or anything--don't get me wrong--I'm just wondering. It's no big deal--and I'm not going to let this affect our relationship. We'll still see each other every weekday. Oh, did you know we don't live too far from each other in CA? If you are down my way and want to come hang just give me a call. Jen-Jen and Gayle can come too--it'll be a girl thing. I'll pick up some sushi and get the pomtinis ready. See you soon!!

IKEA Idea

2006-11-04T14:16:00.000-06:00

Last week was kind of hectic here. Mr. Minivan's father passed away and we had a ton of company. Friends, relatives, and other assorted visitors. Nice to see everyone--not so nice why we were seeing everyone. Anyway, Mr. Minivan's brother--we'll just call him Doug--stayed with us for about a week. It was lovely to have him and in between composing a eulogy, demanding expensive out-of-season berries and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, and trying to beat Boy #2 in ping-pong, he came up with a few decorating ideas for me. "You need a TV cabinet to put all this equipment in. I don't like the table the kids' computer is on. And you need a new computer chair." He also had a solution--"Let's go to IKEA and get some things and I'll put them together." Naively, believing he was the handier of the brothers, I went along with his idea. I guess I had forgotten about the magic of IKEA. A few years ago I bought a CD tower there and got to work. 200 parts, 4 hours, and a sore shoulder later, I had it put together. I seem to remember at the time thinking, "I'll never do that again." But, of course, I forgot that soon after. Anyway, we set off to IKEA, over the hill and through Burbank, and emerged with an "antique stained" wood TV cabinet, a small computer desk, and a very comfortable computer chair that somehow fit into an almost-flat box.

We got home and he began to work. I was online in the next room, surfing to the comforting sound of an electric screwdriver when the first sounds of trouble disturbed me. "Oh no!" he said. "What??!!" I asked as I ran into the other room. "False alarm," he answered. A few minutes later, "Oh, no!" and then,"Sh%$^t!!" That didn't sound so false to me. "What, what??!!" I asked again. Turns out that the instructions, sketches really, with not a word of English or even Swedish in sight, were a little confusing, and that the cabinet doors or maybe the shelves, were put on backwards, and were difficult to remove. And when I say "were put on backwards", I think you know by whom. The cabinet was functional, but not as attractive as it was supposed to be. All of a sudden I remembered why I had made that mental note a few years ago to only buy items I could carry alone--not furniture--that is, at IKEA. But I also remembered my new mantra "Don't sweat the small stuff" and I told him not to worry about it. But he worried and stewed. "Maybe I can take the doors off and drill holes on the other side," he said. "Don't worry about it. You've done enough," I said. More than, in fact. "Why don't we take it back and get another one and I'll put it together." I stared at him. I mean, I've heard that "measure twice, cut once" thing, but this seemed a little extreme to me. "Well," I said, "if you and Mr. Minivan want to load this thing into my van and take it back you can but I'm not going back there."

So that's exactly what they did. And our friends at IKEA gave them a really hard time about returning it but after a long conversation with several employees and the manager, agreed to keep the cabinet and put it together properly. Which, as I thought about it, was a win-win. For me, that is. I went back the other day and picked it up. I told the guy helping me that I needed the name and number of the guy who put it together because he was probably going to be my next husband. He laughed as if it were a joke....can you believe that?

The cabinet looks great in our family room. IKEA's not so bad after all. I was just browsing through the catalog and there is this cute little coffee table....

A perfect morning? Not eggs-actly

2006-09-17T16:36:00.000-05:00

Today Mr. Minivan and I went to a bar/Mexican restaurant to watch the Bears game. Or at least, he went to watch the Bears game. Here in LA, the game started at 10 AM. We walked into this big place with tons of TVs all over, each with little team pennants on them showing which game was on which TV. I noticed many people with football jerseys and caps on. I thought it was only kids who wore team jerseys but I guess I was wrong. Women, too, had jerseys on and some had even flashdanced them up--scissoring them into sexy little tops. I felt as if I were at a costume party without a costume on. And one of the many strange things I noticed this morning was that there were tons of Philadelphia Eagles fans there--all in proper costume. Has everyone from Philadelphia moved to LA? It sort of felt like it.

Mr. Minivan ordered breakfast--huevos rancheros, while I decided to wait. People who came in after us and ordered got served, but no huevos appeared at our table. You would think that for the kitchen in a Mexican restaurant to put out an order of huevos rancheros it would not be a big deal but apparently it was. After about 40 minutes he decided to check on his order. The cute bartender said she would check on it. She came back 5 or so minutes later and said they were working on it. 15 minutes later we checked again. This time a manager said he would check on it and never came back. Yet another cute bartender or waitress checked. Still working on it--but this time she showed us a piece of paper and said "I put the order in!", which, of course, made us feel much better. Finally finally his breakfast arrived. And here's the clincher--as she put the plate of eggs, rice, and beans in front of him she asked, "Do you need silverware with that?" Um....yes, that's how one usually eats eggs. You want some giggles or eyelash batting----maybe a beer or a very simple mixed drink--she's your girl. You want some silverware or some ice in your water--maybe not. So now my theory is that you need some sort of IQ test to work there but that they take all the low scores because the manager is so stupid he thinks the lower scores are better--like in golf.

The Eagles fans occasionally burst into song, singing the Eagles fight song. How cute. I ended up eating nachos for breakfast--not that there's anything wrong with that. Next week we get DirectTV, and I won't have to leave my house to not watch the game. And the service at my house will be much better. I, at least, will come back to tell you you're not getting any food. Oh yeah, and I hear that the Bears crushed Detroit. Another beautiful Sunday in LA.

This Little Piggy Went To....

2006-09-15T22:35:00.000-05:00

My toenail is hanging by a thread. There. I said it. Yes, it's gross. Very very gross. About a month ago I smacked my big toe on a brick stair wearing very cute and oh-so-fashionable flip-flops. At first I thought the nail would survive, even with all the blood and pain. Then, shortly after, I started to think maybe not. But last night, after I once again smacked the same toe on Boy #1's size 12 tennis shoes lying in the middle of the kitchen, I was sure. Toenails are not supposed to be standing up on your toe, are they? I have consulted with a friend, a toenail expert who has lost several of her own, and she has instructed me to do nothing. "It will fall off by itself when it is ready," she told me. "Leave it alone." So I am leaving it alone. I got a 9-toe pedicure today. At least the survivors will look adorable.

Message Received

2006-08-03T18:31:00.000-05:00

As my close personal friend Oprah says, sometimes the universe has a way of sending you a message. Sometimes it's a big message like don't drink and drive and get busted and spew bigoted garbage if you're a big movie star or anyone else for that matter. Sometimes it's a somewhat smaller message. Today I got a little message by special delivery.

Today I went shopping with a friend. The first store we went to was a local sort-of-drugstore. You know the kind--they sell everything from school supplies to toilet paper to self-serve candy by the pound to make-up and hair products. Well, this time it was the hair products that got me. I got sucked into their "Buy 2 Get the 3rd at 1/2 Price" offer and found 3 supposedly fabulous products that I don't need. And I truly mean that. I only wish I had the self-restraint of one of my friends who, several years ago, told me that she had a new policy that she wasn't buying any new hair products til she used up what she already had--because as we all know, once you buy something new you never go back and use up all the half-used-up products you already have.

So I bought the 2 and got the 3rd at half price and took the plastic bag from the salesclerk and continued on my merry way to a few more stores. I browsed and looked but didn't buy anything else til the last store where I bought a new belt. Or maybe two. OK, three--but they were deeeeeply discounted. Anyway, I got home and realized that I had the bag with the belts but not the bag with the hair products. I called the drugstore to see if I had possibly left it there or maybe someone had turned it in and was told no. I then called the other places I had been to and--no bag.

I decided to go back to the stores and search myself. It's not that I don't trust people. It's just that I trust myself more. If you've met half my parents you know where my suspicious nature comes from. I can't say any more than that on this subject or I may find the locks changed when I get back to my parents' house tonight. Anyway, I went back to the drugstore and asked if maybe the bag had been turned in since I had called. The saleswoman felt my pain and felt really bad but--no bag. So I retraced my steps to all the places I had been and once again no bag. Then I decided to go back to the drugstore and leave my phone number in case the bag with my products turned up again. The saleswoman who had helped me said, "We were looking for you. We ran down the street looking for you after you left. A minute or two after you left a woman with long blond hair came in with the bag and the three products you bought and wanted to return them. She said her husband had bought them for her. We said--but these were just purchased and she said--OK I'll keep them." Well, the saleswoman and I both knew that she'd come back another time and try to return them. A little shocking and a lot scummy, right? Not to mention that her hair was straight and even the dumbest husband probably wouldn't purchase curly-hair products for her. I guess the peroxide had gotten to her.

So I am looking on the positive side. I don't have 3 more products that I don't need. I don't have 3 more products that I may not like and will feel guilty about every time I reach past them to get to the products I do like. The universe has sent me a message and all I have to say is "Got it."

A Star-ry Star-ry Night

2006-07-23T08:57:00.000-05:00

Most Saturday nights I can barely make it through Weekend Update. Last night, however, I stayed up late and had tons of energy. No Red Bull required.

Mr. Minivan and I went to a very cool, very Hollywood, party held at producer and composer David Foster's estate in Malibu. David Foster has won 14 Grammys and written tons of songs you would know. He's worked with Celine Dion, Earth, Wind and Fire, Whitney Houston, Kenny Loggins, Kenny Rogers, and on and on and on. Oh, yeah, and Barbra Streisand. For those of you who watch such things, he was on American Idol this last season, too. Anyway, this event--A Starry Night -- was given by the Grammy Foundation, which Foster is very active in, honoring L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa for his work and commitment to youth and education.

We arrived at Foster's private street in Malibu and were directed to a large field where a valet took our car. Then we were quickly transported by shuttle bus past a guard gate and past other houses on the street. I wondered if he invited the neighbors--if that's considered proper etiquette in L.A. I sort of felt like we were on a tour as we entered his grounds. Lush foliage, beautiful flowers, long winding road. We were let off on his front lawn. The huge house loomed above us like a castle. Many stairs led up to the house but, of course, anyone going to the house did not have to take the stairs. A very fancy funicular was also available. We, however, were not going anywhere near the house. The cocktail part of the evening took place on the lawn. Bars were set up all over, and waiters strolled the grounds, offering hors d'ouerves. We chatted with a bunch of nice people, all in the music business. Lots of networking going on on the lawn.
We met Johnny and Laura, who are going to Tony Bennett's birthday party in a week or so. They were both lovely and very friendly. Laura gave me her card and said "Call me--you're new here." Note to self: I need cards.
We watched the red carpet area from a distance, and saw lots of stars arriving. Dionne Warwick got there at the same time we did. I didn't quite understand her outfit--pink jacket with subtle sequined stripes, red top underneath, pink pants with sequined flowers--but what do I know about music legends and their fashion choices? Donald Trump arrived in a huge limo. Too bad, I was expecting a helicopter just like in "The Apprentice." Melania wasn't with him. I guess she was at home changing diapers. During cocktails we mingled with Eric Benet, Josh Groban, and probably others I didn't recognize. You see what years of listening to talk radio does to you?

After a while we were led into the dining area--Foster's tennis courts. About 45 tables of 12 were squished together on the courts in front of a stage. We were two tables away from Foster's table where The Donald, Oprah (white pantsuit, white cami, verrrry curly hair), Steadman, and Oprah's friend Gayle King sat. Oh, then Quincy Jones and Babyface arrived and sat down at their table. One of the guys from ZZ Top--Billy Gibbons-- was there and so was Foster's neighbor, Dick Van Dyke.

Dinner was served around 9:00--a salad, some sort of chicken, mashed potaoes, and green beans all tied up in a little bunch. I asked our waiter if Oprah was eating the same food as everyone else. He said he'd check on it when he could. Soon the show began. David Foster welcomed everyone to his house, which, it turns out, is not his, or, at least, soon will not be his. He is going through or has just gone through a divorce (from his wife Linda Thompson Jenner, who was Elvis's girlfriend way back when and was married to Bruce Jenner before marrying Foster) and his wife is getting the house.

Comedian George Lopez opened the show and introduced the mayor. Antonio Villaraigosa is the first Hispanic mayor of L.A. in over one hundred years and all I can say is "Please, Mr. Mayor, stick to politics, and leave the comedy to trained professionals." Villaraigosa is a tiny little guy and is very commited to improving the lives of at-risk youth through after-school programs and other positive activities.

Then Foster came back out and introduced a group of very talented young people who had spent the summer at "Grammy camp". They played a jazzy number or two and were excellent. The oldest one was 19 and the drummer was 15.
Then the real show started. Natasha Bedingfield sang "Unwritten" and "Wild Horses". She was great. After she was done, she told Foster that she would love to be the next Mrs. Foster and didn't need a castle like this house. He asked her if she was single, which became a running joke during the evening. He told her he had a song for her and played a few bars of "Here Comes the Bride." The audience laughed. Those wild and crazy Hollywood folks, right?

Kenneth "Babyface" Edmunds performed and Oprah was rockin' out to his music. He was fantastic. I finally get why chicks dig singers. He sang three songs including a medley of Boyz II Men songs which he had written. Eric Benet really worked the crowd walking to the stage from the floor, stopping often to sing soulfully to different women and hold their hands. He sang "The Last Time" --with lyrics "This is the last time I'll fall in love."--which according to what we've all read, is not true. He was wearing a white sport coat.

Foster's young discovery Renee Olstead came out and was awesome. He asked her if she was single. Big laugh from the crowd. At some point Foster came out and said. "I took my stepson out to the back 40 (??) and said, "One day, son, this will all belong to your ex-wife." Ba-dum. Big laugh again. It is--was--his house. You have to be polite.

BeBe Winans and saxophonist Dave Koz came out and BeBe sang a song he wrote called "I Care". Dave Koz is a tiny little guy, too, but plays big on the sax. They were great. After the song Dave Koz told us that Foster (who I forgot to mention played piano for all the singers) had written "the best song ever for the sax", the theme from "St. Elmo's Fire" and that Koz had learned it when he was 15 and would love to play a little of it with Foster. So they did. It was great--everyone recognizes that song. BeBe Winans was also wearing a white sport coat. This could be a new trend. You heard it here first.

The waiter reported back to me that Oprah ate what everyone else did. That concerned me a little because I believe mashed potatoes are one of her trigger foods. I saw Gayle get up and figured she was going to the bathroom. So of course I got up, too. She stopped at another table to talk with someone and I went to the ladies' room. I figured I'd wait for her there. Oh--the bathrooms--The nicest. Port-a-potties. Ever. Stalls, running water, real soap, those helpful seat covers. Delightful. Of course, Gayle never showed so I headed back. I ran into BeBe Winans and told him he was fabulous. Our eyes met. For a minute we had a moment. He said thanks. I asked if he was from Chicago (He does know Oprah)--no, he's from Detroit. The moment was over.

One of the guys at our table, a very connected independent music promoter asked if there was anyone I wanted to meet. Of course, I said Oprah, but she was the only one he didn't know. I thought about meeting Trump, but I was afraid I'd be so mesmerized by that hair that I would embarrass myself. I also don't like to interrupt these people while they're eating. Besides, I didn't bring my camera. Next time I will.

Josh Groban--another small guy with a big big voice--got up to sing. Apparently Gayle King looooves Josh, so they had a little exchange before he began. He wore a black untucked shirt and jeans. And messy hair. I know he's a music guy and all, but would it have killed him to tuck in his shirt or maybe comb his hair? If I were his mother I wouldn't have let him go to a fancy party looking like this. I know this is evidence that I'm getting old, but I'm just saying....
His voice belongs to a much older, much bigger man. He started off with a beautiful song in Italian--maybe from an opera--I don't know. After that song he said with a wink, "Gayle, that was for you." Then he said "I had to sing this next one" and sang a beautiful version of "Starry Starry Night." What a great voice!

Dionne Warwick closed the show. And guess what? David Foster asked her if she was single. "Yes," she answered, "and I'm going to stay that way!" Now THAT was funny. She opened with "I Know I'll Never Love This Way Again" and then sang "What the World Needs Now is Love." Make up your mind, Dionne.

Then we grabbed our goody bags and caught the next shuttle back to the parking lot and back to real life. Just another day in La-La Land. Incredible evening. Even without the Red Bull.

The Honeymoon's Over

2006-07-13T21:26:00.000-05:00

My parents have started taking me for granted. Yes, sad but true. I've been here for exactly 4 weeks and today I actually had to make Boy #2 breakfast!!. I know, it's shocking. I actually had to drag my butt out of bed and cook an egg for the kid. I will have to have a serious talk with my mother. I can't believe it's come to this. Does she not understand how things are supposed to work? Does she think she can just go on her merry way in the morning to her exercise class and shirk her duties at home? And my dad is not so innocent either. How can he get breakfast ready for Boy #2 if he's on the golf course? My parents really need to get their priorities straight.

The tables have certainly turned

2006-07-05T20:14:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school and home from college, I was the one going out at night. My parents would caution me to be careful and ask where I was going. As I raced out of the house in search of fun, I remember sort of snickering at them, at home, watching TV. And in those days, remember, there were maybe 5 channels! Now, I realize, the tables have turned. I am "home" for the summer, living in my old bedroom, showering in the bathroom I shared with my three brothers, and deja-vu-ing all over again. My kids are going to camp here, one at overnight camp in Wisconsin, and one at day camp close by. Mr. Minivan is holding down the fort--sort of--in L.A., and I am having flashbacks of decades ago. Actually, it is very nice staying with my parents. In the morning I hear Boy #2 get up and then I hear the clink and clank of dishes and silverware. When I come downstairs he is all fed and ready for camp. I tell my mom I'm running out for a bit and come back 4 hours later and Boy #2 is busy and happy. It's sort of like having a live-in staff. It's fabulous. Except for the fact that the staff's social life seems to be booming. They go to plays, out to dinner, to baseball games, golfing, to bridge games, etc. Meanwhile, I'm totally caught up on Entourage and Extreme Makeover Home Edition. They are starting to cramp MY social life. I mean, I actually have to ask them if they will be home to stay with Boy #2 if I want to go out at night. Now I'm the one who waits up to hear their key in the door. And last night when they got home at midnight the second I heard their footsteps I yelled "go to bed" at them down the stairs. My dad asked me if I wanted to go out with them one night next week. I couldn't help it. I had to break it to him gently. "I'd love to, Dad," I said, "but you know my policy on socializing with the help."

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

2006-06-11T21:48:00.000-05:00

I am getting so tired of people doubting me. Or even worse--calling me a liar-- when I have the courtesy to let them know of my star sightings. After all, sightings are so common here that it's really no big deal to us residents. I just feel that I have a duty to all the little people I know back in the Heartland, back in the Midwest, the South, and the East, to let them know what is going on out here. So when I tell people that I saw Pamela Anderson Lee at a Little League game (stringy bleached blond hair, layered t-shirts, looks like she's been around a few blocks a few times) or Jerry Seinfeld at a burger place (burger, half a bun, no fries, looks exactly like Jerry Seinfeld, jeans, blue polo shirt, driving an in-perfect-condition powder blue 1970's VW Bug), why must they doubt me? IF I were going to make up a sighting, wouldn't I come up with one just slightly better than, say, Pamela Anderson? I mean, c'mon, I would at least throw a Barbra Streisand or a Julia Roberts at you, wouldn't I? I am just trying to report breaking news as it occurs. And I can't always get a good photo. I only have a Canon PowerShot. It has a tiny little zoom. Sometimes you are just going to have to be satisfied with Pamela back or Jerry's VW. It's called TRUST, people. Get with it.

one more thing

2006-06-11T21:47:00.000-05:00

Oh, also, Mr. Minivan and Boys #1 & 2 sat next to Matt Damon at breakfast today. (Vegetarian egg white omelette, if you must know.)
OOPS--I guess it wasn't Matt Damon after all! That's the last time I take second-hand information. I need a fact-checker and fast!!!

This boot wasn't made for walking

2006-05-28T18:26:00.000-05:00

I'm not the most athletic person. Seriously. I'm not. I know you find that hard to believe, but it's true. That's why it's so hard for me to believe I really like a certain kind of exercise class. Two words. Boot camp. Yes, boot camp. Usually a military-style kind of exercise class where the instructor takes quite a bit of joy in yelling at his students to "motivate" them. I like the class because it is always different. It doesn't get boring because you aren't always doing the same thing each class. It is the kind of thing where you feel like you are going to die during the class and then afterward you feel great. This boot camp was founded by a gay-Jewish-former-addict-now-sober guy who is apparently a very tough teacher. I haven't taken one of his classes yet. What scared me a little about his classes was learning that if you throw up during the first class you get a free t-shirt. I love a free anything but, c'mon! I'm sticking to the non-hyphenated teachers for now. I survived the first class and have learned something new about myself each class. During the first class I took I learned that I can run on a treadmill for half an hour. During the last class I took I learned that even my shoulders can sweat. Can't wait to see what I learn next week...

Target got me again

2006-05-24T16:37:00.000-05:00

It all started because of an egg crate mattress pad. Boy # 1 is going to overnight camp this summer and I wanted to get him a foam mattress pad to put on top of his flimsy little cot mattress. You know, so he'd be more comfortable. Like a 12 year old boy actually cares about stuff like that. Like the foamy egg crate mattress pad is actually going to come out of its wrapping. So I went to one of my favorite stores, Target, for the mattress pad, and a few other things. Well, $250 later, I am back at home, wondering what the hell just happened. I did get a few cleaning supplies, and a really cute workout outfit that I didn't try on--of which at least one piece will probably not be quite right, necessitating another trip to return--and probably make a few more purchases--and the cycle continues.

The masterminds at Target are brilliant, I must admit. Everything there is displayed so nicely. They always have something cute and new and colorful. You will for sure find something there that you never even knew existed yet you realize you need it desperately. Little colorful cubes of dishwashing detergent or cute straw dispensers that would look great on that table in your backyard that you've never served dinner on but probably would if you had a new set of brightly colored plastic plates and, of course, that straw dispenser. And don't forget the red and yellow containers for ketchup and mustard. One more task for your to-do list: "Somehow transfer ketchup and mustard to red and yellow containers." Yeah, right.

But Target and I have such a good relationship that I don't even feel guilty about today. I know we're meant to be together. We have a lot in common. We both like the same things. We've been down this road before, Target and I. I go there, spend a lot, do the drive of shame home, and enjoy my purchases. Then we take a little break from each other. And then, soon, before I even realize it, I'm back ready to do it all over again.

Happy Mother's Day

2006-05-14T16:19:00.000-05:00

So tonight Mr. Minivan invited 3 business associates over for a little BBQ. I know, I know, what could be more special and more celebratory on Mother's Day than eating char-grilled meat with your husband's business cronies? I mean, anyone can go out and bring home roses. I am so lucky. When I mentioned that that was an unusual way of celebrating--let's face it--this Hallmark holiday--he said the three little words that strike fear into most women's hearts. Yes, he said, "I'll do everything." Yes it's true. AND--the thing is--he actually believes he will. This is a man who proudly tells me he's cleaned up the kitchen when what he really means to say is "I put the dishes in the sink." And then he said, "We'll get ready-made salads." Well, I have a reputation to uphold--business associates or not, and that was not going to fly.

He did go to the store and shop, and he did all the grilling. He also "cleaned up the kitchen". It was actually a very nice evening. Even without the ready-made salads.

They're Taking Over My Brain

2006-05-14T12:27:00.000-05:00

I fear that I am becoming one of them. It seems to be happening slowly, almost without my realizing it. Yet I think that's how it works out here. The other day it was 67 degrees outside and I put on a long-sleeved t shirt. Yes. A. Long. Sleeved. T. Shirt. And the thing is, I didn't even realize what was happening until I put it together with a few other clues. I spoke with a friend from Chicago and she told me it was 44 and cold and rainy. And what went through my mind was "Yuck. Who would want to live somewhere where it is 44 and cold and rainy in the middle of May?" OMG!!! I have only been here for a couple of months. My blood is actually starting to thin. But what is even worse is what's happening in my head. Is it possible that there is something in the water here? But here is how I know for sure that something funny is going on. I drove up La Cienega the other day and gazed toward the hills and toward Sunset, the scene of my nightmare come to life, and I thought, "that doesn't look so steep after all." I've got to do something before it's too late to save myself. But I have to run out first. Let me just go grab a sweatshirt to take with me--after all, it is only going to be 70 today.

Driving Myself Crazy

2006-03-29T11:03:00.000-06:00

My parents were here last week for a visit. They drove out to Las Vegas from Chicago in February for a couple of months and then came to spend a few days with us. My mom wanted to get the oil changed in her Lexus, so I called the local Lexus dealer and asked for the service department. "How much is an oil change?" I asked. "$74.95" was the answer. Um, no. We Midwesterners think a $74.95 oil change better include a pedicure at the very least. So the oil change would wait. We had a lot of fun, went to Santa Monica, the Farmers Market--my new favorite place in L.A.-- and had lunch with a friend of my dad's at Mel's Drive-In, a retro-y diner. I plugged the address into the GPS in my car, and we were off. The friendly voice of the GPS directed us up La Cienega. I could see the street getting steeper as it approached the hills in the distance. Have I ever mentioned that I have a recurring anxiety dream where I'm driving up a hill and it gets steeper and steeper and my car starts rolling backward? Anyway, we are driving up La Cienega and I can see that there is a stop light almost at the top of the hill--just where we have to make a left turn onto Sunset. Of course, I am the first car that is stopped at the light, still headed uphill, having to make a left turn when the light changes. And there is a big truck in back of me. My heart is pounding. My dream has become my reality. The light turns green. I take my foot off the brake and put it on the gas. In the few seconds between those two actions, my car starts to roll backwards a few inches. Now my heart is really pounding. I step on the gas and thankfully, start going forward and make the turn. I hope this lunch is good, because I'm never going back to this place again. My dad's friend gets there and my heart has returned to a semi-normal rhythm. I ask him if all the streets leading to Sunset are that steep. "No," he says, "that's pretty much the worst one. I usually try to avoid that one." Now he tells me.

A Big Sighting

2006-03-22T22:19:00.000-06:00

As you may or may not know, I have pretty much been a prisoner in my house lately. Waiting for repairmen is my new hobby. So tonight I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house to go to Boy #2's Little League game. We got there a little early so he could warm up and there seemed to be a little buzz in the air. My fellow baseball moms told me that Tom Cruise's son was on the opposing team. Little Connor was actually the catcher. Finally, my subscription to People magazine was paying off--I knew his son's name! We all wondered whether Tom and Katie, or TomKat, as they are known, would show up. The other moms were talking about the paparazzi huddled together on a grassy knoll near the other team's bleachers. "They are not allowed to come any closer." "Can you believe that's their job?" Shortly before the game started, the flash bulbs went wild. TomKat was in the house. I mean, in the park. She is very pretty and very pregnant. He looks exactly like Tom Cruise. All the baseball moms on my team seemed to be on their cell phones alerting their friends. I was watching Katie rub Tom's back, his hand on her leg. I then decided to go hang out by the other bleachers. I mean, I'm new in town. What a great opportunity to make some new friends, right? Up close they look exactly like themselves. They didn't look crazy. And I think you know what I mean. Tom was shouting out encouraging baseball dad stuff to his son. Katie was rubbing his back. I texted a couple of friends the breaking news. One of them told me that she had just seen on Entertainment Tonight that Katie was in Ohio preparing to give birth. "She's sitting on a bleacher 50 feet from me," I said. The other one called me a liar and demanded photos. I actually took a couple of photos when Boy #2 was up at bat that would have been perfect if they weren't so dark. Tom and Katie were in the background. One of the team moms took tons of photos so I actually do have proof. Not that I need any. After all, celebs are all over the place here, right? You practically can't take a walk--not that anyone does out here--without falling over one. And all of us residents are very blase, you know--it's SUCH a common thing. Nothing to get excited about.

Oh, who won the game? I have no idea.

When will this nightmare end?

2006-03-16T22:23:00.000-06:00

OMG!!! Tonight I was doing the dishes when I realized the water in the sink (yes, THAT sink) wasn't draining. I ran the disposal for about 2 seconds --and, nothing, the water was still there. Now, I may have a couple of faults, but I'm a VERY fast learner. I turned off the water, put the rubber gloves down, and backed slowly away from the sink. I then tried to use the other sink in the kitchen, the one with the faucet that needs to be replaced. The faucet that needed to be replaced in 1994, probably. Would you believe that the disposal in THAT sink doesn't work? I know, I know, it boggles the mind. So I grabbed the phone, threw it at Mr. Minivan, told him he could call the landlord, and exited the kitchen. I'm almost to the point where I would welcome the locusts.

Back to Normal?

2006-03-14T22:33:00.000-06:00

Today--or is it tomorrow--has come and is almost gone. No locusts. No frogs. No pestilence. No avian flu. Maybe we have turned the corner. Dare I hope that I can actually get back to unpacking? I think I may be able to. Cross your fingers.

Water water everywhere....

2006-03-13T15:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning I went downstairs to the kitchen and made breakfast. After breakfast I started to wash the dishes. By hand, because the dishwasher--a Magic Chef--ever heard of that brand of dishwasher?--doesn't work and is being replaced this week. So I'm washing and the sink fills up with water, and I press the disposal button. And nothing happens. The water doesn't drain--the sink is still full. So I go do something else and come back in a few minutes and press the disposal button. The water starts to drain and then I hear a horrible whooshing sound. A sound that I hope never to hear again. A sound that is still echoing in my brain right now. I open the cabinets under the sink and whoosh--all the water in the double-sided sink as well as all the food particles from the disposal whoosh out of the broken pipe and are all over the kitchen floor. And going into the dining room. And going into the kitchen eating area. I always wanted a pool but this is ridiculous. Luckily, for once during a household crisis, Mr. Minivan is home. We start grabbing towels and paper towels and getting to work. It is disgusting. It is all over. We cannot possibly have enough towels. It is all too much for me. I start to cry as I'm standing on two towels scootching my feet back and forth over the water on the floor. I literally throw in the towel and let him clean up the mess. Right now I'm sitting at home waiting for the plumber who was supposed to be here 3 hours ago. He just called and is still in the middle of a job. But he'll call me in an hour or two when he is done. Oh, and here's the clincher. I just went into the laundry room to fold some laundry. The water heater is leaking. There is water all over the floor. Details to follow.

UPDATE--the plumber came and is picking up a new water heater right now. I'm drinking alone. I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.

Some observations

2006-03-10T18:54:00.000-06:00

I have realized why I go to the grocery store every day. Not only is it a break from unpacking, but it is a little bit of face-to-face human contact other than my own family. I find myself chatting up everyone from the deli lady to the produce guy to the checkers. And they have to be nice to me because I'm a customer. I have also noticed that whenever a service person comes to the house I switch into hostess mode. "Would you like a Coke or a bottle of water?" I ask the phone guy and the cable installer. I am days away from offering them cheese and crackers, I fear.

A couple of days ago was Boy #2's first baseball game. A very serious league, this one is. Lots of rules. A real dugout, a real umpire, and a real scoreboard. It was about 68 degrees and I had been running around all day. Besides, I'm from Chicago. That's practically a summer day back home. I wore a tank top. I walked up to the bleachers and saw the other mothers. In. Scarves. And. Fleece. Can you believe it? Actually the temperature did drop soon after I got to the game and I put on my sweatshirt, but really, scarves and 68 degrees? Fragile people. And they all told me I'll be just like they are soon.

The unpacking continues. More observations as they occur.

Welcome to the Neighborhood?

2006-03-07T10:49:00.000-06:00

In some communities, when someone new moves in, the Welcome Wagon visits. Sometimes the neighbors come to introduce themselves, usually bearing cookies or maybe even a bundt cake. L.A. is such a fast-paced city that I didn't really expect the Welcome Wagon, but what I got was so much more.

Last Saturday, as Mr. Minivan was putting yet more trash bags and moving boxes out in the alley to be picked up, he found a smouldering mattress. Yes, that's right, a mattress had been set on fire and then left to smoulder outside our back gate. Maybe it's a local custom involving marshmellows and graham crackers, but since none of those, nor any Welcome Wagon, was to be found, he poured water on it and continued taking out the trash.

Right after that we went to the Little League opening night festivities. Quite the event, with giant inflatable slides, a raffle (I later found out I won a Curt Schilling autographed jersey, but I digress), a silent auction, and lots of food for sale--the local fireman were even grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. Very small-town in the middle of the big city. We told the fireman what had happened in the alley and they told us we shouldn't hesitate to call the police or fire departments about something like that. But it was over and we enjoyed the rest of the evening.

Yesterday I was out in front getting the mail and a fully-uniformed fireman walked up the driveway, saying "Hi." How nice, I thought, he's here to welcome us--what a nice surprise even without the bundt cake. But, not exactly. He told me that there were a bunch of fireman out in the back putting out a smouldering mattress and that there was also a burned-out couch back there. He asked if, since we were new here, we were putting extra furniture out in the alley. I was horrified. I explained what had happened on Saturday. The neighbor next door was out in the alley, too, giving me dirty looks. She never did introduce herself. I guess I too would be a little crabby if new neighbors moved in and furniture started spontaneously combusting all in the same week. So, anyway, the policemen took my name as the "reporting party" since the neighbor was too busy glaring at me to get her ID. I told them I didn't want to see my name in the local paper. And now along with unpacking and trying to find my way around, I also have to keep an eye out for my local pyromaniac. All in all, I'd rather have the bundt cake.

First Celebrity Sightings

2006-03-05T18:12:00.000-06:00

Who knew Little League was a great place to spot celebrities? I was talking to one of guys who produced "Glory Road" and over his wife's shoulder I spotted someone who looked a lot like Sela Ward (from Once & Again, Sisters, and House). So I asked his wife and, sure enough, it was Sela Ward. You know, me and Sela Ward, Little League moms. We have so much in common. Once I start drinking coffee I'm sure we'll go grab many lattes together. Then I spotted a bearded man who looked like an older Danny Bonaduce (think Partridge Family) and of course it turned out that he was Danny Bonaduce. I also learned that Tom Cruise turns up at a lot of soccer games, but soccer season is a long way off. More sightings as they occur....

We're here.......

2006-03-04T09:00:00.000-06:00

Several hundred boxes, many tears, a lot of dinners out, and many good-byes later, we are in La-La Land. It's beautiful here but a bit strange. These people are freaked out by rain. It was raining the day we went to register the boys at their new school. At 10 in the morning there was a flurry of activity in the office. Several teachers came in to tell the administrator that it was raining and that "we might have to go to the rainy day schedule." An announcement to that effect was made, and I asked what the rainy day schedule was. "Well, the kids don't go outside and they have recess and gym inside." Kind of what is called "indoor recess" at our school back home, where that decision is made 10 minutes before lunch, I guess. And then a little while later the rain stopped and there was yet another big discussion on whether to go off the "rainy day schedule." I also heard a woman on a cell phone at the grocery store assure someone that she was, indeed, "warm and dry." These Californians are very fragile, it seems.

At another grocery store I was behind a woman at the deli counter and she asked to see the ingredients in the turkey. I remember hoping it was an allergy-related request. Then in the produce department I noticed that California-grown avocados were $2.89 each. I asked the produce guy why I paid 99 cents for them in Illinois and they were more than double that in the state where they were grown. "Because this is where all the rich people live," he answered. I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.

I've had no celebrity sightings yet. I think I will start drinking coffee because it seems that coffee shops are a sure bet for celebrity sightings. Just look thru any issue of People magazine. That, along with unpacking the hundreds of boxes, will be my project for next week.

My house is mad at me

2006-01-22T09:09:00.000-06:00

It would appear that my house does not want me to leave it. How else can I explain what I encountered last night? I went into my laundry room to do yet another load of laundry and found the cabinet that hangs above my washer and dryer had jumped off the wall and was lying on top of the washer and dryer! You know that cabinet--the one that holds the bleach, refill bottles of Windex and Fantastick, vacuum cleaner bags, and other laundry room essentials. It seems a little coincidental to me that, after being bolted to the wall just fine for at least the 12 and a half years that we have lived in this house (and probably many more years previous to that), it would just topple off the wall the night before our realtor had scheduled an open house. Don't you agree? I can't take this kind of stress. If this is what my house will do to show me how upset it is, what will my friends and family do?