Yo from the Hoh

To the naked ear, visiting a rainforest in the Pacific Northwest in February may sound akin to showering naked outdoors at the North Pole.  It's actually much more enjoyable than that, thanks to can-do attitudes and the miraculous properties of Gore-Tex.

The kids were most excited for the ferry portion of the trip.  That is, until Lucien looked outside and nervously remarked the boat alongside the ferry had a large machine gun protruding from the bow.  It was a U.S. Coast Guard boat and it accompanied our ferry across Puget Sound with a man in black standing ready at his large boat gun.

Alex and I tried to make light of it and explain it in a way that wouldn't terrify the children -- "They're protecting us in case terrorists come flying at us on super stealth sonic boats and try to blow us up but don't worry that probably won't happen" -- but inside we were slightly unnerved.  We wondered what the Coast Guard knew that we didn't know (probably quite a lot) and prayed to be quickly delivered from our marked ship. 

We survived the ferry and drove several hours to our cute rental house in the middle of downtown Forks, Washington.  Forks used to be a sleepy little lumber town in the middle of nowhere but is now known worldwide for something less staid -- it's the setting for the vampire-loving Twilight series.

As a result, things have changed in Forks since my last visit ten years ago.  There are many Twilight themed shops and Twilight themed B&B's.  Would you prefer "Edward's Room" or "Jacob's Room?"  You cannot have them both, foolish traveler, you must pick a side.

There's now a Twilight Tour upon which you can visit "Bella's House" and "The Cullen House."  "Bella's Truck" sits outside the market where she worked and there's a parking space reserved for Dr. Cullen at the local hospital.  Forks has plenty of parking so it's not upsetting to the locals one spot sits unused, waiting for a man (vampire) to come to work who does not actually exist.

It's a bit depressing, watching the previously humble Forks milk its brief fame with such obvious pandering to a rabid fanbase.  Enterprising shopkeepers would be foolish not to take advantage, of course, but I still miss the old vampire-and-werewolf-free Forks.

Alex is not dazzled by Twilight

I read the Twilight series when we lived in Paris. Coco was a tiny baby so I would be up at all hours of the night with her.  Twilight was my friend during that time; it was fun enough to make the sleepless nights with Coco on the couch bearable but fluffy enough not to require much thought.  It was exactly what I needed.

Because of my knowledge of the series, I became a very important tour guide for my family.  When we crossed the clearly marked "Treaty Line" I explained to Alex that was the line the vampires and werewolves drew to mark their territories.  I told him the story of "The Cold Ones" as we stood on the Quileute tribe's beaches in La Push.  I located where Bella cliff dived thanks to the Twilight Tour map I'd grabbed at the greasy spoon diner that morning at breakfast. 

Alex listened thoughtfully then said things like, "I get it; the Quileute tribe turned into werewolves and they are the natural enemies of vampires. I understand why that would be so."  I suspected he was making fun of me but knew for sure when he said with a dreamy look on his face and wistful tone to his voice, "I'm so glad you know the rich history of these lands.  I feel I understand the tribe so much better now."

I decided to stop talking about Twilight after that.  I made one exception as I walked behind Coco and Alex in the rainforest.  Coco has a hard time keeping pants up thanks to her lack of hips and resistance to belts, and as they slipped further and further down I said, "Now THAT'S a New Moon" and then laughed hard all by myself.

The Hoh Rainforest is not at all related to Twilight.  It's also one of the few temperate rain forests in North America and is exquisite in its uniqueness. It is no exaggeration to say we were the only car in the parking lot.  The Hoh Rainforest in February is not a hotspot destination.

It should be.  I've been to the Hoh before but this visit was my favorite because we were all alone.  It made the rainforest that much more magically spooky.

We encountered an ethical dilemma in our aloneness.  There was no one posted at the ranger station to collect payment, only a sign requesting we drop our entrance fee in the box outside the visitor center.  Alex and I grinned at each other -- it was a teachable moment!  We were going to teach our children about being honest, and doing the right thing, even when no one is looking.

We marched to the box at the visitor center, grabbed an envelope and began our loud and proud speech about personal responsibility.  We pulled our wallets out, squinted at the bills inside, then glanced quickly at each other in alarm.  We had only $10 cash between us. The entrance fee was $15. And those kids were watching us like tiny hawks.

Alex and I began muttering back and forth through clenched and smiling teeth.  "Just shove the cash in fast, maybe they won't notice," said Alex.  So I did. 

We should have known that wasn't going to work.  Lucien sees all and Lucien knows all.

"That's ten dollars, where's the rest?"
"Well, son, it's all we have."
"Well then we can't go in, right?"
"Well... actually we can."
"You said we have to pay!  You said the parks need the money!
"We can support the parks in other ways, such as placing garbage in proper waste receptacles."
 "You have to leave them your credit card number!"
"Oh hell no, son, you're trippin'."
"You said we have to pay the fee, even if there's no one around.  But that's not the fee!"
"You're making us uncomfortable."
"We have to write them an IOU!  You guys! Why are you walking away?!"

We should stop trying to teach valuable lessons and just hope for the best as usual.

At one point while walking through the lush, deliciously fresh rainforest, we decided to go slightly off-road to get down to the water.  Alex slid down the steep muddy semi-trail first, then turned and urged Coco, "Jump!  I'll catch you!"  She jumped because she trusts her Daddy with her whole heart.  Alex caught her fine but her weight threw him off balance so they both went down hard in the mud and slid the rest of the way down the hill.

Coco was so stunned she didn't even cry.  By the time she considered crying, Lucien and I were laughing so hard a small smile appeared at her lips until it took over her entire face. She seemed proud to walk the rest of the day in her mud-encrusted clothing.

I shouldn't have been so quick to laugh at them; on our way back up that hill I slipped and my hand landed in a pile of elk poop. It's cool, I was wearing gloves.

If a tree falls in the rainforest and no one is around, does Lucien still make a sound?

Yes. Many.

The Olympic Peninsula coastal beaches, similar to the rainforest, are at their most incredible when you're the only ones on them.

 

Coco was knocked over by a rogue wave and landed in the raging surf at the first beach we visited.  That's how she ended up back in the car ten minutes after arrival, pantsless, eating peanuts and reading The Complete Idiot's Guide to RVing.

I was very tense about Lucien also falling into the waves but Alex advised me to be more Buddhist about it and picture Lucien already wet.  It worked.  Lucien fell down soon thereafter and it didn't bother me at all.

Those two tiny figures in the distance above are Alex and Lucien running towards a sea lion we spotted just offshore.  As they stood watching, the sea lion lunged up and out of the water and caught a seagull straight out of the air.  Lucien screamed.  He now knows nature is heartless and untrustworthy.

Our Olympic Peninsula trip was awesome but it certainly wasn't perfect.  There were some squabbles between the kids, some disagreements between the children and their parents.  Lucien may have told us he wanted a new Mom and Dad because we were mean.  At one point during a tense stand-off, I said, "Lucien, are you really listening to me right now?  Because it kind of sounds like you're just humming The Imperial March from Star Wars while glaring at a spot somewhere over my head."

Family trips are family trips, after all.   During the frazzled times they don't feel like they're worth it but then you get home and look over your pictures and realize they were SO WORTH IT.

The ferry of doom pulls back into Seattle without incident 

Team Edward forever,
MJ

She moves things with her mind

Seattle is an excited city right now.  Once again our Seahawks seem likely contenders for the Super Bowl and the whole town's gone rabid.  I'll readily admit I'm not much of a football fan but it's impossible not to get caught up in the excitement.  When even the bagger at the grocery store packs my groceries with a fist pump and a GO HAWKS, I high-five him and leave the store thinking it's fun to have everyone in the city on the same page about something.

We got a sitter and spent Saturday at a local sports bar with some diehard football fan friends.  Fanatical fans are the best friends with whom to watch football because their enthusiasm and passion are both amusing and contagious.  A couple hours with them and I find myself yelling, "Suck it, ref, you #@&*% m*th#rf#@!" and feeling positively giddy about it.

The Seahawks won which is good because my friends are scary when we lose.  I would have balled up and rolled out the door to avoid interacting with them.

We went to a friend's house for dinner Friday night.  After dinner, our children invited us to what most parents dread at such neighborhood dinner events -- "a show."  

I have two rules about shows performed by my kids: 1) the show has to be well rehearsed beforehand and 2) it has to have a story with a beginning, middle and end.  It may seem harsh to impose these criteria upon our young children but life is too short to sit through yet another hour-long skit with kids pushing each other, saying "you go first" and giggling nervously. There's just no entertainment value there.

Our kids generally obey my skit rules and as a result we've seen some fairly decent productions at our get-togethers.  This time, however, things went off the rails. 

 What.  the hell.  is this.  hot.  mess.

Alex stepped in to save what was left of the skit portion of our evening.  He performed a piece he wrote himself entitled, "How To Write An Awesome Resume."  Our friend's daughter accompanied him on her synthesizer and the kids danced.  It wasn't just good exercise; they received valuable life advice that will hopefully land them their first jobs someday. 

The most recent project I'm tackling at home is the kids' room.  I wanted the kids involved in the creative process so I spread out a million paint chips on the dining table and told them each to choose a color to paint their side of the room.  They pounced on the pile, held up their chosen paint chips with big smiles and then I thought "Oh no, I've made a terrible mistake." 

Their chosen colors were electric blue and a pukey yellowish-green. Not only have my children proven to have zero knowledge of the color wheel, but also that they unable to work together to make something not hideous. 

I don't have a choice in the matter now, I have only one option  -- I'm going to buy completely different colors and tell the kids colors look way different on the walls than they do on paint chips.

I made another mistake in my design of the children's room in that I went to IKEA by myself to buy bookshelves.  Some of those IKEA furniture boxes weigh seven times my body weight but I forgot about that until I found myself face-to-face with the IKEA self-service warehouse.

The self-service warehouse is an area usually swarming with employees in blue shirts but this time I found myself alone in a sea of cardboard boxes that could crush me if I made any careless moves.  I was eventually able to slide all necessary boxes of the IKTHORP LANKAS BOMKE or whatever it's called bookshelf (only in IKEA does one dot one's "a"s) onto my flat cart.  Halfway through I had to partially undress in the aisle because sweat had seeped through my favorite Anthropologie cowlneck.

Getting the boxes into the car was another matter.  I called upon my catapult and lever knowledge and finally, after using pivot points and the weight of the box against itself like a ninja, I flipped it end over end until it miraculously landed in the back of my car. 

Alex helped me unload the boxes back at home.  As we wrestled the fiberboard beast into the house, Alex asked, "How the hell did you do this by yourself??" to which I replied, "my will is strong" and he said, "I swear you move things with your mind." 

Go, Seahawks, go!
MJ

Biter

I was sitting on the floor sorting laundry yesterday afternoon when I heard a small rustling sound behind me.  I turned quickly to find Coco inches from my face.  Her eyes were wide.  She stared at me for a second, then said in a low whisper, "I'm going to be sad when you die."  Then she walked away. 

Today on Creepy Things Your Kids Do!

she's terrifying

I had a dentist appointment a couple days ago.  It was just a cleaning but they told me I must return soon to have a crown placed on a particularly unhappy tooth.  It was not welcome news -- my last crowning didn't go so well.

I said I understood the importance of crowns, of course, and would be happy to come back at a most convenient time to have another crown installed by their extremely capable hands but the only problem was, you see, when I do I'm going to freak the hell out.

I told both the dentist and the dental hygienist, both lovely women who listened to me carefully with nodding heads, that pretty much everything they do to me in the dental chair these days is triggering my fight-or-flight response.  And honestly, truly -- and I really mean this -- I do not want to fight them.  But I will.

The dental hygienist began chuckling and said, "Uh-oh, there's going to be a red flag on your file with a large note that says, "CAREFUL, SHE'S A BITER!!"  The dentist and the dental hygienist started waving their arms around and laughing at that -- "A BITER!  A BITER!  OH NO, A BITER!"

I was like, "What?  No no, ladies, I'm not going to bite you.  My arms are just going to fly up all synchronized-like and clock you both in the jaw at the exact same time, gangster style.  Then I'm going to run down the hall and out the front door wearing my bulky black dental work sunglasses and my teeny little dental work bib.  I'm going to fight AND flight.

They're not gonna see that coming.

They promised they would work with my newfound dental anxiety but I'm not convinced.  The dental hygienist walked me to the front desk and told the receptionist, "MJ here needs to schedule a crown as her temperament allows."  Then she patted my shoulder.

Our new refrigerator is pretty great except it started leaking all over the floor five minutes after the water line was hooked up to the ice maker.  We joked our fridge had an incontinence problem.  The thought did not make us too keen on drinking the water dispensed from the door.

The fridge repairman's scheduler made a mistake so the repairman showed up for our appointment four hours early, which would have been fine except I wasn't home.  And our cleaning lady was.

I received a frantic call from the cleaning lady, quite freaked out by a man trying to enter our home, claiming to be a repairman and insisting he had an appointment.  She was like, "No, you don't!" and he was like, "Yes, I do!"

By the time I got home, it was a tense stand-off indeed.  I'm pleased to report our cleaning lady did not assault the man with a Swiffer, though she held one at the ready.  I brokered the truce.  The fridge guy spent two minutes fixing the fridge and left, but the cleaning lady probably needed several drinks and a doobie to finally calm down.

I sent Lucien to school without breakfast for the first time ever this week.  It was a rushed morning and Lucien refused to eat the oatmeal Alex placed in front of him.  Loosh said, "I don't want oatmeal, I want cereal" and Alex said, "There's not enough cereal for both you and Coco" and we all knew as soon as Lucien started eating cereal, Coco was going to demand cereal too and we were not up for that fight.  The oatmeal was plentiful, and it was good.

I stepped in and said, "Lucien, we're serving oatmeal for breakfast.  If you don't eat it, you don't eat it, but that's all you're getting."  As soon as I said it, I thought to myself, "Hmm...that could have been handled better, hardass"  because I knew what was coming.  I have a very stubborn son, you see.

As I feared, Lucien sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and said, "Fine, I guess I'm not eating breakfast then" and I said "Fine" but what I really meant was "Shit."

It was ye olde power struggle.  Dreadful things.  But as a parent, once you've entered into a power struggle, it's a bad idea to back down.  You must be strong and not let the little punk smell your insecurity.  So I held firm.  We drove to school in silence and then OH MY GOD, he ran off into school without breakfast.

I texted Seattle Mom my failings and she sympathized -- many a parent has been made humble by ye olde power struggle.  She suggested I go visit The Loosh at lunch, which I did, and when I saw his face light up when I walked into the cafeteria, and saw him beaming when all his little friends clustered around me, and felt him grab my hand, I knew we were going to make it through No Breakfastgate 2013.

Our blissful mother and child reunion was interrupted by a call from the cleaning lady yelling about some guy trying to break into our house.  

Christmas is coming and I'm very excited.  It's my favorite time of year.  It's the only time of year I feel like baking, which can be quite alarming to my family members.  They sometimes walk into the kitchen slowly and ask with tense voices, "Hey....what are you doing over there?"

I feel energized by Christmas this year so agreed to lead the Christmas community service project at Coco's preschool.  It was a great project but took up a lot of time as well as space in my dining room.  Then I volunteered to collect money from all the parents in the class and buy all the teachers' gifts. I spent many a morning chasing a parent down in the preschool parking lot, begging them to give me money or sign a card and narrowly avoiding the squealing tires as they peeled away and yelled out the window, "Can't! Late for work!"

The teachers may wonder why half the parents in the class have the exact same handwriting.  I tried to disguise my forgeries by using different colored inks.

This was Lucien's recent karate homework on the theme of "patience."

Maybe I should think of cake when I'm in the dentist's chair.

She's a biter!
MJ

Oh the wonderful things we'll make you do

Lucien flipped someone the bird in math class last week.  He pried his middle finger up out of his clenched fist and said, "I'm going to show you my middle finger now."

He got in trouble and I got a call from the teacher.  She said he didn't seem to know exactly what it meant to flip the bird but he knew it wasn't nice.  I explained the subtle yet loaded sociological meaning of the middle finger to him later that evening and he said, "OK, I'll only use it when I get real mad."

I went out with a friend, Seattle Twin Mom, Saturday night and mentioned the middle finger story.  She told me when she was about Lucien's age, her brother (who is six years older) told her showing your middle finger meant "Have a nice day."  So there sweet little Seattle Twin Mom went, flipping the bird all over her small hometown.  Her mom got a few phone calls from concerned citizens wondering why that cute little girl down the street suddenly turned into a real a**hole.

Alex and I try hard to do fun things with the kids on the weekends.  The kids don't always enjoy our "fun" ideas but they are still dependent and small and semi-portable so don't have much choice in the matter. 

Alex took the kids to a Japanese restaurant for lunch recently, one of those places where food circles the room on a conveyor belt and you have to grab your lunch as it passes by your table.  Lucien and Coco initially thought food whizzing by on a conveyor belt was awesome.  Their enthusiasm fizzled when they realized those containers of mackerel bits and octopus were lunch.

At first she was merely suspicious

 But then the sushi made her sad

So much for Japanese.  Let's try Vietnamese.  We've got a great Vietnamese place down the street from our house so we attempted more food horizon broadening.

We knew it was a failed experiment when Coco started eating plain lettuce

There's one food the kids will never turn down -- crappy U.S. macarons.

I'm not a food snob in general (raised on wiener bean casserole, after all) but there's something about the French macaron that's sacred and holds a very special place in my heart.  I have yet to find a macaron in the U.S. that truly captures what's happening over there in Paris.  Whenever a new French bakery-type place is recommended to me -- seriously, their macarons are the real deal! -- I take a bite and realize it is merely another pale ghostly imitation of the real deal. 

 exactly

The highlight of our most recent macaron attempt was when Lucien pointed to the counter and said, "Look, they have Macklemores!"  It couldn't have been a better fusion of our son's Paris and Seattle lives.

(For those wondering what the hell that meant, Macklemore is a rapper from Seattle)

There's just something off with the texture

There was a Life Sciences exposition at the Pacific Science Center over the weekend.  Lucien is a science-loving kid so we knew he would love it.

Except he didn't.  The brain table, which had real human brains cut in half and reeking of formaldehyde, made him knead his hands nervously and ask to go home. Guess we should stick to bugs and leave people out of it.

The kids are going to start refusing to leave the house with us

It was the most glorious Fall day on Sunday so we pulled out the scooters and went on a nice long walk through our fine city.   We didn't fully take into account Seattle's topography when planning our route.  There are lots of hills up in here.

We realized we weren't going to make it home easily when we saw Lucien, two blocks behind us and trying to scoot up a large San Francisco-style hill, yelling around about hating his scooter a whole, whole lot.  We eventually grabbed both of them by their jackets and began pushing/pulling them home. This would have been manageable except I wore slippery-soled boots.  I would slip while pulling on a kid, lose my grip on the kid, and the kid would start rolling backwards screaming before leaping off his scooter into some bushes.

It's family fun, kids.

Al and I left the kids with a sitter later that afternoon to go watch the Seahawks game at a rowdy Capitol Hill bar.  It was nice to get out together.  The kids were also thrilled because we were far away and no longer inflicting our ideas upon them.

I was reading a local news blog lately.  There was a story about some recent robberies in the C.D., one in particular in which a police helicopter located the burglary suspect hiding on someone's roof.   The following was written in the comments.

"...If it was a random 9pm burglary – then that is a freaky deal. We should all be up in arms and patroling the streets with pick handles.  We really need more detail on this kind of stuff. It makes a huge difference in the perception of risk. If it’s just thug on thug crime – I’m going to be leary of thugs. But if they be bustin into just anybody's house I’m gonna be all hillbilly."

What does it mean to get all hillbilly?  I'm picturing a lot of straw chewing and wearing of tank tops.  Is the idea to confuse burglars until they forget where they are, become disoriented and wander out of the C.D.?  I guess it's worth a try -- yee-haw, y'all.

Hillbilly is a decent idea but an even better way to fight crime is karate.  Lucien's pretty good at karate but Coco has a ferocity about her never before seen in a four-year-old karate novice.  Sure, sometimes she turns a somersault for no dang reason in the middle of the mat but other than that, she gets mean out there.

Hang in there, kids,

MJ

Crime, Auctions and Fish Parties

Ain't no party like a pumpkin party

If you're a parent of a school-aged child, you know the joys of curriculum night.  Curriculum night is when you go to your kid's school in the evening and squeeze into tiny chairs underneath trapezoids and parallelograms dangling from the ceiling by strings.  Then the teachers tell you all the ways they're going to force learning into your kid's brain.

I appreciate the teachers at our school but sometimes they offer unsolicited advice.  At curriculum night they told us, "9:00 p.m. is too late a bedtime for a second grader."  My impulse was to raise my hand and ask,  "What if I put my second grader to bed at the respectable hour of 8:00 but he's still awake in his bed at 9:00?  Should I then club him over the head like a baby seal to get him his much needed rest?" 

In a newsletter sent home last month the teachers asked parents to make sure girls wear tights or shorts underneath their skirts because glimpses of underwear were distracting the boys and "it's never too early to teach our girls a little modesty."  Finally, an answer to the nagging question "at what age do we start teaching girls they're responsible for boys' behavior?"  The answer is seven-ish!

Ugh ugh ugggghhhhh.  Hey Lucien, if you catch a glimpse of a girl's underwear, it's probably embarrassing for her so don't make a big deal about it and get your eyes back on your work where they belong.  Personal responsibility and being respectful of others -- internalize it.

So how many 911 calls have you made in the past 18 months?  I've made four.  One was the suspected bomb around the 4th of July last year.  One was the angry guy walking down the middle of our street yelling and throwing rocks.  One was the person who plowed over our traffic island in the middle of the night and knocked down the tree which had been lovingly planted there by our green thumb neighbor.

The fire department came and chopped down the tree because it was bent over and lying in the middle of the road.  They chucked it onto the front lawn of Banister Abbey where I found my sad neighbor standing over it the next morning.  He asked if I cut it down and I was slightly offended.  I admit it didn't look good, tree being in my yard and all, but why would I cut down a tree in the middle of the night?  I'm a very important room mother with numerous mysterious responsibilities.  I must get my rest.

(This just in -- as room mother I was recently asked to purchase several pumpkins with which to decorate the preschool classroom.  I accomplished my mission and stand at the ready awaiting further instructions.)  

My fourth 911 call was this past weekend.  I looked out my window around midnight while brushing my teeth and saw three young men trying to take down our street sign.  They threw rocks at it and climbed on each others backs trying to get at it.  When they began taking blocks from our retaining wall and stacking them at the base of the pole,  I said "OK THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH, A**HOLES."  I called my friends at 911, "Yo, it's MJ again."

Our city neighborhood is a hotbed of strange activity at all times.  We've had friends who live in more suburban neighborhoods ask, "Do you feel SAFE in this neighborhood?"  I would be sleeping with one eye open tonight if I was a street sign but other than that, yeah, I feel OK.

Maybe their question is as surprising to us as ours is to them when we go visit their neighborhood -- "What the hell do you guys DO out here?"  Here in the C.D. we watch dozens of people walk past daily and say "hi."  We walk a handful of minutes to restaurants, bars, theaters, and live music venues.  We stare at a city skyline from up close.  And yes, we call 911 when someone's acting the fool. 

Speaking of criminals, this is me getting fingerprinted --

I wish I could just leave it there, leave you wondering and guessing why this is happening.  

Hey wait, I can!  It's so fun to have a blog.

Al and I attended another charity auction over the weekend.  This is the 1,276,588nd auction we've attended since returning from France.

Our table at the auction was a rowdy one.  We badgered each other into buying things none of us wanted or needed.  They pressured Al and I into bidding on 12 pounds of fresh seafood ("just think of the party you can have!").  Yes, that's true!  So we kept bidding until we won it.  Yee-haw, fish party!

Now that sounds like a really terrible party.  I hate auctions.

The auction was held to benefit L'Arche, an organization I've mentioned before.  It was the place where Alex and I met, the very place where we banded together to fight street crime side-by-side for the next 15 years.

I won a painting in the silent auction. It was painted by Carol, a woman I used to live with in the Seattle L'Arche community.  She was 52 years old with Down Syndrome and barely verbal.  We were friends and loved each other very much.  I shared more belly laughs with her than I've shared with just about anyone.  We also got mad at each other sometimes.  She hit me hard in the arm once while visiting the zoo.  Carol, you were so stubborn.

My grandma died while I was living in L'Arche.  After I heard the news from my parents over the phone and came downstairs, Carol saw the look on my face before I said a word to anyone.  She squinted at me for a second, then rushed to me and wrapped me in a bear hug.  I cried into her shirt as she stroked my hair and said, "Oh Bustabee.....Bustabee...."  (Carol called everyone she loved "Bustabee")  She saw me through that grief unlike anyone else could.

Carol passed away while we were living in Paris.  I tried to write something for her memorial service but couldn't adequately articulate the importance of her well enough to send anything good.  I deeply regret it.

I'm so happy to have a piece of her -- her fun-loving self, her contagious laugh, her enthusiasm for life, her sweet soul -- now hanging in the Abbey.

 You were awesome, Bustabee.

So maybe I don't hate auctions.

We're busily preparing for our 2nd annual Halloween party.  This year I've added a giant glow-in-the-dark spiderweb and a blacklight to the decorations.  Should be fun when people get drunk, become hopelessly entangled, and fall down.

I hope our guests really like fish.
MJ

Il nage comme une pierre

There's an earthquake button in this elevator. I fear it's a Godlike button that would bring about an earthquake if you pressed it. Maybe it's more of an informational button, like you suspect you're in an elevator during an earthquake but aren't sure so the button starts blinking to let you know you do, in fact, have the worst timing ever.

Maybe it's a hidden camera thing -- it captures the image of anyone stupid enough to press an earthquake button in an elevator and sends it immediately to the police because that person should not be out just walking around making decisions all the time.

I'll never know the answer in an empirical way because everyone who stepped onto the elevator and noticed the button quickly jumped back with a "what-the-HELL-IS-THAT?"  The U.S. elevator etiquette rules no longer applied;  my fellow elevator riders and I clustered together in one corner, as far from the button as possible.  Even the other elevator buttons sensed the danger and tried to stay away.

We're in earthquake country here in Seattle.  We don't eff around.

But damn, she's so pretty

Coco and Lucien have swim lessons once a week after school.  This past week, they got involved in some kind of intense project in the yard right before we were to leave.  I yelled out the front door repeatedly, "Don't get too wrapped up in that, we have to leave for swim lessons soon."  Then two minutes later, "Guys, don't forget swim lessons, don't forget swim lessons," and a few minutes after that, "Swim lessons swim lessons swim lessons love those crazy swim lessons."

Then I walked off to continue painting the guest room.  It's such a pretty color in there now, makes me feel like I'm doing a back float in my very own hidden tropical lagoon.  So peaceful.... so peaceful.  Lucien appeared an hour later in his swimsuit to find me covered in paint and hugging the wall.  He said, "What time do we leave for swim lessons?" and I looked at the clock and said, "Oh....yeah, we missed swim lessons."

Then Lucien gave me the most peculiar look, almost as if he was realizing he was not born to the most impressive authority figure.  He was skeptical; perhaps I had no right in the world to tell him what to do and perhaps he should be surprised I can even get up and dress myself in the morning?  I could tell I was about to lose his respect so I did what I had to do -- I quickly accused him of farting.  He flailed around in denial, totally distracted.  Works every time.

Swimming lessons are kind of futile anyway.  Lucien is not catching on and has little interest in doing so.  As I recently said to my in-laws, who are here visiting at present, "Il nage comme une pierre."

(He swims like a rock.)

We have a grossly obese praying mantis.  I don't think praying mantises are used to eating as much as we're feeding ours.  Mantisy thinks he's hit the jackpot but his mind will change when his abdomen explodes.

This is a normal praying mantis

This is Mantisy

Whoops

We just love him so much.

My in-laws are in town so Alex and I absconded to a hotel for a night.  It sounds sexier than it is; we spent most of our evening lying facedown on our side-by-side queen beds saying things like, "Ahhh...these sheets don't smell like feet.  Let's never leave."

The city looks so much prettier when you don't have one kid darting into traffic and the other tugging dangerously hard on your skirt's elastic waistband and begging for Cheetos.

Al and I headed to Pike Place Market early the next foggy morning to collect ingredients.  We were having some friends over that night for a seafood extravaganza dinner.  The guys at the seafood stand were very helpful in our selection of dungeness crabs and halibut fillets and mussels and scallops but I still punched one in the face when he gave me the grand total. We love our friends (and the cioppino was delicious) but you people pricey.

We still feel lucky to have this in our backyard

Coco turned 4 over the weekend.  Coco is a study in contrasts.  She invited mostly boys to her party and insisted on sword fighting with them but also insisted on wearing this --

And insisted on having a cake that looked like this --

We put Lucien in charge of entertainment.  He took his job seriously and planned games all week.  When the time came, Lucien was a rock star.  He held the rapt attention of all party-goers, many of whom suffered from a case of Lucien-worship before they even arrived at the party.  He's either going to be President of the United States or a cult leader, tough to say.

He had great success with his treasure hunt and straw throw (?) games.  He then taught the kids a game called "Make it Rain Money" in which he stood at the top of the stairs and rolled pennies towards the rosy-faced kids below.  He faked them out by adding occasional bottlecaps, which one boy promptly began putting in his mouth.  "What?  Aren't we past that age now?" I wondered as I pried open his surprisingly strong lips.

The kid with the most pennies at the end "won."  There was lots of scrabbling on the floor, some bonked heads, some tears.  Hey, it's a cutthroat world out there.  These kids gotta learn you've got to fight for every cent you have, even if it means hitting someone over the head with a My Little Pony to get it.

(My sincere apologies to the parents of the children at the party.)

And happy, happy birthday to our favorite Paris souvenir. 

Snow White will cut you.

For now, Lucien is staying put in his public school.  The deciding factor was my many meetings and communications with his current teacher. She's just too damn good to leave.  She's not warm and fuzzy but I don't need a teacher to stroke my hair while I tell her my troubles.  I need a teacher who will work with us regarding what he needs in the classroom, a teacher who's got her eye on The Loosh and will notice, and grab onto his collar, if he slips into the pit of despair.

Her sharp-eyed hawk-like nature pleases me immensely.  So we stay this year.

With the 50 bazillion dollars we'll "save" this year by not sending Lucien to private school, we will be able to afford lots of occupational therapists, tutors, assorted psychologists, and clowns. We can have one tucked away into every corner of Banister Abbey should any unanticipated educational or emotional crisis arise.  On second thought, drop the clowns.  Clowns tucked into corners and popping out at unexpected times may be a recipe for trauma.

My in-laws have been here for a week.  I love when they visit because not only are they great people, they always do the dishes after dinner.  I was also happy to discover I remember a lot of my French, at least once I've heard it again for a few days and have had a couple drinks.  It helps.

The bad news is after they leave us, my in-laws were originally supposed to visit Yosemite.... and Kings Canyon.... and some other national parks.  *cough cough we suck*  They are now restructuring their entire vacation from our dining room table. 

I'm roasting some potatoes right now.  In the recipe it said "sprinkle generously" in regards to the seasoned salt mixture but I read it as "sprinkle dangerously."  And for just a moment, I felt alive. 

Fingers crossed we make swim lessons this week,
MJ

Living the Dream in September

It's not really a receptacle for honey

We've finally arrived at the apex of human achievement.  There's a Honey Bucket in the driveway. 

Lucien asks every day if he can go outside and poop in the Honey Bucket.  I'm trying to impress upon him that, if given the choice, most rational human beings would choose the comfy bathroom ten feet away over the Honey Bucket.  Deaf ears so far.

I shouldn't be surprised.  This is the kid who recently wrote a song entitled "Buttcheek Monster" and sings it at inopportune times, such as in the middle of his swim lesson. I keep telling him to stop singing and learn to, you know, possibly, swim.  Deaf ears so far.

Yesterday he asked me to say "cheese" five times in a row and, not seeing any obvious catch, I obliged.  He then made the most realistic mouth fart sound I've heard (the kid should teach seminars), pointed at me and laughed.

What?

 Congratulations -- it's still a boy!

September has not been our favorite month this year.  It's actually in hot contention for our least favorite.  Alex is preparing to take on a new role at work but is still working his old role, too.  Two roles at one time is a sh*tty equation that equals bags under eyes and weak high-fives in the hallway as our primary means of communication.

While Alex wrestles mental collapse, I'm handling the education situation for Lucien. We are still vacillating between keeping him where he is or sending him to private school given his recent learning disability diagnosis. I have daily meetings with any one or more of the following: school psychologists, occupational therapists, doctors, teachers, and/or potential private school administrators. I'm pretty sure it is all of their jobs to confuse me.

I'm going to figure it out, though.  I've come to think of myself as an education detective. I'm collecting clues and every piece of information I gather -- good, bad, neutral, or wtf -- is critical to solving the case.  This sometimes necessitates me crawling into a private school administrator's lap and inspecting her closely with a magnifying glass.

• Fancy Private School isn't sure they have the resources to support his learning disability -- CLUE.  
• That administrator told me to "follow my gut" and my gut was to punch her in the face -- CLUE.
• Lucien is one of 500 kids in his current classroom -- CLUE.
• All the mothers in this parking lot seem to be wearing the exact same black yoga pants -- CLUE, I DON'T LIKE UNIFORMS.

The public school tells us Lucien's learning disability, while obviously impacting his learning, is not severe enough to warrant special services through the public school system. I asked the school psychologist if we could test him again, but maybe this time I could coach him to throw it?  Tell him not to try at all?  Slip him some Benadryl beforehand?  Maybe we could encourage him to just sit there, stare into space and drool a little?

She looked at me all horrified -- CLUE.

Sometimes Alex comes home from work and steps over my overwhelmed body lying prone in the middle of the floor.  He usually says, "Do you want a glass of wine?"  and I usually say "yes" and then he says, "Do you want white or red?" and I say, "It doesn't matter, I'm not drinking to enjoy the wine tonight."  And Alex understands but he still brings me the best bottle we have and pours it into a decanter.  That's why we're still married.

Coco's school is a whole different kind of stress.  Her preschool has requested lunches be packed in environmentally low-impact packaging and contain lean proteins, fruits and veggies only (there goes the ole ziploc bag and leftover pizza slice).  They've also requested the size of the lunch "fits the child's appetite."

I guess I can measure the contents of Coco's stomach each morning after breakfast and develop an algorithm to pinpoint how much she's likely to eat at lunch.  This may be tedious for us both but -- hey, when did preschools get so bossy?

Education is hard.  Maybe I should homeschool HA HA HA HA HA.

To distract myself from the heftier side of life, I've begun focusing an inordinate amount of time on things that don't matter.  In related news -- Mantisy is thriving!  When it comes to mothering a praying mantis, I am flawless.  I caught his most recent meal straight out of the air with a pair of tweezers last night. In the seconds immediately after the capture, as I stared at the moth struggling between the tweezer prongs and realized what I'd done, I was scared of myself a little bit.

I've also painted the back of the house with five bazillion different paint samples. The house currently looks like a really ugly quilt, which has alarmed most of the neighbors.  The people at Benjamin Moore told me the other day, "You should probably just pick one because that's pretty much all we've got, lady."

The house project has encountered some delays but we're still on track for completion by 2020.

 This is our "deck."

The grass is gone thanks to the unplanned sewer line replacement.  The kids come into the house dusty or, if Seattle is being Seattle, muddy.

This is part of my scary house quilt.

Alex and I have been getting babysitters and spending Sunday afternoons together.  We talk and walk all over the city.  Sometimes we end up at Farmer's Markets where we buy mass quantities of beautiful, beautiful tomatoes.  This would be fine and good if not for the fact neither one of us eats tomatoes.

But they're so pretty.  Maybe I should smash them up and smear them on the back of the house.

What's happening to us?  The squiggly answer is obvious -- corn puffs.  Mercy! 

At least we've got a Honey Bucket -- CLUE.
MJ