Lexus is a Girly Car

There are a few of my past blog posts that consistently get a lot of traffic, like Calling All Male Drivers of a Lexus SUV  and I Have Obsessive-Compulsive Facebook Disorder.

These posts get hundreds of visitors weekly, which is odd to me since they aren't that interesting and I wrote them a year ago.

So, I did some fishing around on the "stats" tab in blogspot (my blog host), and discovered that a lot of the traffic to these posts come from Google search terms like "Lexus is a girly car," "Facebook is obsessive," "Do men drive Lexus RX300s?" and "compulsive Facebooking."

How funny that my husband's identity complex about having to drive my kid-tested, mother approved eight-year-old Lexus SUV is universal.

Incidentally, I also learned that I have a bit of a following in the Netherlands, for totally unexplained reasons. 

MyBigPrettyWorld

If you're wondering where I've been and how I've been spending all that spare time I have on my hands, I've been helping my daughter with the launch of her very own blog, mybigprettyworld.blogspot.com.

I think she might be better at this blogging stuff than me. Two posts in her first two days, and her content is interesting and engaging. 

I, for one, had no idea that the Queen of England was on Facebook.

Top ten list of nutty things my son has said to me in the past two weeks

10. This dinner tastes like choke. (His word for throw up. Yes, it was a home cooked meal.)

9. When I grow up I want to be Alvin and the chipmunks, the sqeakwell.

8. Does "challenge" mean the same thing as "not wearing a skirt"? That's what Abby told me.

7. Did you know there is a contest coming up between ducks and beavers and it's going to be on TV?

6. Your back is bouncy.

5. You are not the boss of this entire family. Daddy is sometimes also the boss.

4. Squirrels are the cleverest.

3. How did Clifford get so big?

2. If you sing while a carrot is growing it will grow faster.

1. Does the water from the toilet upstairs drip down to couple up with the water in the toilet downstairs?

I Want to Trick-or-Treat in Parenthood

Holy smokes, do you watch NBC's sort-of-new show called Parenthood?

Did you see last week's episode where they go trick-or-treating? What kind of neighborhood is that?

Parents are dressed up as well as kids. Did Halloween rules change? It's hard enough coordinating costumes for my kids, since when do I have to dress up too? And what was Max's Mom dressed up as? A cotton ball?

There is creepy smoke hanging in the air to give the neighborhood that eery feel. Every house is professionally decorated to look like a haunted mansion. There are great big blow up pumpkins in every beautifully manicured yard.

I'm contemplating a trip down to Southern California this week-end to try to find this neighborhood. My kids would love it.

Happy Anniversary MSoML!

In celebration of my one year anniversary of blogging, I re-branded My Slice of Mom Life, as you can see. I got sick of seeing those crazy polka-dots everywhere, on my site and on everyone else's (it's a very common blog template).

If you read, occasionally or regularly, please subscribe to my blog and I love and appreciate your comments. Thanks for your support this past year and here's to another year of blogging about the less serious side of motherhood.

In case you were wondering, mine is the glass on the right. The empty one.

Some Breakthrough Ideas for Keeping Order in the Classroom

Macy is a pleaser, for sure. And filled with good ideas.

So, it makes perfect sense that she would take the time to put those ideas on paper for her teacher, Mrs. Awesome.

Evidently, there is some interrupting going on in the classroom, and Macy wants to do her part to put a stop to it.

And I'm sure Mrs. Awesome, who's been teaching for more than 25 years, will find this tip sheet helpful.

In case you need a translation, here's what Macy had to offer:

Tips for Stopping Kids from Interrupting You:

1. Talk louder

2. Send them to their seat

3. Take some recess away from them

4. Try to ignore them

All good ideas.

If you like my blog, please subscribe. If you like a post, please comment! 

This is Not a Barbecue!

So, we went to a barbecue last weekend at my son's pre-school, Stumptown Kids, ran by the amazing and hysterical Jenn, whom I will talk about more in a future post.

(Stumptown, for my readers who do not live in Oregon, is a nickname for Portland.)

The barbecue was a blast, but I think maybe Trey was a little tired.

There were lots of kids there. And trees to climb. And toys. And even a musical performance. Here is a picture of Macy's awesome piano teacher Sarah. (I'll tell you more about her later too!)

I thought Macy was having a great time. Here's proof, a picture of her with a new friend and a can of pomegranate soda.

Now's the time to mention that this was a vegetarian potluck. 

Meaning, the party host Jenn is a vegetarian and although it wasn't expressly spelled out on the E-vite, most of the attendees just knew to bring a meatless dish. 

In fact, I'm not even sure where I picked up the term "barbecue" to describe this party. But I must have used it and therefore set up an image in Macy's mind about what would be served at this shindig. Because she completely ignored the long table of covered dishes, and I realize now it was because she was holding out for the good stuff. The hot dogs and hamburgers.

So, after a couple hours of chasing tired Trey around, we decided to pack it in and leave. John grabbed Trey and headed to the car, and I found Macy right in the middle of a huge group of adults and kids.

I leaned down to her and whispered, "Macy, we're going to head home now." Wide-eyed, she threw her head back and shrieked, "What about the FOOD? Where's the barbecue??!!"

Quietly, I said, "The food is over there on the table, Macy. This is a vegetarian party."

With that Macy declared loudly, very loudly, "This Is Not A Barbecue!" And you could have heard a pin drop. Even the kids were embarrassed for me. 

So, we went home, grilled a hot dog, and caught the last 20 minutes of Mad Men. I'm KIDDING.

We did evolve from monkeys right? So, it makes sense ...

I have known for a long time that my son is a climber. (Here's where I would insert a picture of him climbing out of his crib at 12 months, if I had one.)

He's just really good at it. I am not sure how this skill will serve him later in life ... 

... but for now he seems to be having a lot of fun just climbing trees.

And I am having fun taking pictures of him climbing trees.

  

And using fancy editing software to give the illusion of an angelic glow.

  

But I swear to you I did not edit these pictures. The situation is every bit as dangerous as it appears.

Yes, that's my only son Trey. Up in the very top of that tall tree. 

Wearing his helmet (NOT because I had him wear it before tree climbing, but because he didn't stop to remove it when he hopped off his tricycle to run and climb a tree).

And what does it say about me (and my mothering instincts) that I ran to get a camera before rescuing him?

They Don't Call Her Mrs. Awesome for Nothing

Tonight is open house at Macy's school, and I have to say, I just love Macy's second grade teacher.

Not just because Macy adores her, hangs on her every word, and seems to be getting smarter by the day.

Not just because she clearly loves teaching, and her students call her Mrs. Awesome. (Her last name is two syllables and starts with an A.)

Not just because she is totally accessible to parents for every little question and concern, and we have many.

Mainly, I love her, because she has my back on this Mad Men situation, and knew just how to fix everything.

Letting your seven-year-old watch "one" episode of Mad Men is clearly a lot more responsible than letting her watch "every" episode.

Thank you, Mrs. Awesome.

You Only Get One Chance to Make a First Impression

So, we moved to Portland this summer, remember? And everything is going great. Macy started 2nd grade this week, and we’re settling into the back-to-school routine very nicely.

I really like Macy’s new school. I’ve already met a few of the moms in her class, and everyone is really nice.

Ok, so what’s the point? Where’s the punch line?

Well, this morning I walked Macy to school and I could tell she and I were starting to get the hang of things. Backpack on hook. Check. Lunchbox in lunchbox bin. Check. I waved and said hello to a few of the moms. This is going great, I thought.

“Mommy,” Macy interrupted my happy thoughts, “Come look!” And with that she steered me to a bright blue construction-papered wall showcasing the children’s first writing project, “What I Did This Summer”.

Macy’s essay was pretty short. There was no mention of the cross-country move, saying good-bye to her friends in Florida, her cool new bedroom or the great friends she’s made in our new neighborhood. She left out that she rode on a plane, learned to ride a bike, lost two teeth, went hiking and read her first Beverly Cleary book.

It started with, “This summer I visited my Grandma and Grandpa and we watched every episode of Mad Men.” There was a little more to it, but I couldn’t really focus in on any details after that intro. The girl really knows how to grab her reader.

First off, way to get off on the right foot with those new moms I was trying to make a good impression on. I’m pretty sure because this is Portland that a lot of them don’t have tvs because they are always outdoors doing cool extreme outdoor sports with their kids. Or composting. Or sculpting.

Second, it’s not true. She doesn’t watch Mad Men. With all the “smoking and drinking at work” scenes, this show is clearly for children aged nine and over, and Macy is just seven.

I'm No Don Draper, But ...

I got a job. An actual full-time, "must go every day into an office" job, at a local agency.

I'll be working in client service (think Peter from Mad Men) and doing some writing (think Peggy from Mad Men).

So, last week I put my slippers away, dusted off my work clothes, filled up my gas tank and went in for my first week. And I loved it.

It's been six years since I've worked in an office environment Monday through Friday. Of course I will miss my flexible schedule, picking my kids up from school almost every day, and being my own boss, but there are definitely perks to having an office job.

Such as:
1. Because I leave my house to go into an office every day, people actually recognize that I have a job.

2. I no longer have to live where I work, and work where I live.

3. Unless it's "bring your child to work day", there will be no more interruptions during conference calls.

4. I can push away from my desk at the end of the day, go home, and not think about my work until the next day (unless I choose to).

5. My home office can now house bills, report cards, warranties and other important household documents.

Going back to work reminds me of how I've missed the everyday part of having a job;  group lunches, water cooler talk, staff meetings, funny email trains, leftovers from catered lunches, inside jokes, funny colleagues, bosses to try to please, regularly scheduled paychecks, reliable and affordable health insurance.

So the content of my posts will shift slightly as I layer yet one more monumental change into the mix. But I'm still going to strive to find the humor in all of it.

If you like this post and want to read more, subscribe. Or comment. Or both.

My Dirty Little Secret

Come on, we all have them.

Do you want to know what mine is?

Yes, I do have a penchant for any reality show where a group of experts in their field (cooking, designing, dating, decorating, hair-cutting, you name it) compete in a variety of challenges (always with a whacky twist) and eventually get voted off, one by one, until there is only one person left standing and they are deemed the winner and then promptly forgotten about.

But that's not a dirty little secret. I freely admit to it and am consequently largely unavailable Monday-Thursday from 8-10 pm.

And it's not my love of sushi. Or wine. Or my kids. Or sleeping. Or Diet Coke. Or my refusal to regularly exercise. Or my chronic procrastination. These things I own.

There is just this one teeny weeny vice that I hide from everyone.

I turn on the heat. In July. Almost every single morning. I'm just so cold. 

Socks and long-sleeved shirts and jackets and blankets cannot warm me up in the mornings when it's 50 degrees outside. My Florida blood is just too thin. So, even though the cold usually burns off by lunchtime and many afternoons it hits 90 degrees, I still turn on the heat to warm up.

There. I said it.

What would my environmentally-savvy neighbors, friends, family and fellow Portland residents say if they knew that I routinely waste fossil fuel, in mid-summer, just to keep my toes warm?

Where's Waldo / Where Every Kid in Portland Goes During a Heat Wave

I went to pick up Macy early from camp today for a little Macy/Mommy bonding time.

"They're at the pool," I was told by the camp administrator.

"Sounds fun!" I thought as I headed over to the pool. In my work clothes. In the 100+ degree heat.

I got to the pool and realized I was the only one there in work clothes.

I'm not complaining, but it was pretty hot. So I got right on the task of finding Macy. 

I stood out like a sore thumb. Unfortunately, Macy did not.

So I walked to the other side of the pool and tried to remember what color Macy's swimming suit was. 

Pink is indeed a popular color for young girls' swimwear. Never seen so many pink suits.

I was contemplating getting into the pool with all the others to cool off. Plus I thought my chances would be better of finding her, when I finally spotted my little waterbug.

I Love PDX

What has changed since we moved to Portland, you ask?

We Don't Sleep Much.
It gets dark here at ... oh ... about 10 pm. It gets light at ... yawn ... about 4:55 am. I'm serious. Not kidding one bit.

Our House is Old.
Our "new" house is 95 years old and our "old" house was seven years old. For more on this, read one of my favorite posts.

We Can Walk to Whole Foods Paycheck.
We live less than one mile from a Whole Foods but more than 20 minutes from a Walmart. We used to live 20 minutes from the Whole Foods but less than a mile from Walmart.

We Don't Have Air.
Our house does not have air conditioning. Where we used to live, we never turned the air off. Here, we have no chance to even turn it on, and no need to.

There are Subtle Weather Differences.
In late June we were still wearing long pants and jackets, which I got from the "winter clothes" bin I dug out of storage. I guess I will go to our "ski clothes" bin for our winter clothes.

We live Close to Downtown Portland.
Which means we live near a lot of hip things. Like a medical marijuana facility, a Japanese grocery store, a Vietnamese take-out restaurant and an acupuncture clinic, all within five blocks of our new house. There was a Chic-Fil-A, an Office Max and a Quizno's within five blocks of our old house.

I Heart Gas Stations.
In Oregon it is against the law to fill up your own gas tank. I used to wait until I was driving on fumes to stop, but now "gassing up" is a big break in my day to sit and chill out for a minute. All I have to do is hand my credit card to the attendant and say, "Fill it up, please".

Hurricanes are Frozen Drinks, Right?
There was a hurricane threatening the Gulf coast and I only heard about it third-hand on the national news (meaning, Parenthood was not interrupted with a "storm tracker" update).

I Participate in Oprah's No Phone Zone Pledge by Default.
Talking on cell phones is against the law in Oregon. Good thing, because there's a LOT more traffic in Portland so I need to concentrate.

Recycling is Cool.
On garbage day, all of our neighbors drag out a huge garbage can filled with recyclables, and a teeny-tiny much, much smaller can filled with regular garbage.

I'm Still Wondering if I'm Groovy Enough to Live in Portland?
I attended a women's networking event last night for working mothers, and about a third of the women arrived by bike! Making me instantly question my decision to drive there.

I feel like I'm home, because I am. I love Portland, but of course I miss my friends in Florida and I'm sure I will, eventually, miss the sunshine. We'll talk again in March.

Sparrows Live for 1-2 Years (and Up to 10 Years in Captivity)

I told you in my last post that I would keep you updated, and I am a woman of my word.

Did you know that sparrows live for about 1-2 years? And apparently they too will enter an open door or window.

Having never been a bird fan, no one was more freaked out than me (although not too freaked out to grab my camera). 

I was home alone with the kids, and we resorted to fleeing the house once the captive bird flew up the stairs and into my bedroom.

John came home just in time to save us all.

Even the bird. 

Flies Only Live For One Day

We don't have air conditioning in our house in Portland. And I am told this is an inconvenience for about two weeks out of the year.

Because of the above-mentioned point, in the summer we open our windows, especially in late afternoon when it's the warmest out. And some of our windows don't have screens. (Probably because they are 95 years old and must have been installed before screens were invented?)

So flies get into our house. At any given time, there is at least one fly buzzing around.  (We didn't really have flies in Florida, or maybe we did, but they just didn't get into our tightly closed, air-conditioned, screened-lanai homes.) 

Anyway, this fly business at first kind of freaked my kids out. Until I told them a fun fact I learned somewhere (and was actually not 100% sure was even true).

That flies only live for one day.

Which took care of the problem. Flies went from being scary buzzing flying things, to fragile, short-lived creatures that needed as much acceptance as possible during their short, one-day lives.

The fly fun fact unleashed a flurry of inquiries about all manner of bug life. So I'm here to tell you, in case you didn't know, that:

1. Wasps live for about a year.
2. Earthworms live from 4 to 8 years.
3. Spiders generally live for 1-2 years.
4. Bees live for 28 to 35 days.
5. Beetles live for about 10 days.

I'll be sure to keep you posted with more entomological news as it develops.

Moving Boxes

Forget all the fancy toys and electric gadgets.

Throw away the silly bandz and turn off the computer games. 

It took this move (and I'm not one to complain but I really do not like moving) to discover ... 

... that my kids can entertain themselves for hours (and I do mean hours) ... 

... with a couple of boxes and a broom (and their big imaginations). 

Evites: A Cautionary Tale

Did you know that when you get an Evite, the "hostess" can see exactly when you log in to read the invitation?

And she will feel snubbed for sure when you log out without replying "Yes, I'll be there!" or "Sorry, I can't make it".

Not committing at all is almost worse than saying "Sorry, I can't make it," right?

What happened to the old fashioned paper invitations we used to receive in the mail? We could put them up on the bulletin board and sleep on it before making any sort of decision, and no one was the wiser.

I'm as committed to technological advances as the next guy, until I recently threw a party via Evite and could see in real time exactly who was riding the fence on coming to my shin-dig.

Come to think of it, it's kind of like having a blog. (Don't worry, I can't see specifically WHO reads or doesn't, just how many!)

Don't Leave Your Purse on the Tram at the Atlanta Airport

Just don't.

Keep better track of your stuff when you're traveling. Because someone might take it. And even if a nice, honest person finds it and turns it in, you might never be able to track it down.

So, last Sunday I flew to Portland to house hunt (and I flew Delta so of course I had a layover in Atlanta). While chatting animatedly on my cell phone on that tram thing that goes from one terminal to another (because my connecting flight is never, ever on the same terminal), I left my purse on the tram.

Yep. Just got right off the tram with my laptop bag, my phone on my ear, my driver's license and boarding pass in my pocket, and my purse sitting on the seat.

Since I had a two-hour layover, of course I went straight to the bar. After finishing my draft beer (still talking on the phone) I went to pay the bartender and THAT's when I realized I didn't have my purse.

Fast forward: Someone graciously bought my beer (since I didn't have a dime on me). I did a ton of frantic running around asking anyone in uniform to help me. A few hysterical (in in hindsight, somewhat embarrassing) tears were shed. Finally, I realized I had no choice but to head to my gate and get on my flight. I was convinced my purse was gone forever, until I got to my gate and they were paging me! Someone had turned in my purse! Wow, what a relief, right?

It was waiting for me at Terminal D, Gate 15.

Problem was, I was in Terminal A, Gate 27, and my flight was boarding. No time to "dash" over to pick up my purse. No other flights out to Portland that day. I decided to leave my purse and pick it up on my way back through Atlanta on Thursday.

Bad idea. No one knew where it was. I kept getting:
"You just left it there?"
"Who did you talk to?"
"Did you check lost and found?"
"What happened again?"

Airport Personnel (meaning, a woman in a burgundy uniform riding one of those moving cars with the flashing lights) assured me that it would be put in a safe place, and she gave me her cell phone to call her to find out the location of said "safe place". How was I to know she would never EVER answer her cell phone.

The Lost and Found at the Atlanta airport:
1) Needs a better process for "finding" those things that are "lost".
2) Is located in the main terminal outside security so it really only works out if you live in Atlanta, are going to Atlanta on vacation or have a five hour layover.
3) Has lots of numbers to call, but very few real people to talk to.

Fortunately, I have a friend who has a cousin who works for Delta as a flight attendant. She, with her "all access" badge, walked around the Hartsfield Atlanta Airport for about three hours before finally tracking my purse down. How do I go about thanking her appropriately? She doesn't even know me.

So, moral of story. Hang on to your purse.

I Do So Keep Up With the News

You can learn a lot from People Magazine (my guilty travel pleasure, I indulged in the latest issue on my flight home yesterday).

For instance, I learned that actor Matthew Fox is also moving to Oregon now that Lost has wrapped. Strange coincidence? Or perhaps he is following my blog and is as big a fan of me as I am of him?

And did you know that there is a big Facebook Fan movement to get Cam and Mitchell from Modern Family to exchange a kiss (similar to the recent - and successful - Facebook movement to get Betty White to host SNL)? Producers of the show promise that a "public display of affection" will be addressed in season two.

Sidebar: If you aren't watching Modern Family, you really should be. (Remember back in the 90s when people were talking about Seinfeld and you just never found the time to tune in? Next thing you knew it was season three and you finally watched it and realized what you were missing? Well this is that same thing happening all over again. It is sitcom television at its finest. Witty, relevant, modern and laugh-out-loud funny.)

From this one issue, I also learned that Kate Hudson's son Ryder got a hair-cut. Finally. I was wondering what was up with that.

The Glee cast is complaining of exhaustion from 16-hour days of rehearsals and filming. Did they think starring in a show where they put on a mini-broadway act every week would be a walk in the park?

Demi Moore, 47, and her husband Ashton Kutcher are trying to have a baby. I wish them luck, however ...

Elin and Tiger will most likely split up. Wow, what a shocker. And, Jesse James reports he is "tortured with regret" and declares he wants Sandra back. Good luck with that.

And, lastly, Brangelina are still dressing that little Shiloh like a boy for reasons that remain a mystery to me.

Homes Built in the 1920s are Old.

Here I am in Portland on a whirlwind tour of homes. So far I've looked at 22 houses and toured five schools.

Here are a few things I've learned.
1. I definitely am not groovy enough to live in Portland YET. But I am a very quick study.
2. Homes built in the 1920s are very old homes.
3. In the 1920s, it had not yet occurred to home builders, evidently, that 2 bathrooms would be a nice extra for a family with kids.
4. If the listing says "original" and it was built in the 20s, I can skip this house and move on.
5. Realtors are a quirky bunch.
6. The beautiful homes priced right in the best neighborhoods go fast. Darn it anyway.

To save you some time should you find yourself moving 3,000 miles away and looking for a rental home on craigslist, here is a dictionary of terms used to describe homes for rent and what these terms really mean:

"Lively" = Liberal use of bright colors not chosen for mass appeal.
"Eclectic" = Choppy and probably un-livable layout.
"Cottage" = Tiny.
"Comfortable" = Lived in, possibly down-right messy.
"Updated" = The house actually needs to be totally renovated but we didn't have the money so we made some minor improvements. Yep, the bathrooms are still small. Nope, no walls were moved.
"Family home" = This comment has attitude. It means, "This was our family's home and now it's up for rent and if you don't like it, don't rent it. I'm not going to do the hard sell."
"Newer" = Does not fit into the popular 'brand new construction' category, nor does it fit the also popular 'super old but renovated' category. Might have wood panelling.

Hey if you read my blog and like it, subscribe. It helps my search engine ranking and all of that. Thanks.

I Remember When Rubber Bands Used to Be a Circle

Ok, is this a nationwide phenomenon? This trading of Silly Bandz?

No, I did not hear about it from my own first grader. She never mentioned a thing about them. But kids at her school are trading them like crazy. Two heart bands for one sea-horse. Three cat bands for one glow-in-the-dark iPod band.

Moms are driving their kids to remote locations miles away to buy a hard-to-find series of bands. It's nutty.

I learned about the whole gig while volunteering in Macy's class, where I noticed several kids had armfuls of colored rubber bands in various shapes and colors on their arms. I put 2 and 2 together when I witnessed a trade take place before the bell rang. (In my opinion, Amanda got the better end of that trade. She's quite the saleswoman.)

Aside from a brief Madonna-worshipping stage in high school, where I might have been known to wear 20+ black rubber bracelets on my own arm, I have never seen such a craze.

So, I bought Macy some "silly bandz" of her own. At a pricey $2.99 for twelve.

I should have grabbed a handful of regular rubber bands from the junk drawer, because as it turns out, my daughter is not into free commerce.

"Thanks," was all I got. "Now I can stand in line with all the other kids at recess and trade them." She could not have sounded less enthused if I'd proposed going to the dentist to have a tooth pulled.

"Why didn't you tell me about this silly band business?" I asked her. "I could have helped you get some."

Basically, my daughter has not one iota's interest in trading bands, or wearing them. She half-heartedly brings her zip-loc of silly bands to school every day, but I have no knowledge of a single trade.

At least this takes care of that pesky line at the cross-bars during recess. Maybe there's still hope for the 2020 Olympics.

I Won $70 at the Kentucky Derby!

No, I didn't go. I'm in the middle of planning a move, silly.

But, here were the guidelines I gave to my friend who actually did go to the Kentucky Derby last week-end and agreed to place a bet (or two) for me.

--  "Ok, don't bet my money on the horses with the very best odds. I won't make any money."

--  "Oh, and don't bet on those poor horses with the worst odds. They'll never win."

--  "Pick a horse right in the middle, odds-wise. Not in the middle as in where they are standing."

--  "Out of all those 'middle odds' horses, pick a horse who's name reminds you of me."

--  "Don't spend more than $20."

Fast forward, said friend placed two $10 bets, following my explicit direction, on "Make Music for Me" (I sing sometimes if you did not know) and "Super Saver" (I have evidently misled this friend into thinking I am a "super saver"). 

Anyway, thank you Super Saver. My investment of $20 won me $90 as you had 9-to-1 odds. That is, according to my math, a clean $70 that I can spend - or save - as I please. And I didn't even have to leave my house or wear a hat.

Am I Groovy Enough to Live in Portland?

Just because I was born in Portland, Oregon, does not mean I am actually cool enough to live there. But guess what? We're moving there! On June 9th!

Now all my worries set in. These are the things that keep me up at night.

Do I exercise enough?
I mean, everyone in Portland exercises, right? That's what the "Moving to Portland" websites and blogs say. I used to run, but I have bad knees (from running) so that's sort of out. I can't imagine myself biking to work. Besides, I work from home so I'll probably just walk to work.


Am I green enough?
Of course I recycle, Florida style. That means I throw all of my cans, bottles and paper into one bin and drag it out to the driveway every Monday. Somehow, I don't think that will cut it in Portland. Oregonians are serious about their recycling.

Can I handle the weather?

It can rain 300 days a year. That's a lot of rain. I like rainy days, but do I like rain 5 out of 7 days a week?

Am I earthy enough?
I'd like to think I am. But surfing the internet can be so intimidating. Community gardens sound neat, but how do I become a part of one? Composting. Cooperative schools. Clearly I am getting in over my head.


We don't own a dog!
As I understand it, everyone owns at least one 25+ lb. mixed-breed dog in Oregon. Macy is currently afraid of all dogs, even tiny ones. But I'm sure once we get one, she'll get used to him/her, right?

I am a Democrat. That's a good thing.
I am excited, and I guess that's enough. I'm sure I'll be just fine.

Calling All Male Drivers of a Lexus SUV

I got a new car (new to me anyway). And John inherited my old car. A 2000 Lexus RX300 with 160,000 miles and a ton of toddler wear-and-tear. Both of my kids enjoyed their toddler years in that car, and it has the imbedded crumbs and marker stains on the seats to prove it.

(I was able to remove the two-year-old princess stickers from the window and you can only see where they stained the tinting in the bright sunlight.)

So now John is convinced he's driving the 2010 equivalent of a red convertible Cabriolet. He swears he has never EVER seen a single man driving a Lexus SUV.

So, basically I'm asking for your help. I can see where this is heading and two new cars in one year is simply not in our budget. Either help me convince John he is even more of a man for driving such a girly car OR tell me if you've EVER seen a man driving a Lexus RX300.

You Kids With Your Fancy Camera Phones

I'm sort of jealous of the younger set, with their fancy camera phones. Digitally photographing, if not video-taping, every single gathering and posting it on Facebook for all to see and comment on.

Back in my hey-day, you were lucky if one person thought to bring their camera. With a roll of either 12- or 24-exposure film.

And if that person made it to CVS within six months to develop said roll of film, you were even luckier. But only if it occurred to him or her to show you the pictures after they got them developed. Then and only then did you get to see an out-take of the event. The rest is up to your memory.

Maybe your friend got "doubles" and gave you a few pictures from your night out. So now you have a few shots of you and your friends huddled, shoulder to shoulder, with big smiles. With only 24 exposures, candid shots were few and far between.

The entire decade of my 20s is memorialized by a few blurry photos of groups of people posing for the camera.

And the older I get the more fun memories are slipping away. If only I'd had a camera phone, I could have snapped a few dozen candid shots. Then I could scroll through them every so often to "remember the good times".

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

I watched the wedding. I had to. I couldn't let my readers, who wouldn't be caught dead watching this stuff, down. Admit it, you want details.

First, a singer I'd never heard of named Jason Castro (from American Idol, the one reality show I don't watch) sang "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" while Molly walked down the aisle. I know what you're thinking, cheesy. But it wasn't. Take a look at the lyrics, they're actually very touching.

Ok, then it starts pouring rain just as the ceremony begins. Evidently there were hundreds of giant transparent umbrellas on hand for the guests, but no canopy or tent could be found to shield the bride and groom from the elements. Sopping wet, they read poetry and their own vows to each other as the wind blew and the rain poured.

The kicker. A real rainbow appeared in the sky behind them. I am not joking. At least, I think it was real. Seems pretty coincidental.

Finally, at the reception, a husky-voiced Gavin DeGraw sang an acoustic version of Molly's favorite song, Follow Through as the couple kissed continually and sort of danced. I would have thought Gavin would be too cool for a gig like this, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

It was pretty good. And if you must know, I cried just a little bit. Twice.

Best Wishes Molly and Jason

I stopped just short of watching Molly and Jason tie the knot last night on national television. Ok, I did record it. But I have no intention of watching it.

I'm happy for them and all, glad they found each other. And I'll admit watching the whole thing play out was riveting.

I'm sure you have a life and stopped watching The Bachelor back in the 2002. But I'm sentimental, and I tend to hang onto the things I love for dear life. So I'm still watching.

If you ever grocery shop, you probably saw the magazine covers though so you probably know what I'm talking about.

A couple of seasons ago, in the most dramatic "After the Final Rose Ceremony" ever, contestant Jason Mesnick broke up with the girl he had picked and proposed to (Melissa Rycroft) right there on that couch on live TV. Then Chris Harrison called his #2 pick Molly on stage and Jason basically asked her to "go with him" right there.

And she said yes.

Because I don't know about you, but being publicly rejected and then asked out on national television with no advance notice is my idea of R-O-M-A-N-T-I-C.

That whole thing was good television I don't care what you say.

Oh, and if I am ever a contestant on The Bachelor, I would for sure just quit right before the end to make sure I either win or get picked as the next Bachelorette.

A Beard and a Mustache

My husband recently grew a beard and a mustache. I guess the cool word for it is a goatee, but to me it is a beard and a mustache.

Plus, since the actual definition of a goatee is "A small chin beard trimmed to a point; named for its resemblance to a goat's beard", I personally would rather have a beard and a mustache.

I associate mustaches with:
1. the 80s
2. Tom Selleck
3. that guy who starred in "the $6 million dollar man"
4. Burt Reynolds

I associate beards with:
1. Grizzly Adams
2. Santa Claus
3. the Unibomber
4. grandpas and other old men

While honestly, none of these associations make me want to rip my clothes off, I can't decide whether or not I like my husband's beard and mustache (I like saying "beard and mustache" as often as possible just to annoy John).

Here's a before and after picture. You tell me.

On top of everything else, it's not easy to kiss someone with facial hair.
Me:  "John, it sort of hurts to kiss you with that prickly beard and mustache."
John:  "I'm sorry Sweetie. Do you want me to shave it off? I will if you want me to."
Me:  "Only if you want me to kiss you."

Well Then You Will Go To Jail!

My son has a mouth on him. And I'm not sure what to do about it.

I'm told I had a mouth on me too, when I was younger. But I have it on authority from my Mother that my mouthing off never came close to Trey's. If it's true that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then I guess I have created a very big apple.

Here is an example:

Me:  Stop pulling on the door handle Trey. We're driving and it's dangerous. (Note: child safety locks were, gratefully, on.)

Me: Trey, I said stop pulling on the door handle.

Me: Trey, stop touching the door handle. Now.

Me: I said STOP ... (You get the drift, right?)

Me: Trey, if you do not stop pulling the door handle I will pull over and give you a spanking. (Note: I am not an advocate of spanking, but I thought this might be the moment to try.)

Trey: IF YOU SPANK ME THEN YOU WILL GO TO JAIL!

In the heat of the moment, Trey hits below the belt with shout-outs like:
"Well, then I will not be your special boy ANY MORE!" ... or ...
"If you do then I will never act cute AGAIN!" ... or ...
"No more hugs and kisses for you EVER."

As I fervently read every book I can get my hands on how to raise a "strong-willed child", I anxiously await the end of the "terrible twos" (Trey is actually almost four). And wonder if Trey will grow up to be a fantastic trial lawyer or ... something else.

I'll stick with trial lawyer for now and wait it out. Wish me luck.

Does Sawyer Remind You of Bender on The Breakfast Club Too?

I am addicted to Lost.

No, not Lost: The Final Season. Not yet. I'm just learning about the meaning of those numbers 4-8-15-16-23-42. And trying to figure out if Kate is going to end up with Jack or Sawyer.

You see, we were late to the Lost party. A while back someone loaned me the Lost: Season One DVD. And, we watched an episode one Friday night, and that was all she wrote. 

As I write, I am just wrapping up Season Two. And, I am luxuriating in the knowledge that I have dozens of episodes just sitting there, waiting for me.

I cannot imagine the torture of having to fast forward through the commercials (or God forbid, watch them and wait). Worse yet, having to wait a full week to see how the cliff-hanger plays out. 

This waiting for years to watch the world's most popular shows is the way to go.

(By the way, am I the only one who thinks Sawyer is channeling Judd Nelson's Character in The Breakfast Club?)

Look at Her Ski! What an Athlete, a Daredevil!

We recently went skiing at Mt. Bachelor in Bend, Oregon. I am not a good skier and the kids have never been skiing so we all took lessons.

People laugh at the bunny slope. But it's hard swerving around all of those new skiers and snowboarders when you have absolutely no control and don't know how to stop.

All that to say, they told us when we dropped 6-year-old Macy off at her "Little Rippers" class that she herself would be making a run down the bunny slope by the end of the day.

And sure enough she did. I was hanging out half-way down the "slope" with my "class" just learning a little bit about balance and steering. And there she went, whizzing down the hill.

I grabbed my iPhone just in time to grab a few shots. Not before interrupting my instructor mid-sentence with a shout, "Look, there's Macy my daughter!" My class smiled and nodded politely. But no, I didn't stop there.

"She's just six you know."
"Wow, look at her go!"
"She's never even been skiing!"
"Boy these kids learn fast."
etc. etc. etc.

After about 20 shots, I noticed that Macy's ski outfit was a very bright pink.

Way brighter than I remembered.

In fact, I was certain Macy's outfit was a sort of pale pink.

Then, it hit me.

Yep, you guessed it. That wasn't Macy.