For the birds

New house rules: if you have a place to sleep, you sleep in it.

Last night, the usual suspects paraded through my sleep. S came and got me to cuddle with him. This was around midnight. Then, at 1:15, the most horrible sound: like animals pacing? Burglars burgling? Serial killers sharpening axes? I was awakened, and tiptoed out to the hallway. Not to worry, though, because apparently, if a serial killer makes the slightest sound, S will instantaneously wake, rise, and greet him in the hallway with his blankie as his only defense.

S was already in the hall when I got there. We looked around, dumbly, wondering what had brought us here. Suddenly, one of our brown bellied barn swallows ( although some googling of images suggests we might have the slightly rarer Northern Rough Wing variety. But, honestly, what right minded northerner would roost here? Wait a minute...) rose from behind the chair, flapping, flopping, floundering into the wall, the ceiling, the light fixture, the window, drunken. S/he was the most recent BBBSwallow of the week. We have had either the same uncoordinated visitor, or the entire extended family over the past months.

Finally, he ran out of gas and collapsed in a heap of Legos. (not the most comfortable place to collapse, I think) I picked him up, and went downstairs to release him out into the sweltering night. As I opened the front door, Cat came running from across the street. Of course Cat makes it impossible to set Bird free.

I learned this little nugget LAST BBBSwallow season. One of the babies fell through the chimney (which is where their nest is) and into the house. Wrongly, I assumed he could fly. I cradled him, cooed over him, and delicately took him outside to set him free. I gently tossed my palm skyward, and instead of launching into the peculiar, angular flight of the swallow, he kinda flopped a little. Cat swooped out of nowhere, and Baby Bird was No More.

Despite the late/early hour, I did not want Bird to die. I let Cat in the house, closed the door, went back outside and tossed my palm gently skyward. BBBSwallow launched and rose into the black night like a bat. I turned, went inside, tracked down Cat, picked him up and then put him out into the inky night.

I returned upstairs to wash my hands of avian flu and cat scratch fever and S was waiting for me. He could not go back to sleep after the BBBSwallow incident, and required cuddles. I cuddled, cradled, and cooed him back to sleep. I returned to my own bed, sweet bed, and fell asleep again.

At 4:30, S was back. Wanting to play Wii. 4:30 is NOT an appropriate time to play Wii. Or to be in my room. Or to be conscious in any way. I went BACK to his bed, to soothe and cuddle, though I accidentally nearly crushed Clooney. Somehow Clooney had already been delivered to S's bed. I know S had to have crept in and dognapped him from his cushion, because Clooney is too small to jump up onto S's bed. So, there we were, a non-sleeping threesome. The sky's first lights were slicing into the room, and I knew I was doomed: there really is a limit to how many times I can ask my body to go to sleep in one night.

Eventually, E could be heard karate fighting his invisible demons, and so S went off to find his brother, a companion in Wii.

I toddled off one last time to bed, this time in the well lit hall. I left birds and boys and dogs behind me, and hunkered down under the nice cool covers of my own bed.

And fell asleep one last time for the night.

A pain in the neck

I just made a great phone call: I called the hair salon to make an appointment. Availability starts next week. "What time would you like?"

ANY TIME IS GOOD.

Ah. True. I get goosebumps when I say that. And while I am certainly psyched that the kids will be in school from, read it and envy: 8:15 to 3:15, I of course have ambivalence about their departure.

Not that this has been the most amazing summer ever, or anything. The kids have fought like cats and dogs. They have whined, argued, and made road trip travel hellish. But, they have also had MOMENTS of sweetness and cuteness, and overall, I like my kids' company well enough. This is a new school, and new school has with it all those stresses. And I just hope that they're happy there.

They're ambivalent, as well. S is worried that he isn't smart enough to go to a magnet school. Or that he won't have time to play Legos after school. E is worried he won't make new friends. Their ambivalence, of course, heightens mine. But mine is in some degree of control. I have decided to just let go this week, let them have this last unmitigated joy of summer, and then I can really feel as though it's time to buckle down and enjoy school.

The most glaring evidence of their anxiety is the number of people in my bed at night: it's like a parade. I put each child in his own bed last night. (I'm SURE of it.) At my bedtime, both children were in S's bed. By midnight, S was in my bed and E was in S's bed. By 2 AM, S was on the floor with Clooney and E was in my bed. At 2, I put everyone back. At 4:30, S was back in my bed, and by 5, was up for the day.

I have a terrible crick in my neck, as I was driven off my pillow by the invading hordes. S has never been a good sleeper, but now can only sleep if there's a human pillow next to/under/perpendicular/somehow adjacent to him. That's not comfy at all for the human pillow. And E is like a radiant heat source, and is faaaaar to big to fit in the bed comfortably with us now.

And yet, I hate to be hard on them. Clearly, this disruption is one of two things:

1. Anxiety about returning to school. They are regressing and anxious, and while they can't verbalize this stress, they are expressing it through needy behaviors and attention-seeking.

2. Like everything else in the world, this is my mother's fault. She spoiled them while we were in California and let them both sleep with her while my dad slept on the couch. Because laying on the bed, late at night, eating bon bons and watching Ace of Cakes is really what grandma's house is all about. And that's cool. I used to lay in bed with my grandma, eat popcorn, and watch The Love Boat. I get that. And yet...

Regardless of the cause, the kids are still all up in my sleeping paradise. After 2 weeks' vacation, in hotels and my parents' guest bedroom, I am ecstatic to be back in my own Tempurpedic Eden, and there are the invading hordes.

So, do I...
...get medieval on their butts and send them back to their beds the moment they cross my threshold?
...ignore and hope this goes away, suffering through cricks and heat stroke?
...offer to cuddle them in their own beds for a while, and then return to my own?
...try to talk to them about their anxiety/ask why they are ruining my sleep?

I need a 900 number to call for advice:
"If your child is making you insane, press 1."
"If your children are fighting constantly, press 2."
"If your children are failing school, press 3."
"If your husband AND children are conspiring against you, press 4."

God, I hate waiting through the whole automated menu:

"If your child eats too much/too little, press 5."
"If your child turns into a TV zombie, press 6."
"If your child hangs out with the wrong crowd, press 7."
"If your child's face froze like that, press 8."
"If your child doesn't sleep, press 9."

There it is.

"If your child has been abducted, and you think you're going to just wait it out, because surely no one would voluntarily steal and then willingly keep YOUR brat, go ahead and hang up and call 911."

The hotline would be swamped.

It's SO FLUFFY!

Yes. Shallow. Yes. Consumerist. Yes. Expensive. Probably. Unnecessary.





I know. But I've spent a bunch of moolah this past month on kids' rooms, kids' school supplies, kids' uniforms. And now that they'll be headed back to school next week (could the whole summer have already passed?), I've been thinking about totally extraneous and expensive crap I think I'd like to have.





1. iphone. It's not my birthday, and I'm not eligible for a phone discount until January. But it's shiny. And cool.





2. ipad. It's even less necessary than an iphone. I have fantasies of my kids being able to use it to watch movies & play games on the road...and it's big and SHINY.





3. To get rid of my guest bedroom clutter. OK. True, not actually a thing, but if I could get rid of that crap, I would be able to get new carpet, and a new dresser, which is really what I'd like to put in there.





4. All-matching kitchen utensils. Lame. I want my kitchen to look like a TV studio kitchen with all the organized stuff and beautifully labeled whatevers, and the nice crock filled with whats its.





5. Really chic sunglasses. Like what's standing between me and chic is eyewear.





6. Size 8 pants that actually fit. Shut up.





7. Free, painless plastic surgery. I want it tucked, hiked up, sucked out, and plumped. Now.





8. A piece of mirrored furniture. I love that stuff. I don't want a roomful or anything. Just one piece. So beautiful. Could actually statisfy wish #3, too.



9. All the super cute clothes I looked at at Nordstrom's BEFORE I fell.

10. Some one to come to my house and help me ruthlessly declutter. I am sick of stacks of papers, despite inboxes/outboxes/bins/baskets and all other means of attempted organization.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Internet shopping to do.

Reality Bites

Every now and then, I venture out into the real world, the world beyond Alabama, and I think, "I can do this" I am just as chic and hip and cool as anyone in any other state, right?

I went through this crisis when we went to New York and so I took a last minute shopping spree and bought something that seemed fashionable, even in the Sex in the City world of Manhattan. In the end, I was not completely embarrassed by my less-than cosmopolitan living situation, and actually did okay, appearance-wise, in NYC. There were always people who either cared less, or were less self-conscious, or less able to make a last minute department store binge, and therefore waddled around the island in sneakers, rear-wedgie shorts, and ill-fitting tanktops.
Now, here in Southern California, I am again reminded of my quest not to appear Alabamian. I remember once, when I was about 10, relatives visited us from the South. They wore these sweat suits and sneakers that were already SO OVER here, and I thought that everywhere else was just cosmically uncool. I carry with me this same vow now, and I packed as nicely as I could for our trip out here. But.

M and I went to the mall for a little time alone. I know, the mall, how lame. But.

There are all kinds of stores in the mall here that aren't in the glorious edifice known as the Bel Air mall in Mobile: Banana Republic, Nordstrom, Saks, Macy's, Apple Store, Microsoft store (Microsoft has a store?!), Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn, and the list goes on and on. So, I wanted to go check this out. We wandered through the stores, idly daydreaming about my alter-ego's fantastic wardrobe.

Nordstrom is having a sale. And when Nordstrom has a sale, it's like a SALE. Like manna from heaven. Like alchemy--ordinary cotton into extraordinary gold. The smell of Nordstrom, this ultra fresh, kinda chemical-y, ultra rich smell is unlike any other in the known universe. I LOVE IT.

M and I are casually walking around the department store. I massage fabrics far too expensive for me to buy, and other fabrics closer to my price range, but really unnecessary to my life, and I covet it all. Because every one needs metallic purple patent leather pumps, right?

Back off my metallic purple patent leather pumps.

As I was fondling a pair of Vera Wang ballet flats, I made a tactical error. I tried to scratch an itch on my left ankle with the top of my right. But, in my vast effort to wear cool shoes in California, my GIANT cork heeled, (but oh-so-fashionable) shoes, my left foot wobbled. And I started to fall.

But, of course when you lose balance, it always happens in slow motion. As I fell, I briefly thought that I could grasp the table upon which the Vera Wang ballet flats rested, and as that fell out of reach, I thought for sure I could brace myself into a solid crouch, and then as that failed, I was convinced that a low squat would surely break the momentum, and as low squat clearly failed, I resigned myself to my fate:

COMPLETELY supine, glasses and purse contents strewn across the shoe department. M, discreetly, trying to pull me up. Left butt cheek slightly bruised. Ego mutilated beyond rescue.

We left, deciding to return to our shopping after the witnesses finished shopping.

What's worse, is that we took refuge at PF Chang's. We pigged out, and adding insult to my bruised butt cheek injury, I busted the button on my pants.

*Shrug*

Clearly, it is time for my vacation to end and for me to skulk back to Alabama. It is time to leave the domain of the hip and the chic and return to the domain of the last-to-pick-up-trends and the unfashionable. I clearly don't belong here.

Motivational Me

This morning, before God was awake, S came running into my room, chasing Clooney in wooden dutch clogs, on steroids, followed by a herd of elephants, a gaggle of geese, a troupe of howler monkeys, and a 1980s hair band cranked to "11."
It was going to be that morning. So, I politely send him to his room, and advise him that there will be punishment for slamming the door.
And in his most adult voice EVER, he says, "Well, thanks for telling me!" and slams the door.



I'm in the shower. Nude. Soapy. Thinking, mistakenly, that perhaps the 7 minutes it takes me to shower could be moments spent alone. E comes in, snivelling and crying, with a touch of whine and cheese thrown in for good measure. "Please tell S to turn off my light and get out of my room so I can sleep." If, by sleep, he means silent kung fu against invisible opponents of a Bakugan/Pokemon/Ben 10 hybrid enemy, then sure. So, I scream out of the shower, "S! Get out of your brother's room. He wants to go back to bed! You've awoken everyone in this house by running around with the dog! LEAVE! YOUR! BROTHER! ALONE!" That'll do it. Screaming things from the shower, where children know you are incapable of quickly darting out and catching them in mid-evil doing, has always worked in the past. Right?
As I am drying off, and have slammed the door to the bathroom shut with my drippy foot, S comes barging in, T-shirt half on: "Did it ever occur to you that I was tired, too?"



I'm sorry, S. Was my sleeping waking you? While I have plans to entertain them with friends and food and swimming and everything unicorny and rainbowy and chocolate chip cookie and milky, sometimes I have to question why I torture myself? There comes a point when even the softest, newest, most naive, most emotionally invested, by-the-book social worker would understand seeing children bungee corded to the luggage rack at 65 on the highway outta town with me holding an open container and crack.
*Thanks to photobucket.

When you're hot, you're not

Just when you think you've got it wired. They. Keep. On. Coming. Back.

So, sometimes you think your kids/pets/husband really like something. My dog has two favorite non-squeaky toys, duck and frog; my husband well, you know; and the kids have a favorite restaurant, outfit, plan of attack. I'm anticipating it. I'm prepared. I'm ready.

Here comes the curveball.

I've done it right, a few times, but not many. For example, when S was teething, he really liked these $1 orange squirty trucks to chew on (much like the dog, actually). My mom, sensing his affinity for these, cleaned out the dollar store's supply of squirty orange trucks. Those suckers were EVERYWHERE. Under car seats, in restaurant booths, wedged in crib rails, EVERYWHERE. He loved those. In fact, they were such a significant part of his life that I saved one in his baby box. We will preserve the memory of the orange truck for future generations.

But, despite the success of the orange truck episode, I've had more than a few failures. Yummy crust chorken? Kids LOVED it. Thought it was chicken, when it was actually pork, hence the name, but they loved it. A good dinner standby. Hand-panko breaded, lightly fried in olive oil, served with a pasta of some sort. Everyone was happy.
Until they weren't. Last week, yummy crust chorken was greeted with moans, groans, and temper tantrums vowing never to eat again. WTF did chorken ever do to them?

Comfiest shorts EVAH were another failure. S loved them--elastic waistband, lotsa pockets, soft, comfy. Not awful and the worstest like those other shorts. Until, apparently, the Velcro on the rear pockets became too much to endure. Now I've got a drawer of outcast shorts whose butt pockets have the misfortune of closing.

I have heaps of no-longer liked Goldfish crackers, not-so favorite frozen Go-Gurts, rejected half-boxes of frozen waffles, flip flops abandoned and forsaken, reject Legos that are of a worser kit. Haphazardly rejected former friends. Old necessities forgotten like last night's trash.

What is with the switcheroo? How does something go from must-have to dust-shelve so quickly? How are such fickle children ever coached into semi-permanent conditions such as loving their parents? Each other? A future spouse? How do goldfish won at carnivals survive? Why don't those poor things just cast themselves into a toilet upon their first opportunity--knowing, surely that they will be starving in 48 hours when their winner/child grows weary of their very existence? Dogs, cats, rabbits, rodent pets everywhere should be training to learn new tricks, dances, MAGIC routines to try to engage those flighty children for just a day longer. Another moment of sustained interest... poof.

We promised each boy a "big boy" room upon his entry into kindergarten. E got a room featuring scale actual photographs from Voyager of all the planets and sun (including the planet-ling, Pluto, which was at the time of the installation of said photographs, still a planet). They're those Post-It adhesives that peel off without damaging the walls (who's thinking long term?). The room is dotted with glow in the dark stars, and has a 64" hand painted (by moi) headboard of the planets and solar system that glows in the dark. Would you not have considered this the coolest room EVAH?

Well, I am sure it is about to be the UNCOOLEST room, evah, because brother is getting his room redone in honor of kindergarten. It's light gray, features new distressed black furniture, and is going to feature a 6' Millennium Falcon and a 4' Death Star. I think actual planetoids are going to pale in comparison with fake ones proven to destroy Alderron.

But, no matter, because E will be able to move into the coolest room EVAH,because S has decided he doesn't like sleeping in his room anymore. S, who would not, for love or money, sleep on the floor in the hotel room on our vacation last month, has decided the only place he feels comfortable sleeping is on the floor immediately adjacent to my bed.

So, let me sum this up for you, in case you are confused:

• Former coolest room ever decorated with actual space-science stuff = no longer cool & older child's stuck in it
• New coolest room ever, decorated with life size characters from Star Wars = abandoned. Resident of former coolest room ever wants to occupy new coolest room ever, while actual resident of current coolest room ever wants to occupy my floor
• Former my room = camp. Younger child has forsaken furniture and wants to sleep with his dog on my floor with blankie, comforter and pillow, risking life and limb to sleep next to me, who nearly steps on him during my 47 nightly pee breaks

Clear? Crystal. My family is nuts. I don't even know why I try. I should wake up every morning as though I am a droid and my memory of things past should be erased. A blank slate. "What cereal do you like?" "Duh, mom don't you know?!?!"

I have no freaking clue.

The first rule of Julie Club: Do NOT talk about Julie Club

My daydreams have developed notions of grandeur. While I used to fantasize about myself in a size 4 with breasts enhanced and perky with the silicone of youth, a handsome Samoan bringing me Mai Tais that I sip as the surf washes over me a la From Here to Eternity....I realize that fantasy is
Dead.

Now, I believe that even the paradise of Hawaii needs to be tweaked to suit my changing needs--needs that no longer prescribe my appearance, but more fundamental needs of serenity and contentment. So, here is the enhanced vision of Club Julie, a new kind of paradise. I present it to you, and when it comes to fruition (magic? Teleportation? Technology is moving very quickly), and if I like you, I will invite you to revel in the wonderfulness that it is.

First, no bikinis here. Everyone is clad in mumus. Practical, cool, flattering, and not demanding on the abdominal muscles. Second, since sun is damaging to the skin, Club Julie has a series of curving interconnecting, shaded walkways. These are frangranced with the natural aroma of indigenous flowers and enhanced with the sound of gentle waterfalls or surf. It's like an outdoor spa. Along the paths, you will encounter small clusters of chairs for visiting, and lone hammocks for reading or snoozing. If you do stop to rest, our cabana aides, not scantily clad muscle-bound oafs, but rather healthfully fit, sensitive young men will bring you a light sheet for cover and a pillow. They will offer you a choice of adult beverages, or if you prefer, fresh baked cookies and milk. As you doze, an aide will ever so gently push your hammock so that it feels as though you are resting in a faint silent breeze.
In fact, silence is a fundamental precept of Club Julie. During the day, near silence is observed so that every guest of paradise may have continuous thought without being interrupted. iPods are, of course, a welcome distraction. But the purpose of our muted tones is to permit women the luxury of uninterrupted concentration.
During the daytime hours, staff are available for all kinds of spa services and treatments. However, our staff are well-educated, interesting people, well versed in current affairs. When you register with us, a staff member will research your specific areas of interest, and be able to discuss anything you'd like, retrieve any materials you request for study, and act as facilitators to other guests who may be compatible with you and engage with you in meaningful, adult conversation.

Afternoon rain showers are scheduled at 2:30, our guests' most popular nap time, to allow them to snooze without the guilt of 'not taking advantage' of the ideal weather.

If you do wish to participate in outdoor activities, cushioned running trails, walking trails and bike paths wind through our native forests. The temperature is constant, and the humidity in the native forests is slightly reduced for your fitness comfort. We also have a special SPF filter so that sunblock is unnecessary.

The property is also populated with adorable puppies and kittens. If you choose to play with our fuzzy friends, they are available to you. They are lovingly cared for by our veterinary staff, and genetically engineered never to age. Perfect.

At 5 PM, the quiet mood of Club Julie becomes more social, as guests are invited to gather around the bar, eat delicious food (our menu does not include chicken nuggets, hot dogs, frozen foods of any kind, or food shaped as licensed charcters). The food is fresh and delicious and made to order. Rousing conversation, stimulating discussions and boisterous laughter are encouraged. While there is no closing hour, guests are encouraged to go to bed when they are tired--9 PM?

The rooms have luxurious linens, giant beds to be occupied by single person, washed daily in the natural rainfall, so as to be continually fresh with zero environmental impact--we want your stay to be guilt-free. Each free standing hut is simultaneously luxurious and spare--everything you require, without indulgence or opulence. Hand carved volcanic rock tubs are continually, naturally filled with hot natural spring water. Fresh mumus are delivered daily, and you will not accumulate any laundry to take home with you--if you ever wish to leave. In-room Kindle service assures you endless reading materials, and individual lanais with rocking chairs offer you breathtaking views and solitude.

MOM! How many more minutes? Can you come change the TV channel? MOM! He's in my room! Make him leave. I'm bored! MOM! Clooney took my LEGO! MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM

So, teleportation isn't here yet. I'm working on it. I bet you Club Julie would be the most popular resort in the world. I would live there. I wanna be there now.