Stinkin' Liberals

The Democratic National Convention kicked off today in Denver. Obama is gearing up to accept the nomination. The impending election is adding electricity to the air. So much so that Ryan has talked politics more in the last month with me than he has in the entire course of our relationship.

I believe there are two reasons he is talking politics with me.

Reason #1: Fear. He is afraid I'm going to vote for John McCain. He doesn't hate McCain, he is just fed up with the war in Iraq, especially now when we are having so many financial troubles at home (and by home I mean in the larger sense of America).

Reason #2: Safety. He feels safe to talk to me about politics now that I've dialed the crazy back a little. I used to be a little on the uh, shall we say, passionate side when it came to politics and if you didn't see things my way, then well, you were just plain wrong. And stupid to boot.

It's amazing how open a person can be when they don't fear being attacked. I wasn't much to fear, though. I can't argue my way out of a wet paper bag. Not with logic and reason anyway. I am, however, great at making sweeping generalizations and making references to "them" and "they" and "studies" and "recent statistics". I am not so great at references, names of publications from said studies and the numbers behind the statistics.

Now if I want to argue a point I stop and try to collect my thought and organize them. Once I realize the thoughts are pretty random and based mostly on emotions I shrug my shoulders and say, "eh".

So, the DNC (aside, am I the only one who thinks of a D&C when you hear DNC?) is under way. Yep. I am a little interested in the events. Brace yourself, Mom. Wendy, Joel, Ike (oh, wait, you live in the stone age and don't have a computer so you will have to get this info in person), anyone else who has known me longer than 7 years.

I think I am going to vote for Barak Obama. Yep. Come November I will fill in the oval next to the Democrats candidate.

Gulp.

Talk about taking a leap.

I don't think my aunts who live in the area have the address to this blog. I think I will not share this bit of information with them since they are a little more passionate about politics than I am - and they have the ability to use reason, logic and facts in an argument! Deadly combination for me.

Ryan and I were talking about McCain and Obama at dinner last night. Neither of us think McCain is bad. We do think he is really, really old and that he will continue to push the same agenda in Iraq. Both of us are sick of the hemorrhage of funds that are flowing into that region when our dollar is tanking at home and abroad.

Of course, now that I am a mother I think more about the loss of our soldiers. Every day the body count grows and grows. I never understood why my mom didn't want my brothers to join the military until I had Gavin. As much as I appreciate the Armed Forces I think I would be a basket case if Gavin decided to join the military.

Ryan and I are in agreement that McCain would be a better president from a military standpoint but that Obama would be better for domestic issues.

I kind of like the presidential races where there is a candidate that I hate, well, that is such a strong word - a candidate that makes me want to retch when I see his face. That's better. Some politicians make it easy, like making claims that they invented the Internet or that they were under hostile gunfire when visiting Serbia (Croatia?) and later saying she remembered wrong (really? Were you remembering the other time you were under gunfire?).

There you have it folks. This is big news. Big. After 7 years of living in Seattle "they" finally got to me. I'm one of "them" now. I am in favor of big government taxing us all into poverty so we can all share a little rather than some have a lot. (Just kidding - that is for the benefit of my brother).

Scofflaw

Cue Western high noon show down music: April just entered the room. And repeat music.

There is a stretch on the West Seattle Bridge where everyone speeds; the stretch where everyone speeds spans the entire length of the bridge. The speed limit on the narrow portion that is two lanes in either direction separated by a tiny 18" barrier is 35 but once it widens to 3 and 4 lanes in each direction the speed limit goes up to 45.

Those are the post speed limits but if you do not drive at least 10 mph over the speed limit you can plan on creating an angry wake of tailgaters. I've caught myself many a time zipping along at 50 mph, going with the flow of traffic, in the 35 mph stretch. When I catch myself going that fast I take it down to 43 or 44. I am one of those people who actually believe that a cop will be less likely to pull you over if your speed is not in excess of 10 mph over the limit.

You never see people get pulled over on the eastbound side of the bridge but the cops often set up clever speed traps on the westbound side - they must love it - it's like shooting fish in a barrel. The motorcycle patrol comes out in full force, there have to be at least 4 or 5 cops working the westbound side. A couple of cops parks their bikes at the top of on ramp of a permanently closed ramp and point their radar guns at the cars speeding by then take off after the speeder. The cars pull over in one little area if they are able to, if not they take the next exit. The cop, after writing a ticket, drives east a couple of blocks on the street below the bridge and gets back on at the closed ramp. He just does circles really. Up the ramp, nab a speeder, down the ramp, write a ticket, back up the ramp and round and round he goes.

So today I am driving to West Seattle as I was taking some stuff to a friends house. I was being a particularly well behaved citizen as I was only going 5 miles over the speed limit. Maybe that doesn't make me good so much as it makes me less bad. At any rate, I was inching along the narrow portion of the bridge at a leisurely pace of 40 miles per hour. This infuriated the woman driving a truck behind me. To add to her frustration (and eventually my glee) was that she couldn't pass me because there was someone else next to me who was also feeling like a good citizen and was only breaking the law by 5 mph as well.

Sometimes I feel for the person and will make an attempt to get out of their way. Today was not such a day. The woman's scowl, the way she was hunched up over the steering wheel and lets not forget the most important reason she stayed behind me was that she was on my tail. I said, "Oh, you want me to slow down even more do ya?" as if she could hear me. But I don't like it to make it really obvious I'm slowing down just to get under her skin so I just eased up on the gas a bit. Take that, angry lady! Besides, the lanes were going to open up and she could very easily pass me.

Which she did. She took her first opportunity and jumped out ahead of me and slowed down! Well! I didn't think I was that obnoxious. I only slowed down a mile or two an hour, technically, I was still speeding. If I had wanted to be super annoying I would have slowed down to the post speed limit.

As I was thinking grumpy thoughts about this woman who was in such a hurry to get around me because I wasn't breaking the law by great enough of a margin I saw the dreaded motorcycle cop.

They changed up their routine! There was only one and he was at the gore of the last exit before the bridge turned into 35th Avenue at the top of the hill. (Gore, not just a former vice president, inventor of the Internet and Nobel Peace Prize winner, a gore is the name of the painted triangular space between on/off ramps and the lanes of the highway. Yes, I am married to a transportation engineer, and yes, I am a geek). So... there was Mr. Officer on his hog with his radar gun. He pointed it at Ms. Angry Tailgater then, after checking the speed, he put me in its sights! It was too late! I hit the brakes and said, "Ah! But I was going so slow and she was tailgating me!" out loud, as if he could hear me. As if he would care even if he could hear me.

The officers next action is one that strikes fear in the hearts of drivers across the nation. He checked the speed then put the gun away and pulled out into traffic! I was the last one he pointed it at! He was coming after me! Me! I was only a mild breaker of the law! Doesn't he know it's all relative? Why me? Why?

There I am, now going the speed limit and thinking about what I'm going to do when he catches up to me and pulls me over. I peek in the rear view mirror and see him way, way back there and I saw a brief flash of blue and white lights. It was then that I realized how far behind me he was and that he never gestured at me and that we were approaching a pretty big turn before we hit 35th. With several cars between me and the cop I prayed for a green light when we hit 35th so he wouldn't have a chance to catch up to me and find me, if I was his intended target, that is.

The sun was shining on me because the light stayed green and nary a cop with flashing lights to be found I made a very sharp turn that took me immediately into a residential neighborhood and away from the flow on the majority of the traffic.

No ticket for me today.

When I told Ryan this story he asked me, "So, you out ran a cop?"

Let me be clear: I did not out run a cop. I only think that he was going to pull me over. He did not give me any indication that he wanted me to pull over; sure I never gave him a chance to give me a sign but whose fault is that? Really. I know I watch a lot of Law & Order and CSI (just the original, thank you very much) but I don't think I outfoxed the cop. He probably was after someone else.

OR... I became his white whale today! The one that got away. He is Captain Ahab and I'm Moby. Or he's the traffic cop and I'm Newman from Seinfeld. You know, neither analogy is all that flattering to me so I'm just going to stop.

Silly Happiness

If you read my previous post, "Silly Sadness" then you probably have an inkling as to where this post is going.

It was with zero expectations that I went to pick up my beautiful, well fitting, twice worn, aqua blue, button up blouse from the cleaners on Thursday. I was not expecting them to get the chocolate stain out of the fabric since I had already washed it three times with two different stain removers. Over and over on the long walk down Beacon Avenue I told myself that the stain would still be there, that there was no way they could get it out.

Gavin and I strolled up to the corner gas station turned dry cleaners and hoisted Gavin's deluxe ride onto the tall sidewalk that surrounded the building, clearly built before anyone considered the physically disabled, and shoved our way through the narrow door and oh-so gently rang the bell for service when it was obvious they didn't hear the bells jingle when I opened the door.

The owner came up to assist me. He took my ticket and returned with my beautiful, well fitting, twice worn, aqua blue, button up blouse from the spinning rack. "Ah," he said, remembering me, the sad lady with the beautiful, well fitting, twice worn, aqua blue, button up blouse, "the chocolate stain. You washed. Tsk, tsk, tsk. The water set the stain." He then proceeded to show me the stain, just as it was when I entrusted my garment to him on Saturday afternoon.
I wasn't upset since they were upfront and told me they probably would not be able to get the stain out.

So why am I so happy? I'm glad you asked!

Oxo Brite (Trader Joe's version of Oxi Bright, I assume) is why. Just last week I was able to restore some of Gavin's clothes that were left at the bottom of the hamper for a week with food on them that ended up growing mildew (gross). I washed them with bleach but the mildew persisted. I soaked them in an obscene amount of Oxo Brite over night and wa-la! Bye bye mildew! The container of Oxo Brite says to start with a small amount and soak for an hour and slowly add more product until the stain comes out but instead of soaking the garments in one scoop, then two scoops, then three scoops, then four scoops I just skipped ahead to the last step and soaked them in five scoops for 8 hours or so.

Yesterday I put my beautiful, well fitting, twice worn, aqua blue, button up blouse in a bucket of warm water that had at least 4 scoops of Oxo Brite. The water turned aqua, as did two white onsies that I had soaking in there as well, with just a hint of chocolate. OK, you couldn't see the chocolate in the water but it had to be there because it wasn't on my beautiful, well fitting, twice worn, aqua blue, button up blouse!

It is in the wash right now and I hope that it fits just as well as it did before since I had to soak the cold water wash only garment in warm water in my last ditch effort to get the chocolate out.

We'll see.

Photographs from the 'Couv and Beyond!

Here are some pictures from our visit to Vancouver from last week (and one in Olympia and some from home). The first batch of pictures were taken in downtown Vancouver at Esther Shore Park. The second set are at my mom & dad's house, the swimming set are from a picnic in downtown Camas - the part that remains free of chain restaurants and strip malls and McMansions.

Gavin crawling in the 'river bed' at Esther Shore Park in downtown Vancouver

He's cute from any angle! Look at that adorable noggin!

Gavin and his cousin Laura whose birthday is today! Happy 10th B-day, Laura!

Gavin getting a steadying hand from his beloved mommy

Nephew Matthew looks just like his dad, my brother, Ike.

The G exploring the pebble river bed

Nana Jo holding wet Baby Gavin. Now that's love.

Hot and all tuckered out after a fun picnic at Esther Shore Park with Nana Jo, Aunt Jenny and cousins Laura and Matthew.

These grapes are yummy!

Laura giving younger brother Matthew her older sisterly look of scorn.

Sleeping in his Pack 'N Play like the angel he is.

Sampling a toy

Matthew swimming in the Camas Pool

Gavin hanging out in the baby wading pool in Camas

Brother Ike and his daughter, Laura

Mmm, green toy

Grandpa Bob holding a very cranky Gavin while Grandma Martha preps for another shot (the next shot didn't turn out as well as this one).

Lesson I learned from this picture: take the picture when you arrive, not when you are trying to scram because baby is melting down.

Quite the contrast to the above picture, eh? Doesn't he look like a young Indiana Jones? So dashing!

Nakedness

There is a woman at the club who baffles me. She doesn't close the curtain on the shower when she's washing up after her workout. The shower stalls are all quite large and all are equipped with shower curtains. I don't know why she doesn't close the curtain. I'm guessing it is because she doesn't care if everyone sees her naked and shaving her legs.

Part of me doesn't understand why I care. It is a locker room; naked women abound. We undress and walk to the shower naked but once at the shower we step inside and promptly close the curtain. Some of us will make a quick stop at the scale on our way to the shower to get the most accurate and favorable weight measurement - naked and in a semi dehydrated state after sweating in a workout. We NEVER weigh ourselves after the shower because well, duh, wet hair is heavy.

I'm not puritanical in my views of nudity. If someone wants to go to a nude beach I could care less. If that same person wants to parade around their home naked, more power to 'em (although I would not like to sit on their couch as a guest in their home). If a woman wants to breastfeed in public I don't care - heck, I've done my fair share of breastfeeding outside of my home. I know breastfeeding is not the same as nudity but some people out there get really worked up if they see a baby attached to a bare breast. I'm not of the group that thinks seeing a woman breastfeed is like seeing the face of God but I'm also not of the group that would say, "Sure, it's a natural process but so is defecating." Ryan was really uncomfortable when I was breastfeeding Gavin on an airplane without using my cover. He kept asking me if I wanted my cover. Finally I told him if he wanted me to us it then I would. It took him all of 2 seconds to fish the cover out of the back pack that was shoved under the seat.

If someone saw me feeding Gavin and caught a glimpse of me way over by the window while they were looking for their seat where's the harm in that? I am pretty discreet when feeding him. I see lots of women at church feed their babies, one woman went sans the cover. Brave. I'm not quite there to do it without a cover in church because I guess I'm a hypocrite. Why do it on an airplane but not in church, the house of the One who made the boob?

Several years ago I went to the Olympus Day Spa in Lakewood (down by Tacoma) with several girlfriends for a day of pampering in the women's only spa. There was a large room filled with soaking tubs and saunas and an area for massages - all clothing was prohibited. We stripped down, took showers then went from tub to tub that had various herbs, and potions and whatever in them and each one was a different temperature. It was a little uncomfortable at first but after a while the woman who weighed at least 300 pounds didn't seem so misshapen and the skinny girls didn't seem so stick like. We all became human and our flesh was there merely to house our souls.

About 6 months after Ryan and I were married we went to Vegas right after the New Year for a long weekend. Since we aren't big gamblers (read: penny pinchers who can't bear the thought of throwing away money) we saw tons of shows (one could argue that we threw money away on shows, too). We stayed at the Venetian and walked everyday down to the other end of the strip and spent most of our time at the Tropicana because they had the best players club deals that we could find. After getting our players club cards we gambled for 2 hours. Boy, are we ever high rollers. I took my $20 that I set aside for gambling, I think Ryan's mom gave us each some cash as a Christmas present for gambling in Vegas, and went to the penny slots. That was fun. I really turned up the heat when I went to the nickel slots and won $60 on a nickel at the Yahtzee game. When I got a Yahtzee! the dice the came rolling out the cup on the screen stood up and started dancing; those dancing dice were so darn cute!

Our objective for the two hours was to rack up points for 'free' entertainment from the Tropicana, 'free' t-shirts (both of which we still wear - at the gym, while painting and doing yard work), 'free' cards and of course, 'free' food. As I played with the pennies in my bucket and enjoyed ordering 'free' drinks from the cocktail waitresse my fingers turned black. Ryan's fingers stayed pristine white because he preferred to stick a bill in the machine then just push buttons. Your pennies last a lot longer when you have to put each one into the machine.

This story does get back to nudity, don't you worry.

Of the shows we 'won' for 'free' one was a burlesque/french review show. I was adamant about going to the 7 pm family friendly show but it interfered with another show, I think the medieval jousting dinner theater we already had planned, so I finally relented and we signed up for the 10 pm adults only show.

Boy, did we ever get more than we bargained for. We were seated front and center of the stage. And I mean front and center. I was butted up against the stage at our table and Ryan was right next to me. We had to crane our necks to the see the show. Of course it was a little weird at first seeing all of these women dancing around topless. After a few minutes it was even weirder because the women dancing around topless could have been men for all we noticed their breasts. After the show Ryan said to me, "I'm not just saying this to make you happy but didn't they seem like guys after a while?" Too bad he couldn't have enjoyed the show more than he did. OK, not really. I was pretty happy the dancers turned into asexual beings after just a few moments. It turned out to be one of my favorite shows.

I feel like I should not be bothered by the woman at the gym seeing as how I enjoyed the French review show, breastfeed in public, and went to a women's only clothing forbidden day spa. Maybe the woman's inability to close the shower curtain doesn't bother me. Maybe I just find it curious that she doesn't care what other people think about her.

Or... she thinks she all that and wants everyone to see. Too bad for her there aren't co-ed locker rooms. I wonder if she would close the curtain then?

Wanna Feel Old? Read This Post

This is a list complied annually by Beloit College to help professors understand their incoming Freshman class; it also helps the students understand that their short time on planet earth has not been the same since time began (you know, way back in the 80's).

Beloit College Mindset List
A snapshot of the world view of the Class of 2012

1. Harry Potter could be a classmate, playing on their Quidditch team.
2. Since they were in diapers, karaoke machines have been annoying people at parties.
3. They have always been looking for Carmen Sandiego.
4. GPS satellite navigation systems have always been available.
5. Coke and Pepsi have always used recycled plastic bottles.
6. Shampoo and conditioner have always been available in the same bottle.
7. Gas stations have never fixed flats, but most serve cappuccino.
8. Their parents may have dropped them in shock when they heard George Bush announce "tax revenue increases."
9. Electronic filing of tax returns has always been an option.
10. Girls in head scarves have always been part of the school fashion scene.
11. All have had a relative — or known about a friend's relative - who died comfortably at home with hospice.
12. As a precursor to "whatever," they have recognized that some people "just don't get it."
13. Universal Studios has always offered an alternative to Mickey in Orlando.
14. Grandma has always had wheels on her walker.
15. Martha Stewart Living has always been setting the style.
16. Haagen-Dazs ice cream has always come in quarts.
17. Club Med resorts have always been places to take the whole family.
18. WWW has never stood for World Wide Wrestling.
19. Films have never been X rated, only NC-17.
20. The Warsaw Pact is as hazy for them as the League of Nations was for their parents.
21. Students have always been "Rocking the Vote."
22. Clarence Thomas has always sat on the Supreme Court.
23. Schools have always been concerned about multiculturalism.
24. We have always known that "All I Ever Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten."
25. There have always been gay rabbis.
26. Wayne Newton has never had a mustache.
27. College grads have always been able to Teach for America.
28. IBM has never made typewriters.
29. Roseanne Barr has never been invited to sing the National Anthem again.
30. McDonald's and Burger King have always used vegetable oil for cooking french fries.
31. They have never been able to color a tree using a raw umber Crayola.
32. There has always been Pearl Jam.
33. The Tonight Show has always been hosted by Jay Leno and started at 11:35 EST.
34. Pee-Wee has never been in his playhouse during the day.
35. They never tasted Benefit Cereal with psyllium.
36. They may have been given a Nintendo Game Boy to play with in the crib.
37. Authorities have always been building a wall across the Mexican border.
38. Lenin's name has never been on a major city in Russia.
39. Employers have always been able to do credit checks on employees.
40. Balsamic vinegar has always been available in the U.S.
41. Macaulay Culkin has always been "Home Alone."
42. Their parents may have watched "The American Gladiators" on TV the day they were born.
43. Personal privacy has always been threatened.
44. Caller ID has always been available on phones.
45. Living wills have always been asked for at hospital check-ins.
46. The Green Bay Packers (almost) always had the same starting quarterback.
47. They never heard an attendant ask "Want me to check under the hood?"
48. Iced tea has always come in cans and bottles.
49. Soft drink refills have always been free.
50. They have never known life without Seinfeld references from a show about "nothing."
51. The Windows 3.0 operating system made IBM PCs user-friendly the year they were born.
52. Moscow residents have always been able to buy Big Macs.
53. The Royal New Zealand Navy has never been permitted a daily ration of rum.
54. The Hubble Space Telescope has always been eavesdropping on the heavens.
55. 98.6 F or otherwise has always been confirmed in the ear.
56. Michael Milken has always been a philanthropist promoting prostate cancer research.
57. Offshore oil drilling in the United States has always been prohibited.
58. Radio stations have never been required to present both sides of public issues.
59. There have always been charter schools.
60. Students always had Goosebumps.Source: The Associated Press

Updated: 6:13 p.m. ET Aug. 18, 2008© 2008 MSNBC.com
URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26271355/?GT1=43001

I like #32: I don't want to imagine a life without Pearl Jam. C'mon.

I wonder what the list is going to include when Gavin is a college Freshman in 2025 (quick math check: born 2007 + 6 years = 2013 kindergarten debut; 2013 + 12 = 2025). I also wonder what year 'car windows have never rolled down with the use of a handle and manual labor' will make the list.

There is a lot more that I wonder. If you don't believe me just ask Ryan he always hears me ask, "Do you ever wonder...." his reply is ALWAYS (with one exception): no. The one exception was posed while watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy: Do you wonder if any of the Fab Five dated each other?

I could see the 'n' starting to form on his lips before a funny looked crossed his face and he said, "Yes. Yes, I do wonder." Of course I was over the moon, "You wondered about something!" It was a moment for the history books.

Fortunately my 'do you wonder' questions don't annoy him (too much) because I have a feeling they are going to be nothing compared to the "why?" phase that Gavin will be entering into here before long.

Did #31 shock anyone else? I didn't know raw umber was gone from the crayon box! Sure it was an ugly and color good only for coloring Boston Baked Beans (another gross candy they probably don't know about).

Ears Flapping in the Wind

Ryan took Kea to the Genesse Dog Park yesterday and a man took this picture of the dog. It's such a great photo that I want to share it with the world; or at least those of you who read this.

It was a hot day yesterday, about 93 degrees so although her ears are flapping in the wind she looks a little sluggish. I often think back to her days as a puppy when she would not lay down and just chill unless we put her in her doggy den at night to sleep FOR EIGHT MONTHS! This is no exaggeration. We had to barricade the living room to keep her contained, barricade the railing on one side of the living room where the stairs were to keep her from chewing on them and we had to put her in her kennel every time we had to get up to go to the bathroom or cook in the kitchen or just leave her alone for more than 30 seconds otherwise she would attack her bed, the couch or recliner.

All of that insanity ended in one day. One. It was the day she was spayed. I took her in the morning to the animal clinic and picked her up that evening where the staff told me they encountered a first with her. She was the first dog that ever managed to pull the newspaper on the bottom of the kennel up through the floor and shred it to bits. I didn't know whether I should feel proud that I had an obnoxious, overly energetic dog or embarrassed.

The nurse who brought her out said she had a remarkable amount of energy for just having had surgery. I almost cried when I saw my little puppy - she was walking very slowly and was listing a bit but when she saw me you could see her make an effort to wag her tail. It was so precious.

When we got home I laid Kea down on her dog bed and she stayed! She curled up in a ball and stayed! It was the first time she would stay on her bed and it was the first time she did not attack her bed! That was a real turning point in our life with a dog. No more constant dog watching.

Dr. Pamparo, her vet, one time noted, "Wow. She has a lot of energy." The vet who sees dogs all day long, 5 days a week, year in and year out said she had a lot of energy. Sheesh. The thing that really gets us is that the Kea we met at the kennel when she was 4 weeks old is not the Kea that we took home. Technically she is the same dog but her personality (or dogality) did a 180. Her litter mates barked and whined and licked us and pawed us and were overall very affectionate and friendly. Kea? Not so much. It took 10 or so minutes for her to even come over to us. The dog books warned us to not select the shy dog but she was the cutest of all the girl pups because she had the ginger coloring whereas the others were milky white. It took me a week or two to decide which dog I wanted, the friendly milky white one or the too cute shy ginger colored dog.

On our way home from Granite Falls (Timbuktu, Washington) we made her a snugly bed in her kennel in the backseat of the truck (oh how I miss that gas guzzling beast of a machine) - wait, we drove the Civic. I don't miss that car. It was nice enough but whatever... Kea whined the whole way home. In hindsight I should have held her in my lap; I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I went into doggy mommy mode and I knew she would be safest in the kennel in the event of an accident.

She's such a sweet dog and I'm glad I picked the shy dog who turned out to be the worlds most outgoing dog and has the best doggy happy happy joy joy dance ever (that's my friend Krissy says, anyway).

Silly Sadness

Shopping for clothes is not among my favored activities. If I set out looking for a specific item, whether it be a pencil skirt, an A-line skirt, a pair of jeans, a button up blouse, a knit top - it doesn't matter because I won't be able to find it. Or I will be able to find it but it will be outrageously expensive and I don't do outrageously expensive.

On Wednesday afternoon I was returning from Vancouver and was due to visit my grandparents and aunt in Olympia and since I was going to be much earlier than our agreed upon time and since I was passing through Centralia I stopped to see what the outlets had to offer me.

It is with a bit of reservation that I even put in writing for others to read the name of the first (and only) store I went in and once I do you will know why: Dress Barn. Really? Why didn't they up the ante and put cow or pig in their name? It has just as much appeal as naming your clothing store after a place where fat, stinky animals are housed.

My first Dress Barn encounter occured last winter when I needed a dress to wear to Ryan's company picnic and I didn't feel like hauling myself and Gavin all the way down to Southcenter but all the way down to West Seattle's Westwood Village instead. There I had three stores to choose from:

Target and their crappy clothes that fall apart, are ill made and shrink even after being washed according to the instruction label,

Chico and their slightly more mature sensibility and hefty price tag or

Dress Barn and their surprisingly cute clothes and itty bitty price tags won. Hands down.

As I walked into the store on Wednesday I couldn't remember if they only sold dresses as their name would imply. But, unlike the implications of the store's name, the dresses that I recalled from December of last year did not consist of cow prints, mumus and barn red dresses so I figured it would be worth a looksie to see if they carried more than dresses.

It was my lucky day! Not only did they have oodles and oodles of blouses, shorts, capris, skirts and dresses they were also all on sale! Woo-hoo! I wandered from sales rack to sales rack and found about 12 blouses. Of those 12 I whittled the collection down to 6 I liked and finally down to 4 that I loved. Of the four there was one that I loved best. It was a beautiful, vibrant blue, almost an aqua in color; it buttoned up and had a belt just below the bust. Everything about it was right. There was no blousing (where there is a gap between the buttons) thanks to the little sewn on belt, the length was perfect and the color complemented my skin beautifully.

So happy was I that I ripped the tag off and wore it out of the store (after paying for it of course). OK, so I also had a huge milk spot on my shirt that I noticed as I was wandering around the store (and it wasn't cows milk...). I bought 4 shirts for less than $40, including tax. 4 shirts that I really, really like. There was no settling.

I wore the shirt when I saw my grandparents and when I got home I showed it off to Ryan then put my pajamas on so not as to soil my perfect new blouse. I wore it again the next evening when I met up with my girlfriends at Chocolati for our bible study. I love me some chocolate, especially chocolati chocolate. But, alas, chocolate was my undoing that night.

I happily sipped on my cold, blended chocolate drink. That's not true - I slurped my drink in a chocolate craving frenzy. As Heather was talking I heard Heidi say, "Oh, no. You have chocolate on your shirt." When I looked at Heidi and saw that she was looking at me I followed her gaze and looked down and sure enough there was chocolate on me. "Of course I do! I just bought it," was my angry response. Fuming, I blotted the chocolate and Krissy said she normally carries a Tide to Go stick with her but not tonight.

It has been treated with 2 different stain removers 3 times and laundered 3 times. Nothing. The stain faded a bit but a chocolate stain stands out on an aqua color. After searching chocolate stain removal methods one bit of helpful advice I found was seemingly obvious: don't waste your time, go to a dry cleaner. Duh. I called several and my heart sank with each conversation as they all said, "Ooh, chocolate? I can try but can't promise anything." I took it to Beacon Hill Cleaners and as I was describing the stain I told the owner that I washed it three times but had not dried it. He said the water probably set the stain but that he would try his best to get the stain out.

Why couldn't it have been any other shirt? It is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to find a button up shirt that fits me well because of my, um, build. My stupid "build" makes a well fitting shirt so difficult to find because it won't fit around my shoulders and around the bust. Lame. When I do find a button up that fits in the shoulders and in the bust what do I do after wearing it on two brief occasions? Stain it!!!

I suppose I could try to find the same shirt at the Westwood Village Dress Barn. I bet they will have it in stock but only in size small OR in my size but only in pastels which look absolutely horrid on me.

If the stain doesn't come out I will try one more method of stain removal that I found on-line that involves vinegar, liquid detergent and soaking and blotting and drying and washing. If that doesn't work I'll cry and mourn the beautiful shirt and reminisce the two glorious times we had together. Then I'll dye it black and hope that it turns out OK.

That concludes my silly story of sadness. If that is the worst thing that happens to me this summer then I am really blessed.

6 years, 8 hours and counting

Ryan and I had our 6th wedding anniversary yesterday. 6 years! Time has a way of sneaking up on you. We've been together 7 1/2 years, longer than all time spent in Jr. High and High School. I seem to remember Jr. High and High School lasting for an eternity. Well, High School started slow and sped up each year and Senior year flew by. It seems that Jr. High lasted longer than all of elementary and High school combined.

Enough about Jr. High; I'm going to give myself nightmares.

To celebrate our 6 years of wedded bliss we went to brunch at Salty's instead of going out to our usual dinner at some fancy pants restaurant. In years past we've gone to Palisade, the Space Needle restaurant Sky High (or something like that) and my all time favorite: El Gaucho. Their salmon is flown in from some river in Alaska and it blows Copper River Salmon out of the water. No contest. It was so delicious I could have cried from its tasty gloriousness.

Salty's puts on one mean brunch. I had been looking forward to this brunch for weeks. When we finally arrived on yesterday morning I didn't know where to start. There was so much to choose from. Omelet? Crab legs? Pasta station? Bread? (Ha! Bread! As if! You think I'm going to waste precious room with bread? Amateur).

While Ryan and I feasted Gavin wolfed down cheerios. I'm loving this whole oblivious stage. Oblivious to the stellar food just beyond his reach and perfectly content with wheat cereal and diluted apple juice in a sippy cup. When he realizes he's not eating the good stuff we will have no choice but to stop eating at nice restaurants with him. Yep. We hardly feel comfortable spending an obscene amount of money on us on our anniversary but to shovel pricey food into the same mouth that can appreciate the subtle taste differences between a leather shoe and foam flip flop is just wrong.

That evening Gavin went to a babysitters house (Ryan's former co-worker who practically begged us for the privilege of watching Gavin) and we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie. I never told Ryan how much I spent when I went to the movie theater last month so it was fun to see him get all worked up over the cost to see a movie. We haven't been to see a movie together in two years. It cost over $40 so see a movie. $20 for tickets, $11 for a medium drink, medium popcorn and bag of candy, $13 for parking. Outrageous.

Also outrageous: the new Indiana Jones movie.

It was enjoyable but so, so very far out there. Way far. Even for Indiana Jones. I kind of wish I had watched the previous movies so I could have kept up with all of the references they made to the other adventures Indy and pals made.

All in all it was a good anniversary. We had some time to spend together as a family and got a little time to ourselves at the theater and at the Cheesecake Factory afterwards & we stayed out until 10:30! It's like we weren't over 30 or parents it was so late!

Happy 6 years to me and Ryan!

Blending Bliss

We bought a new blender/food processor at Costco yesterday. It was kind of an impulse buy; impulsive for us, anyway. Normally for an appliance we do a little research to make sure it has good reviews but it was just sitting there on the shelf calling out to me. It said, "Psst! April! I won't leak blended food on your counter. I won't stain your counter with sticky strawberry juice when you make margaritas. I'm shiny. I'm new. You can trust me. Besides, I am also a food processor. You know you want one. You know you need one. Buy me."

It seems odd to be replacing appliances since we got most of them when we got married. The blender was a gift to me from my mom the year before I got married. She won it at a church picnic and gave it to me instead of my little brother who also wanted it. I told him it was because she loved me more although I think the real reason is that he was in town visiting from Oklahoma and it would be difficult for him to stuff the blender in his luggage when she was probably hoping he would make room in his luggage for stuff that he left in his old bedroom several years earlier when he moved to Tulsa in the first place. But what is a big sister for if not to make you question your parents love for you? Ha. I love you little bro.

Ryan made smoothies using the bucket of blueberries that he bought at Costco. I was finally able to make a recipe for hummus that I've been wanting to make for a couple of weeks now. Roasted Red Pepper Hummus. Sounds delicious, right? Wrong. It was so very, very gross. It wasn't the red pepper that made it so gross it was the tahini (sesame seed paste). I like sesame, I like sesame candy, I like halva (a sesame puree type of dessert), I just did not like it with chickpeas. I only have one more hummus recipe to try. If that one bombs then I at least liked the first one.

When Gavin wakes from his nap we are going to do some more shopping. This time we are replacing all of our plastic food storage containers. They all probably have that awful BPA in it and when you wash them in the dishwasher it heats up the plastic and spews that nasty stuff over all of the other dishes. The latest news about the BPA is that it is linked to early puberty. Great. I thought about buying BPA free plastic but it will probably only be a matter of time before they find the new harmful substance in plastic. Besides, its made from a fossil fuel to begin with so I guess its time to go back to glass even though they will have plastic lids - I'll just wash those by hand. I also am on the look out for a stainless steel sippy cup. I know they exist because I heard a mommy friend talking about her daughter throwing her stainless steel sippy cup in the car. Yipes!

Screws, Angels and Cuteness

I knew there were three screws in my foot. I knew one of them was coming out. I saw them on X-ray films several times. I did not understand how big the screws are nor how much it looks like a screw you could have fished out of one Ryan's tool boxes. Have a looksie for yourself.

That is the actual screw the doctor took out of my foot. Two others shall stay in place. I may or may not set of metal detectors at the airport. We'll see.

No, there wasn't a screw in my hand. That picture is just to give you an idea of how big it is (the screw, not my hand).

Dr. Vickers gave me two shots in the top of my foot to make it go numb so he could make an incision and take the screw out (you can see the one stitch from where the screw was). The medicine was supposed to take 30 minutes to take effect but my foot did not get the medication insert telling it was supposed to go numb. After 30 minutes passed my foot was still not numb; the doctor would tickle the bottom of my foot to check it. If I giggled and pulled my foot away I flunked the test. After an hour my foot was still not completely numb so they gave it 1o more minutes. I could still feel him tickling the bottom of my foot but felt nothing on top when he poked and pinched me so I told him I was ready.

He put a tray with the sterile equipment over my lap and at a height as to block my view. It was very kind of him to do. I don't think I would have fared well seeing what he was doing. Even though I was mostly numb I did feel it a little bit when he started to pull the screw out. I didn't see the screw driver he used but the end of the screw makes me think it must have been something like an allen wrench. I wonder if he loses the screwdriver if he can use an Ikea allen wrench instead.

There is a hole in my bone that will fill in over the next 6 months and I can't do any running in the mean time. Oh, darn. If you know me you know how much I love running. Can't get enough pavement pounding in. Do I ever love the burn in the lungs and the mucous in the throat obstructing breathing. Fun!

****

I saw the Blue Angels today. I saw them on Thursday and I saw them on Friday and I saw them on Saturday but today I SAW them. Thursday was their practice day. We live close to Boeing Field so when they would fly down over Lake Washington they start up on the hill where we are and zip down over the lake then back up over our house. It is LOUD. Although, I don't think its as loud as when we lived in West Seattle. In West Seattle when they flew over our house you could feel the house shake.

Two people made seeing the Blue Angels possible today. Ryan's friend Mark invited us out on the water in his boat. FUN! But what is an invitation if you don't have someone to watch the tyke? Nada, that's what. So thank you Heidi for watching the little bambino!

Oh, it was so much fun being out on the water. It would have been more fun if I would have worn my bathing suit. It would have been more bearable if I hadn't been a putz and worn something other than blue jeans. Dumb, dumb, dumb. The weather was in the high 70's but I was sitting on the water in the direct sunlight wearing heat and light absorbing dark blue heavy fabric. I was ready to peel my pants off and jump into the water. Ryan would have died.

So, the Blue Angels. I pray Gavin never wants to become a Blue Angel. Do they have a death wish? Really! I freak out when I ride a bike and someone comes within 5 feet of me - and I'm not pedaling 400 mph. Sheesh! Fast and close. I guess I wouldn't be as excited to see the Blue Angels if there wasn't the element of danger. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

***

Here are some pictures of the Gavinator. Man alive he is CUTE!!!

Gavin & friend Ezra. Notice the ball lust in Gavin's eyes.


Uh, I didn't eat the toy...
So very precious

A face any one can love but this mother really loves it

Two sleeping photos. I just couldn't choose between cute and super cute.

Dada?

Gavin is his father's son: a male of few words. Sure he babbles but he mostly sputters and makes a cute hissing sound that kind of sounds like radio static. Over the past couple of days he has started adding a 'd' and 'k' sound to his babbling. It is of course, SUPER CUTE.

Tonight as I was patting his back and kissing his sweet, sweet head that was resting on my shoulder I heard him start to make his static sounds. I looked at him and he was staring at the colorful pictures on one of the walls in his bedroom. His smile was so big and bright and the sounds he was making were so cute that I couldn't resist. I pulled him away from me so I could look him right in the face. He smiled and started babbling. I started practicing "mama" with him but he was making 'd' sounds so I said, "Dada" over and over, slowly and deliberately. His eyes left mine and became fixated on my mouth. You could see him studying my mouth as I said Dada.

Then, very softly, I heard da da come out of his mouth. I gasped and said, "Dada" and he said in return, "da... da" I called Ryan in the room. He came in kind of surprised that I would call him in while I was trying to get Gavin to sleep. I turned my attention back to Gavin and told Ryan to listen as I coaxed Gavin to say Dada again. Ryan leaned in and said Dada and watched Gavin's mouth as he said, "Da". He didn't quite get a Dada out of him but several da's.

Everyone says it but this is all going by so fast. He's barely been out of me longer than he was in me and he is already working on his first word and he is really close to walking. Part of me looks forward to each new first but I know that as each first comes and goes so does the time that I have with him in this precious state of babyhood.

Buzzard

The whir of the blender's blades made my son cry last night. It was very sad and very cute at the same time. I turned the blender off and made a big smile face and said, "Wee!" and flipped the blender back on. He wasn't buying my isn't-the-noisy-blender-fun act. This time I turned the blender off and like a good mother I went over to my still crying son with his bottom lip protruding and his arms outstretched to me and kissed his sweet little head and unstrapped him from his booster chair.

I am going to miss the day when I can no longer make all right with his world by simply holding him and kissing his head. I won't miss the day however, when I can turn the blender on without him crying.

Wanting to finish what I was in the middle of preparing I took the little G downstairs to daddy. He asked eagerly if I was blending drinks for us upstairs. Nope. I was making my very first batch of hummus. Judging by his face I would say he was really hoping I was making margarita. Being the great wife that I am I told him I could make margaritas as soon as I finished the hummus. We struck a deal. He would entertain Gavin while I finished the hummus and then made the drinks.

As I was making the margaritas I poured in too much syrup so instead of making one drink I was going to make two - or at least hope that it would end up being enough for two. In went the ice then the tequila. I was following the recipe but one shot of tequila over two margaritas isn't much, even for two lightweights like Ryan and myself. So I added another half a shot. Then when I tasted them I thought, hmmm, pretty bland, where's the tequila? You guessed it, I added another dab.

Guess what? I found out where the tequila was. In no time flat. There I sat at the kitchen table talking to Ryan in the living room who was enjoying his margarita while lounging on the couch. I stood up to get something and wham! The tequila made its presence known. As I stood there all wobbly I said, "Alcohol and an empty stomach do not mix."

At this point Ryan was now at the stove making some boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner and I started to ask him a question we've been pondering for a few weeks in bible study: black, white and gray. Or is it just black and white? Where do we stand with gray? More importantly, where does God stand with gray?

As we were discussing this I started to say, "The bible says to not be a drunkard but what does it say about a buzz?" That is what I intended to say. From there we could go on to discuss Jesus turning water into wine (good wine, mind you, no two buck Chuck) instead of just purifying the water. Would Jesus really make something that would be sinful to consume? Jesus probably drank wine himself; wasn't their water kind of sketchy? That's what I've learned from all of the History channel shows I've watched about life in the time of Jesus. I used to think how could they survive just drinking wine until I learned that we get most of the water we need from the food we eat - we do NOT need 8 glasses of water a day.

So... that is the direction I saw our conversation headed with the statement I intended to say. The words that actually came out of my mouth were actually:

"The bible says its wrong to be a drunkard but is it ok to be a buzzard?" I had a flash of comic genius mid sentence and finished it with the buzzard bit. Apparently I found what I said to be funny. Not ha, ha funny but freakin' hilarious, so freakin' hilarious that I laughed so hard that I had tears rolling down my face and I was shrieking and wheezing at the same time. You know its a good joke when laughing interferes with breathing.

Or you know you crossed over from white to gray to black. Ryan looked at me with his eyebrows raised and said, "Really? Well, we know you think its funny." It was a joke that as it marinated with time became funnier and funnier to me. Not to Ryan, to me. What Ryan found amusing was that I was amusing myself so well. He is baffled most every time I laugh at my own jokes. I baffled that he's still baffled. Dude, we're coming up on 6 years of weddedness next month. We'll be at 7 1/2 years together when our anniversary rolls around.

****

I'm sitting in the basement writing this. I had a midnight snack of a small spoonful of peanut butter, some mini marshmallows and some chocolate chips. Yum. I felt a little guilty about eating it but I am so glad I did because it meant I had a bowl with which to trap an earwig that I spied crawling across the floor toward my feet.

Now I don't know what to do. The bug is trapped under the bowl but do I just leave it there and ask Ryan to take care of it in the morning? I would vacuum it up I'm afraid that would wake up Gavin. Besides, I would have to immediately change the bag because I would have nightmares of it laying eggs in the bag and then having them get out and be blown all over the house out of the vacuum's exhaust system. And changing the bag with an earwig in it would induce a serious case of the willies.

Yelch. I hate bugs in my house. I don't particularly care for them in the outdoors either but I won't kill them when they are outside. If the bug isn't super gross, or if it is a slow moving spider - nothing that jumps or flies - I will even transport it outside. But the earwig definitely is classified as super gross. I believe that you can find it under the classification S. grosseous.

I hope the smell of the peanut butter that is left in the bowl doesn't permeate the carpet because I think it is going to be there until morning when I will ask my knight to slay the wicked bug before he goes off to fight traffic jams and restore peace and order with new means of mass transit and coordinated traffic lights.

Hardware Removal

Next Wednesday I'm going to be less a few screws. Not in my faculties, those screws may be loose but they are staying put. The screws I'm going to be losing are in my foot and I will be glad to be rid of them.

I am not, however, looking forward to the actual removal of said screws. The doctor is going to give me two numbing injections in the top of my foot. Ouch. A shot in the arm is bearable, a shot in the foot? Not so much. Two shots in the foot? The fact that I'm thinking about it a week in advance shows that I'm a tad scared. Just a tad, though. I've come a long way when it comes to fretting about shots. When I was little I would ask my mom when my next shots were due after we would leave the doctors office. She would tell me it would be a long time, when I was 10 (or 15 or whatever) and I would pull out my hands and start adding up the years from 5 or 6 to 10 or 15 to see how many years I would have to obsess over my next poke.

Today I start physical therapy for my big toe. Yep. My big toe. It isn't bending like it should when I walk. It seems kind of funny that I'm going to physical therapy for a toe. Toes are taken for granted. No one takes much notice of them unless they are buffed and polished and cute in a sandal (or gnarly and in a sandal). I am painfully aware of how great it is to take for granted one of my tiniest members now that it isn't functioning fully.

I've mentioned before that my right foot is a different shape than my left foot now. One side effect is that there is big space between my big toe and the second toe. HUGE space. When I walk in flip flops now the right one goes flying off my foot because there is no pressure put on the the strap that goes between the toes. My flip flop days may be coming to an end.


****


PT went well yesterday. Jennifer did a great job as usual - she's been my physical therapist for about 3 years now. I usually have something flare up about once a year and I'll go in and see her for several weeks. This is the first time it isn't related to something being hyper mobile but rather immobile (as related to the foot surgery). The session was much less painful than I thought it was going to be. Normally when I go in to see her I get some form of deep tissue massage. If you've never had a therapeutic massage I'll give you a little insight.

PT: Where does it hurt?
me: here, here, and here
PT: I'm going to massage those areas.
me: woo-hoo! Massage!
PT: Wa ha ha ha (evil laugh)
me: whimper
PT: (hands poised over body in attack position) tell me when it hurts
me: ouch
PT: ok
me: I said, "ouch"
me: For the love of all things holy, I said, "OUCH"!
me: Why, God, why?!
PT: In a couple of weeks when I do this again it won't hurt
me: meaning that for the next couple of weeks it will feel like you are inducing the worst charlie horse ever?

Of course, she's right. She's always right. She's Jennifer, PT extraordinaire.

Fortunately it looks like this round of PT is shaping up to only be mildly painful. She massaged my foot. Notice, no quotes around the word 'massage'? When she said she was going to rub my foot I instinctively tensed, waiting for the torture to begin but I was pleasantly surprised that it was a pleasant massage. There were no burning sensations, no tears welling up in my eyes, no gritted teeth, I didn't know what to think of it.

Jennifer's massages were not my first introduction to deep tissue massage. My Grandma Martha used to give a mean massage. Well, it's done out of love but she could give Jennifer a run for her money. I must have been 8 or so when she gave me and my cousins back massages.

I remember laying on the brown carpet in her living room and Grandma starting to massage my back. Yowza!!! I felt like a chicken that was being prepared for dinner as a skinless entree. I don't know where Grandma learned to give those massages, maybe life on the farm required therapeutic massage, but when she was done you felt invigorated and relaxed. Maybe the invigoration was from the blood flowing to the surface of the skin and the relaxation was out of relief that it was over.

*****

Gavin is trying to get some diluted juice out of his sippy cup. He has the spout on top so none of the juice is making it out. He's looking a little perturbed - mommy to the rescue. I flipped it around for him. He looks much happier; never mind, he just threw the cup on the floor. He still doesn't quite get the cup concept; I think he thinks if you suck fluid will come out even if the cup is not tilted back. Heck, he can get milk out of me any which way.

Since I have the external hard drive hooked up to the laptop I'll post a photo of the Gavinator.

The Story That Almost Was

Today could have turned out to be a day that I would never ever forget. A day that would live on in my family and I'm sure one that would surely have made it into the lore of the local fire station. Fortunately, that was not my destiny. The Lord surely shone His face upon me today. And for that I am very, very grateful.

My sister-in-law is being induced today and will be giving birth to her second daughter. Today seemed like a good enough day to mail a baby gift and birthday gift for her first daughter, our niece, Erika whose birthday is next month. We will be visiting them in Virginia next month but instead of packing the gifts us I figured it would be better to mail them.

Instead of going to the post office I went to Beacon Hill Mail Center because the owner is so gosh darn nice and I want to support a local business. That and they will pack the package for you. Normally I like to save a few bucks and pack it myself but that would have required finding a box in the house which usually involves taking stuff out the box and trying to find some other container for the stuff and since I've been getting rid of lots of stuff there isn't a suitable box to be had. I didn't think it would be worth my time and it probably would have been a colossal waste of gas to go to a store, buy a box, bring it home, pack the gift then take it back to ship it. So, I let Mr. Beacon Hill Mail Center owner do the work.

But before I was able to let him do the work I had to get from the car to his store. I pulled the stroller out from the back of the car and instead of putting Gavin in it right away I grabbed the presents from the front seat and put them in the storage portion of the stroller. Here's where the story gets interesting. When I went to close the front door I dropped the car keys.

Dropping the car keys is something I do often. Car keys, house keys, it doesn't matter, I drop them. This time was different since they fell into a storm drain.

Oh, no! Was my first thought. OK, to be truthful it was a little stronger, maybe a little closer to "Drats!" Or maybe even a little stronger. Just a little. I did just drop our only set of car keys into a storm drain, after all.

Fortunately the drain was chock full of leaves. I got down on my hands and knees and stuck my fingers in the almost wide enough slots. I wiggled my fingers, I willed my fingers to reach the keys. Finally I gave a little push and plop, my hand went in the grate. I reached the keys!

Unfortunately I couldn't grasp the keys and pull my hand out at the same time so I had to stick my left hand in the grate, but just the fingers and I was able to grab the keys from my right hand and put them in my purse. Now I all I had to do was pull my hand out of the grate and get away from the stinky storm drain.

That's all. Pull my hand out.

I pulled expecting it to come out with the same ease with which my hand went in.

Nope. It was going to require a little more effort to get my hand out.

I pulled a little harder.

Nothing.

I pulled a little harder.

Nothing other than some scraping on my wrist.

I pulled a lot harder.

Nothing but the sensation of my hand trying to separate at the wrist. Not a good feeling.

Before I panicked I thought, am I going to have to call the fire department? How are they going to get my hand out of an iron storm drain cover? They would have to weld it out. Before calling the fire department I thought I should try to check my purse for lotion to lube my hand.

I didn't look for the lotion because I had my best idea yet. I pulled up with my left hand the skin on my right hand that was sticking right above the grate and with some scraping my hand was freed. My skin was bunching up under the grate causing a little bump that was keeping me lodged in the storm drain.

If that little trick didn't work I would have been up a creek because I didn't have any lotion in my purse and I wouldn't have been able to reach the glove box or the middle console. At least my phone was handy otherwise I would have had to yell for someone to help me.

So, there it is. The story that almost was the most embarrassing day of my life but instead is just embarrassing enough to make a good story and not enough to send me to therapy.

Uh, it's July, right?

Last Tuesday I accompanied Ryan to his indoor soccer game with Gavin. OK, not really. I accompanied him on the ride to his indoor soccer game in Tukwila. Once he had his gear and was out of the car I hopped in the driver's side and went down the road a few miles to Babies 'R Us in the heart of Southcenter shopping hell. It, Southcenter, is the site of all things big and too much. But we had a baby gate that needed to be returned because it was missing some critical piece hence the trip. We didn't have the receipt since it was a gift from last year and I'm not that good at keeping track of such things. Correction: I wasn't that good. I'm better now. (I tell myself that if I keep telling myself that and I exert a little effort then it will become true).

I'm glad I took it back when I did because their exchange/return policy is changing effective August 10th. Currently as it stands you can return any item without a receipt if it was purchased from your registry. Cool. Not everyone gives a gift receipt, although we did get one with this gift - I just don't know where it is. Oh, wait. I think I know where it is. Too late.
Anyway, in the future you have 90 to return an item but it must be accompanied with a receipt. That means if you have a baby shower at 6 months and your lovely friends buy you stuff that is on your registry but don't give a gift receipts and you try to return something that just isn't working for whatever reason after the baby is born you are out of luck. Too bad. Stupid box stores.

I just watched a documentary, "Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Cost". Grr. Stupid Wal-Mart. I always knew they were evil, now I just have facts to back up my opinion. Well, I had numbers to back up my opinions. Now I can just say, "Yeah, well, Wal-Mart expects their employees to take advantage of welfare and government subsidies to fill the gap in life expenses that their wages do not cover." Or, or, or...

Stupid short term memory. Between me and Ryan we have it made. His short term memory is great. Mine sucks. Ryan's long term memory is horrific, I'm surprised he remembers his extended family member's names sometimes. My long term memory is unbelievable. I'm surprised I don't remember the doctor spanking me after I was born. Seriously. I remember playing with my mom's hands, sitting on the living room floor making funny sounds with my lips, fighting sleep on my grandma's shoulder as she stood in her living room, my eyes heavy and blinking slower and longer and the red and white checks on her shirt coming in and out of focus as I blinked.

This is going farther and farther away from why I started this post. Back to Babies 'R Us. After returning the gate and getting store credit I walked back to the far corner of the store to pick up some diapers and to check out their baby food. I bought some stage 3 food for Gavin that was on sale - Earth's Best Organic, for those of you who care. Stage 3 is a big deal. It has chunks in it. Woo-hoo. Chunky food. 9 month old babies can eat chunks. Too bad Gavin has disliked every 'real' food in stage three except the fruit. No chicken and stars pasta, no spaghetti and cheese, no sweet potato and whatever bisque. I tried it and I don't blame him for not liking it. Bleh.

As I sauntered to the check out and was almost to the Kiddie Kandids photo studio I saw a display that made me stop in my tracks. I just stood there, staring at the clothing display trying to remember what month it was, I do have a bad short term memory after all. Maybe it was fall already and I didn't know it.

A sales associate very politely asked me if I was ready to check out. Still standing and staring at the display I glanced to my left to the nice young woman and said, "It is July, right?"

She replied, "Yes, but it'll all be gone by October."

Yes, all of the cute Halloween clothes will be gone by then because people see it on the store shelves in FREAKIN' JULY and think, "OMG! I have to buy it now because if I wait until a few weeks before Halloween (or Thanksgiving / Christmas / Valentine's Day/ St. Patrick's Day / Easter / Fourth of July) it will all be gone when I want to buy this $20 onsie that will probably be too small for my son / daughter / grandson / granddaughter / niece / nephew / godson / goddaughter when they can finally wear it for ONE DAY and I will be the worst mother / father / grandmother / grandfather / aunt / uncle / godfather / godmother EVER for not buying it in a timely fashion!"

Of course that rant makes me a huge hypocrite because I bought Gavin a Santa hat in October or November last year. How can you have a newborn at Christmas and not put a Santa hat on his cute head? It's impossible. And I have a Santa hat for him to wear for this Christmas but this one is a hand me down so neener neener.

That's right: neener neener.

I'm not one to brag. Unless its about my son - he is the CUTEST ever. I'm sure he's the smartest ever, too but I think its best to lay off the mental acuity challenges until he's the ripe old age of one year. Actually, I think the smartest baby is Isaiah in my mommy group. He was the first to roll over, sit up, crawl, stand up, walk (with assistance) and cruise and he says, Momma, Dada and dog. Holy cow! He's only 10 days older than Gavin. Oh, well. Gavin can't be the best at everything. Tough lesson to learn so young.

Where was I going with this? Oh, it has nothing to do with Gavin. I was just setting the stage for some bragging. It's easy to brag about this because I had absolutely nothing to do with it (other than "jokingly" planting a seed).

I get to watch the Blue Angels at SeaFair this year from a boat in Lake Washington! Woo-hoo! I am so excited!!! Ryan's friend bought a boat and his ridiculously expensive toy is going to bring me so much pleasure and maybe mild hearing loss! How do you say thanks for the best seat to the coolest show ever? Beer? Home baked snickerdoodles? Shortbread with chocolate drizzled on top? Biscotti with chocolate drizzled on top? Cash? Cash with chocolate drizzled on top?

And thanks to Heidi who is providing the greatest service of all: babysitting on said afternoon so I can partake of the greatest show on earth (sorry Ringling Bros. you can't touch the Blue Angels). Insert everyone's favorite song about not being able to touch it here. Ah! Now I have MC Hammer stuck in my head. At least its not ... ah, just thinking about it. My brain is burning! The visual in my head went from MC Hammer in parachute pants to the unfortunate video that I saw ONE time of him in those speedos. Ah, the humanity! Make it go away! Cursed long term memory!

Art Walk

Last night instead of studying our new book, The Life of Paul: To Die is Christ my Thursday night girlfriends went to the West Seattle Second Thursday Artwalk to support one of our own. Krissy was a featured artisan, displaying her beautiful jewelery at Keller Williams, my former stomping grounds.

Keller Williams really did have the best set up for the art walk out of the businesses that we went to. They have so much wall space that it is more like a gallery than the other stores that display local artists, some stores are so small that they just have a few token pieces. Besides, KW had music, catered food, two fabulous artists and of course, Krissy Maier, selling her handmade one of a kind pieces. You too can own an original Krissy Maier piece - check out her website (to be updated soon, I believe): www.orangeboxjewelry.com.

Yes, she is a friend so it only seems natural that I would promote her business but really, she is that good. My former boss bought 7 pieces of jewelery from her last night and had one cool necklace in her maybe pile.

Last night I bought the most beautiful necklace she has ever made. It's mine. All mine.

And since I am uploading pictures, here is one of me in my new glasses:

And here I sit at 11:32 on Friday morning. It has been 5 hours since Gavin woke up. He is 3 hours overdue for his morning nap. I hope this is just a fluke and not a new trend. If it is a new trend then I hope he will at least be kind enough to wake up at 7 and take a solid 3 hour nap in the afternoon, say from 12-3 or 11-2. He's half an hour late for the 11-2 nap time. Maybe he'll do 11:30-2:30.

No such luck. He is really enthralled with the OXO soup ladle I gave him a few minutes ago. So far as he's concerned it is the coolest new toy ever and I am the best mom ever for giving him said cool toy. It is part of a matching set, he already has the spoon with holes.

My luck changed. One second he's happily banging the big black plastic ladle with rubber handle on the floor and the next he arches his back and bonked his head. Oh, that sounds bad. It was not fortunate that he bonked his head... no, no. Not at all. After I consoled my sweet boy and kissed his sweet head he tugged on his ear and rubbed his eyes and rested his head on my shoulder. All signs pointed toward true baby fatigue so I laid him down and this time there was no howling, well, maybe 30 seconds worth, just sleeping. I peeked at the monitor when the screaming stopped because I figured he decide to entertain himself with his stuffed blue dog or by pulling himself up in the crib. Was I ever shocked when the monitor showed him lying down, sleeping. No standing, no crawling, no trying to bite the stuffed dog's ear off, just sweet, sweet, quiet sleep.

$30.25

I had an extra night off last week because I thought my mom's group was getting together for dinner a week earlier than we actually were and since Ryan agreed to watch Gavin I decided I should still go out. I chose to spend my few baby less hours by myself at the movie theater. Sure, I could have invited a friend but my girlfriends probably would have politely declined to see the movie I wanted to watch, but I'll get to that in a minute.

Almost more shocking than my choice of movie was the cost of my few hours out. Instead of planning ahead and taking the bus to the movie theater I drove. Since it was late at night, and by late I mean 7 o'clock, and the theater was downtown in an area with a dearth of off street parking and the pay lots only taking exact change of which I had exactly one $20 bill I parked in a garage. If I planned ahead, not enough to take the bus but enough to find cheap parking, I would have thought to look up the exact location of Pacific Place's garage where parking is cheap, relatively speaking, and parked there and saved a few bucks.

There went the first $10.

Since I see about 1 movie or less a year in the theater I decided it would be permissible to buy popcorn and a soda. Sure, I could have bought a jumbo box of candy at Bartell's and put it in my purse and saved some money for Gavin's college education but I didn't. I wanted popcorn with butter, lots and lots of fake butter that you can only get on the top layer because they fill the stupid bag to the top and hand it to you to put your own butter on because to have them put the butter on in stages as they fill up the bag would be too much work and they would have to charge too much for it.

Oh, wait. They did charge me too much.

My second $10 was for a SMALL popcorn and a SMALL soda. I asked the cashier how much for their #2 combo (medium popcorn and medium drink); he said without batting an eye, $13. I choked. He must get that reaction a lot because he just stood there staring at me. So, Mr. Cashier hands me my small bag of popcorn and jumbo cup of soda. Seriously. Why are soda sizes so relative? A 32 oz soda is not small. I should have ordered a child's size soda.

Of course it cost to get into the movie and it was actually the first money I spent, $10.25 for admission to secure a seat for my behind in the theater.

After getting hosed at the concessions stand I took my munchies and trough of soda and settled in to just the right seat. I was just early enough to catch the last trivia question and right on time for the witty spots on turning off cell phones and I got to watch all 21 minutes of previews.

TWENTY-ONE minutes of previews. Is that not a little over kill? C'mon, the feature presentation was going to be 2 1/2 hours, do we really want to add to our sore butt time and gotta-pee-'cause-I-drank-32 ounces-of-fluid-but-I-don't-want-to-miss-a-minute-of-the-movie-chair-dance? I think not.

It is time for me to divulge the name of the movie I watched. It is quite shocking. Really. Aside from Ryan I have only told one friend the movie I watched and she played like she wasn't too shocked but I really think she was.

Sorry, Mom, AnnaLisa, everyone else who thought I was 'above' this but the movie was...

Sex and the City.

Yep, your little April watched Sex and the City and aside from the sex parts she really enjoyed the movie.

I am a closet Sex and the City fan. I don't remember when I started watching it but it was after it had gone off the air and was being re-run on TBS. I think insomnia and pregnancy were involved and it is all TiVo's fault. It recorded the TBS re-runs under TiVo suggestions. One night when there was nothing to watch and I was wide awake I thought I would watch a minute of the show to see what the fuss was all about. I found out. Life. It was all about life.

As much as I despised some aspects of their characters it was easy to see the common thread of love that ran through the women on the show. In the heyday of the show women wanted to know if they were a Carrie Bradshaw, Miranda Hobbs, Charlotte York-MacDougal-Goldenblatt or Samantha Jones. I think I would be a bit of Carrie and Charlotte, minus the killer clothes. I would be the least like Miranda and it would be a cold, cold day in hell before anyone would compare me to Samantha. I didn't even like Kim Catrell (Samantha) when she did interviews. Bleh.

I knew the version of the show I watched on TV was the cleaned up version but I had no idea how much it was cleaned up. Yipes. The sex was just unnecessary in the movie. Really. Do we need to see that? Are we not an intelligent lot? Can we not figure out what's going on behind closed doors?

Watching a movie by oneself is not all the bad, especially if you like to watch the movie and not talk during the movie. This was the first time I ever went to the movie theater by myself. I will eat alone no problem and I actually enjoy eating by myself. Some people can't stand to eat alone, they feel all sad and lonely. Not me. I'm good company.

Ha.

The part about watching a movie by yourself that I don't like the is the after part: there is no one to talk to about it.

That part nearly killed me!!! I watched a movie I really enjoyed and I really, really, really wanted to talk to someone about it but who? Ryan? Ha. I told him that I didn't like watching movies by myself because I had no one to talk to about it.

Of course this is where the husband (in the fantasy land) says, "Tell me all about it, my dear. I will hang on your every word; let me see this girlie movie through your eyes."

OR where your real husband says, "Mhmh." As in, "Straight up! You have no one to talk to about this movie, ESPECIALLY, me."

I can't say I blame him. If he came home after watching Laura Croft: Tomb Raider and was dying to talk about all of the action my eyes would glaze over. Actually, if Ryan ever uttered the words, "dying to talk" and he wasn't quoting me I would keel over.

Right there. On the spot. Don't get me wrong. Ryan talks. We talk. We have good talks. But he is never DYING to talk; not many men have a pressing need to gab.

Curtain Tie Backs

It is the little things in life that make us happy. We all know this but we don't all take it to heart. Happiness is in the cup of coffee freshly brewed that you sip at the dining room table as you gaze at your clean living room. A living room that is clean for no good reason(the 'good reason' usually being that company was expected to arrive any time soon). Happiness is in knowing that the jumble of stuff that has been collecting dust for two years in the entry way has been pared down, sorted and taken care of so that paper clips, staples, pens, batteries, receipts, coupons, scissors, safety pins, etc., all have a drawer in the new 9-drawer box I bought from Ikea. Happiness is seeing the top of the dining room table and not just the legs.

It's so nice to have the upstairs part of the house so close to being exactly the way I want it: neat, organized and clean. Clean and neat are not the same thing. A house can be tidy and organized but still be dirty. I wonder if the Spring Cleaning Bug is hitting me now because our winter lasted well into June. Whatever the reason I don't want to fight it.

The last couple of days I've been tying the curtains back when I open them in morning (late morning). I think this is a huge milestone for me as a mother. Yes, a milestone because when, in the not so distant past, you were so sleep deprived that you napped every second the baby napped and cried when baby woke up crying because you could have easily slept 8 more hours. To make matters worse you couldn't reach the curtains even if you wanted to. There was no way to get to the curtains anyway without an overnighter at base camp because the house was a complete hovel and you couldn't physically get past the baskets of clean laundry, the swing, the exersaucer, the basket of books, the briefcases, the shoes and baby toys. Even if there was an open and easy path to the curtains why would you want to flood light into your home and disrupt the land of perpetual naps? Of course to get out of Perpetual Napdom one must forgo naps for a couple of days but that is easier said than done when Napdom is the only reason you get any amount of sleep at all.

So yes it is a momentous occasion to tie back the curtains. You are no longer fighting the light and you have time and energy to spare by walking 10 feet out of your way to get the tie backs and, here's the exciting part: you still have energy and motivation to tie the curtains back and let in the sunshine! Glorious, glorious sunshine. We in Seattle see so very little of the sun that when we are graced with its warm, glowing presence we flip out. So elated are we that our feet don't touch the ground, we float along, gracefully scattering flower petals in our wake as we smile and wave gracefully to our fellow levitating flower tossing neighbors.

That is of course on the first day of said glorious weather. On day two of the same glorious weather only a degree or two warmer and we melt into a collective puddle of sweaty grumbly goo. We wanted summer to come but to come on our terms. 'Our terms' are for the weather to stay a perfect 79 to 81 degrees with just a fluffy cloud or two in the sky, maybe a few feathery clouds to frame out Mt. Rainier, and the softest of breezes kissing our skin as it brings a hint of salt water that it collected as it skimmed the Puget Sound.

We are a fickle bunch. We live in a green state, physically and conservationally, we have an abundance of water, at least West of the Cascades, we have mild winters and mild summers (again, West of the Cascades) and we still find reason to grumble on day two of 'heat wave'. Of course when the heat wave is over we are happy for all of one day before we grumble about summer being gone so soon.

You know it is day one of real summer weather when you are stuck in traffic on the 520 or 405 or I-5 or 167 or 169 or 518 or 509 or 99 because no one seems to care they are stuck in their cars. Traffic flows anywhere between 0 and 8 mph and everyone has their radio on listening to Sheryl Crow's or Will Smith's song about summer, drivers all have their left arm hanging out the window and everyone is sporting a huge, relaxed smile. Good vibes all around in this love fest of beautiful weather.

Day two of same glorious summer weather and you are stuck on the same 520/405/I-5/167/169/518/509/99 and the smiles have vanished, the windows are rolled up and the a/c is blasting. Instead of smiles and friendly wave-ins being passed around it is now the bird. It flits from car to car and horn to horn.

Happy Summer!

Happy Independence Day!

I'm watching Blood Diamonds right now and I'm even more grateful to have been so blessed to have been born in America.