Carpe Diem or else

Lucien has glasses now.  He began striking poses like this as soon as we picked them up.  He seemed to understand having glasses of this magnitude immediately turned him into an emo indie rocker.

(It was also "wear your pajamas to school" day.  The glasses/pajamas/rain boots combination seems to point in only one direction -- The Loosh has gone hipster.)

Track is over.  At our final meet, Lucien came in 7th place out of 8 kids in his first race.  I prepared myself to comfort him but he skipped up cheerfully, deposited his 7th place ribbon in my lap and said, "Well at least I beat that really slow kid!" I am thankful Lucien is buoyant and optimistic by nature.

We had to wait a long time for his second race, as is customary in track meet purgatory.  Lucien spent most of that time pawing through my bag (and his friend's mom's bag) for snacks.  We warned both boys that eating too much before a race was a bad idea.  They didn't believe us and continued to inhale Goldfish crackers as if they were the last Goldfish crackers on earth and people were coming to take them.

When the starter pistol fired, both our boys took off running but within a few seconds began clutching their sides with surprised looks on their faces.  They lurched down the track like tiny Quasimodos in sneakers.  I could hear Lucien muttering "Ow ow ow ow ow ow" as he passed at a slow gallop, arms wrapped around his stomach.

His coaches and I laughed so hard we cried.  It was delightful.  Lucien finished 8th out of 8; his similarly stuffed friend barely eked out victory over him in the "full stomach" division.

I tried not to say "I told you so" but failed.  Lucien said, "Mom, it had nothing to do with the eating, my sides just started hurting really bad and I think I need a doctor."  Then we all laughed at him again and he looked hurt and confused.  Character building!

We're currently taking bids for the exterior project we're hoping to complete this summer.   We've met with several contractors and their bids have started to come in.  It's difficult to compare the bids because each contractor has a different idea about what needs to be done and how best to do it. The issue is not just about the bottom line anymore but also who is most likely to know what the hell he's talking about.
 
First contractor:  "Hardi-plank siding is the only way to go."
Second contractor: "Blasphemy, nothing but the finest fir boards will suit such a house."
Third contractor:  "This house must be sided in unicorn teeth."
Fourth contractor: "We must bulldoze the whole thing to the ground and start over."

We're comparing apples to oranges over here.  How are we going to decide?  Are we going to rely on gut instinct?  Spin a wheel?  Throw a dart? (not at the contractors themselves -- though that would be another way to weed them out, by testing their reflexes.)

I have no idea.  I guess we'll just pick the guy in the middle -- not the guy who thinks he can mix the paint himself in his kitchen to save money nor the guy who thinks the paint must be made of quicksilver and diamond dust.  We'll choose the middle guy, the reasonable guy, then cross our fingers and march bravely forward.

I've been looking at catalogs again.   I think Restoration Hardware is becoming too pretentious for its own good.

For example, this clock.  I liked it quite a bit until I read it was non-functional. 
This giant clock doesn't work but still costs $1100.
That's dumb.
(Unless you're a big fan of 1:50)

A 1920s German Light Bulb Voltage Tester Bar?

What the hell does that mean?
Just relax, Restoration Hardware. 

I admit, this next item is useful if you really want to beat a message over your guests' heads --

When you're in my house, YOU WILL SEIZE THE MOTHERF*CKING DAY

Lucien had a really bad day at school recently.  The teacher wrote me a note and said it had been a hard one, that he'd been in trouble all day and seemed really out of sorts.  I sat him down for a heart-to-heart, asked him to put some words to his feelings to explain why it had gone off the rails.

He's quite articulate, my boy.  He started in on his list: he's frustrated because he's having a hard time with reading and feels stupid, one of his friends made fun of him and that made him angry, he's mad at me for being so hard on him lately,  it makes him feel sad and frustrated when I yell at him even though he's trying his best to be good, and he feels so frustrated with how wound up he feels he just wants to scream.

It was a lot of feelings for a little boy.  He let them all out while burying his face in my shoulder and crying.  He felt better afterwards, as do we all after a good vent session.

Then he said, "Mom, I just want to be a good man, like a man people study.  I want them to talk about me.  I want to be a man people only say good things about.  Like Obama*."

*Lucien doesn't realize people say bad things about Presidents because he doesn't have a Facebook account yet.

Anyway, hard times and easy times, good parenting days and bad parenting days, I really love this kid and hope I'm doing it right.

There's one thing I know for sure, my child:
Don't run on a full stomach,
MJ

I forgot to mention --

Hammacher Schlemmer thinks you need an ugly nap pod for $16,000.

Ode to Banister Abbey

Banister Abbey.  This damn house.

We fell in love with our house at an Open House exactly one year ago.  It lacked a banister and several other important house parts at the time.  We've gotten a lot done but it's far from finished.

Now that I think about it, it's still missing a banister and several other important house parts.  Well damn.

Let's quickly re-focus on how far we've come instead of how far we have to go or else I'm going to hit the bottle at 9 a.m.

Our most recent success concerns the pocket doors leading into the parlor. Our trusty team found, pieced together, refinished and reassembled the many, many pieces of the doors over the past year.  Several pieces were rescued from the garage where they were found stacked in crappy condition.

The refinished and ready-to-install pieces have been on the parlor floor for six months as other projects took precedence and we lost all our contractors.  Contractor Smiley eventually arrived to save the day.  There were piles of Christmas tree needles under the boards when he moved them. 

Anyway, doors.

Doorway before -- at the Open House

Doors now

Let's do that again that was nice.

Doors Before --

Doors Now --

There are very few finished spaces in our home but there are several mostly-finished spaces.  One is the family room.

The family room before, at the Open House --

I cannot put into words the smell of this carpet.  

But I will try -- "wet peeing dog goat"

The family room now --

painting those stripes nearly did me in

Again.  Before --

After --

See that glow to the right, coming from the (previously creepy) closet?

It's a kid reading nook now --

Nice work, Supermodel Neighbor

and there's toy storage in the other closet --

It was a fine idea but toys still end up all over the floor constantly

On to the dining room.
The dining room got a lot worse before it got better.

Dining room before, at Open House --

Dining room during --

We taught the kids a game called "Swiffer Chase and Fight." 

 Suckers.
(Coco played in her princess dress, of course)

after all the chaos, here's the dining room today--

still missing baseboards.  we're working on it.

 stenciling that back wall nearly did me in

As for other spaces, we're finally enclosing our laundry area --

anticlimactic

This corner on the second floor has not been empty since we moved in.  It has always collected moving boxes or construction equipment or house pieces of some kind.  And yet here it is now --

just trust me, it's a big deal

We are currently taking bids for an exterior project we're hoping to complete this summer.  Thinking about it got me nostalgic for all we've been through with the exterior already.  Here are some incomprehensible photos to illustrate my thoughts --

All that trouble was to turn this...

 

the questionable front entry when we moved in

...into this

(and also to prevent the front of the house from crumbling into the ground because it was apparently built on mesh and sand.)

Alex and I often wonder: if we'd known then what we know now, would we still have bought it?  Some days the answer is a screaming "NONONONONO" while ripping out fistfuls of hair but the vast majority of days the answer is "hell yeah love this damn thing."  

You are a ridiculous house, Banister Abbey, but you're part of the family now and we will carry on restoring you to incredibleness.

Forever our money pit,

MJ

Perfect Love and Monkeys

I saw the sign at left at Lucien's most recent track practice.

Is the City of Seattle being funny or are pot bellied pigs now a common animal to see about town?

If we're going to start banning odd pets from tracks, there are others I would consider before pigs. For example, it would upset me much more to see a pet boa constrictor at the track than a pig.  Also distressing would be tarantulas and/or tigers.

Inversely, there are pets I would like to encourage to come to the track.  For instance -- monkeys.  I would love to see a pet monkey at the track, preferably a Capuchin but I would also welcome a Pygmy Marmoset. 

Seattle Mom invited me to her co-worker's wedding last week.  It was the first gay wedding I've attended since our state legalized gay marriage.  Washington, you make me proud to live in you.

Now that gay marriage is legal, conservative talking heads fret it's a slippery slope -- next it's going to be OK to marry animals!  Alex will be in trouble if that's true because I really like those Capuchin monkeys.

Well hello there, handsome

The wedding was more frustrating and befuddling than most I've attended but it had nothing to do with the fact there were two brides and no grooms.  It had more to do with Car2Go, my heretofore beloved and flawless spontaneous transportation companion.

Seattle Mom and I drove a Car2Go to the wedding.  When we tried to end our trip outside the hall,  the car told us we couldn't end our trip because we were outside acceptable Car2Go boundaries.  That message was especially confusing because we were parked directly behind another Car2Go whose driver had apparently ended his/her trip quite successfully and walked away.

After some parking here and there with no success, I kicked Seattle Mom out of the car -- go see your friend get married, for Pete's sake! -- and continued to drive around and around searching for the elusive acceptable boundary.  I finally found it thanks to a squeaky-voiced Car2Go helpline representative who may or may not have been in the middle of a panic attack.

I ran many blocks in my high heels ("Wear the really high heels!" said Seattle Mom, "There won't be much walking!") but missed the ceremony anyway.  I hear it was beautiful and everybody cried.

At least I made the reception --

As I watched the brides smooth each others gowns and discuss how they shopped for them together, I felt a stab of envy.  How awesome it would have been to plan a wedding with someone who was as excited about "girl" things as I was.  Alex's eyes used to get glassy and a thin line of drool would escape his mouth whenever I talked wedding.  I would say things like, "I don't know whether to go sweetheart, square or strapless" and he would stare at me blankly and say "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Forget the monkey, I want to marry a woman now.  (those talking heads were right....this is how the gay people seduce us into joining their "lifestyle"...)

These brides have been together twenty years.  Even though I don't know them, it was a joy to see them make their commitment as legally binding and inescapable as me and Al's --

Best toast of the evening -- 

"You two are perfect love and I'm sorry it took the world so long to figure it out."  

I chaperoned a first-grade field trip again because I'm a chaperoning fool.  Being the constant chaperone is my contribution at Lucien's school and honestly, I enjoy my time with those kids.

Except for this last time.  I was the only parent who volunteered between two classrooms so there were two teachers, me, and forty-two First-Graders.  I also had Coco.  It was an uncomfortable ratio of adults to troublemakers. 

The idea was to take a nature walk at a nearby park.  The kids carried magnifying glasses and notepads and were tasked with observing and sketching the various trees, animal life and other naturelike things we came across.  It sounded great in theory but once you took into consideration the ledges-and-ravines topography of the park, the steep slopes on either side of the path at times, the lack of adults and the inexplicably stupid choice for my footwear (high wedge sandals, what?), it was a tense outing.

Our initial strict policing of the kids soon gave way to doing the bare minimum required for survival.  We settled for grabbing kids' hands last second to keep them from slipping into ravines and pulling them down from logs and out of shrubbery by their ankles instead of enforcing the unattainable "maintain a single file line at all times" ideal.

Similarly, the strict "use your half-voice" rule soon morphed into three frazzled adults yelling "I SAID USE YOUR HALF-VOICES YOU'RE GOING TO SCARE ALL THE NATURE" while the kids pulled each others hair and accused each other in their "screaming" voices of squashing the caterpillar (nobody squashed the caterpillar, the caterpillar was perfectly fine, I don't know why I was the only one who could see that.)

On our way back to school, I was posted at the end of the line to collect stragglers.  Half the students fell into this category so I was very busy.  I'm happy to report Lucien stuck cheerfully next to his teacher the entire time but I was kind of bummed about it -- he's the one I wanted to spend time with, not the permanently distracted girl whose collar I had to hold onto because she's always looking straight up at the sky.

I'm pretty sure I rounded them all up and got them back to school but it's entirely possible I left one stuck in a tree trunk somewhere.

I had a weird dream last night.  In it, I said to a group of friends, "Oh, so I have sex with one person dressed like a bunny rabbit and now you're calling me a Plushie?"  just as Alex's boss walked into the room.  I've never met Alex's boss, he's a real head honcho, but the "meeting" idea has recently been floated.

Is the meaning of the dream obvious, as in I'm worried about humiliating myself in front of a big kahuna (understandable, I can be an idiot) or is there something else happening in my strange subliminal mind?

(For the record, I'm not a Plushie)

(Unless there's a Capuchin costume?)

(If you want to share your strange dreams now, I wouldn't feel so vulnerable and strange)

I just spent hours putting together some before-and-afters of Banister Abbey and adding them to this post.  It made this post last for millions of years so I decided it was too much.  I'm going to put them up Thursday instead.  A reason to live!

Cheers to perfect love,
MJ

Track Purgatory

Being a track mom means I do the vast majority of my mom-ing at a track these days.  It means I've learned how to decently raise my kids in a set of bleachers. I know how far up the bleachers to sit to sustain minimal injuries (because my youngest will inevitably fall and roll all the way down to the bottom of the stairs) and I know which items at the snack bar have earned my "somewhat acceptable amount of sugar" track mom seal of approval.

If we're not at track practice these days, we're at a track meet.  If you're not familiar, track meets are where many teams come together and a zillion kids run every distance between 0 meters and 5,000,000,000 meters (in ten-meter increments) from right after school until the wee hours of the morning.

There is a 100% probability track meets will happen at schools that are very far from your home.  The map application on your smartphone is your new best friend.

I get a desperate sinking feeling when a large group of kids takes the field at a track meet.  "That many kids are running the 1500?  How many heats is that going to be?  WHY AREN'T WE ACTIVELY DISCOURAGING THESE KINDS OF DISTANCES?"  I told Lucien if he runs anything longer than the 200m his legs will probably break off.  He looked scared so that takes care of that.

Lucien would be a fine runner if he would just listen to his coaches.  It's twice now they've told him to stop waving at his mom while running the 50m sprint.  It slows him down, as does his constant looking side-to-side (and over his shoulder) to see where all the other runners are.  Sometimes it also causes him to swerve into his fellow runners' lanes.  It's real exciting stuff.

He grins the whole time, though, so at least he's having a good time.  As with everything else in his life since the day he was born, he's doing it his own damn way with no need for input from others.

My un-coachable child is also fairly un-teachable.  His teacher told me when she called on him in class last week he said, "No thanks, I'm OK" and wandered over to look at a book on ants.  In his defense, ants are fascinating creatures that can lift fifty times their body weight.

In better news, his teacher says Lucien's "a popular, natural leader with huge ideas."  He also walked past me in the kitchen the other day and said out of nowhere, "Someday there's gonna be a statue of me in this town."  Putting those two things together, it's fairly obvious Lucien is one day going to be the leader of a cult.

I pass the time at Lucien's track meets by eavesdropping on conversations in the bleachers.  One happened in front of me between two highbrow women who didn't realize they were being funny.  It went like this --

"So she became a vegetarian because one time we stayed at a sheep farm in Australia and -- well, I think we just got a little too close to our protein.  After that she was a pescatarian -- that is, until my husband took her fishing and she couldn't handle what happened to the fish, just really freaked out right there in the boat.  So now she's vegan and honestly, she looks awful."

I hope the lady they're talking about doesn't uncover any uncomfortable truths about the bean or nut industries because she'd really be in trouble.

Past her bedtime and Lucien hasn't even done his field event yet

I took the kids to a professional photography studio recently because we received a coupon in the mail.  It was a really good deal and I couldn't pass it up.

Our session was a little rough.  Lucien was so impossible to convince to look decent (and Coco will follow her brother's lead because she worships the boy), our sheet of proofs ended up looking like this --

I still ordered a bunch because they do capture my children perfectly.

We aged our photographer by a few years.  They probably won't be mailing those coupons to people anymore.

Mount Rainier on a sunny day never gets old.  Sometimes I turn a corner and see it on the horizon and it's so incredible I nearly drive off the road.  It may erupt someday and bury us all but until that moment, keep being awesome, Mt. Rainier.

Alex and Lucien and our good friend Uncle Alex ran another 5K last week.  This one was sponsored by Top Pot Doughnuts.  The sponsorship seems at odds with a healthy running lifestyle but it's actually a good motivator to get people moving.  Many people crossed the finish line in a big hurry with tongues hanging out and arms outstretched, desperately reaching for their finish line doughnut.

After the 5K there was a 1K Kid Dash.  Coco got nervous and wanted all of us to run it with her.  So I thought what the heck, even I'll run for a doughnut.

While carrying a large purse.  One never knows what one's going to need on a 1K.

(I'm now going to propose a Bacon Dash in which participants get bacon shoveled into their mouths every few feet.  Between the Doughnut 5K and the Bacon Dash, I would become a dedicated runner in no time.)

We also recently had our school's fundraising auction.  The theme was "Hats Off" so we all had to wear hats.  I thought it would be more appropriate if we had our HATS OFF but I was overruled on that one.

I've blocked out their faces because I'm too lazy to ask all their permission to post this pic --

 Aren't my friends gorgeous?

As Seattle Mom and I stood chatting at the wine section of the silent auction, Alex walked up and asked us if we knew anything about any of the wines.  Were any of them good?  Were any worth bidding on?  We said we didn't know anything about any of them.

Seconds later, another auction-goer walked up beside us and asked Alex, "Hey, are you a wine guy?" to which Alex immediately replied, "Why yes I am."  He then walked away with the man who had a question about a wine at the end of the table.  I overheard Alex tell him it was a great year and a great deal and he should bid immediately.  I love my ridiculous bullsh*ttin' man.

A group of us only stayed for the silent auction part -- we cut out secretly and went down the street for an incredible tapas dinner at Tango.  The good people working at Tango probably wondered, "Why are all these yahoos wearing hats?"

Parents of the Year all together now!

Slowly, I am building a new team of contractors.  I'm going to call one of our new arrivals "Contractor Smiley" because I've never met such a happy contractor.  The ones I've worked with in the past have been a little crabby (I'm lookin' at you there, Contractor God).

Contractor Smiley has a positive, can-do attitude.  For instance, we've been trying to find a door to fit our upstairs linen closet.  It's an odd size, narrow and short.  My perusal of the architectural salvage yards turned up nothing, which is never a good sign.

After begrudgingly deciding to have the door custom made, I mentioned a collection of old doors to Contractor Smiley, maybe ten or twelve deep, stacked in our garage.  They were left behind by the previous owner.  I'd never gone through them because what a mess.

Contractor Smiley said, "Oh my gosh, what are we waiting for?!" and for the next hour we heaved and grunted and hurt ourselves, moving and dusting off hundred-year-old doors covered in huge spiders, rat poop, and various grimes.  But there, at the very bottom of the pile, we found it -- an antique five-panel door of perfect size with original brass hardware still attached.

It's going to be incredible

We did the March of Dimes 5K March for Babies over the weekend.  My good friend's twins were born premature over a year ago. While they are both now healthy and perfect in every way, she and her husband have endured some really scary times.  They made it through thanks in part to the support of the March of Dimes.

We walk for the Seattle Wonder Twins  

(who had the stomach flu so slept through the entire walk and didn't notice our sweet team t-shirts.)

It was a perfect warm Seattle day, the kind that makes you happy with your dull, boring, repetitive track mom life. The kids got drenched in the Seattle Center fountain afterward and Alex and I permitted a small amount of sunlight to touch our ghost-white skin.

Someday there's gonna be a statue of me in this town,
MJ