What I Did For Love

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!!

The World May Be Ending

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.   

The Happiest Place on Earth

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

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?

Parents, Ladies, and Celebrities Who Lunch

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?

The Way We Were

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?

Super Bowl Blues

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.

IKEA Idea

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....

The Honeymoon's Over

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

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."

It's happened again!

The breakdown continues. My sister-in-law was over and I offered her some tea. As the water boiled, I went to get my little Tupperware container of tea bags. A fabulous assortment, I might add, everything from mint herbal to PG Tips to plain old Lipton. Unfortunately, however, I could not find them. The container, which should have been in its usual spot, wasn't. I searched the pantry and all my cabinets. Nothing. Maybe it's with my sunglasses. If I could barely find my minivan, I'll never find the tea. I broke the bad news to her. "I lost my tea, can I get you something else, some coffee, a Coke?" She'll just have some hot water. "What are you, 80?" I asked. Hot water is impossible to lose. Should I be concerned? Is a pattern developing?

Never Marry a Baker

Mr. Minivan, Boys #1 and 2, and I went into the city to Mr. Minivan's office yesterday. He had to do a little business, and we tagged along. After we left his office we walked around the neighborhood in search of food. Mr. Minivan remembered a NY-style pizza place that one of his employees had discovered. The pizza at Santullo's was thin, NY-esque, and delicious. It was so NY I could almost see graffiti appearing on the buildings across the street. After pizza and a salad, we decided we needed just a little taste of something sweet to finish off the night properly. We walked into
Sweet Thang , a charming little French patisserie with the most delicious tarts and other goodies. Boy #2 said his lemon tart was "one of the best desserts I've ever had." He may have meant "that day", but a compliment is a compliment. I asked the young woman with the French accent who was serving us if she was the baker and she said she was his wife. I had to ask. "When you start dating a baker, how much weight do you gain?" "Probably double where you start," was the shocking answer, "and then you lose it." Sounds like fun on the upside, no?

Dinner Dinner Everywhere Yet Not a Bite to Eat!

When I was a kid my mom made dinner every night. A REAL dinner with a salad, main dish, vegetable, and starch. There were four of us kids, and we all took turns setting and clearing the table. It was like a well-oiled machine. Can you imagine making dinner for 6 people every night? Neither can I. We rarely went out for dinner because, well, people didn't then. Sometimes, when my parents went out we got to have Swanson TV dinners. Yes, sadly enough, that was a real treat. My personal favorite was the meatloaf dinner. Remember that one? Meat loaf in a tomato-ey sauce, little tater tots, green beans, and that brownie. That brownie that was never cooked properly. It was always a bit too mushy or after it was put back into the oven, a little overdone. And that was back in the day when the TV dinner came in a tin container with tin foil on top and had to be cooked in the oven. Yep, we had to wait about 30 minutes (not counting preheating time) for that "special treat". It's not like today where you can pop that paper container in the microwave and have your dinner cooked in the time it takes you to put the box in the recycling bin.

When I had my kids, I looked forward to the days when I could make lovely family dinners. In my imagination it went something like this: My sweet, freshly-bathed little darlings would gather 'round the dinner table, sitting perfectly with napkins on laps. My husband would be at the foot of the table and I would bring in dinner from the kitchen. I would walk in with Chicken Marsala, or Meat Loaf or perhaps Soy-Glazed Salmon. With all the trimmings, of course. Their little faces would light up as they saw what was for dinner and they would excitedly hand me their plates to be filled up.

In reality here is sort of what it's like at my house: Mr. Minivan travels and works late. Boy #1 likes red apples and green grapes and would be happy eating pizza every night for dinner. Boy #2 likes green apples and red grapes and everything from sashimi to cheeseburgers to tilapia. A very common comment (usually from Boy #1) at dinnertime is "This is a horrible dinner!" As you might imagine, my cookbooks are covered in a very thin layer of dust, which is so sad, as I love to cook.

That meatloaf dinner is sounding better and better. I have to go now and make a quick stop at the grocery store....