Tuesday, September 30, 2008


If I’ve been a little quiet lately it is because I am getting ready for vacation. Next week, we are going to… wait for it…


I am excited because I’ve never been there. I have been to Jamaica, and the Bahamas, and Mexico, and Puerto Rico, but never Hawaii. We are going to the big island because my brother-in-law has qualified for the Ironman triathlon, also known in Bearca’s world as the Maybe Just a Little Bit Insane Man. I know, let’s swim 2.4 miles! Then let’s ride 112 miles on a bike! And when we are done with that, let’s run a marathon! I am a good swimmer and I know I could do the swim, and I could probably run a marathon if I trained hard enough, but I am a horrific bike rider. I should clarify that I did run a half-marathon once, and after it was over I instructed my family to stop me from ever attempting it again. Thus ending my potential Ironman bid.

But I digress. We are going to cheer Dave’s brother on and I couldn’t be more excited. Go Uncle Steve!

But the packing… I am already stressed about the packing. I have a spreadsheet, and a list of items that need to be purchased before we leave, and a list of errands that need to be run. Traveling with two small children requires a level of preparedness and boredom-avoiding tactics that I’m not sure I’m yet prepared for.

Plus, there was an incident a couple of weeks ago where Evan’s Leapster was fatally wounded. If you must know, he had an accident and peed on it. I changed the batteries, but the Leapster didn’t survive the liquid assault. Do I buy a new one, or just rely on DVD entertainment? Help!

So, wish me luck. I will be burying my head in lists and spreadsheets ensuring that we have everything we might need for a six-hour flight. Any advice?

Monday, September 22, 2008

OK, so...

If you have been here, like, ever, you already know that I suck at updating this blog.

But do you know what my little daughter doesn't suck at? Mesmerizing you with her ridiculously blue eyes.

Yes, she's also turned into a thumb-sucker. CUTE.

That is all. Happy Monday.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

cocktails, anyone?

I would like to present to you the official Chronology of Awesomeness that has befallen me in the last few days.

First, last week, I got a speeding ticket. I was rushing home to meet a window cleaning company and knew I was already going to be five minutes late. I was allegedly going 61 in a 45 zone. ALLEGEDLY. And of course, after everything was said and done, I was 25 minutes late instead. Hi! Nice to meet you! I am the poster child for why you should not speed in order to get somewhere on time!

And when you get a speeding ticket in the presence of a 3-year old, it turns into 20 questions. Here are just a few:

"Why is the policeman talking to you?"
"Why are we stopping?"
"Why is the policeman driving a motorcycle?"
"Did you do something wrong?"

What I said was more or less "Yes. Mommy is in trouble because I was going too fast. Now I am getting a ticket, which is kind of like a time-out for grownups."

What I wanted to say was "Uh-huh. The cop was hiding in the bushes on his motorcycle, lying in wait in what appeared to be, at best, a dubiously legal speed trap. So Mommy is going to fight The Man on this one."

But I figured that might go over his head a bit.

Then, two days ago, my car started making a groaning noise when I turn. I took it in this morning and just got a call from the service advisor. Here’s a brief transcript of the call.

Service Advisor: Hi. We know what’s wrong with your car.

Me: ???

Service Advisor: The rack and pinion steering has a leak. It will be $882 to fix that and realign the car.

Me: (stunned silence)

Service Advisor: Also, your battery failed the test. So that will be another $135.

Me: (more stunned silence)

Service Advisor: And your tires are starting to go. I highly recommend new tires.

Me: (…)

Service Advisor: So, with your oil change and everything we’re up to $1,065. Do you have Triple A?

Me: Yes! (feeling hopeful that this will net me some sort of magical 50% off discount)

Service Advisor: Oh, great, that’ll get you $50 off.

Me: Oh.

So, yeeeahh, I’m gonna need you to cheer me up right about now. Help a sister out. Tell me something good that I should be excited about! Please. I am desperate.

Monday, September 08, 2008

reasons why I may in fact be a 68-year old woman

1) I cannot watch the VMAs. Seriously. I tried watching them last night and I barely knew who anyone was, nor did I understand 75% of the crazy-haired host’s references. I don’t even know who that guy was and why he was wearing skintight leggings with boots.

2) I get irritated when I see people walking around with inappropriate undergarments. I really do. Black bra underneath a white tank top? If you’re Madonna, OK. But if you’re a teenager hanging out in suburban Orange County, NO. Get thee to Macy’s and get a nice nude-colored one. Oh, and while you’re there? Pick up a slip because your skirt is see-through.

3) I actually use the phrase “kids these days.”

4) I really enjoy eating dinner at 5:00 p.m.

I’m sure there are more, and I’ll update you when I think of them. But right now, I need to go take my Geritol so it will digest before my early bird dinner.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

saturday intersection

Summer, 1982

I’m sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car – a 1973 Chevy Malibu. It’s the hottest day of summer and the backs of my legs stick to the black vinyl seats while I try to avoid touching the sharp scratchy place where the upholstery is torn. No one had air conditioning back then, so we hang our heads out the window like dogs to catch the breeze. I smell coconut. It’s the suntan lotion on my skin, the syrup coating my shave ice. We beg to go faster up the hill, the hill with the giant bumps that make you feel like you’re flying. We giggle furiously, the wind blowing our hair.

Summer, present day

It’s the same place, the same hot weather, the same scene – but I’m the one driving the car. This time we drive past the ocean, watching the surfers, seeing the waves on the other side of the rocks. I smell coffee, and I hear giggling, but this time it’s not my sister, but my little boy. He sits in the back, saying “Faster, Mommy, faster!” as I turn up the hill and hit the gas with every bump. I wonder, what of this will he remember?