Touring the Great Land...and Sea

Two weeks ago, my parents, siblings, and our respective families boarded a cruise ship bound for Alaska. I hadn't been on a vacation with my entire family in 15 years and had no idea how the trip would go. We joked about how someone would likely end up overboard—and my dad sternly instructed all of us to "leave our B.S. at home."

We were celebrating my parents' 50th year of marriage and everyone needed to be on good behavior. No fighting. No whining. Just 11 days of family fun and togetherness.

I think it sort of came as a surprise to all of us that everything worked our perfectly. Everyone got along and had such a great time that we started talking about when and where we might take our next family trip. 

I think some of the success might be attributed to the fact that the adults played Cards Against Humanity (AKA "a party game for horrible people") a couple of nights. You haven't lived until you've heard your 70-ish-year-old parents hysterically utter phrases like "concealing a boner" and "doin' it in the butt." Sorry, I know this is a PG-13 blog...at least I didn't post the videos I took while we played...

Those games brought us to tears, but there were plenty more highlights from the trip:

• Watching my dad belt it out at 50's music trivia night—and learn how to do the hand jive
• Getting forced into a hula hooping contest in front of about a hundred people
• Having a couple's massage with my oldest niece (they were too booked up to take us separately) and getting beat up by a tiny masseuse—she literally punched the bottom of my feet
• Catching Mr. W taking pictures from the balcony one night wearing nothing but his camera
• Falling in freezing lake water while trying to walk to Nugget Falls at the Mendenhall Glacier
• Hearing about my sister's toilet beginning to overflow (with clean water) while she was sitting on it
• Seeing my brother order a double serving of the same dessert every single night
• Making friends with a Canadian couple and an ACDC roadie in the jacuzzi
• Cruising through Glacier Bay while the Margerie Glacier was "calving" huge chunks of ice
• Walking around Ketchikan in 86° weather while the rest of the family zipped through the city in golf carts
• King crab legs in Juneau, fish and chips in Ketchikan, and lobster on formal night
• Drinking a bottle of Sea Smoke pinot
• Listening to the audio version of Unbroken on our drive to San Francisco and reading The Signature of All Things on the trip (I highly recommend both)
• Seeing salmon jumping out of the water, a group of harbor seals playing, and a few spouts from nearby whales
• Watching the sea planes take off and land—Mr. W even took a ride in one
• Sunlight until 11:00 p.m. and rain-free weather most days
• Running in to various family members on and off the ship like we were small town neighbors
• Working out and walking long stretches nearly every day, but still coming home 6lbs heavier

I haven't yet gotten my land legs back. My equilibrium is still a little out of whack. But the great memories are perfectly intact and the scheming for our next family trip is just beginning. 

Enduring the Smashdown: A Story of Moms and Mammaries

Source

I didn't write about it at the time because my mom wasn't keen on blasting the news across the Internet, but in late January of this year my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. As far as the dreadful C-word goes, she was incredibly lucky. Her case was caught very early and was very treatable.

She had to undergo two surgeries to remove the tumor and deal with several weeks of radiation. But she's been in the clear for a few months now.

Given that her cancer was the first case in my immediate family (a favorite extended cousin had colon cancer several years ago but she kicked its butt, thank goodness) we were all pretty tipped upside-down when we got the news. What did it mean for our mom? What did it mean for our chances of getting cancer one day? What did we need to do to fix the situation immediately?

My sister is a nurse, so she sort of led the charge on information procurement. She kept all of us very well informed, which was comforting even if we didn't always know what it all meant.

My mom was a rock. No, a rockstar. She almost treated it like she'd been inducted into a club that a bunch of her other friends had already joined. From the beginning, she assured all of us she would be fine. And she was right. It's nice to have a mom telling you everything's going to be okay—particularly when it's her you're worried about most.

So in the aftermath of what may have turned out to be a blessing that'll keep all of us a little more vigilant about screening ourselves, eating right, and mitigating the risk factors we can control, I got the news that I was the lucky recipient of an early baseline mammogram.

My doctor referred me in April and I just finally went for my appointment this week.

I was so thankful that my wonderful friend Sizzle wrote a mammogram post and prepared me for what to expect. Thanks to her, I knew to wear pants so I wasn't standing fully exposed while a tech (wo)man-handled my ta-tas. My cousin also gave me a hilarious rendition of what was going to happen that went something like: "You'll change into a little gown and then they'll put you in a dimly lit room with soft music playing. It's kind of like being at the spa, except instead of giving you a massage, they give you the smashdown."

The smashdown. Made me laugh out loud.

I had heard horror stories from people about the pain and awkwardness of the whole process, so I was prepared for the worst. I thought of those times at the dentist when they'd hit a nerve and I'd grip the armrests while my eyes popped out of my head.

The mammie was totally not like that.

The only thing I can liken it to is getting my senior portrait taken in high school. Except I wore a top for that and the photographer didn't feel me up. But the whole "Drop your left shoulder down while holding your right one up and face your body this direction while tilting your chin that way" instruction felt oddly the same. I didn't look down at my boobies when they got smooshed and it didn't really hurt when they were doing it. Overall, it was much less traumatic than I expected.

Which is good because I plan to stay on top of my screenings from now until eternity. Like my mom, I want them to catch anything suspicious at a very early stage. And although I don't really want to come down with the C-word at any point, it would be an honor to be in that club with so many strong, amazing women who have. 

Trying to Keep the Finish Line in My Sights

My first half marathon. When I was young and in good shape.

There's a reason I've never run a full marathon. Actually probably 20+ reasons... Half marathons are challenging, but they still (somewhat) allow me to maintain my sanity and enjoy the run. I'm almost 100% certain that wouldn't be the case if I did a full 26.2 miles.

Over the last few weeks, I've been feeling like I'm running the final leg of a marathon. I can see the finish line, but my legs are buckling, everything hurts, and I can't hear the people cheering anymore.

I'm pretty much a hot mess.

Remember that post I wrote about all the overwhelm feeling like abundance? That lasted about 24 hours.

After that (and before, too) what it really felt like was complete overload from having a husband out of the country for 6+ months, two houses and yards to care for, cats that are serious a-holes a lot of the time, more travel than I can handle, and a workload that gives me heart palpitations. Oh, and let's not forget this new career path I'm trying to pursue. Yep, I'm the life coach who totally has her act together. Not.

I took my niece to Santa Ynez to celebrate her 13th birthday this past weekend, and everything was going pretty great (she was even patient when I insisted on pulling weeds for 45 minutes Sunday morning) until she alerted me to a bug on the dining room wall. It was a freaking cockroach. In a house that literally has no food stored outside the airtight refrigerator.

Beautiful ride. Even though it was about 92° and we witnessed a squirrel murder.

The roach nearly put me over the edge. One more thing to take care of on my own. One more weight on my overloaded shoulders.

In a state of desperation, I called my mom on the drive home and said, "I need help. I'm going to have a nervous breakdown."

It's not easy to ask for help when you pride yourself on being an independent person. It took a lot to make that call. And after it, I made another to my sister. And then I took my brother up on some additional assistance (he's going to spray the house for roaches).

It's sort of like people have joined me on the race course and have hoisted me up by the armpits to help me get through the last few miles.

It definitely helps. But it didn't stop me from bursting into tears when I found myself scrubbing cat pee off the bathroom floor. And then there were more tears when one of the feline a-holes pooped over the side of the litterbox and I had to clean the floor again five minutes after the first time.

Cats are jerks.

Mr. W comes home in about 6 weeks. I have to travel next weekend and the weekend after, and at least a couple more times in July. Some people think traveling equals vacation. It does not. But it's nice to know that the end is in sight. The finish line is near.

And hopefully there's an ambulance waiting for me just beyond it.

How Many Blondes Does It Take to Build a Fire?

 Evidence that one time I did build a fire...

I was never a big connoisseur of blonde jokes, but this past Saturday, I was fairly certain I might be living in one. My sister and her two girls joined me in Santa Ynez for the night, and after a nice long day of antiquing and wine-tasting (with my 18-year-old niece as our chauffeur), we settled in for a quiet evening of spaghetti and Bridesmaids.

The temperature was pretty chilly for us wimpy Californians, so one of the first things we aimed to do was start a fire. When Mr. W and I were up at the house a few weeks ago, he had a local guy deliver a giant load of firewood, so as far as I knew, we had everything we needed to stay warm.

For the record, I DID start a fire on my own when I was at the house in December, so I know it is possible. But as I piled my logs on the iron grate and crumpled my newspaper and watched the flames travel upward from my ignition spots, the end result—again and again—was a pile of ash.

A former girl scout, I suddenly remembered that I needed to build a little tee-pee with kindling under the bigger logs to really get things going. So I retrieved the axe from the closet and set out to split some smaller pieces of wood off the big chunks.

Have you guys ever used an axe before? It seems like it would be really simple, right? Totally not. I could barely get the damn thing to stick in the wood, let alone split it into halves or quarters. Mega fail.

My next best option was to use cardboard from some of the moving boxes. So I started again—sister and nieces gathered around, also trying to help—and this time, I caught one of the bigger logs on fire. As it burned, I noticed it was resting on the floor of the fireplace, so I grabbed the poker and tried to prod it back up onto the grate. As I did so, it split in half. And then the fire went out again...

It was around this time that Mr. W texted, so I had my younger niece pull him up on Skype to counsel us. He quickly became irritated with our ineptitude and told me to, "Go get some fricking pine cones and light those under the wood."

My sister headed out into the night (I'm not sure where exactly) and when she returned, she said, "I couldn't find pine cones, but I found this!" and held up what looked like a single piece of straw. One stick. After being outside for several minutes. Good work.

After we berated her heavily, she went back outside armed with the flashlight. This time, when she returned, she had an armful of pine cones and needley branches. But according to her, something—perhaps a bird of prey or a wee mountain lion—growled at her from up in the tree while she was combing the ground. So she had to scream and run back to the house before she could collect more kindling.

We tried to light the pine cones and they just fizzled.

Starving and frustrated, we gave up and ate dinner. But I couldn't stand the fact that we hadn't been able to make it work, so fueled by another glass of wine, I began trying again. I built another cardboard tee-pee and kept feeding it until the big logs caught fire. Mission blondely accomplished.

We made s'mores and all was right in the world. 

Having lived through this treacherous saga, I know now that four blondes does not equal fire-building abilities. And that kindling should be gathered during daylight hours when the racoons and turkey vultures are less likely to bite you in the jugular and carry you back to their nests.

Good lessons for country living, I think.

Verbal Ineptitude: Top Hits from the Family

For a long, long while now, my dear mother has suffered from some sort of crossed wire or misfiring connection between her mouth and her brain. When it happens, we think she probably knows what she wants to say, but as soon as the thought reaches her vocal chords, all hell breaks loose. One of the most famous instances of this was the time we were being obnoxious and she said, "You're making the sperm in my neck hurt!" instead of saying something about the bone spur she thought she had in her neck. She definitely got our attention with that one.

Or there was the time when she pointed out the window of our motorhome when we were camping and exclaimed, "Look at the delicate!" It was a swan. I think maybe she was going for pelican or duck...who knows... There was a similar instance when she saw two blimps in the sky at once, and yelled, "Twimps!" But not in that I-just-made-up-a-clever-word kind of way.

It wasn't a huge surprise when, over the years, my sister began displaying similar challenges with her ability to speak. Once when I was a kid and I guessed a Wheel of Fortune puzzle before she did, she looked at me and said, "You snow bitch." We still have no idea where that one came from.

And then there was the one last year when my niece said something about the Macy's in our local mall and my sister said, "When I was a little boy, we didn't have Macy's." No one in the family was aware that my sister had ever been a little boy.

Last weekend, it became clear that my eldest niece is also afflicted by the verbal ineptitude gene. My mom, sister, and I had gone to visit my niece at college to celebrate her 18th birthday. After finishing a nice dinner, something came up about a night she had spent at my mom and dad's house while my sister and brother-in-law were out of town. She was complaining about how awful it was because, according to her, my parents' cats were having sex all night. "They're brother and sister," I told her. "They don't have sex."

She looked at me with a mix of confidence and irritation and said through narrowed eyes, "Cats don't know email."

About midway through the sentence, I think she realized it was going to come out wrong. Apparently she meant to say that cats don't know what incest is, so they very likely could have been trying to mate. But somehow "email" got thrown in there instead. It was fortunate I didn't pee my pants from laughing so hard.

As I racked my brain for additional points of evidence on how this tragic disease has affected my family, I began to think that my brother and dad may have been immune. But on Thanksgiving night when the family began talking about my great aunt and uncle who met and married on a whim a couple days later, my dad said very seriously, "They only knew themselves very long." Pretty sure he was trying to say something about how they didn't know each other very long.

I'm going to keep tabs on the family to see if this ailment continues to get worse. I think my brother and I may be the only remaining Hetheringtons that haven't come down with a serious case.

Mr. W on the other hand may have a related strain. Between the Costco hamburger bun cleavage story, old lady wash cloth face, and the time he told me I looked "good-sized" for my weight, it's clear the synapses don't always fire in his favor. I just hope he doesn't come down with a full-blown oral disability like so many of my family members.

But if he does, I assure you there will be many a blog post documenting his speeches.

Inner-Child Indulgences and Adult Exhaustion

This weekend was a kid extravaganza for Mr. Wonderful and me.

Friday night, we had my cousin, her husband, and their six and four-and-a-half year-old boys over for a backyard campout. We hatched the plan a couple months ago during a barbecue at our house, during which the boys played "paleontologists" in the backyard for hours. They were having so much fun, that when my cousin K mentioned wanting to do a tent-in-the-backyard night, I suggested they come to our house for it. Little did I know that their 10' x 10' tent would just barely fit on our largest patch of grass.

We ate burgers and hot dogs, roasted 'smores over the open fire of our gas stove, and even managed to squeeze in a viewing of Kung Fu Panda. At some point, one of the boys referred to Mr. W as "Uncle Ben."

His name is not Ben, so we all got a huge kick out of this. No idea where he pulled that one from, but we've decided Mr. W should go into the rice business.

Before bed, we inflated two air mattresses and squeezed them into the tent, building a nest of fleece blankies on each. We said goodnight to the husbands, who slept inside of course, and spent a few minutes making shadow puppets on the wall before turning off our flashlight. Then I spent the next 8 hours listening to the neighbor's TV, ghetto birds, sirens, the squeaking of bodies against air mattresses, and, at one point, the six-year-old—who sat up and started talking gibberish about someone needing to "turn off the fan."

I'm fairly certain I slept for a total of 7 minutes.

At 6:30 a.m. when both boys were bright-eyed, bushy tailed, Mr. W came outside and shushed us for being loud. Thankfully, he went back in the house and started making us breakfast.

Several pancakes and bacon strips later, it was time for the visiting clan to pack up and go home. And for Mr. W and me to stare at each other catatonically before taking a nap. We were back in bed by 9:15 a.m.

That night, we were invited to a laser tag birthday party. For a thirty-nine-year-old, naturally.

Neither of us had ever played laser tag before, so we weren't quite sure what to expect. What we got was pummeled by a small army of people under 4 feet tall. A lot of the party guests had brought along their kids so, in addition to lots of ear-piercing screams of joy in the maze's pre-entry room, we also got hit by a boatload of midget gunfire.

Kids are so super sneaky. They'd hide around corners—below our eye level—and blast us like they'd been doing it since birth. High-pitched little ninjas.

Again, we were exhausted when all was said and done.

Although I usually think of myself as a stunted adult, who is still probably about 77.8% kid inside, being around children all weekend made me realize that I am, in fact, an old lady.

I really did adore spending time with all the little ones this weekend. They're extremely entertaining. But I think the next camping trip and round of laser tag will likely involve a Glamp-ground in Washington and maybe laser vests that match our caveman outfits. Maybe we'll even play paleontologists...  

50 Shades of Embarrassment: Naiveté in the Local Bookstore

My older sister, bless her heart, is a very devout (although liberal and equality-championing) Christian who is extremely active in all things related to her church. She is the girl who has never smoked a cigarette (although she did dress her husband in a thong and take pictures of him when he drank too much and passed out on their honeymoon). She is the woman who channels her nursing background into a Diabetes support group every Thursday night (and one time when I was little, she tried to shove my face in the cat litter box). The point being, she's a very upstanding citizen with great intentions (who is sometimes too innocent for her own good).

Case in point: Yesterday she shared a story with me and some other family members about how she went to our cute small-town bookstore to ask for a donation for her church's upcoming charity auction and, after the owner happily obliged, she decided to pay the store back by purchasing a book of her own.

Naturally, she asked if they had that "Fifty something" book.

The owner's teenage daughters looked at her funny and tried to recommend something else.

"No, I know my cousin and all her friends are reading that 'Fifty shades' book—or whatever it is," my sister insisted.

Suddenly the owner appeared and asked, "You mean 'Fifty Shades of Grey'?"

"Yes! That's it!" she exclaimed. Victory.

"Do you know that's an adult book?" the owner asked in a lowered voice.

Sister, horrified replied in a hushed voice, too—"Like pornography?"

"Yes, we don't even keep it out on the floor. It's back behind the counter."

Then my sister proceeded to turn fifty shades of purple and try to explain that she had no idea what the book was about—just that everyone was talking about it so it must be interesting.

I'm sure the bookstore owners thought it was unsettling and unfortunate that the nice donation-seeking church lady was actually a full-fledged pervert porn addict.

I hadn't shared this story with Mr. W yet, but today he came home from Costco with a copy of the book for me to read. I wasn't planning on buying it myself, but if my husband wants to try to make me all randy, I guess I have to obey, lest he bust out a ski mask and a whip.

Like the bookstore in Montrose, we'll be storing our copy somewhere out of sight.  

Gratitude

 

Coldplay concert at the Hollywood Bowl. Photo from stereogum.com

I've been watching Oprah's Lifeclass on OWN and this Monday night's episode was all about gratitude—how even in difficult times, it's good to find things to be grateful for.

Listing our fortunes can help us heal faster, I think.

Although I used to keep a gratitude journal, I've fallen behind on it. And even though things have been rough around here lately, when I stop and think, I'm thankful for so much.

Tuesday, Mr. W and I got to go to the Coldplay concert at the Hollywood Bowl.
I had multiple moments throughout the show where I just felt my heart swell. They did a great job with audience interaction—handing out these cool light-up wristbands that blinked different colors throughout the concert, shooting confetti everywhere, launching beach balls from who knows where. Everything was choreographed like we were all at one big party together. And then there was the music. Gorgeous. Wonderful. Echoing off the Hollywood Hills. I love being around other fans and feeling like you're all there together, just completely in love with the performers on stage.

Last week I dropped a knife on my foot and stabbed myself in the toe.
But I didn't cut the toe off! That's lucky, right? And it was a smaller knife—not a big ole meat cleaver. And at least it was my foot and not one of the cats.

Multiple days over the past two weeks, Mr. W and I haven't gotten out of our pajamas. 
It's pretty nice to have that luxury, especially when you've been feeling blue or have a cold like I have for the last week and a half. Sure, if anyone had stopped by our house they would've thought we were staging some sort of hygienic rebellion, but at least we were happy and comfy.

We planned another trip to our beloved Solvang and Santa Barbara County.
We're heading up Memorial Day weekend and plan to start exploring neighborhoods and property. Life is short. We want to move as soon as we can.

My niece got into Georgetown, but ultimately decided to go to University of San Diego.
As an auntie who has already shed a few tears over the thought of her oldest niece growing up and moving away, I'm beyond delighted that she's staying closer. And very excited that now I have a new reason to take weekend trips down to SD!

Can you find things to be thankful for even when you're feeling down? What are your top gratitude drivers right now?

Holiday Cheer

 Of course the yearly cookie-making tradition with my dad generates buckets of
holiday cheer. We especially enjoyed his misspelled Fedex truck cookie this year.

Despite the fact that I'm job-free as a bird these days, I've not been impervious to the stressors of the holiday season. It's so easy to get caught up in the shopping and planning and frustration of waiting in massive lines, and lose sight of all the good things going on around me. But recently I've seen so many examples of goodness and humanity, I just had to talk about a few... 

Secret Santas paying off layaway tabs. I saw multiple news stories about this and I just fell in love with the idea. Kindness from strangers at a time when people will appreciate it so much. So touching. 

The new game show You Deserve It. In case you don't know the premise, people go on the show to win money for someone else who they believe deserves it. I watched part of an episode where a woman was playing to win money for her mother who had raised not only her special needs sister, but also taken in a special needs foster child. Very cool.

This post by Janice. It's all about taking people on as your "nurture projects." What a wonderful idea, huh? Sending love and kindness to people who really need it. Letting them know someone is thinking of them. Adore this.

The couple who found and returned $23,000. They were on The Today Show this week, telling the story of how they found the money under a mattress in the new home they purchased—and subsequently tracked down the previous owner's son to return it to him. Their karma rating just went through the roof.
  
 
The early Christmas present Mr. W gave me tonight.
The little Vespa looks just like the one Mr. W and I motored around Capri on during our honeymoon. But the one I got is better because he painted "Capri" and "2011" on its sides. The best part is that I almost bought him a yellow scooter magnet as a stocking stuff. Typical that we would have the same idea...


The fact that my oldest niece asked on Thanksgiving that we do less this year and give money to charities instead of buying presents. Oh, how that one always makes me proud. She's going to save the world one day. I decided to adopt orca whales through National Wildlife Federation for my cousin's kids. The money is going to a good cause, and the kids were overjoyed that they're now "whale parents." I did a few more things, but they're top secret until Christmas...

What's warming your heart this season? Have you seen any shining examples of humanity in your state or city or family? Lay it on me!

***After seeing Nilsa's comment, I need to clarify that the Vespa is a Christmas ornament! Not a real scooter!***

I Should've Sewn Capes for All of Them for Christmas

I discovered this picture of Montrose on Flickr. Taken by cjanebuy.

When I walked into the restaurant last night, there were 12 adults and 8 kids crowded around a series of pushed-together tables. My entire immediate family, plus some in-laws, had gathered to dine on pizza then walk through the town I lived in for 8 years before moving to Hollywood with Mr. Wonderful. This little city was partly developed by my maternal great-grandfather, and it's the place where my beloved grandma lived from age 2  into her 90s. To say I adore Montrose isn't enough. It's my village. The place of my people and so many of my memories.

Though we lost a few members after dinner, there was still quite a group of us tromping down the main street to take in the holiday decorations. My brother was pulling my youngest niece and a friend's daughter in a wagon decked out with tinsel and Christmas lights. I joked that we should all start caroling.

But as we crossed the main intersection, my Mom said to my brother, "Oh my gosh you need to go help that lady!" On the other side of the street, an older woman in thin pink sweatpants was on her knees, struggling as two passers-by tried to get her back on her feet.

Immediately, my brother (a fireman), my dad (a longtime wannabe fireman/cop/superhero) and my cousin's husband (an artist who is very tall and strong) dashed across the street. My brother knelt on the ground, easing the lady back so she was resting in his lap. My sister (a nurse) darted over to see if she could help, too. They think the woman may have had a small stroke.

As I stood on my corner, watching the scene unfold, I was overcome by emotion. There was something about seeing my family rushing to the aid of a stranger that nearly brought me to tears. I don't know if I've ever felt more proud of them. They are such good people.

The fire engine and medic truck arrived and my sentimentality quickly passed as my cousin went to work on a rescue of another kind. A woman had approached us and asked what happened and when my cousin turned to respond, she noticed a spider on the lady's collar. "I'm really sorry but you have a giant spider on you!" she said, swatting furiously at the woman's head.

We laughed about it the rest of the way down the block.

It's pretty neat to be part of a family that's not only an asset to me but to the entire community. My grandma would have turned 97 this coming year, and although she's not here with us anymore, I know she'd be so proud to have her brave, strong children and grandchildren standing together, doing such good on her streets of Montrose.

I Am Thankful for Children: A Follow-Up to My Last Post

I suppose I should have said "we" are thankful because Mr. Wonderful is right here with me on this. We love all the kids in our life, so I thought Thanksgiving would be a perfect time to call out a few... Particularly after my last post that was all about how we're choosing not to have kids. We don't need any because we have all these awesome ones around!

• My eldest niece who got an incredible score on her SATs but sometimes chuckles like Napoleon Dynamite and gets very tongue twisted. I can always count on her to laugh at my jokes and make snarky remarks with me in the corner at parties.

• Mr. W's oldest niece who was sweet enough to give up her bedroom for the entire weekend when we went to visit St. Louis recently. I know Mr. W thoroughly enjoyed sleeping under all those Justin Bieber and Taylor Lautner posters, and I'm sure she enjoyed the teasing we did about her throwing parties while we were out.

• My second-oldest niece who is always a jubilant little ray of sunshine. Although I often tell her to shut up when she's walking around singing, I do admire her upbeat attitude. She was the earliest adopter of Mr. W when I brought him into the family and I'll always love her for that.

• My third-oldest niece who Mr. W always says reminds him of me. She's all arms and legs and flailing. Just like I was. But she's smarter. I once told her Mr. W and I were going to a wine class and she said, "What are you going to learn? Ohh YOU DRINK IT - how interesting!" Smartass.

• Mr. W's youngest niece who can fill any empty space in a conversation and will always let me draw and color with her. She did once tell me that I smiled too much, but I won't hold it against her. Especially because she owns a Zac Efron doll.

• My youngest niece who provides us with hours of entertainment at most every family gathering. She recently acquired an invisible boyfriend who she says she met at the gas station. His name is Daniel. I wonder if he's coming to Thanksgiving...

• Mr. W's god-daughter who was the only non-niece in the kids portion of our wedding party. She drew a picture of us before the wedding that I keep in a frame. I don't think we're wearing clothes in it, which is part of why I love it so much.

• My cousin's two little boys who, last time I visited her house, stripped naked to do a dance for me before I left. She recently asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up and the 5-year-old said, "a zookeeper or worker at the La Brea Tar Pits with the woolly mammoth bones." The 3-year-old said, "a race car driver in an orange car." Brilliant.

• Mr. W's cousins' kids who we get to see lots of cute pictures of on Facebook but don't get to see too much in person.

• My friend's little boy who refers to me as "Mawissa."

• The twins I nannied for—when they were 2 months and then again when they were 3 years.

• The kids I babysat for who grew up and now have their own babies who are all absolutely adorable.

• All my friends' and extended family's little ones in this state and others—Utah, Arizona, Colorado and Texas. I don't get to see them often enough, but hearing their funny stories always brings a smile to my face.

• And lastly, the cute little faces I get to see on some of your blogs. I always get a huge kick out of your kids' stories, too.

Mr. Wonderful and I will get to enjoy a night of mayhem with my four nieces tomorrow. We'll be delighted to pay witness to all their antics and probably totally exhausted when we leave them.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Fall Leaves and Freezing Buttholes

 

 The parks were all incredible in Boston. We don't get autumn colors
like that in California.

If you read my blog last week, you already know that I was on an east-coast college tour with my 17-year-old niece, older sister and brother-in-law. As goes with those sorts of trips, much hilarity, extensive snarkiness, and some good-hearted shouting at each other ensued.

My niece and I never tired of teasing my sister on the trip. Often her mouth moves faster than her brain, so she provided us with countless verbal gems to work with—and has really done so throughout most of my life. "Freezing buttholes" is one of her famous quotes. I think she might have meant to say she was freezing her butt off, but it came out the other way. 

We used that phrase quite a bit on the trip, as our wimpy California skin wasn't quite cut out for the wind chill in Massachusetts. "Snow bitch" also got used on the trip. Big sister once called me that when I guessed a Wheel of Fortune puzzle before she could. We have no idea where the "snow" part of that one originated. And then we had our favorite line from last week: My brother-in-law was preparing to turn right onto a street, but there was an older woman crossing in front of him. Instead of saying, "Be careful of that lady" or "there's someone crossing the street," my sister shrieked, "Watch out for mama!" 

We must have quoted that five dozen times during the trip. Anyway...

I hadn't been to D.C. in 13 years and I forgot just how much I love all
the buildings and monuments there. Such a great city!

We started out in D.C. and I was fortunate enough to be able to meet up with GeekHiker who is on a cross-country road trip right now. He is camping outside of the city center and took the metro in to join my niece and I for pizza one night. Of course, he and I had to have a couple drinks after dinner so we could discuss the ins and outs of dating. But that's a post for another time. 

GeekHiker wasn't the only blog friend I met up with, either. In Boston, I got to finally (after 4 years) meet Brookem and her Manfriend for dinner. What a treat that was! Those two are so darn cute and funny together. And they were so nice to us after we complained endlessly about how confusing the streets of Boston were. (Seriously, we drove around Harvard for an hour trying to find the bookstore. My niece and I were literally ready to suffocate ourselves with our rain coats.)

 

Me and Brookem. She's so cute—total fashionista. I had outfit envy when I saw her. 

The conclusion of all the college-touring was that my niece loved Georgetown and Boston College the most. If she gets in and becomes a student at one of them, she'll be the first person in our family to go to school outside of California.

Georgetown was one of the most gorgeous schools I've ever seen. Felt like Oxford.
And of course my niece was smitten because it reminded her of Hogwarts.

Selfishly, I'm hoping my niece ends up at UCLA or Berkeley. The thought of her being so far away gives this snow bitch a chill. Freezing buttholes style.

When Time Off Comes at Just the Right Time

Nearly 7 years ago, I quit a job at a crazy office that smelled like pot smoke lots of mornings and was riddled with (what I believe were) drug-induced or withdrawl-induced psychotic breaks (not by me). Of course, the company sold for 62 million dollars a few months after I left and all the employees got big bonuses. But that's beside the point.

I left my position with not much money saved and no solid freelance gigs lined up. It was a stressful few months as I tried hard to keep myself afloat, but it afforded me something I would never have gotten had I not chosen to quit: Time.

A couple months into my career shift, my grandmother developed a pulmonary embolism. I can't remember how long she was in the hospital, but being job-free, I was able to go visit her almost every day. After surgery, she was moved to a nursing home to recuperate and I will always remember making jokes with her there the last time I saw her. Sadly, she threw a clot just a few days after she had checked into the nursing home and she passed away.

I will forever be grateful that I was out of work and got to see her so many times in those final days.

During that same period of time, my dad had to go in for gallbladder surgery. Again, because I wasn't working, I got to sit with my mom and sister in the waiting room and giggle at his anesthesia-hazed ramblings when he came out of the operating room. I was really thankful I got to be there with my family during that.

This past summer, my sister told me she was planning to take my oldest niece to look at colleges in Washington DC and Boston, tacking the outing onto one of her husband's business trips and asked me if I could go with them. Sorely disappointed, I told her I didn't have enough vacation time.

Then I got laid off.

And guess where I am right now? Yup in the beautificent old eastern side of the country with my niece and sister (actually I'm writing this before we're there, so I'm really just in my living room...but I wanted to give you guys something to read while I was away).

I feel so lucky for the opportunity to spend time with the people who matter during my "time off."

I think that may be one of the biggest keys to getting through job changes—or any changes, really—appreciating every minute of the good stuff. I hope I have lots more memories like this to look back on if I ever end up tethered to a desk again.

A Taste of Parental Pride

My niece and I dorking out with glow-in-the-dark headbands
and our best model faces on 4th of July 2008.

In June of 2012, my oldest niece is graduating from high school. She hasn't decided exactly where she wants to go to college (has it narrowed to a mere 15 universities), so in November, I'm traveling with her and my sister to check out some schools on the east coast.

The thought of her being so far away makes me feel anxious. I'm pretty used to having her around—I was even in the delivery room when she was born.

My sister and her husband didn't find out the sex of the baby, and when we saw she was a girl, we all cheered. I'll never forget watching her tiny arms waving around like a mad woman as the doctor and my sister pulled her out. It was one of the most amazing things I will ever witness in my life. I'm sure of it.

I guess because I was right there when she came into the world, I've sort of always felt like she was mine. I had no problem disciplining her when she was a surly toddler. I never hold back the million questions about what's going on in her life. I chuckle every time she's sarcastic because it reminds me of myself. 

But a couple weeks ago, I had what felt like the closest thing to a parental pride moment I think I've ever experienced with her.

Throughout high school, she has emailed me her English papers to proofread and help refine. Now, I should mention that the girl is a straight-A student, so she doesn't really need my help. But she sends them nonetheless and I enjoy reading them. Given this routine we've developed, it wasn't a surprise when she sent me a draft of one of her college essays to review.

She wrote about an experience she had while volunteering with her church in the Dominican Republic. Her writing was impeccable. Her story, so moving it nearly brought me to tears at my desk.

I have never been so proud of her.

Not just because she is aces when it comes to writing. I'm proud of the person she has become.

That must be the most amazing feeling for a parent to have. To look at your child and think, "Wow, you are really incredible. The world is lucky to have you in it."

I know she is going to go on to do great things. And I can only imagine how exciting it will be to watch her grow and succeed. How lucky I am to have a seat in the spectator box right next to her real mom and dad.

Mr. W's D Cup Dreams Are Finally Coming True

I'll never forget the day I realized I needed to start wearing a bra. I was in 7th grade and we were having scoliosis tests done in P.E. class. While all the other pubescent girls lined up in their white cotton training bras, I stood by in a pink ribbed tank top. I was flat-chested and didn't see a real need to buy any sort of undergear. Until, of course, I saw that I was one of the only girls without it. And thus began my stint with the little triangle-top Calvin Klein training bras (which I could probably still squeeze into).

Nowadays, whenever I complain about being small-chested, Mr. W will try to reassure me with, "I like your little boobs." Kind of like "look at how darling that miniature tea set is" or "that small pothole is the cutest one on the whole street."

Given the adjectives usually associated with my mammaries, I was absolutely overjoyed to add a new one to the mix this weekend.

It all started when my 13-year-old niece told me she wore a 34B. Now, she's only 4' 11" and she's a tiny little peanut. The thought that she would need a bra size bigger than mine just did not seem right. So I introduced her to The Bra Lady:

Go ahead, watch the video, I'll wait...





I first saw this video a couple years ago when Daily Candy sent it out in one of their emails. I remember finding it interesting, but the only thing that stuck was that I shouldn't wear my boulder (or pebble, in my case) holder on the tightest hook.

After the niece and I watched it, of course we were compelled to grab my sewing tape measure to get our official stats. And that's where the magic began.

See, it turns out I have the same measurements as the first girl in the video - 27" ribcage, 31" bust. Which means...drumroll please...I am supposed to be a 30D. D CUP, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, D CUP!

My niece was right—her ribcage is bigger than mine (which is just bizarre) but her ratio is smaller, so she is technically a C cup. I'm sure she's delighted that I just blogged that.

I was SO excited to share this news with Mr. Wonderful when I spoke to him on Skype Saturday morning. Next time he tells me he likes my "little" girls, I'm going to remind him that these sisters are D's and that definitely doesn't stand for dainty!