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  1. Do you hear what I hear?

    December 8, 2009 by Wendy

    At our house this time of year, it’s all Christmas music, all the time. Although we have a huge arsenal of Christmas CDs, ranging from the classics and the classical (Tony Bennett, Mel Torme, Handel’s Messiah) to the cheesy (Christmas with the Brady Bunch, of course!), we usually default to listening to the local radio station that plays holiday music around the clock from Thanksgiving to Dec. 26.

    It can get really annoying.

    This year, they started way before Thanksgiving, so we were pretty much done with it by the time we put the tree up. For six weeks, they play the same continuous loop of songs, over and over and over. At least The Hippopotamus Song seems to have been knocked out of the loop this year. Hallelujah.

    But there are still plenty of other offenders, like Wham’s Last Christmas,  Jessica Simpson’s Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree and anything by Air Supply or Aaron Neville.

    On a positive note, listening to this music ad nauseum has opened up plenty of interesting dialogue in our household. Once, during the annoying Wham song, Little Miss asked, “He gave her his heart? How could he do that? Did he wrap it up and put it under the tree? And then she gave it away? Why would she give it
    away?”

    How do you answer that?

    It was easier to find an answer the other day while driving in the car and Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You was playing and Twin B said, “I don’t get it. How could she not want presents under the tree and instead just want some guy for Christmas?”

    I laughed and said, “Someday you’ll understand.” But inside, I was going, “Yes! That’s my girl. She doesn’t get it!” She shouldn’t get it. And I hope she doesn’t get it for another 10 years. No, make that 20 years.

    And yet, yesterday when I asked Little Miss what her favorite Christmas song was, she said, “the one where the girl sings all I want for Christmas is you.”

    We’re in trouble. Why couldn’t she have just said the super-annoying Chipmunks song, like a normal 4-year-old?

    But the song that has opened up the most discussion, at least between BK and me, is Dan Fogelberg’s Same Old Lang Syne, the one about the exes meeting in the grocery store on Christmas Eve.  I used to love that song. Until one day I really listened to the words: “I went to hug her and she spilled her purse, and we laughed until we cried.”

    Come on! Would you really laugh until you cried over a spilled purse, especially during the awkwardness and surprise at running into an ex? OK, maybe if something embarrassing like a tampon fell out, but still, unless you’re a sixth-grade boy, even that’s not funny enough to invoke tears.

    But then it gets worse: So they drive around looking for a bar, but nothing is open so they go to a liquor store and buy a six-pack and drink it in her car. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, she said she was married to an architect, so isn’t it a little shady that she’s sitting in a car drinking beer with her ex on Christmas Eve? Obviously, she had run out to the grocery store, so doesn’t the architect wonder where she is by now? (Although, she was in the frozen foods section, maybe looking for ice cream or a Lean Cuisine, which doesn’t exactly indicate dinner for two, so maybe there are problems.)

    At the end of the song, the beer is gone and their “tongues were tired.” I’m sure I’m taking it too literally, but tired, slack tongues is just a gross image. I mean, have you ever heard anybody say their tongue is tired? But even worse, BK pointed out that after they down the six-pack, they both get in their cars and drive. “In the snow and rain,” added BK. “Drunk. Nice.”

    Now I don’t like that song anymore.

    That’s not the first song BK has ruined for me. I used to love The Piña Colada song by Rupert Holmes. I always thought it was such a cute and clever story until BK pointed out to me, “Neither one of them is happy in the relationship and they’re totally trying to cheat on each other! What’s cute about that?”

    Well, he had a point. But at least they didn’t drive after drinking the piña coladas. And I still think it’s a clever song.

    I think for the rest of the season, it’s best if we stick to songs like Carol of the Bells and Linus and Lucy.

    No words.

    So what holiday songs drive you to drink? You can add your comments by clicking on the little caption bubble by the headline of each post.

    Category Holiday Fodder | Tags: , | 4 Comments

  2. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

    December 3, 2009 by Wendy

    Yesterday, Twin A and Twin B found out they both placed in their school’s science fair. This was big news in our house, because as anyone whose kids have participated in a science fair knows, science fair takes over your whole life. Grandparents, aunts and uncles anxiously awaited the results along with us, probably because they were all sick of hearing us talk about it.

    red hot

    Twin A's project on heat absorption.

    spring

    Twin B's project on springs.

    Science fair has always been a big part of our lives since the girls were in second grade. I guess this is what happens when there’s a rocket scientist in the house. And it ain’t me. The science gene certainly didn’t come from my pool—I like biology, but that’s it, and only sort of. But the twins get into it, and have actually won and gone on to compete in the district science fair three years in a row, twice even winning gold medals.

    Last year was the first time they didn’t place at all for their project on paper-towel absorbency, which was hard to believe after watching them meticulously soak and weigh a Costco pack of paper towels over the course of an entire weekend. Really, an entire weekend. And really, an entire Costco pack.

    To be fair, Twin A was preoccupied with studying for the regional spelling bee, which happened to be on the same day as the science fair, so it was a pretty stressful week for all, to say the least.

    They were totally fine with their first-time science fair loss, but Mr. BK, well, that was a different story. He felt that he let them down. I found myself consoling him with platitudes like, ”It’s OK, they can’t win every time; you did the best you could and that’s what matters.” (Of course, secretly thinking, “Well maybe if you guys had listened to one of my ideas,” but whatever.) Meanwhile, the girls were over it about 30 seconds after seeing their ribbon-free board.

    In middle school, the rules of the science fair change: no group projects (they had always shared their project), and best of all (for us!), it had to be done entirely at school. Parent involvement was limited to financing the projects, providing the necessary supplies, and allowing for Internet time. We were even given specific guidelines on what was and was not “appropriate” to discuss at home.

    Well, OK, we get the point. Parents, pony up the cash and mind your own beeswax.

    So that’s what we did. And they won. Twin A in first place, Twin B in fourth. We couldn’t be prouder of them. But…

    Along with the coolness of having and being twins—especially same-gender twins—comes a little thing called competition. I’ve always said a little competition is good, and it has proved to be so for them. But…

    You know how Jan Brady was always feeling in the shadow of the ever-popular, ever-successful older sister Marcia? (Note: You’ll find many of my posts reference The Brady Bunch. The Bradys are and always have been a huge part of our daily lives. The Brady Bunch theme song is my ringtone, and “Sunshine Day” is my sister’s special ringtone when she calls me.) So anyway, it’s not that Twin B is the underdog; not at all. Both girls have consistently gotten the exact same grades on their report cards since kindergarten, both tested into the gifted program in elementary school, and both are equally outgoing and ambitious. But somehow, some way, Twin A always seems to squeak ahead in every competition and contest, while Twin B always finds herself in third place, no matter what, whether it’s a Halloween costume contest (twice), the spelling bee (three times) and a storytelling contest at Barnes & Noble. It really is uncanny.

    Jan, I mean Twin B, handles all this surprisingly well, although last year in exasperation, she did tell me, “I’m beginning to really dislike the number three.” (Although she didn’t say it in the breathy, whiny tone that Jan would.)

    A few days after she said that, the jerseys for her basketball team were handed out, and you can guess what number she got. Yep, three. Two seasons in a row. Luckily, Marcia, I mean Twin A, does not like basketball. She’s too busy winning her blue ribbons in gymnastics. (Remember all those trophies on Marcia’s dresser?)

    So it should be understandable why, for days after the projects were judged, there was much anticipation between them over not only if they’d place, but who would place where if they did. Both really just wanted to place, because that would mean they  would be exempt from the major research project in the spring. That was a huge incentive for them.

    They discussed at length every scenario, and both agreed that it would be best if neither of them placed at all than if one did and one didn’t. Talk of places never even came up. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if they’d place at all, as we had seen a lot of awesome projects on the day parents were invited to the fair.

    So yesterday when I picked them up from school, Twin B got in the car with the biggest smile on her face and blurted out,  ”I don’t have to do the research project next semester!”

    “Did you place?” I nearly screamed.

    “I got fourth place!” she said, just as excited as I was.

    There, in the pickup line, I got a huge lump in my throat and tried not to cry. I would’ve turned around to hug her, but I didn’t want to crash into the car in front of me. After much congratulations, I said, “Hey! You didn’t get third place!”

    “I know! I’m so happy!” she exclaimed.

    And then came the inevitable out of my mouth, and with a slight wince: “How did A do?”

    “Better, but I think she’d want to tell you.” Uh-oh, I admit I thought.

    Just then, I saw Twin A come bounding toward the car, big smile on her face.

    “I got first place!” she shouted, barely closing the door behind her.

    The lump in my throat came back, but this time, I had to try not laugh, not cry.

    “Are you serious?” was all I could muster. Of course, I was thrilled for her and congratulated her, but I was a little surprised since both BK and I said many times over the past few weeks that we thought B’s project was more complicated and thought she put a bit more effort into it. Not that A didn’t deserve it, I was just surprised. Happy, but surprised.

    I gave them my phone so they could share the news with their father, whom I knew would have the exact same reaction as I did. Twin B broke her news first, then handed the phone over to A so that she could tell hers. A glance in the rear-view mirror assured me that she really was OK with it. No fighting back tears, just a genuine shiny smile. Phew!

    And then as soon as we got home, and this is going to sound really bad unless you understand the dynamics of our unique situation, I texted my sisters and sister-in-law the following: “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. That’s all I’m saying. Call later for details.”

    Immediately, I got a text back from one of my sisters. All it said was, “NO!”

    Next came the text from my sister-in-law: “So I take it A won again?”

    This is just the way it is. It’s not that no one is happy for and extremely proud of Twin A, and it’s not to take anything away from her; she certainly deserves every one of her wins. It’s just that, well, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”

    Later when I got a moment alone with Twin B, I again told her how proud of her I was, and asked if it bothered her that her sister placed first.

    “Not at all,” she said. “I’m just glad I placed. I would’ve been happy with an Honorable Mention, just as long as I didn’t have to that research project next semester.” And I believed her, especially when I heard them sharing the news over the phone throughout the evening with family members. She was just as excited saying “fourth place” as she would’ve been saying “first.” In fact, my mom thought she did say “first”  and had to be corrected. (Yikes.)

    Later, Twin A told me that when the winners were announced over the loudspeaker that morning, she didn’t think she heard right. And then her very next thought was that she wanted to hear her sister’s name.

    So, yes, they’re competitive, but they’re sweet about it, and they truly do want the best for each other. But it would be nice for Jan to capture a first place sometime.

    There’s always that upcoming essay contest…

    Wait a minute. I just remembered: Didn’t Marcia win that “Father of the Year” essay contest?

    Uh, buoy. Stay tuned…


    Category Twin Tweens | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

  3. The magic of Christmas lies…on the roof?

    December 2, 2009 by Wendy

    Last Christmas was the last year the twins believed in Santa Claus. At 10 years old, they were probably among the last of their peer group to do so—or at least to admit to us they’d done so. The questions started coming about two years before that, after hearing some “there is no Santa!” rumors being spread by some of their savvier third-grade peers.

    The first year, I denied such rumors, always with a shocked, “Why would they say that? Of course there’s a Santa Claus! Do you think I have time to wrap all those gifts in the stockings and under the tree?” They continued to believe, always making sure on Christmas Eve to leave a plate of cookies, a note and a glass of milk for Santa, along with an extra plate of carrots for the reindeer. Santa would always write back in scrawly handwriting, solidifying their belief.

    But when they became skeptical of the other lies we parents perpetuate, namely the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny, I couldn’t lie. The tooth fairy idea is cute, and I didn’t mind them believing that each tooth she took from under their pillows in the night served as a building block for her giant castle in the sky. (Is it in the sky?) Plus, she stimulates the economy with her cash gifts. But the Easter bunny? That’s just downright creepy! I mean, come on, why do we let our children believe that a person-size rabbit walking on two legs creeps around their house at night hiding the eggs they painstakingly colored, leaving behind a basket of candy and junk?

    When they kept believing in that nonsense, I would say to BK, “Come on, how could these two gifted, straight-A students really believe that a giant rabbit comes into our house at night? That’s just weird!”

    Therefore, when they did finally become the least bit skeptical, I had no hesitation admitting that it was made up. I’m pretty sure they knew that, but didn’t want to admit it for fear of not finding money under their pillow with each lost tooth or not getting those Easter baskets full of candy and junk every Easter morning. (I did the same thing to my parents.)

    But Santa was a different story. I didn’t want that belief to go away. When the questions really started coming during the past year, I would always borrow a line from The Polar Express: “Remember, the magic of Christmas lies in your heart.” That vague line saved me so many times, and hey, it wasn’t a lie. If the magic of Christmas lies in our hearts, then I still believe in Santa! (I must admit, last year at the mall, Santa walked past us on his way to break and my sister and I both teared up and stared at him like he were, well, Santa Claus!)

    So last Christmas, sensing their ever-deepening skepticism and knowing this was probably the last year of Santa for them, I came up with the idea that we leave the scooters “Santa” was getting them up on the roof. We’d leave a note on the fireplace saying that their gifts were too large to fit down the chimney, so they had to be left on the roof.

    BK loved the idea. (Yes, sometimes he likes my ideas.) So on Christmas Eve, after we returned home from midnight Mass and tucked the excited kiddies into bed, he gamely set up the ladder at 2 a.m. and climbed up, wrapped scooters in tow. But even BK couldn’t have predicted that for the first time in forever, it would rain on Christmas Eve and continue to pour all night long. Luckily, we had the forethought to put the scooters in plastic bags, so we figured they’d be OK.

    The next morning, we did the traditional stocking opening. Sometimes they’d slip up with an excited, “Thank you!” to us when they opened one of their little gifts, whether it was packaged underwear or toothpaste. (Santa has always been practical when it comes to stockings in our house.) “Don’t thank us, it’s from Santa!” we’d say, not wanting to confuse Little Miss, who was busy tearing the paper from her stocking gifts into tiny shreds and sprinkling them like confetti all over the house.

    When they found the note, they exchanged that “twin look” they give each other and then couldn’t contain their excitement: not for what was potentially on the roof, but just the idea of going up on the roof. They love to do that, and for obvious reasons, the opportunity doesn’t come up too often. So there we were, in the pouring rain, BK leading the girls up the slippery ladder. I’m pretty sure our neighbors never saw us because Child Protective Services never came to our door that day.

    ladder

    Doesn't everybody climb the roof on Christmas morning to open gifts?

    scooters

    Finding their soaking wet gifts.

    scooters 2

    "Is it what I think it is???"

    scooters 3

    "It is! Can we try them up here?"

    There in the pouring rain, 12 feet above the ground, they opened their gifts. Then they asked if they could scooter on the roof. The very slippery roof. Thankfully, BK had the sense to say no, and eventually they came down, although the ever-cautious Twin A always takes about an hour of coaxing before she’ll set foot on the ladder for the descent.

    And yet, after all that, they later admitted that they knew the scooters were really from us.

    Santa had left the building.

    The good news is, he’s still here in the mind of Little Miss, and now we have two extra co-conspirators to help us perpetuate that belief for a few more years.

    At least I think so. Yesterday, she asked how a baby gets in a mommy’s tummy. She’s only 4.

    When did you break the news about Santa to your kids, or if you haven’t yet, when do you think is the right age to shatter their illusions? You can add your comments by clicking on the little caption bubble by the headline of each post.

    Category Holiday Fodder, Twin Tweens | Tags: , | 5 Comments

  4. Real men should not work at Victoria’s Secret

    November 30, 2009 by Wendy

    VS

    Over the weekend, I went to Victoria’s Secret to buy some undies for my sister for her birthday. It’s not weird; sisters buy each other underwear. What was weird was that there was a man working the register. And he wasn’t even obviously of the, shall we say, effeminate persuasion, which would’ve made it a little better for some reason. He was one of those questionable types.

    Handing over my fistful of panties, I said, “I’ve never seen a man working at Victoria’s Secret,” only because I felt his presence was the elephant in the room and I should say something.

    “Yeah, there aren’t too many of us,” he said with a smile.

    “Do you feel weird at all, handling these things?” I asked, as I watched him meticulously folding each thong, stroking and caressing them one by one. (OK, he neither stroked nor caressed, but he might as well have. Eewww.)

    “I did at first, but now it’s no big deal,” he answered, wrapping the panties in the signature pink tissue paper.

    “Do you, do, like, bra fittings and stuff?” I asked awkwardly.

    “No, no, I just pretty much work the register and then I straighten up the merchandise, stuff like that,” he said.

    “Good, because that would be kind of weird,” I said. Sort of like going to a male gynecologist, I thought but didn’t say it.

    Of course, my next question was, “Why would you choose to work here?” But I didn’t ask, thinking it was either a really dumb question if he were straight or a really rude question if he weren’t.

    But then he handed me not a bag, but this box, with one side assembled and the unassembled lid just thrown on top, and sent me on my way. I felt so silly walking out of the store holding it like it was a bakery cake.

    And that is just one reason men should not be working at Victoria’s Secret.

    So is it just me, or would you feel funny too having a man publicly touching your unmentionables? You can add your comment by clicking in the little caption bubble by the headline of each post.

    Category Shoppin' Fodder | Tags: , | 2 Comments

  5. I failed Black Friday

    November 29, 2009 by Wendy

    shoesI went out on Black Friday at midnight and all I got was this pair of sparkly silver shoes.

    Never in my life have I gotten up at the crack of crazy and joined the masses of shoppers standing in line to score a freebie or loads of marked-down merchandise. A free tote bag or some cheesy ornament has just never been enough to drag me out of bed in the dark. Plus, I try not to stand in line anywhere other than the grocery store, post office and Disneyland. Plus, if something is going to be given to ” the first 100 people in the door!” that will never be me. Ever. I’m never first, I’m never early and I have never won a drawing of any kind. Ever.

    But this year, I thought, why not? I had heard some of our malls were going to open at midnight, which is perfect for night owls like me! That, I could do. So I asked my sister if she’d be up for it (she was) and then I pondered whether the twins were old enough to do something so crazy with me (they were). So after sufficiently carbo-loading at the Thanksgiving feast hosted by my in-laws (who told us how ridiculous they thought our idea was), we set out around 11:30 p.m.

    When we arrived at the mall, I was surprised to see the parking lot full, and yes, a line, forming near the entrance. “What?” I said aloud. “Who else besides us was crazy enough to come out shopping at midnight?” Apparently, lots of people. A little after midnight, the doors opened to cheers and then a mob of people running for the door.

    Earlier in the day, I had combed through the sales ads in our massive paper, circling what I wanted and where. The malls were offering a deal that if you spend $100, you get a $50 gift card. “No problem, we could do that easily,” I told my sister, especially at the big stores like Macy’s and JCPenney.  ”Let’s go to JCPenney first!” I said, leading the way. Leading the way right to a big closed gate. “What?” I said, stopping in my tracks. I spotted a security guard and asked him why it wasn’t open. “Oh, the anchor stores aren’t participating. They’re opening at 4, and I would guess the lines will start forming at 3.”

    No. Way.

    “Let’s just leave and go to Toys R Us across the street,” I said to my sister, since that was to be an “if we’re still awake” stop after the mall. “No, you dragged me here, now we’re gonna shop!” she insisted. So, we joined the sea of people flooding down the mall. And yes, a sea it was. I had never seen it this crowded even in the middle of the busiest day. And people were running! Running!

    Oh, I realized, it’s because some of the stores are giving out gift cards to the first 100 people in the door, like it says in the flyer we had to stand in line to collect when we came in. Already, we were too late. Lines were forming outside of those stores, complete with those velvet movie-theater ropes!

    Our first stop was Children’s Place, but it was so crowded I couldn’t even make my way through the racks to look. Besides, we were here to Christmas shop, and my girls don’t think of clothes as gifts yet. My sister spent $40 on jeans for her boys.

    Next, we went to Payless, which was having a “Buy One, Get One Half-Off” sale. “A BOGO!” we shouted in unison. But again, here we were in another un-Christmas-shopping store. My sister spied these cool sparkly silver shoes and had to have them for her daughter. She peer-pressured me into buying an identical pair for Little Miss so the cousins can have matching shoes. I did only because of the BOGO. And to help bring her closer to the $100 so we could leave the godforsaken mall. I gave her my receipt, which brought her up to $60 toward the $100 necessary for the gift card. Ugh. $40 more to go.

    Next we went into the pet shop, which was, again an un-Christmas-shopping store, seeing as we are petless at the moment. Then she wanted to go to Victoria’s Secret. “No, because then I’ll only want to shop for myself and that’s not why I’m here,” I argued. “Plus, look at the line to pay!” I said, noticing it bisected the store almost to the door.

    We made our way back into the fray of the mall, noticing a crazy loooonnnnggg line of people stretching, literally, from end to end. It wasn’t long before we figured out those were the people standing in line waiting for their $5o gift card. You’ve got to be kidding.

    “I will pay you $50 to not stand in that line,” I implored. Luckily, she took no convincing. (Nor did she take me up on my offer.)

    We decided to leave, but first the twins wanted a cinnamon pretzel. It was two o’clock in the morning! Gross! But what the heck, I thought. We only do this once. I stood in another line, behind all the other people wanting pretzels at two o’clock in the morning, while my sister took the girls into Claire’s, which was, of course, too crowded for them to look around. I got Diet Cokes for my sister and me, figuring we’d need the caffeine to keep us awake on our drives home.

    At last, we headed into the refreshing night air to drive across the street to Toys R Us. But guess what? The parking lot there was nearly full. Whaatt??? I really did think that not many people would be out that late (or early?), thinking the real die-hards would be hitting all the “doorbuster” sales at 4.

    I said I was new at this.

    I should’ve known it was bad when there were no carts at the entrance. Eventually, deep inside the store, I was able to hi-jack an empty one that looked abandoned.

    “OK, this is like a treasure hunt,” I told the girls, who were wearing thin. “Let’s find this GlowDoodle,” I instructed, showing them my circled catalog. Nope. Sold out. Next item: a doll that swims that Little Miss had been wanting. Nope. All that was left were boys and a bald black girl. “Buy it!” my sister said. “It’s only $19.99! I paid $34 for mine!”

    “No, she won’t like those,” I said.

    “If you don’t buy that, then you’re being racist,” my sister said, pointing to the black doll.

    “Oh, puh-lease. It’s not because she’s black, it’s because she’s bald!” I said, reminding her that Little Miss is obsessed with long hair. “And besides,” I said, “Did you not see the Princess Tiana doll in my cart? Not racist!” I said.

    As I moved our cart to the back of the store—the back, where all the bikes and bigger toys are—a way-too-chipper-for-Toys-R-Us-employee said, “Ready to check out?”

    “Oh, you mean you’ve got registers set up back here?” I said, marveling at their forethought.

    “Uh, no, that’s where the line starts,” she said.

    “Whaaatt???”

    That was it. It was now 3 a.m. and I wanted to go home and get the girls and me to bed, where we should’ve been hours ago. I found my sister, who was too overwhelmed to have put one thing in the cart yet, and I told her the situation. Then I led us to the front of one of the lines, where a woman was draped over her overfilled cart, looking as if she were on her last leg. “How long have you been waiting in line?” I asked. “Too long,” she replied, all bleary-eyed and dazed. A  nearby employee said, “We’re estimating it to be at least one hour.”

    No. Way. At that, we ditched our cart and the few items I did put in it (sorry, Toys R Us workers!) and headed for the exit.

    It was there, by the registers, that I realized that there are those who are cut out for Black Friday, and those who are not. I am in the latter category, obviously.  I dead-stopped to gape at a woman, all smiles as she handed over her card to the cashier, managing her two shopping carts full of stuff piled higher than her head. Even the bottom racks were jammed. I grabbed my sister’s arm and speechlessly pointed at the woman. She had a huge notebook in her hand, and I saw a bunch of names, lists and crossed-out items. Obviously, she accomplished her mission.

    I’ve never felt like such a failure in my life. Where was my notebook? Where were my lists? Where were my two carts? How come she was able to find everything and make it through that line?

    I failed Black Friday. In the words of Bobby Brady, “I’m a loser.”

    Outside the store, we made our way past the throngs of people outside, heaped with boxes and bags, waiting to be picked up to load their cars, like it was the airport. “I thought we were in a recession!” I said, annoyed, as we headed to our cars. And then we drove home. It was after 3 a.m. The girls were asleep before we even got out of the parking lot. And I only bought those sparkly shoes.

    The next morning (well, hours later, I mean), I excitedly showed them to Little Miss, letting her open the “surprise” bag.

    “Oh. I thought it was going to be something with princesses on it,” she said, tossing them aside.

    Mission so not accomplished.

    Never again.

    How did you do? You can add your comment by clicking on the little caption bubble by the headline of each post.

    Category Shoppin' Fodder | Tags: , | 2 Comments

  6. Only in Arizona

    November 29, 2009 by Wendy

    turkeyThis is what Thanksgiving in Arizona looks like. We don’t all wear our bikinis, but Little Miss insisted. Then they all went in the water, which was actually freezing. They didn’t care.

    pool

    A couple days later, we found this cute little deadly diamondback rattlesnake all snuggled up in our back yard. Snakes are supposed to be in hibernation right now. But if the kids are in the pool on Thanksgiving, why wouldn’t the snakes be out?

    snake

    Category Holiday Fodder | Tags: , , | No Comments

  7. We are thankful today for…

    November 26, 2009 by Wendy

    turkey

    Today is Thanksgiving. When we host it at our house, we do the go-around-the-table-and-say-what-you’re-thankful-for thing. This year, I’m not hosting it so I’ve assigned everyone in our family to write me a list of what they’re thankful for and we’ll do it blog-style this year. I’ll go first (and these are in no particular order):

    • My awesome husband (Mr. BK), and everything about him.
    • My extraordinary daughters. (Mr. BK doesn’t like the overuse of that word “extraordinary,” but I think he’d agree they’re worth the exception. They are above ordinary.)
    • Our health and our togetherness on this day and every day.
    • My parents and my in-laws, all of whom are alive, in good health, and live nearby. I am thankful our children still have all four grandparents in their lives.
    • My sisters and my sister-in-law, each of whom fill a different spot in my life, and each of whom text me, email or call me daily with all kinds of news from the silly (“Nicole Richie had her baby!”) to the serious (“The pediatrician said it’s swine flu!”).
    • Imitrex.
    • That I have the skills, tools and resources to put a healthy, home-cooked meal on the table every night, even if I don’t look as pretty or as smiley as Giada.
    • Cute shoes that come in wide widths for the unfortunate soles belonging to Little Miss and me.
    • My friends scattered across the country and beyond, any one of whom I can call at any time about anything.
    • Whole Foods.
    • The iced mochas with Truvia and Lactaid that Mr. BK makes me every single morning, no matter what, even when he has to leave the house at 5 a.m. or is late for a meeting.
    • Water.
    • That we’ve so far survived the economic crisis, job intact, despite the pay cut and longer hours.
    • That when the swine flu hit our house as we suspect it did earlier this fall, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, like it was for my poor little nephew, who ended up in the hospital with what he called “the slime flu.”
    • That my mom taught my daughters to sew this summer.
    • That it doesn’t stay 115 degrees in the desert all year long.
    • MAC Lipglass.
    • That I haven’t vomited since 1999.
    • That my kids rarely vomit.
    • That my husband never vomits, unless alcohol is involved. But that was 1997. And in college. A few times.
    • The library, and that it’s still free, except for all of our late fees.
    • My hair (not that it’s anything special, but whenever I do get mad at it, I think of all the people who lost theirs from cancer and who would be happy to have it).
    • That the 15 minutes is almost up for Jon & Kate, Speidi, Octomom and Susan Boyle. (I know, she has a great voice, but come on, could anybody really listen to an entire album of hers?)

    Mr. BKs list:

    • I am thankful to have my own health and to have healthy family surrounding me. To hear about the medial hardships that some have as part of their normal routine… from chronic conditions to swine flu makes me thankful to be shielded from that burden. Why do I still complain so much?
    • I’m thankful for my harmonious family life. I am so pleased with our marriage and the way that our kids are. I love our warm environment, our open communication, the way we talk to each other. So pleased. My heart swells to think about it.
    • I’m thankful to be employed doing things that I enjoy. And I’ve said many times that everything that I have to do is great, but the schedules take all the fun out of it. Still, I am thankful to have the career that I have.
    • I am thankful to be born in the United States of America. I am fascinated by our country and how well we have done in our short history. Such a unique, sensible, good nation.
    • I am thankful for sharp kitchen knives and the way that the people who use them (Wendy) make explicit efforts to follow my “knife rules” to keep them that way.
    • I am thankful that Wendy cooks great food from Monday through Thursday of every week. It is also endearing that she quits making dinner every week in exhaustion and exasperation at the whole effort that starts on Sunday. We all love to congratulate her on her weekly retirement party every Thursday night.
    • I am thankful that Wendy and I are on the same team for so many things. We have been competitive (and argumentative) since I think back in high school, but that’s no problem when we’re on the same team.

    Twin A’s list:

    • My family.
    • Happiness and peace.
    • Faith.
    • Education.

    Twin B’s list:

    • Mommy, Poppy, my sisters, Nonna, Nonno, Grandma, Grandpa, Zi-Zi, Uncle Corie, Aunt Laurie, Uncle Sal, Aunt Cheryl, Uncle Kim, Nicholas, Anthony, Gianna, Aunt Barb, Uncle Jay and all of my friends.
    • My school.
    • The Big Tree by the Road.
    • The Little Tree with the Swing by the Driveway.
    • God and Jesus.
    • My stuffed animals.

    Little Miss’ list:

    • My Barbies.
    • My stuffed animals.
    • My doctor kit.
    • My Play-Doh.
    • My baby dolls.

    Your turn: What are you most thankful for this year? You can add your comment by clicking on the little caption bubble by the post headline.

    Category Holiday Fodder | Tags: , | 7 Comments

  8. Should I be worried?

    November 25, 2009 by Wendy

    DSCN2559

    Last night, as I was about to put Little Miss to bed, I pulled back her covers to find this little scene. “Oh, what are your Barbies doing, don’t they know it’s your bedtime?” I asked. “Oh, they’re doing their homework,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But why are they naked?” I asked. “Oh,  just the mean ones are naked,” she said, as if that explained it all. “Why are they mean?” I pressed. “They just get mean when they’re naked, especially the one with the long blond hair.” (Hmm, you mean the one with the hair like mine? I thought.)

    It’s things like this that make me wonder what other people, like my in-laws or my parents, would start conjuring up in their minds about our household if she were to say something like that to them. That concept was pointed out to me years ago when a woman told me that one day when she was watching her granddaughter, the “doll mom” in the dollhouse the little girl was playing with shouted, “Eat your effin’ Cheerios!” to the “doll daughter.” (She didn’t say effin’ though.) “That’s when I figured out that if I wanna know what really goes on in my daughter-in-law’s home,” the woman told me, “get ‘em a dollhouse and watch how they play with the dolls.”

    Well, if that’s true, I guess I’m in big trouble. So for the record, everyone in our household does their homework fully clothed. And I don’t get mean when I’m naked.

    Category Little Miss | Tags: | 1 Comment

  9. Just a basic mom?

    November 21, 2009 by Wendy

    A huge reason for my tardiness to the blogging party has been trying to figure out my niche. During my extensive and ongoing research into the blogosphere (rarely does the OCD in me allow me to do anything without extensive and ongoing research), I found that there are more than 112 million blogs out there, with approximately 50,000 created per day. Per day! Of course, some of those are spam blogs, and with the Internet being worldwide of course, many are not English-language blogs. Still, with numbers like those, it was easy to wonder if my contribution to the blogosphere would matter, or even be visible. What could I write about that people would want to read and respond to that isn’t already being written about at this very moment by thousands of other people? Would anyone be interested and/or entertained by what I have to say? Would I have readers who want to come back regularly to see what I’ve posted? (Besides my  mom, I mean.) What could I write about with some level of authority and passion to keep those readers coming back?

    In the end, all of my answers always pointed to what I am and what I know right now, and that is being a mom. At first, I kept trying to resist falling into the “mommyblog” niche, even though all of my research kept underscoring the fact that these blogs increasingly are a force to be reckoned with. It’s not that I don’t love and respect the genre—I so do!—it was just that I questioned whether there was room for me, too. And as I’ve said before, I don’t like the term “mommyblog.” I’ve never been one of those moms who proclaim their motherhood status with a personalized license plate, an email address or a “mommy”-BeDazzled T-shirt. It’s not that I don’t LOVE being a mom; I do with my entire soul, it’s just that it’s not my whole identity. (Well, right now, it’s about 98 percent of my identity, but it’s not 100!) So I’ve compromised and called it a “mom blog,” and will most definitely focus on my family and my role in it, but I’ll also write about, well, whatever.

    One of my inspirations to take the blogging plunge has been my friend Sonya, who recently started her own blog, The Hemmings Half-Dozen. Sonya and I have been friends since college, where we both majored in journalism, were suitemates and we co-edited the Features section of the college newspaper. From that time on, our professional lives have always been somewhat parallel. After graduation, we wound up working at the same magazine and later went on to co-author a book. Whatever we did, we always seemed to have a “co-” in front of our titles. (Of course, our relationship is more personal than professional—after all, both of us were maids of honor in each other’s weddings, and we have more than enough in common with the seven children we have between us.) We had discussed blogging a couple years ago, but she’s the one who actually took the plunge first and then encouraged me to do the same once she knew how serious I was about it. “But you have so many niches to write about,” I’d say. She homeschools her kids, does everything from calligraphy to quilting (I have always called her Holly Hobbie), plus her family has various food allergies to contend with, which has sparked her passion for real-food cooking and urban farming. See? Niches galore. My kids don’t have food allergies (thank goodness), I don’t like crafts (my sewing kit is one I got in a hotel room with the little shampoos and hand lotions), and although I do cook healthfully all the time, my kids do eat their share of fruit snacks (organic, though) and Eggo waffles (whole grain only, with high-fructose-corn-syrup-free syrup, though). “I’m just a basic mom,” I’d say to her. “I have no niches!”

    But then I realized, so what? This “basic mom” still has a lot to say that I hope resonates with other moms, or whoever comes across my blog. And after a glance at some recent blogging statistics from Technorati, I fit right in. Consider:

    • Two-thirds are male (well, clearly I’m in the minority there)
    • 60% are 18-44 (check)
    • The majority are more affluent and educated than the general population (check, at least I’d like to think so)
    ◦ 75% have college degrees (check)
    ◦ 40% have graduate degrees (check, meaning I’m in the majority here)
    • More than half are married (check)
    • More than half are parents (check)
    • Half are employed full time, however ¾ of professional bloggers are employed full time (check; considering that motherhood is a full-time job, whether you stay at home or not)

    So I’m going to embrace my status as a basic mom, and join all those awesome moms out there who are showing the world there’s more to motherhood than just being a mom. I think we’ve already moved way past the cliche of moms who eat bon-bons and watch soap operas all day (first of all, I don’t even know what a bon-bon is, and second, I haven’t known anyone who watches soap operas since high school, except for my sister Cheryl), and I want to keep on helping to dispel all those cliches.

    So, yes, I am now officially a mom blogger and there’s nothing basic about that.

    Category First Fodder | Tags: , , | 2 Comments

  10. Tiptoeing into the blogosphere…one toe at a time

    November 19, 2009 by Wendy

    For about three years now, I’ve been talking about starting a blog. And with resolution time right around the corner, what better time to stop talking and actually start doing? And yet, I feel soooooo lame, especially when I see all the cool mom blogs out there that began years ago. (Note that  I said “mom” blogs, not “mommyblogs,” but more on that later.) I totally feel like I’m the geeky freshman trying to find my place among all the “cool girls” who swear and drink and stuff. I might as well go back to feathering my hair and begging my parents to buy me some Jordache jeans and Nike shoes.  I’m going to throw another blog out there when you’ve got the prom queen Heather Armstrong ruling the school with her iconic blog Dooce? (Say what you want about her, but she is the prom queen.) And I’m going to blog about my life with the likes of the other popular girls, like Finslippy, The Pioneer Woman and Secret Agent Josephine, who seem to effortlessly put wit and hilarity into their every word?

    Well, yes, actually, I am, all the while flogging myself for not having done it sooner. So why the hesitation? Well, here’s the thing: I haven’t kept a diary since 6th grade for fear of someone finding it and reading it, I don’t Tweet, and I vow to be the absolute last person to join Facebook. It’s not that I’m not technologically hip—I can’t live without my iPhone, and I can tinker with html code if I have to. I’ve just been reluctant to put mine and my family’s lives out there in cyberspace for all to read for eternity. And yet, I now have a blog. I know, it doesn’t make sense. But here’s why I’ve decided to take that giant scary leap into the blogosphere:

    1. I am a writer, and this is the way the writing world has gone. Everyone has a blog, writer or not. Soon, it will be a normal question, like “What’s your email address?” but it will be “What’s your blog URL?” I don’t want to be like  that old-school writer who still uses a fax machine to send in their stories. So this is kind of like my portfolio.
    2. As much as I’ve tried, I’ve never gotten good at the whole scrapbooking thing. I have made many attempts, and I have more supplies than Jo-Ann, all organized in neat little drawers with labels. Yet, I have more empty pages than full, and I’m up to around age 2 for my twins—who are now 11. And my 4-year-old, well, I sort of cheated and bought one of those pre-done ones from Hallmark. But hey, at least her first year has been recorded. So in lieu of filling in all those blanks in the baby books and “journaling” in cute little handwriting, I’ve decided to document our days with a blog. I just wonder though, can it be accessed in 10, 20 years? Will the Internet get all filled up and then all this gets deleted? I still print photos and put them into albums for each of my daughters, so we’ll still have that at least. Unless our house catches on fire. Anyway…
    3. For the past several years, I’ve been writing an annual newsletter I send out with our holiday cards, and essentially, it’s been like a mini-blog of our year. I send it out to some 125 family members and friends, and I’ve always received positive feedback on it. As hard as I try to not make it one of those annoying brag letters, (yes, we are that family, happy beach photo and all), I’m sure there are some who roll their eyes and toss it in the trash. But I have been told by more than a few people that I’d better never stop writing those newsletters. So you eye-rollers out there can thank them for partly inspiring me to expand my holiday letter into this blog.
    4. When I was a kid, I used to read Erma Bombeck’s syndicated column in the newspaper and think, “That would be so fun to write the funny stuff that happens in your family and get paid for it!” Well, as I got older, my Erma Bombeck fantasy morphed into a Carrie Bradshaw fantasy. She always made it look like the best job ever sitting on her bed with her laptop, writing about whatever went on that night. Of course, she wore Manolos while doing it, but I think I can pull it off with my Target flip-flops. (I would never actually wear flip-flops in my bed, germophobe that I am, but I’m just sayin’.)
    5. After reading about six books on blogging, I’ve come to realize, this is my medium. I can write what I want, when I want, and how much I want, and do it all in a conversational tone, like I’m talking to my sisters or my friends. This will give all of them a break in listening to me go on and on about the latest “Mama Drama” episode, or the kids’ homework, or something I saw on Oprah that infuriated me, or whatever. It’s a win-win for everyone! Plus, I’m the type of person that when an idea comes to me, I have to drop everything and run to the computer and it flows out faster than my fingers can keep up. Many a dinner has been burned this way.

    And those are my reasons. Oh, and about the “mommyblog” thing? Let’s just call it a “mom blog,” because “mommyblog” really bugs me. Please read my About Us for more on that. In fact, please read  About Us anyway so you can know who’s really behind those dorky dolls. As I get braver, I will post real pictures of us eventually, but for now, we are those dolls. Kind of. Except my daughters are not blond. And we don’t all look like we have big diapers in our crotches.

    OK, so here I go. As soon as I push “Publish,” poof, there goes our life, out into the world to read. Deeeeeeep breath. Wish me luck…

    Oh, and feel free to comment anytime by clicking on the little caption balloon by the headline of each post. But please be nice. At least at first.

    Category First Fodder | Tags: , , , | No Comments

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