vacay!

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…

Hawaii!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

overreaction

I am having the most unbelievably crappadocious morning. Let me preface this post by telling you that the story I am about to relay is COMPLETELY MY FAULT. I know this, and I own up to this, but I still must vent. People, man. PEOPLE.

So I was dropping off the kids at their various daycares and preschools this morning. Delaney’s daycare is in a condo complex, which means the parking situation is less than ideal. There is one designated spot where the parents are supposed to park while they are doing the drop-off. If that spot is taken, then I guess you are supposed to park on the street. This morning, of course, that spot was taken. So I had a decision to make: make a big, time-consuming loop and park on the street, or park in one of the other empty spots assuming the people who own those spots are already off to work.

Ill-fatedly, I chose the latter. I knew it was a risk, but I was going to be parked there for all of five minutes and didn’t anticipate a problem.

HOW WRONG I WAS.

When I came out of the daycare, I saw that the car who normally parks in the spot I had taken was parked behind me with the hazards on.

Crap.

I had Evan with me and we had no option but to get in the car and wait. I didn’t know which condo the car belonged to and even if I did, my sense of guilt and shame would have prevented me from knocking on the door and asking them to move the car when it was clearly my fault for parking there in the first place.

So we waited.

And waited.

And while we were waiting, an older couple came out of their condo and I saw them shaking their heads and cluck-clucking at me. I could hear every word they said (come on, it’s a car with glass windows, not a soundproof booth). The woman said sadly, “Oh no. Someone parked in her spot,” and continued shaking her head to show her disapproval.

Meanwhile, among all the obvious judgment, I had figured out which condo the car behind me belonged to. It was straight ahead of me and there was a lady in there who kept looking out her kitchen window. She appeared to be doing her dishes or something but she was moving SLOWER THAN MOLASSES and kept peeking outside her window, leading me to believe that she was the one.

Finally she emerged – after 15 minutes. I rolled down my window, smiled at her and said “I’m REALLY sorry! This was totally my fault!” She just looked at me and stared at me with a death glare. Then, Angry Condo Parking Lot Lady walked back to her car and proceeded to take an extended look to make sure that I hadn’t tried to hit her car or anything. At this point I became somewhat enraged. I knew what I had done wrong and I had apologized to ACPLL and received absolutely no response. She had clearly parked behind me to teach me a lesson and was not going to let up until she was good and done. And meanwhile, was going to continue looking at me every 30 seconds or so to give me the death glare. You know, in case I did not know she was good and angry.

Meanwhile, I am trying to talk to Evan. He kept asking “Why are we not moving?” and I said “Mommy parked in this lady’s spot and now I can’t move because her car is blocking mine.” He said “That lady does not look happy.”

Welcome to the understatement of the year.

After her complete inspection of her car, ACPLL got in her car, took an exceedingly long time turning on the engine and getting settled, and drove away.

Have I mentioned that I totally understand this was my fault??? Because I do. But I also know that it’s not like I ran over her dog. If I was her, I probably would have been irritated too, and she had every right to be. But if I had been in her place and someone had given me a sincere apology, I probably would have gone on my way and not harbored such an obvious and unnecessary grudge.

Help me understand here: am I crazy? Who overreacted here, her or me?

change of plans

I have recently come to terms with the fact that I am simply not a spontaneous person. I like to have A Plan, and I like to stick to That Plan. Typically my plans involve lots of mental preparation, some list-making (dear Lord, do I love making lists) and often, a reluctance to change. I think part of it is that I have two small children, and leaving the house at any time requires a military level of precision and preparedness, but only recently have I embraced the fact that it’s also just my personality. I am obsessed with being prepared and knowing what’s next at all times so I have time to wrap my mind around it.

(sidebar: wow. That makes me sound really fun. YOU SHOULD ALL WANT TO PARTY WITH ME.)

So imagine my surprise when Dave called me at 4:45 pm yesterday and said “Guess what! We just got two free tickets to the Dave Matthews concert tonight at Staples Center – and they’re in a private suite!” Now I can appreciate free concert tickets as much as the next gal, but due to my confessed lack of spontaneity I was like “But who will watch the children?” and “But the housekeeper is coming tomorrow, when are we going to pick up all our clutter?” and “But I really wanted to dismantle the baby swing tonight!” (see above re: how much you should want to party with me.)

Now, Dave is a really fun guy, and lacks my resistance to spontaneity. He launched a campaign: “But it’ll be fun! We never get to go out! When will we ever have this opportunity again?” All arguments that I could not disagree with. So, thanks to Dave’s sister who agreed to stay with the kids (yay Aunt Ryann!), off we went like the carefree, spontaneous couple we totally aren't.

And guess what? We had a fabulous time. The concert was OK – we have seen DMB before and loved it, and this time was not quite as good, but who cares? We were sitting in free seats, with free food and free drinks, on a Wednesday night, while SOMEONE ELSE was at home supervising the kids.

And no, I didn’t get to pick up the clutter or dismantle the baby swing. Thank goodness.

(**Shameless plea: if you know me in person, could you please vouch for the fact that I CAN BE fun and not a total stick in the mud? Thanks.)

tweet tweet

OK OK… so I joined Twitter. I am a sheep! A late-adopting sheep! But it is fun. And I am mostly managing not to become obsessed with it. Probably because I am only following a handful of people, so I can keep my time well contained.

Part of the reason I ended up doing it is because these funny things kept happening to me that were not really blog post-worthy, but the world needed to know! I mean, a few months ago, when I kept seeing an advertisement on a bus around town with a critical typo? And it was for H&R Block, and instead of “Want to make money doing taxes?” it said “Want to make money DONG taxes?” And I saw this bus over and over again and yet EVERY TIME was unable to snap a cell phone picture? Twitter was the obvious answer to this hilarious situation. DUH.

Now mind you, there have been others. But that one alone planted the seed. So, I bring you, Bearca’s compelling twitter updates: http://twitter.com/bearca

this morning:

A pancake breakfast and a walk on the beach.

Life is good.

conversations with three-year olds

One of the best things about having a three-year old is that you can have a real conversation with them. Fifty percent of the time that conversation starts off with a tantrum or various threats such as “if you do ____ again, then I am going to take away _____ for ____ minutes.” But the actual conversations that do take place are sometimes absolutely hilarious.

For example, Evan has recently mastered the assumptive close. We’ll be getting him ready for preschool in the morning and he’ll say “When you pick me up from school, we will go to Disneyland.” I will reply, “No, when I pick you up from school we’ll come home and have a snack.” And he will inevitably counter with “We’ll come home and have a snack, AND THEN we’ll go to Disneyland.” Evidently he is well on his way to being a master negotiator (shaking fist at attorney husband).

He’s also got some commonly used terms that never fail to crack me up. If he sees a hummingbird outside the kitchen window, he will point at it and excitedly declare “Mommy, look! A hummus bird!” – a mispronunciation that I think is so cute that I refuse to correct. At least for now.

He is also fond of “translating” Delaney’s coos and gurgles. She’ll say “Gaaahhhh!!!” and he says “Mommy, she said Gaaaaahhhh!!!” And in my head I say yes, Evan, my ears work so I was already aware of that.

For him, the words “last night” and “yesterday” are synonymous with “anytime in the past.” For example, on the way to preschool we drive past the mall parking lot where the pumpkin patch was set up almost a year ago. He often says “Remember yesterday when we went to the pumpkin patch?”

Everyone tells you that time passes so quickly when you have kids. On that count, I think Evan might be right. I remember “yesterday” when he was born, and I cannot believe that this walking, talking, thinking and remembering person is my baby.

perhaps "cheese" should be a new olympic sport

I’m loving the Olympics right now. Who isn’t? As a former competitive swimmer, I almost cried tears of joy watching the men’s 4x100 freestyle relay. I mean, COME ON, if that didn’t get you going then either you simply do not have a pulse or quite possibly, you are dead inside.

But when I read this today, I nearly clapped my hands with glee. Finally, a way to officially calculate the cheeseball-ness of the Olympic announcers and their hilarious rotation of stock words and phrases!

Check it out: The Olympics Sap-o-Meter from www.slate.com

i'm bearca, i'm 34 years old and apparently i am wearing mom jeans.

I have been a devotee of boot-cut pants for many years. I don’t know why, but I was in J Crew recently and decided to try on a pair of what they call “matchstick” cords. They are more or less the dreaded skinny pants. They have a slim straight leg. I was mysteriously and strangely drawn to them and they looked darn good with the flats I was wearing that day. If I do say so myself.

However, I ended up putting them back, because I am just not a skinny pants person. Or am I? Honestly, it was as if the pants threw me into an existential crisis. I had never considered buying a pair of non-boot cut pants. But there is no LAW against it. Is there? Then I wondered, is this how people become stuck in a fashion time-warp… by never considering something new or different?

It’s not even like skinny pants are new or trendy or something. They have been around for a couple of years, I guess. I just assumed they do not apply to me. They are for The Kids. You know, Kids These Days! With their “iPods” and their “Facebook” and their “skinny jeans.” Wait a minute:

OMG, are boot-cut pants the new Mom Jeans?

I am obviously overthinking this.

I’m buying the pants.

faith in humanity: restored

Well, hello there! I think I just saw a pig streaking across the sky with golden wings, because I appear to be posting something to my blog more than once in a single week. Miracles do happen.

We went to the Del Mar horse races on Saturday and had a grand old time. I have a scientifically proven betting method. It consists of selecting a horse that is a) pretty, b) has an interesting name, or c) both of the above. This method is more fun than using actual statistics, and since I know jack squat about horse racing it’s probably about as effective.

On Saturday, my method did not let me down. In the first race, I bet $2 on Itschelseagirl to win. Now, normally I would object to the lack of spacing in that name for grammar’s sake. However, she was a pretty horse and Chelsea is the name of a family friend who Evan loves, so I went with it. And guess what?

She won the race! Should have wagered more than $2. Or not. Because I promptly lost my winning ticket. I believe it had something to do with the amount of gear and strollers I was lugging at the time. I was about to write it off as a loss based on the obvious futility of ever finding it again, but my husband and sister-in-law both encouraged me to go look for it. I mean, it was $24! That’s dinner at Baja Fish Taco, a nice bottle of wine, a can of non-chocolatified baby formula or maybe a dress at Old Navy.

So I headed off to look. And within two minutes, I FOUND IT! It was on the ground right where I suspected it might be. I picked it up, dusted it off, and proceeded to bet on losing horses for the rest of the day.

Oh well. At least those losing bets were covered.

world chocolate domination

Last night we were talking about baby formula. Dave said “I’m not sure I can get behind that Nestle Good Start formula.” I asked him why and he said “Because it’s from Nestle, so it must have chocolate in there somewhere.”

I laughed and said “Do you really think so?” and he continued. “Yes. I think they hide chocolate isotopes in there so the kids who drink it as infants end up craving chocolate when they grow up.”

I started giggling uncontrollably. I think it was the phrase “chocolate isotopes.” I took chemistry and all, way back when, but I have no idea what an isotope is. (And for the record, neither does he.)

But anyway, who knew I was married to such a conspiracy theorist?

post-bath contemplation

Those eyes... they kill me.

comeuppance

So apparently I've been getting a tad bit too cocky about my ability to manage two small children. "This is a breeze!" I actually thought to myself yesterday. Well, today the universe has conspired to set me straight. Why am I surprised by that?

Today's Parental Dilemma #1

Question: when confronted with a three-year-old with visibly peanut-buttery hands, and a four-month-old infant who has just had a poop blowout of epic proportions covering both her clothing and the play mat she was lying on, WHICH DO YOU DEAL WITH FIRST?

Answer: This one is easy. Peanut butter hands trump a poop blowout, only because infant's limited mobility means her mess, although more disgusting, will be fairly well contained. However, freshly painted walls mean the peanut butter must be removed STAT.

Today's Parental Dilemma #2

Question: When attempting to breastfeed starving infant during older child's swimming lesson, and older child climbs out of the pool screaming and proceeds to throw a tantrum, do you try to stay calm and continue nursing, or do you remove tantruming child from the scene, which necessitates you stop feeding hungry baby, which will in turn result in additional screaming?

Answer: Tough call. However, public judgment of other swimming lesson parents is too humiliating. Must remove unreasonable three-year-old immediately, despite protest crying from starving infant. Shoving pacifier into her cry-hole while shepherding tantrum boy to a less public location is the clear choice, all the while muttering silent obscenities and yet trying to appear in control.

What do you think?

do i have a blog?

Yes, well, it looks as if I do. I appear to have forgotten about it. Is anyone out there still reading this? (echo, echo, echo)

What to report after such a long hiatus? Here are the highlights:

1. I am going back to work at the end of this week. Feelings are mixed on this one. I'll be happy to be back among adults on a daily basis, but I will really miss my time with the baby.
   
2. Speaking of the baby, she officially hates the bottle. Feelings are most definitely NOT mixed on this one. The overwhelming one? STRESS PANIC FEAR.
   
3. Evan is almost potty-trained. HAPPINESS JOY ELATION.

Overall, it has been a nice four months off. I still need to tell you all about my trip to New York with Whoorl, and the fact that I had the opportunity to show my patented Awkward Chopstick-Eating Skills to the entire United States on national television. I might have a new Most Embarrassing Moment. Stay tuned for details!

whoorlwind

Well, hello there! Have you seen this? Yes, that's right: I'm a participant in today's edition of Whoorl's Hair Thursday! And it's not just any Hair Thursday... the results will be shown on national television. Yeah, you heard me... NATIONAL TELEVISION. I am in a slight panic. But an excited one. So get out there and rock the vote. Will it be a sleek shorter bob or a medium-length layered cut with bangs? You decide.

miscellany

Hi there y'all. Well, forget what I said about getting seven-hour stretches of sleep. That, apparently, has gone by the wayside for now. However, the reason I am even blogging at all right now is that both of my children have been asleep, simultaneously, aka AT THE SAME TIME, for nigh on to two full hours now. What have I done with my free time? you may ask. Well, I have caught up on blog reading and eaten my weight in 100-calorie Oreo packs. Those 100-calorie packs are great and yet ridiculous. They are nicely measured so you don't go overboard, but the whole "not going overboard" system doesn't really work when you eat multiple packs. Ugh.

In other news, this week has been crazy so far. CRAZY. I think I'm going to be able to go back to work at a reduced work schedule (YAY!) and something else kooky and exciting is also in the works for next week. More on that tomorrow, I think.

Also, I am stressing out because we are having a birthday party for Evan this weekend and there will be 25 kids plus all the associated adults! Whoa Nelly. I really need to get my act together and start some hot favor-buyin', pizza-orderin' action. Off to make an official to-do list.

life is good

Maternity leave rocks. Let's just get that out of the way right now. And guess what? Today is Evan's third birthday! And Delaney is 10 weeks old today. To celebrate both these occasions, she has been sleeping good seven-hour stretches for the last few nights. Which contributes to my general level of happiness and joy.

Do you know what else contributes to my general level of happiness and joy? Starbucks iced coffee with vanilla.

Again: loving maternity leave. Where else can you eat birthday cupcakes in the morning, have vanilla iced coffee every afternoon, have frequent brunch and shopping dates with your friends and gaze goofily at your happily smiling baby... all while wearing comfy slobby clothes? This is the life, I'm telling you! Why can't I get paid for this?