Guessing Game

I'm back at the Paris book.  I have a developmental editor working with me now and she's been huge. We're dismantling all my ideas from back in November and developing new ideas.  Who knew there were so many ideas?  It's exciting but my head's swimming.  

While my head is in the bookwriting clouds, here's a fun game.  Guess which of these French quotes hanging on our kitchen wall Natani can reach?

yep....that one

That was too easy.  How about this:  Guess what terrifying object Natani is growling at and fiercely protecting us from?

That's right!  It's her own toy!  She forgot it on the back porch and it then blew into a strange, unrecognizable and frightening shape.  I like to believe she felt foolish when I let her outside and she circled growling at it until she worked up the courage to approach and sniff, but I'm not sure dogs are that self aware.

Here's another fun guessing question:  What's wrong with the schnauzer?  Did the schnauzer die?

Nope, no worries, he's alive.  We just took him on a hike. He was happy for half of it and then he was most decidedly not happy at all.  He just kind of flopped on the ground and said, "no."  So we carried him back.

I'm too old for this sh*t

Seattle is a boomtown. Our population is exploding, our home prices increasing to ludicrous new highs. It will soon become common to hear "I bought this ramshackle 1957 bungalow for 7.5 kajillion dollars."

Our neighborhood is changing rapidly; old homes are being torn down on every block and clusters of skinny townhomes soon built in their places.  I hate these new ugly buildings and my kids know it. When we drive past yet another old home being tickled to death by a bulldozer, Lucien or Coco will mutter,"Dammit.  There goes another Victorian with turn-of-the-century charm -- the architectural details along the roofline were to die for -- being torn down to make room for an ugly modern box lacking in character and quality."

Hearing your words coming out of someone else's tiny little mouth is both eerie and heart-swelling.

Thanks to all this urban progress, streets are regularly closed in our neighborhood for big construction machines and utility crews.  Driving the kids to school has become a frustrating task because there are always new and unexpected "ROAD CLOSED" signs popping up in front of the car.  I then must improvise, zig zag around, find a new unimpeded path.  Then the next week there are more signs -- the new route's closed now, too.

I'm convinced someday there will be no possible route to school so we'll go back home and watch movies and eat Nacho Cheese Doritos.  The excuse I will call into the school will be "there are no more streets left."  I guarantee the office staff will understand.  They will probably be taking the call from their own living rooms, having found no viable route to school themselves.

oh god.  no.  just stop it.

Alex and I attended the elementary school fundraising auction over the weekend.  Alex bid on a restaurant gift certificate because he's been wanting to treat his hardworking team at work to a nice dinner.  He missed a few crucial details before he bid and won, though -- namely that the certificate was for $200 worth of bagels. That's going to be one weird team dinner.

I took Coco and Lucien to the Seattle Bouldering Project while Alex was in Mexico for work last week.  I love bouldering, especially at this point in time.  When I'm hanging high on a wall by only my fingernails, all I can think about is how to keep hanging on.  I can't think about the words I'm using for the Paris book, and how most of the words I'm using are stupid words and I need to find good words. Bouldering is a reprieve from crippling self-doubt.

I may love the singular focus that comes with bouldering but my kids were less enthused. Within an hour they could not feel their arms nor legs so laid in whimpering little kid puddles on the mats and begged to go home.  Seattle climbers are a very supportive lot; they high-fived me and said, "Nicely done, Mom, you got 'em!"

We're going back whenever the kids get uppity.  You giving me lip?  GET ON THE WALL.

We took another trip in the RV before Al left for Mexico.  Taking off in an RV is more work than it sounds because you have to empty the RV when you're not using it and refill it when you're ready to take off again. You can't leave food in there to rot, can't leave linens in there to get damp in our wet Seattle winter weather.  It's like packing a tiny home each and every time so something is always inevitably forgotten. Last time it was ketchup and eggs.  This time it was butter and a pillow.

We also forgot to buy firewood.  Other campers' fires dotted the campground as we attempted to make our fire with a roll of toilet paper, small sticks and some damp leaves.  It was brief, brilliant, and smoky.

There are three types of RVers we've encountered so far.  The most common type is the retired couple.  Then there are young families like ours.  The third is more difficult to categorize in a definitive way -- they're the kind that shuffle around the campsite in dirty bathrobes and slippers and don't make eye contact. I'm not sure of their age or family situation.  It's anyone's guess what they're all about yet they are definitely my favorite.

and old man schnauzer went on a hike

Lucien recently told me about a girl he has a crush on at school.  He was invited to go to a movie with her family and while we waited for her dad to come pick him up, Lucien said, "I really hope I impress her."  I worried about what "impressing her" might entail (probably farting on cue) so I asked cautiously, "Hey Loosh....how do you think you should communicate with a girl in order to "impress" her?"  He thought a minute, pointed at me, winked and said, "I'm gonna speak to her in German."

It's worth a shot, I guess.  Better than farting.  If it doesn't impress her it will at least befuddle her and that's worth some laughs.  So go on, baby, sprechen sie deutsch.  And good luck.

Coco just ran into the kitchen and announced, "Donald Trump just bit me."  Frankly, I wouldn't put it past him.

Anyone want a bagel?
MJ

Climbing walls

I was standing beside two elderly men at the grocery store yesterday when suddenly one turned to the other and said, "You know, the first time I put on my kilt, I thought 'damn, I've got some nice legs.'  The second time I put it on I thought, 'well, shoot, where did those nice legs go?'"

I love living in English again.  If you're within earshot of me, I'm listening to you.  And even if you don't make a whole lot of sense, I'm giddy about it.

Look at this crazy drama with the school bus. There was a truck parked too close to the roundabout so the bus couldn't make the turn and got stuck.  A fire truck happened by and the firemen jumped out to make sure everyone was OK.  Then the firemen turned on the engine lights to entertain all the kids stuck on the bus and we all said, "Ooooooh."  (Not much happens around here on a weekday afternoon... it was a really big deal, I swear.)

Bear with me, everybody.  Little light on blog material today.

When Lucien was four years old and living in the super-white 6th arrondissement of Paris, he saw an African American boy at the park and asked me if he was burned.  Jesus.  I told him sometimes people are just different colors and he looked at me like I was batshit crazy.

Now that we're home, he gets it, and doesn't care a whole lot.  None of the kids do.  We're happy Lucien now lives and schools with people of assorted colors.  His school is a beautiful rainbow of skin color, a cornucopia of language and ethnicity.  I'm pretty sure I even saw a purple boy in his class but maybe that kid just had measles.

Sometimes adults don't do as well with the concept of race.  I'm sorry to say there's some racial tension in my neighborhood, and it's getting stirred up by the contentious issue of dog poop --

(I'm not sure why "black" is in quotes.)

I hate to think someone is purposely letting their dogs poop in this specific yard because the family is black.  If so, this dog owner is way worse than your average poop-ignorer; this person is a whole new level of shitty (HA!)   If the dog owner is racist,  I hope that person visits Paris, and then I hope they trip and fall face first into a steaming pile of Parisian dog sidewalk offerings.

What?  You want to hear more about poop?  I must obey!

Now that I'm back in a land where picking up dog poop is an absolute duty that must never be shirked, I'm hearing about lots of people having dog poop problems.  L.A. Mom is borderline obsessed with identifying a dog owner that regularly leaves poop in her yard -- obsessed to the point of sitting up all night with a pair of binoculars, a stun gun, and a maniacal look in her eye.

A woman recently left a note in L.A. Mom's mailbox addressed to L.A. Mom's husband.  The note said, "Brian, I need to talk to you.  Call me, Katie."  There was a phone number.  L.A. Mom did not immediately think, as I would have, "Katie is my husband's mistress and I must now challenge her to a duel."  Instead she thought, "OMG, I bet this woman knows something about the dog poop."

L.A. Mom called Katie.  She excitedly dove into her questions -- had Katie seen something in their yard, and did she know who the mystery shitter/owner were?  There was a long silence, as any person not emotionally involved in the poop situation would expect.  Katie then explained the reason for the note in the mailbox.  It was not only NOT related to poop, it was not even related to L.A. Mom and her family.  The previous owner was named Brian, too; L.A. Mom's family has only recently bought their house.

Please, people, take a deep breath.  I implore you, let's not let dog poop cloud our reasoning and make us suspicious, angry people.  Let's not be racist.  And let's all just pick up our dog's crap, okay?


Lucien, my recently turned six-year old, after three years of Eurodisney, finally had a real birthday party.  Us being us, we made it a DANGEROUS birthday party --

Seattle Bouldering Project.  Best birthday party ever.

The birthday boy climbing through a hoop

Here are the rules for birthday parties at Seattle Bouldering Project --

Here's what happened at our party --

The women who led the climbing part of the party said Lucien has incredible energy.  One said he could be an award-winning climber with that kind of energy.  The other woman said he could probably be an award-winning anything (except quiet person) with that kind of energy.

This was Lucien's cake --

 Dinosaurs, volcano, edible "rocks"

A mother of one of Lucien's classmates asked me if I baked it myself.  She doesn't know me so didn't realize how funny the question was.  Alex however, who was standing nearby, nearly passed out from lack of oxygen due to maniacal laughter.

Today at the bus stop after school one of Lucien's classmate's moms said, "Hey, does Lucien want to come over for a playdate now?" and I said, "Yes, take him."  I love this neighborhood, even if there are some questionable dog owners with possibly racist evil intentions.  

Alex is in Europe right now for work.  Today he's in Munich; tomorrow it's Paris.  He's in Paris for less than 24 hours so I know he won't be having any fun but still, I wonder how tomorrow will feel for both of us.

He should probably go get liquored up and yell at cars on Boulevard Saint Germain so he can say goodbye to the city properly.  Always worked for me.

Where did MY nice legs go?
MJ