Random Shots August

Isaac and I made a trip to the San Francisco Public Library's Main Branch at Civic Center.

 

 

Along the way, we saw some of the Cool Globes public art installation to raise environmental awareness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We saw an organic garden with food and flowers,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and the sparkling gilded dome of SF City Hall.

Peer Pressure

My son has a great time at daycare.  He’s made several new friends.  One in particular seems to be having an effect on his behavior though, and it’s not thrilling me to pieces.  The playmate in question is adorable and friendly, but it’s clear there’s no guidance for him at home.  His behavior isn’t bad enough for the daycare to address it, since he’s more annoying than dangerous.  He and my son do a lot of laughing, yelling, and wrestling.  I don’t mind that so much.  What I do mind is my son’s ‘anything for a laugh’ behavior like shoving a huge fist full of sand in his mouth, or banging his face against the ground, all in an effort to entertain this friend.  There’s also been a sudden increase in throwing objects at people, and using toys as weapons, the signature moves of the playmate. 

I’m glad my son has a little friend to play with, but the new annoying behavior bugs me.  Are children influenced that strongly by their peers when they’re not even three years old?

Purse Mule

Yesterday, the boy and I took a walk through Fisherman’s Wharf.  One of us enjoys looking at he stinky sea lions.  There’s also a small play structure beyond Pier 39, with nice benches, lovely flowers, and no sand. 

As we made our way through throngs of tourists I noticed a disturbing trend.  Ladies, please stop making your man carry your purse.  

I must admit I’m psychotic in my obsession with purses, or as my grandmother called them, pocketbooks.  I roam the purse department at Bloomingdale’s visiting the bags I dream of owning, like they’re old dear friends.  I fantasize in the car about a big Marc Jacobs Stella bag riding shotgun next to me.  If I had lots of money my purse addiction could reach Winehouse proportions.  My online bag browsing is like a porn habit.  To recap, I love handbags.

But a man carrying his wife’s purse is the epitome of hen-pecked.  Now, some of these guys probably offered to carry the bag.  It’s chivalrous, it’s sweet, but it’s wrong.  My husband says he wouldn’t mind carrying my bag, but he can’t be trusted since he knows I’m not going to ask. He also explained to me there’s a way to carry a purse that clearly states, ‘this is not my purse.’  This method involves the placement of the bag (never over the shoulder, or even above the waist) and very specific facial expressions. 

You wouldn’t ask your husband or boyfriend to wear your painful, yet fabulous, Jimmy Choos, would you? So ladies, can we please stop the purse mule insanity?  You bought it, you brought it, you carry it.

What's Your Function?

I bought the 30th Anniversary Edition of School House Rock for my son.  His favorite is Conjunction Junction because it features “choo choos”.  I still remember most of the words to my favorites, but I had sort of forgotten some of the lessons.  Also,  they should’ve had a lesson on punctuation; I could use some help in that area.  Sometimes I feel like the older I get the dumber I become.  Anyone else?

Twilight

 

Recently, I picked up Twilight, the first book in the series of best-sellers by Stephenie Meyer.  It’s a young adult vampire love story.  I like vampires, and I like young adult fiction, and since this series has sold like hotcakes I thought, ‘what the heck’.  At first, I couldn’t see what all the hype was about.  The main character was annoying in her whininess, but then she is seventeen, and seventeen year-old girls tend to go there.  I read on, and slowly it sunk its fangs into me.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  I’ve read three of the four books in the series in the last two weeks.  Each book is close to, or exceeds, 500 pages.  I’ve devoured these books in a way that’s sort of embarrassing, given that I am a thirty-something stay-at-home mother.  On the other hand, that could be a big part of why I like the books so much – total escapism.

 

I’m saving the last of the four books for later, and I’m giddy over the fact that the movie comes out November 21st.  I'll be the squealing old broad pushing through a sea of teenagers to be first in line for tickets.

Synchronized Singing At The 2008 Olympics

 

I couldn't care less if they fudge the fireworks a tad, but this is just sad. 

I wish I could say it’s refreshing to see our country is not the only country in the world that places an outrageous and unreasonable value on physical beauty, but it isn’t at all refreshing so I won’t say it. 

The little girl with the beautiful voice is every bit as cute as the other kid.   Someone needs to pull the “cute” one aside and tell her this sad story.

 

When I Grow Up I Want To Be...

 

In the second grade our teacher, Mrs. Holst, had us paint a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up.  I remember this assignment vividly; I painted a very happy clown.  After the clown phase, I had other dreams of what I would be when I grew up. 

Here are my top three:

I wanted to be friends with a unicorn/Pegasus type creature that would fly me around and we would solve crimes.

I wanted to be a famous actress who lived in New York City. 

I wanted to be a zoologist with my own television show like Marlin Perkins.

Things are not looking good for the famous actress living in New York City gig, and I’m noticing a sad lack of television zoologist positions on the craigslist these days. 

On the radio, and in this bog, I spout my witty observations on life, and tell silly stories about my adventures.  At home, I spend the better part of my day trying to make a toddler giggle.  I even supply balloons.  I’m a doofus with a laptop and high-speed internet access; one rainbow wig and a rubber nose away from fully realizing my second grade dream. 

What did you dream of becoming when you were a kid?

PS I haven’t given up completely on the mythical creature crime-fighting partnership.  If you happen to know any righteous unicorns and/or Pegasuses(Pegasi?) currently living in the bay area please leave his/her/its contact information in the comments. 

 

 

Road To Somewhere

 

Recently, I read a great blog post about getting your life back on track.  From time to time, I'm  convinced I've gone so far off the rails I'll never be able to pull her back up on the tracks.  But then my shoulder angel appears and says, 'Hey, the detours are where the real fun happens.'  And I thank my shoulder angel for the 'It isn't the destination, it's the journey' pep talk.

 

In late 2005, I was enjoying a successful career in radio when I was abruptly fired.  I hadn't done anything to deserve it, the station was simply "going in a different direction," as the GM put it.  A different direction for them meant a detour for me.  He added, "Bummer," as he handed me a check.  After crying, and seething, and forming a daytime drinking club, I kicked back and thought about the things I really wanted to do in life.  Then I surprised myself by doing some of those things.  

 

I had a baby.  No sense putting it off when I had all that free time on my hands.  It is, without question, the best thing I've ever done.  I might have waited had I not arrived at Bummer Junction.    

 

I got serious about writing.  I spent a lot of time confined to a glider, breast feeding a new baby.  I decided to use that time to write.  High on motherhood and hormones, and with some creative pillow placement, I was able to pull it off.  Over the last two years, I've completed a few writing projects, I've landed an agent, and started my own blog.   I've also returned to work at the same station I was fired from in The Great Detour of '05.  

 

So, there you have it.  My life took a miraculous sharp left, then it came full circle.  How are life's detours treating you?

 

Now where did I put that kid?

I used to think Home Alone was a rather ridiculous premise, but after reading this story I may have to reconsider. 

I got separated from my mother once in a department store when I was five years old.  I was one of those kids with LRT (Low Retail Tolerance) and spent most of the shopping experience hiding in big round racks of clothing.  On this occasion, I recall reaching for a lady hand, giving it a tug that said ‘can we please leave?’ then looking up to see the lady hand was attached to the wrong lady.  I dropped the hand, looked around to discover my mom was nowhere in sight, and quickly burst into tears.  Luckily, the wrong lady was also a nice lady and she assured me we would find my mother, which we did.  I’ve never forgotten the dreaded Lost feeling though.  Five-year-old me was positive my mother was gone and I would never see her again.  I was also convinced the mannequins came to life at night and would get me.  I’d have to sleep under a big round rack of clothing, and live on Orange Julius and half-eaten scraps from the Hot Sam Pretzel stand. 

Have you ever left your child behind?  Were you ever misplaced when you were a kid?

 

Gretchen Wants

Keeping a blog, and writing in general, is not always an easy and joyous event.  I've learned you need to allow yourself to goof off a little.  As is often the case, goofing off can be therapeutic, even inspiring.  This time-waster was given to me recently so I thought I would pass it along in a post. 
 
Type your name and the word "wants" into Google's search bar and see what comes up.  I've listed today's Top Ten for Gretchen wants.  They're in no particular order.

Gretchen wants to marry this chocolate pudding.

Gretchen wants a bigger stick picture.

Gretchen wants to be on top.

Gretchen wants her marine home.

Gretchen wants to live.

Gretchen wants to break out of her limited existence.

Gretchen wants Dick and Bunky to meet up for a cage fight.

Gretchen wants a regular guy.

Gretchen wants to laugh.

Gretchen wants to be next on that list.

Now you try it.  Have fun.

My Very Own Room

Books!

Time for another look at a cool children's book, this one written and illustrated by your child.  Scribble Press offers blank books kids can write and illustrate.  Choose from several theme templates like A Day At The Beach or A Trip To The Dentist.  The books provide creative stimulus for the little author/illustrator in your life. 

Let's get Ready To Ruuummmble

What's with the hitting? My son has recently entered the hitting and throwing phase of toddlerdom. Hitting is rarely directed at me, usually it's my poor husband who gets a slap. However, I'm frequently seeing objects and toys thrown at me with intention and accuracy. Sometimes it's playful, but more often it's out of frustration. He does it with food at the dinner table too. The time-out works like a charm, but he's earning it with such regularity I'm afraid it'll lose its effectiveness.

Do most toddlers go through this phase? What tactics have you tried to curb this behavior?

That's How I Roll... Or Not

I'll be working sort of full time for the next week or so, and this presents transportation issues.  Will I drive a car, or will I get back in touch with my former bad-ass self and ride the scooter?  I used to ride a scooter, and it was awesome.  I loved rollin' on two wheels and preferred it over a car.  Cars made me feel claustrophobic.  But once I became pregnant it was time to sell my scooter.  I miss  my sweet little Yamaha Riva.  It was zippy, and you could park it anywhere.  Plus, it had a huge milk crate on the back you could fit three or four bags of groceries into.  The Riva was fun and convenient.  We still own a scooter, but it's closer to a big automatic motorcycle.  I went for a test ride today to see how it felt.  I can still ride, no problem there, but I was filled with trepidation of the I-Have-A-Kid-Now-I-Shouldn't-Take-Risks variety.  Most likely I will drive my boring old car to work.  Looks like my dream of hang gliding is off the table too. 

What kinds of activities have you given up since becoming a parent?

Somebody's Birthday Is Coming Up

Just in time for football season the good people of La-Z-Boy bring you the La-Z-Boy Spa. This appeals to the Ohio in me in a big way.  As we learned from GHW Bush, California is lousy with hot tubs.  (The good people of the midwest have earned their hot tubs; thank you very much.)  However, even a hot tub Mecca like Marin County has never seen the likes of the La-Z-Boy Spa.  It's TV, and laziness, and 39 hydrotherapy jets all in one!  Is it The Greatest Invention Of All Time? 

Retail Therapy - Grocery Edition

The grocery is one of my comfort places, like the bookstore.  It cheers me to browse the aisles and imagine preparing delicious meals for my family.  Sometimes an item is placed in my cart by my inner-Martha.  Unfortunately, the only thing my inner-Martha has in common with the Martha is a love of KMart.  So, I end up with things that aren't on my list; things I intend to make, but that will most likely sit in the refrigerator untouched because I don't really know how to prepare them.  Let's take for instance, pork chops.  They're sitting in my fridge right now, minding their own business, not hurting anyone.  I don't know how to cook pork chops.  Mine turn out dry and unsatisfying.  I buy them on occasion because I remember these delicious chops my friend's mom made when I was a kid.   With a cast iron skillet, a pork chop, and flour she produced a culinary miracle.  With a cast iron skillet, a pork chop, and flour I set off the smoke alarms.  This website has helped me turn some of my fantasy purchases into reality, or... wait for it - meality!  Plug in an ingredient and it spits out a bunch of ideas for meals; some complex, some simple.The Cookthink site is handy if you find your fridge full of stuff you don't know why you bought.  I can't be the only one who does this, right?

The Happiest Place On Earth - Daycare

Daycare Day One

8:30AM - Paul and I dropped Isaac at daycare for the first time. He immediately fell under the spell of Giant Room Of Exciting Toys, and gave a little wave so quickly it felt more like we were being shooed out the door.

9:00AM - I take car to be smog-checked at the service station I've gone to for the last 10 years. It no longer offers smog check. What to do? Pedicure, maybe, after groceries.

9:30AM - Grocery shopping unaccompanied by minors. No one complaining about being strapped into an uncomfortable grocery buggy seat. No one pointing at Cheerios and hollering "Ohhhhs!" No one throwing a box of tampons from my cart into the nice gentleman's cart next to us in the aisle. No one asking for a balloon 132 times.

10:30AM - Home to unload the groceries and find a new smog-check center. Ask 87 year-old neighbor for service station recommendation. Listen to twenty minutes on how much better things used to be back in the old days. Accept butterscotch candies and apology from neighbor who wishes he knew an honest mechanic.

11AM - Bored. Check email. Fellow from high school has accepted my friend request on Facebook. Discover I am his only friend. Agent cannot open file I sent of latest manuscript. Oops. Must resend. I wonder what Isaac is doing?

11:30AM - I miss Isaac. Maybe I'll walk by the playground and see if I can catch a glimpse of him.

12PM - Make myself go for a pedicure. Quick check of the email first. Ooo, I am kicking ass at Scrabulous!

12:30PM - Strange compulsion to make peanut butter jelly sandwich. Hey, was I supposed to pack him a lunch? I hope they feed him something. It sure is quiet.

1PM - This house is haunted.

1:30PM - Time to go pick him up. I hope he remembers us.