Blog This Mom!

Paris: Denied!

2012-01-01T02:24:00.000-08:00

When we vacation and mean it, we've typically had our kids keep travel journals. Kristen and Courtney have travel journals from their trip to Paris in 1994. They say that they have enjoyed reading them later, although Kristen said hers reads mostly like a food journal, perhaps foreshadowing her future foodie nature. Laura kept a journal from our 2004 trip to England and France, and before this trip we all enjoyed looking at it (especially the pictures she drew). In that vein, as we were studying Ancient Egypt this year, one of my friends read to us from her travel journal that she kept from a trip to Egypt when she was in high school. A well-done travel journal is great not just for recalling possibly otherwise forgotten details of a trip, but in the case of my friend's Egypt journal, it made for an accessible learning experience about a region Laura was already studying.

Because we asked Laura to keep a journal of this trip, I did too, here. I dusted off this blog to document, savor, and share some of the things that we did during our trip. We fly home tomorrow, so from there I will get around to writing about our visits to Versailles, Disneyland Paris, over and under Notre Dame, dining at Le Train Bleu, discovering and falling in love with Ile Flottante, and such like. Today's post (although it won't be the last about Paris, it will be the final post from Paris) will be about what we didn't do while here. Maybe because we were here during the holiday season, or maybe because it is Paris and the culture here is a little less, shall we say, customer-service oriented, we would arrive at various venues at days and hours promised by websites or tourist books to be open, only to find our visiting pleasures denied.

On many days, we went around the corner from our apartment to what is obviously Diagon Alley (although the street sign claims it is rue des Rosiers, which happens to be a main drag in the Jewish Quarter of Le Marais) to get a crepe just as delicious as and at a price much below those sold by the vendors on larger streets. Often at the times we'd happen by, the rue des Rosiers crêperie was ferme (shut)!

Although most days we found it closed, as you can see, on this happy occasion it was open for purchasing sweet and circular goodness, warm and folded in paper.

On the day that we headed over to the Centre Georges Pompidou, just a short walk from our apartment, to ride the escalators to the top of the odd building, take in some modern art, and maybe do some people watching while sipping a warm beverage in a café, it was ferme! The escalators were running, but the doors were locked and there was nary a soul in sight inside. I failed to take a photo of the funky building with exposed and color-coded pipes from the outside, and the official website is in French with no apparent photos on the homepage, so here's the Wikipedia link, which has a photo of the Centre Georges Pompidou. Outside of the Pompidou, are colorful fountains and street performers, so it is possible to stop and take in some modern culture outside.

We ventured over, by Metro and foot, to La Grande Arche de la Défense, which is located in a modern business district in Paris. The Grande Arche was built in the 1980s to be a modern version of the Arc de Triomphe, but a humanitarian rather than military monument. We had previously hoofed it up all 284 steps to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, from which the other two (larger and smaller) arches could be seen. Laura wished to ride the elevator to the top of the Grande Arche, to see the two smaller ones from there. Guess what? Ferme! Many people were arriving to do just as we had planned, but the ticket office was closed with no explanation as the sign posted with the hours of operation indicated that it should have been open.

So, to amuse ourselves before taking the Metro back, we spent a little time under (over?) the thumb of this modern statue (Le Pouce) in the business district.

Having strolled by Victor Hugo's house (Maison de Victor Hugo) in Places des Vosges, we decided to later go see his (and other important folks such as Voltaire, Marie Curie, Louis Braille) final resting place, not to mention the large Foucault pendulum and whatnot, in the Panthéon in Paris' Latin Quarter, near the Sorbonne.

Guess what? Ferme!

Tom and I dined at Tour d'Argent in 1994, and we still have our postcards with the number of the duck we ate. We thought perhaps that we would take Laura, although she, being a vegetarian, would not eat duck. The restaurant was founded in 1582, overlooks the Seine and Notre Dame, and once boasted Henry IV as a regular. Tour d'Argent raises (and numbers) its own ducks for its signature dish of pressed duck. But dining there this visit was not to be as reservations were booked solid throughout our trip. We were told to check back the day of for cancellations, but we really couldn't be bothered with all of the other great places to eat (including Le Train Bleu, recommended to us by Aunt Snow, more on this place in another post) and the Michelin Guide having reduced the grade from three stars to two in 1996, and in 2006 to one. We thought that on our way to the zoo we might stop in and show Laura the lobby and the little museum shop (from which her grandparents brought us back some kitchen items one year). Guess what? Ferme!

Speaking of the zoo, which I never before knew existed in Paris, guess what we found when we arrived? Ferme? Well, yes, for us it was. But we had only by minutes missed the last entry time. So we went into the Jardin des Plantes, where we expected to find various museums in addition the gardens. Guess what? Ferme!

The gardens were still open and we we able to walk through the labyrinth, which was of great interest to Laura because she likes mazes. As we were leaving the labyrinth, guards began blowing whistles and shouting, as you may have guessed, "Ferme! Ferme!" And we were kicked out along with everyone else.

Most of our days here were capped off with delicious meals, which were then capped off with delicious desserts. But on a few occasions we opted to stay in, rest our feet, and eat simply. It is our intention that our home and our hearts, wherever they may be, always be open.

Bonne Année 2012!

Christmas Day in the City of Light

2011-12-30T01:04:00.000-08:00

Signs of the holiday season were all over Paris in the days before Christmas. Laura was particularly delighted with these "recycled" trees made with Sprite (green), Badoit (red), and Coke (clear) bottles, just behind Hôtel de Ville, which is near our apartment.

We needed our own tree, of course, and we found a tiny one in an odd little discount shop in Le Marais. There were larger (and much more expensive) trees at the Monoprix, which is something like Target. The Monoprix is your one stop shop for groceries (alimentation, in the basement), sundries, household items, and clothing.

We woke up on Christmas morning and found cadeaux under our tree. Voilà! Santa came to Paris!

Our plan was to take a walk, which turned out to be a trek spanning many an arrondissement, and then spend a quiet day at home. We started our journey by hoofing it along rue de Rivoli to the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel just outside of the Louvre.

We strolled about and took some photos in le Jardin des Tuileries, which is located between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde.

Laura managed to capture a photo of a bird in flight over the grass.

After some sky gazing at Tuilieries, we headed over to Place Vendome to check out the holiday decorations and whatnot over there. We also walked into a fancy hotel there and feigned guest-like expressions in order to use the, ahem, facilities located across the lobby and opposite the main doors. Place Vendome is beautiful even by day, and I imagine it would be quite spectacular when lit up at night.

Next we strolled over to Palais Royal to do some window shopping. How on Earth would I have resisted this red Yeti outfit had the shop been open?

We stopped to rest our feet and have some hot chocolate. I love this picture of Laura and a random French woman sitting on either side of the café window. Laura is immersed in her thoughts and game inside, contrasted by the woman immersed in her thoughts and cigarette outside.

We made another brief stop on Pont Neuf to rest our feet and take in the view along the Seine.

Here we paused for a photo in front of the Christmas tree outside of Notre Dame.

We went inside because I felt the need to go to church on Christmas, and where better to do it in Paris than Notre Dame? Also, we had seen the lovely crèche minus the baby Jesus before Christmas. I wanted to see him nestled in his tiny manger bed.

While we were there, we happened upon an organ recital that was just beginning, and we managed to find three seats. We did not stay until the end of the recital because we were all in need of the "toilette," water, and food, although it was tempting to me to gut it out to be able to experience the mass that was to follow the recital.

Thinking that everything in Paris would be closed for the holiday, we laid in a few simple supplies for our Christmas dinner. Much to our surprise, however, when we were out walking we found many cafés and shops open for business. Once home we had a meal of quiche (Lorraine for Tom and me, fromage for Laura), fingerling potatoes roasted in butter and salt, a simple lettuce and tomato salad, and a crusty baguette, of course. For dessert we heated individual chocolate souffles that we had purchased on Christmas Eve from a local patisserie, which we ate with a boule de glace chocolat (scoop of chocolate ice cream) on the side. Christmas in Paris will always hold a special place in our hearts for many reasons, not the least of which is because we topped it off with French chocolate.

Dining with Cats and Dogs in Paris

2011-12-27T03:01:00.000-08:00

The Avenue des Champs-Élysées is nicknamed “La Plus Belle Avenue du Monde” (the most beautiful avenue in the world). It is home to many exclusive stores, although in recent years the likes of H&M have been allowed a place on the block. Also, along with Louis Vuitton, Guerlain, Hugo Boss, and Cartier, you will find a Disney Store, Gap, and Nike.

As we strolled along the avenue, we stopped for an impromptu meal at Café George V, and were offered the table by the cat. Yes, indeed, there was a nook above a corner table, upon which was a cat all nestled in her bed. She lazily lifted her head as though she could barely be bothered to see who would deign to decline dining near her. But for me, an alternate table meant that I didn't have to sneeze my way through grilled steak and frites. Apparently the French take their pets seriously because a few nights later we dined in a very nice restaurant next to a woman who had her little white poodle at the table with her.

For the holiday season, from the end of November through early January, the Champs-Élysées is famous for its lights. On one of our earlier trips (I think in 1994, with Kristen and Courtney), the trees were filled with white lights. This year the lights are in tubes and change color throughout the evening.

Also during the holidays, street merchants are set up in temporary huts or kiosks, selling food, drinks, souvenirs, and all manner of cadeaux (gifts) from kitchen items to clothing. Not just during the holidays, in the center of the Place de la Concorde, stands an Egyptian obelisk that once was at the entrance of the Luxor Temple, with hieroglyphics praising Ramses II. It is stunning at night when lit. Near the obelisk is a Ferris wheel set up for holiday visitors and Parisians alike, the view from which is amazing. The cost to ride it probably accounts for the short queue we encountered.

Apparently the Champs-Élysées is a favored spot for French celebrations and parades, impromptu and planned. I read somewhere that German troops marched down it in 1940 to celebrate France’s fall, and, similarly, American troops marched down it some four years later to celebrate France’s liberation. The Tour de France has ended on the Champs-Élysées every year since 1975. Fewer and fewer residents live on the avenue due to high real estate prices, although the president of France lives there in Palais de l'Élysée. Today it is mostly comprised of luxury retail, dining, and office space.

From various spots along the Champs-Élysées, the Eiffel Tower can be seen, and it is particularly lovely at night. On the hour, the Tower sparkles and twinkles for about five minutes. Here is a thirty second or so video of the Eiffel Tower aglitter taken from the Place de la Concorde:

The Champs-Élysées is over a mile long and stretches from Place de la Concorde at the Louvre, home of the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (the smallest of the three arches), to Place Charles de Gaulle, where the more well-known Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile sits. It is possible to purchase a billet (ticket) and climb to the top of the Arc de Triomphe to take in the view. This means climbing a total of 284 steps, most of which are spiral and in a very narrow well. Holy claustrophobia and aerobic exercise! On the particular day that we did this, the reward at the top was wind, rain, and clouds. But still. I thought it was pretty awesome once I'd been resuscitated.

The smaller Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel and the larger (and modern) La Grande Arche de La Défense can be seen from the top of the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile, by looking one way and then the opposite. In other words, the three arches line up in size across the city. During our 2004 visit, Laura wanted to start at the small one and work her way up, which we did. This trip, having already visited the first two arches in size, Laura wants to go see the Grande Arche and take the elevator to the top. Shout out for elevators! More on this, Christmas Day in Paris, and our trip to Disneyland Paris to come.

Pieds non Joyeux!

2011-12-24T03:16:00.000-08:00

I am back at my post in the kitchen of our Paris apartment, drinking coffee while Tom and Laura sleep. In the past couple of days we’ve covered a lot of ground here in the City of Light. Laura says she loves Paris, but her feet do not.

We have had a nice time visiting the family of one of Laura’s friends from her former school. They are living an adventure in Paris for a year, the children attending schools here as Tom once did when he was a little boy. We met them for ice skating at Hôtel de Ville, followed by a lunch of crepes, grilled steak, frites, and whatnot in a nearby café. Hôtel de Ville is the City Hall of Paris. Across rue de Rivoli from Hôtel de Ville is a large department store called BHV (Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville), part of the Lafayette chain.

The animated window displays at BHV are lively to say the least, modeled after those at Printemps, which we visited yesterday. Printemps is a very grand department store in the Opera-Haussmann District, comprised of eleven levels including the roof terrace (although numbered as nine because the French call the first floor zero and the basement -1). There are three buildings across the street from one another and connected by bridges on the second and third levels (which would be our third and fourth, because we count the first and not the basement; oui?). The expansive city view from the roof terrace is amazing.

We did some shopping at Printemps yesterday amidst the throngs of bustling Parisians who seemed to pause only outside of the doors to puff away on cigarettes. There is no smoking indoors in public places these days, which does not please the French, but I can assure you that we like it a lot. When we were here in 2004 with Laura, Christian Lacroix had designed the Printemps window displays, and Laura was so captivated by them that we got her one of the featured plush animals, which she still has. This year the windows are Chanel themed, and one of them has a dozen or so miniature Karl Lagerfelds dancing about. Dashing though he may be, none of us wanted to take home a mini Karl. Rather than me fiddling with uploading the video that I took, you can see the animated Lagerfeld window by clicking here, if you like.

In addition to shopping and eating, we have taken in more sights. We visited the Louvre, which is so vast in size, rich in lore, and brimming with famous works of art that it requires a post of its own. The day after we visited the Louvre, we headed over to Montparnasse, where Laura’s friend Lauren lives to pick her up so the girls could spend some time together. We strolled by lovely shops such as Louis Vuitton and Dior, and then ducked inside Saint Germain des Prés, which we’re told is the oldest church in the city. We grabbed lunch in a crowded café and then took a boat ride along the Seine. We stopped for crepes and then headed back to our apartment so the girls could rest while Tom and I explored our neighborhood some more. Later we met Lauren’s family for dinner in an Italian restaurant in Le Marais that we remembered from our prior visits for its wonderful service. The owners fussed over Lauren’s littlest sister the way that only an angel-faced child with blonde hair gets fussed over by Europeans who have different boundaries than Americans and don’t take hints. Lauren’s little sister held up pretty well.

Yesterday, we visited the Musée d'Orsay, which happens to be my favorite, especially for the Impressionist paintings and Degas’ ballerinas. There are no photographs allowed inside of the museum, but I snapped a picture of Laura outside on the steps in the same spot I photographed her in 2004.

We have no grand adventures planned for today and tomorrow, Christmas Eve and Day. But it is our simple and unplanned adventures that often turn out to be the most memorable. We obtained a small Christmas tree for our apartment. No doubt Père Noël will visit us here. We gathered from several vendors in Saint-Paul fresh produce, baked goods, pâté, cheeses, and such like for our Christmas meals. We think that we may take it slowly for the next day or two so that Laura’s feet can rest up and then enjoy Paris as much as she has been.

Joyeux Noël!

Then and Now Again

2011-12-20T22:59:00.001-08:00

Champs-Élysées 2004

Champs-Élysées 2011

Then and Now

2011-12-19T23:26:00.000-08:00

Laura in “the Cave” (the cellar) at Pain Vin Fromage in ~~1994~~ 2004 (with her grandparents) and in 2011.

Laura at Sacre Coeur in Montmartre in ~~1994~~ 2004 and in 2011.

Laura at the Arc du Carrousel near the Louvre in ~~1994~~ 2004 and at the Arc de Triomphe on Champs-Élysées in 2011.

Edited: Laura was here in 2004 and 2011! Kristen and Courtney were here with us in 1994. (Cheri needs to get more sleep before captioning pictures.)

There is No Such Thing as a Chocolate Croissant!

2011-12-19T01:06:00.001-08:00

This waking up before everyone else, drinking coffee, eating toasted brioche, and writing could become a habit.

The weather was sunny and clear yesterday, cordially supporting our desire to see Paris from the top of Tour Eiffel. The Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889 to be used as the entrance to the World's Fair that year, is named for its designer Gustave Eiffel, and stands 1,063 feet tall.

In addition to the view the view the view, the Eiffel Tower has shops, dining, and an ice rink in the winter months. Laura’s pictures paint a thousand words about the view. Can you spot L'arc de triomphe? Notre Dame?

Laura also took some photographs from the ground. I especially like her study of contrast through the trees in the morning and afternoon (photos at the top of this post). Also, the photographs that she took of the tower when it was first lit in the early evening hours against a deep blue sky are glorious (just below).

Following a day of taking in the city view, walking, riding the Metro, and shopping (Laura and I knew that Tom needed a black cashmere scarf, and now he has one, voilà!), we dined at Le Dome du Marais, a place I recommended in a 2008 blog post. The restaurant sports a domed ceiling in the main room that changes throughout the evening, casting lovely luminescent shades of color over the room.

The meal was superb. Laura and I shared burrata with tomato and basil, followed by a mushroom risotto. Tom had pâté de foie gras followed by black cod. The dessert menu is picture below. Tom did not get the Homemade Paris "Brest" (whatever that is), but he did point it out to us with his Beavis and Butthead laugh.

I have been asked if the French people are standoffish. The only difficult encounter we have had so far was in the Metro station with a machine that dispenses billets (tickets). It totally turned up its mechanical nose at each and every one of our credit cards. And just a word of advice: If you want to order a chocolate croissant, don’t say that. Order pain au chocolat (chocolate bread). Otherwise you get a plain croissant and then a cross look when you want to change the order.

Au revoir for now. Car horns down on the street have announced for the umpteenth time this morning that it is time to start the day here.

Arrivée

2011-12-18T01:33:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in the kitchen of our pied-à-terre in the historic Marais area, sipping coffee. Although in Paris, I could not find French Roast coffee at the market, but the coffee I bought is strong and good. I read Menu fairly fluently; however, the labels in the market were a bit daunting. While browsing in dairy, I met a sweet American man who just moved here two weeks ago. Together the two of us figured out which milk to buy. I must have guessed okay because the milk in the coffee tastes better than just right. Another score was the loaf of Brioche, which was scrumptious toasted and spread with fresh butter.

Our apartment is warmed by old radiators, barely, but they will suffice. The wood floor squeaks with charm, the tile on the kitchen floor is utilitarian and chipped here and there, and the paint is cracking a bit around the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a tiny street barely the width for one small car. The deep bathtub has one of those traditional European hand-held shower nozzles, which makes possible taking a bath, washing/conditioning your hair, and rinsing off without ever having to stand. Outside the bells from a nearby church peal, and each time that they do it is spiritually uplifting.

When we arrived in Paris yesterday, the sun was shining as though it thought it was from Southern California. After we had unpacked and bundled ourselves up for the cold weather, we had lunch in a bistro, served by chic young French women wearing black from head to toe. Laura had a tartine with mozzarella, tomato and basil, which was so yummy tears came to the corners of my eyes. Tom settled on a quiche that was made as though the recipe was not of this world. I had a bowl of pumpkin soup so good we all kept dipping bits of baguette into it. Tom and I finished our meals with espresso while Laura practically dozed off at the table.

Following lunch, we walked the short distance to Notre Dame and stood in a relatively long and fast-moving line to get in. The sun glowed through the stained glass, candles were glowing on the many altars, and so too did my heart. I took a few pictures of the crèche, which was lovely and minus the Baby Jesus, whom I assume will be added on Christmas morning. I want to go back and see if this is so. I bought a “take-away” candle at one of the altars, and plan to light it when I get back home to California for my mother who is not well.

Outside of Notre Dame, in the same spot we got chocolate crepes for Kristen and Courtney in December '94, is a crepe vendor. Laura and I enjoyed chocolate crepes, and Tom had sugar-cinnamon. We stopped at an enchanting tourist trap to pick up five berets for Laura’s Girl Scout troop. They will be representing France for Girl Scout Thinking Day in February, so the timing of our trip affords the opportunity to pick up a few items for their outfits and hostess table.

With crepes in our bellies, we strolled along the Seine. Soon enough a few drops of rain began to greet us. Our waterproof jackets and shoes, purchased before the trip from REI, were just the thing to keep us warm and dry as we made our way back to Le Marais. We stopped at a tiny market for a few kitchen necessities, and Brie was one of the necessities, obviously. Back at our apartment, Tom and I weren’t hungry for dinner, but Laura had some baguette, Brie, a clementine, and sparkling water.

Soon it will be time to wake up Laura, bundle up, and head out for Tour Eiffel as our main destination today. Doubtless there will be countless stops for shopping, eating, and/or other landmarks, churches, and museums. Yesterday, the man who drove us from the airport to our apartment told us that the days preceding our arrival were cold and rainy. He thanked us for bringing our San Diego weather to Paris. Today the sun is shining again, and we can’t wait to go out and enjoy it in our warm jackets, hats, gloves, scarves, wool socks, and boots.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-13T11:43:00.000-08:00

May every day of the new year
be the most wonderful time
for you and your family.

True Spider Story

2011-10-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

The giant, hairy spider went up the wall tonight.
I climbed up a ladder to kill it with my might.
Down came the spider, aiming at my face.
I fell off the ladder; to the floor we two did race.

It's All About Chrisy Ross!

2011-09-30T08:32:00.001-07:00

I have a few questions for us to ponder as follows:

Do you dream about writing a book someday?

How many bloggers do you know who would like to have a book published?

Do you have a great idea (or two) for a book?

Have you ever started writing a book?

And, the last question is:

Do you know Chrisy Ross from CSquaredPlus3 (now at ChrisyRoss.com)?

Chrisy walks among us, people! If you haven't met her in the Blogosphere yet, she is an awesome woman, friend, writer, blogger, wife, mother, etc., and . . .

CHRISY ROSS WROTE A BOOK
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON
OCTOBER 1st!

I am just a wee little bit excited about this. Can you tell?

I pre-ordered Chrisy's book on Amazon and it was one of the more exciting things I've done in a while. I'm not making this up. And ordering Chrisy's book on Amazon is not exciting because my life is that dull. What? It is not. Moreover, it isn't that Chrisy didn't offer to send me a book, because she did. I know her. I do! I WANTED to order it on Amazon because typing "Chrisy Ross" into the Amazon search prompt and seeing a book pop up was a little bit like seeing someone I know have her name up in lights. I think that having a book available on Amazon is Holy Grail-ish for a writer. I do. I think this. Don't you?

Chrisy has no idea that I'm writing this post. She is very humble, loving, and giving, so she'll probably see this and say, "Oh, thank you, but really, anybody could write a book. There are so many talented writers out there." She says stuff like that. But here's the thing, the truth of it, I think. There are many talented writers out there, but not all of them put their behinds in a chair and get a book written, and then go through what I imagine to be quite a process to get it from laptop to Amazon.com, right? Chrisy did it.

There is one more thing that I want to say about Chrisy's book for now (I plan to do an unsolicited and proper book review later), which is that it is a light-hearted work with substance written by a humble and gracious woman from a place of love and truth. Does Chrisy sound like a bit of a saint? If so, it is because she does have many saintly qualities and those are peppered with a fabulous sense of humor and the vulnerability that makes her very real and a good woman friend. As with all topics written about that mean anything at all in the world, I am sure there will be some who may take a portion or portions of it out of context and feel troubled. It's what we human beings do. Our egos, our pride, and our feelings can get prickled by one sentence in a sea of content and off we go. The very best thing about Chrisy is that she says things that matter, and she says them well. Unless it's an audio or Braille book, reading requires open eyes. It is my wish that Chrisy's book is also read with open hearts. I know Chrisy wrote it with her heart open.

If I know Chrisy, and I do (if I haven't mentioned that before), this is going to be a great read. I can't wait until my actual Amazon-ordered copy lands in my mailbox. I've already got that darned Carpenter's song in my head, "Please Mr. Postman, look and see . . . "

to Mormons, with LOVE

Are You There Buddha? It’s Me, Cheri

2011-09-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

I have been reading koans to Laura from various books such as A Pebble for Your Pocket by Thich Nhat Hahn, hoping to prompt deeper thinking and perhaps open meaningful discussions.

Last week:

Me (reading aloud from the end of a parable): "Anywhere you see love and understanding, there is the Buddha. Anyone can be a Buddha. A Buddha is a person who is aware of what is going on inside and around him or her and has a lot of understanding and compassion."

Laura: "Mom, look! When I scratch a certain place on my butt, my leg moves up and down! Hehehehehe!"

This morning:

Me (reading aloud from the end of another parable): "The Buddha is inside of you. If you look deeply, your Buddha will be revealed. In fact, all the wonderful things you are looking for -- happiness, peace, and joy -- can be found inside of you. You do not need to look anywhere else."

Laura: "My Buddha wants to know if I can bake cookies today."

I'm starting to understand why Buddha is always smiling. Also, I can't help but wonder if he's laughing at me.

This Could Only Happen To Me. True Story.

2011-08-23T17:51:00.000-07:00

I struggle with my weight. There is a thin person inside of me and she is out from time to time. But sometimes she hides. There are all sorts of complicated issues wrapped up in the three preceding sentences. It’s really that simple.

So there’s that.

Also, I dated someone on and off for a few years while I was between husbands. The on part was understandable, I suppose, because after ending a really unfortunate marriage (to say the least) that produced two of the best now-grown-up women I know in the world (to say the least), I ~~was desperate~~ had no desire to date anyone for much more than a little adult companionship. The off part was understandable because we were mismatched in every way. The best part of the mismatching was that this guy totally knew how to have fun and I didn’t. At all. And I learned to have fun, which is awesome. The worst part of the mismatching was that all that this guy knew how to do at that time was have fun, and I had two young daughters and a life to get in order. My life and I may or may not have been a bit of a train wreck at the time. So as I got my life in order, he had to go. So he did, but first he cheated on me with another woman who eventually became my best friend in law school although I didn't find out about that until I was in law school. I'm not making this up.

So there’s also that.

When I was dating this guy I was very thin, probably owing to being freshly divorcing and fraught with worry about my kids and happier than I’d ever been in my life because F.R.E.E.D.O.M. from oppression is awesome. Etc. Then this guy and I broke up for good. I went to law school. I met my then-best friend and found out she dated my ex-boyfriend while I was dating him. And I met Tom. (Tom who was and is totally hot, as pictured above in my blog masthead. Just saying.) Tom became my other best friend. I lived happily ever after. And I struggle with weight from time to time.

So there’s that, too.

Fourteen years ago, during a time that I had put on some weight and happened to be buying an ice cream cone at the Thrifty Drug Store in Beverly Hills, I turned around and there was the ex-boyfriend. It was bad enough to run into an ex-boyfriend when not looking at all hot, but did I have to be eating a double-scoop chocolate ice cream cone?

I lost weight after that and looked hot. I did not once run into him or any other ex-boyfriends while I was looking hot.

Now I have put on some weight again over recent ~~months~~ years.

Today, while on vacation at the family camp we have been going to every year for the past sixteen years that never before was attended by any ex-boyfriends at all, I was standing at the food counter ordering an Oreo milkshake, when I turned around and there he was. SERIOUSLY? I managed to slip away unseen, but am sure to run into him soon since this family camp is only so big.

If anyone needs me, I’m under the bed in my cabin until Saturday -- or until I learn whatever lesson the Universe wants me to learn at ice cream counters that are frequented by ex-boyfriends. Also, if anyone has any insights about the mysterious lesson that has eluded me for ~~fourteen~~ fifty years, I took my laptop under the bed with me and the Wi-Fi signal is strong down here.

So that’s that.

The Ids Have It

2011-08-15T17:59:00.000-07:00

During our morning walk today, Laura told me that a former classmate of hers told her an inappropriate joke.

Me: "What did she tell you?"

Laura: "I've done my best to forget it."

Me: "You don't remember anything?"

Laura: "It was so gross that the gates of my superego opened and I sent it to my id so that my ego wouldn't have to deal with it."

Me: "Okay then, I guess we must leave it at that."

Laura: "Unless it comes up in my dreams. So far, it hasn't."

Blog This Mom: The Swimsuit Edition

2011-06-18T14:06:00.000-07:00

I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that Spanx makes swimwear.

This is how the model looks in Spanx swimwear:

The bad news is that Spanx makes swimwear.

This is how I look in Spanx swimwear:

This is how the model feels when she's putting on her Spanx swimwear:

This is how I feel when I'm putting on my Spanx swimwear:

And that's all I have to say about that.

Armed and Dangerous: True Story

2011-05-19T00:16:00.001-07:00

We were down to three rolls of toilet paper in our house, none of them were full rolls, and we have four bathrooms. This is so unlike me. We’ve had some stressful times around here lately, and consequently my trips to Target to stock up on supplies have been so few and far between that someone built an entire Starbucks right inside the store, with baristas and everything, since the last time I was there. I am not making this up. But I digress. Kind of.

I arrived home from Target with two 60-roll packages of toilet paper because as God is my witness I will never be without toilet paper again. Everyone was at work or school, and I was all excited to be home alone for a while. I entered the house through the garage door and unloaded the car. I went upstairs first and put away toilet paper, tissues, laundry supplies, and such like. Next I went into the downstairs bathroom to put some toilet paper in there, and then decided to go ahead and, uh, well, you know, use the facilities.

Just as I was about to walk out of the bathroom, I heard a man’s voice shout out, “HELLOOOOO?” from inside of the house. It wasn’t a voice I recognized, and the hello was in question form as if to ask if anyone was in the house.

My heart started racing while I quickly and quietly formed my plan of action. My thoughts and plan of action went like this: If I hid in the bathroom and was discovered, I’d be trapped. There were two ways out of the hallway outside of the bathroom. I’d jump out as though I was fearless and fearsome and fierce, and look both ways. I’d see the man and then run out of the hallway the opposite way and get out of the house. Just as I was about to make my move, I thought, “What if the man caught up to me, or was already right outside of the door?” I would need a weapon. I thought fast and grabbed the pointiest tweezers in the drawer.

I held the tweezers the way Mrs. White held the knife in Carrie so I’d be able to stab with the most force should it come to that. (I really thought that part out because I really am that badazz.) I opened the door and looked around quickly. I saw nothing. I had planned to see someone lurking, dang it, so I didn’t know which way to go. Thinking fast, I went the way with the most available exits.

No sign of him. Was he hiding?

Then I felt a cold breeze.

At that point I began to panic slightly. (WHAT? Brandishing pointy tweezers was not because of panicking – that was planning.) I got a tad panicky because I had to briefly consider the possibility that I had imagined the man’s voice. This is how I briefly considered the possibility that I had imagined the man’s voice: “OH MY GOD THE PTSD IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I'D THOUGHT!!! OH MY GOD I’M ACTUALLY INSANE AND HEARING VOICES!!!” But then I got a hold of myself because if I was actually that insane, my husband would not have been able to keep that to himself and surely would have told me so during an argument. WHAT?

I felt a cold breeze again.

I followed the cold breeze to the front door. It was wide open. I had entered the house through the garage. WHO LEFT THE FRONT DOOR WIDE OPEN? Just as I was deciding whether to flee out the front door or run back in and rescue my iPhone boyfriend and iPad goddess from the clutches of a probable serial killer, I saw the UPS truck pull away from the curb. And then I noticed that just inside the front door was a package from Amazon. Oh, good, the book my daughter wanted had arrived. Putting two and two together I realized that the UPS guy put the book inside of the house and yelled, “HELLOOOOO?” because the front door was wide open.

But how had that happened? Well, it was a VERY windy day and the door will blow open if it is left unlocked. I called my husband at work, and after a very brief interrogation period, he admitted to having been outside before he left for work and must have forgotten to lock the door. Obviously my husband learned nothing from watching all six seasons of The Sopranos. He would be sleeping with the fishes right now if he weren’t so darn cute.

This post is a true story. The names weren’t even changed because nobody mentioned is innocent anyway. Please tell me you have a similar story about a time that the UPS guy left you a book, so I’ll know that these things don’t only happen to me.

It Takes a Child to Raise a Village

2011-05-11T22:36:00.000-07:00

The first Freedom Riders boarded buses headed for segregated southern states in 1961. These civil rights activists were trained in nonviolent protest and still knowingly risked their lives to violence. They took action to bring an end to the injustice of the Jim Crow laws still in effect in the south at that time.

My eleven-year-old daughter Laura and I talked about a then-twelve-year-old girl named Janie Forsyth who helped save, one at a time, some of the Freedom Riders from a burning bus, while adults perpetrated or stood by watching the violence. The young girl endured serious repercussions (from the Ku Klux Klan and others) within her southern community, all because she was the one who did the right thing. We talked about how sometimes doing a good thing might cause you more trouble at the time than you bargained for, but doing good is always right. Laura and I agreed that sometimes children know how to be heroes better than adults.

We also talked about the story of a former KKK member and the African American man he beat until bloody as he disembarked from a bus during the Freedom Rides. When the police asked the African American man if he wanted to press charges, he said, “No. We’re not here to cause trouble. We’re here for people to love each other.” Almost half a century later (in 2009), the former Klan member who had beaten another man because of the color of his skin, tracked his victim down so that he could apologize. He didn’t find a victim though. The African American Freedom Rider had since become a member of Congress. The old white man said that throughout the years he reflected back upon those words of love time and time again; they never left him. Congressman John Lewis held the hand of the man who had beaten him while they told their story on Oprah.

Congressman Lewis suffered a serious wrong and nearly fifty years without an apology, one he might never have gotten and the only one he got after the many injustices that were done to him throughout his lifetime as a civil rights activist. Yet even left bloody and beaten, in that moment he offered back only love—and that love grew to change a heart that most would have written off as impossibly lost. Not only did Congressman Lewis offer love at the time, he did not allow anger or hatred to fester in his heart in the following years. He continued on giving his life to the service of our country.

Congressman John Lewis taught Laura and me about what it means to be an unsung hero, and that being a true hero has two parts. There is the heroic act itself and then acting with grace and love in the aftermath, even or especially when the aftermath isn't a parade.

Dear Laura,

You spoke up and stood up for someone else when nobody else did. You protected another person who needed it and you shined a light every place where there had been darkness. You did it for reasons and in a manner that your family and those closest to what happened know for sure that your courage and actions touched lives in a positive way.

And then you experienced more trouble than ever should have come your way because of it. At times you felt scrutinized, questioned, and criticized—because you were by some people. You wanted to feel that others were standing by you—but what you got was someone standing on you.

All the while your family and a number of others (you know who they are) were with you, believing in you and applauding you. But even people who believe in God don’t always feel his presence when they need it most. I hope that you have faith that even when you aren’t seeing it or feeling it, love is right there with you, next to you, and inside of you at all times.

I know that you will continue to face and rise up to meet challenges, and in the aftermath act with grace and love. I know that you will figure out how to do that, even when it seems like it would be the hardest thing to pull off. I am proud of you. I love you.

Laura, you are a hero and today I sing for you.

Love, Mom

(Photo credit: Congressman Lewis and Elwin Wilson from Oprah.com.)

To Be Filed Under "You Can't Always Get What You Want . . .

2011-05-06T10:27:00.000-07:00

. . . but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need."

I wanted a pair of these for Mother's Day.

My daughters knew that these are the TOMS that I needed. Obv.

I love you! (Yes, I mean you and you and you.)

Happy Mother's Day to you and you and you and you and you and you, etc. (Yes, I mean you, and, no, you aren't the etc.)

Mad Woman

2011-04-19T23:25:00.001-07:00

Blog This Mom is on Mad Men!

WHAT? It could happen.

At The Monster Ball

2011-04-05T07:40:00.001-07:00

Laura (laughing): Mom?

Me: Yeah.

Laura: Can I ask you for a favor?

Me: Yeah.

Laura (still laughing): Don't cartoon me any more.

Me: Why?

Laura (laughing harder): It's not you. It's me.

Me: What?

Laura: My head looks weird.

Me: Oh. Well, it's a cartoon. That's on me, not you.

Laura: Don't worry about it. Even the cartoon guy at the fair made my head look weird.

Me (laughing): Um. Hello. Cartoon?

Laura: You can still put it on your blog or on Facebook, if you want.

Me: Thank you.

The Bunny Down Under*

2011-03-24T08:53:00.000-07:00

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”

“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny,
“I will be a Queensland Lungfish, and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a Queensland Lungfish,” said his mother,
“I will be a fisherman, and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny,
“I will be coral in the Great Barrier Reef, nestled in the Coral Sea.”

“If you become coral in the Great Barrier Reef, nestled in the Coral Sea,”
said his mother, “I will be a scuba diver, and I will swim to where you are.”

“If you become a scuba diver,” said the little bunny,
“I will be a Eucalyptus tree by a hidden creek."

“If you become a Eucalyptus tree by a hidden creek,”
said his mother, “I will be a Koala, and I will rest in your branches.”

“If you become a Koala and rest in my branches,”
said the little bunny, “I will be a Magpie, and I will fly away from you.”

“If you become a Magpie and fly away from me,”
said his mother, “I will be the Blue Mountains to give you a place to land.”

“If you become the Blue Mountains,” said the little bunny,
“I will be a catamaran, and I will sail away from you.”

“If you become a catamaran and sail away from me,” said his mother,
“I will be the wind, and I will blow you where I want you to go.”

“If you become the wind,” said the little bunny,
“I will be a Wallaby and hop away from you.”

“If you become a Wallaby and hop away,” said his mother,
“I will be grass, and I will feed you.”

“If you become grass and feed me,”
said the bunny, “I will be a man and build myself a house.”

"When you become a man and build a house," said the mother bunny,
"I will be your mother, and I will always hug you in my arms."

“Shucks,” said the bunny, “I might just as well
stay where I am and be your little bunny.”

"Shucks," said the mother, "You might just as well know
that wherever you may go throughout your life, I will always be with you."

"I knew that already," said the bunny.
“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.

______________
*For my precious Kate, with gratitude and inspiration from the incredible Margaret Wise Brown

It's Probably No Surprise That I Have an Adam Lambert Ringtone . . .

2011-03-15T16:33:00.000-07:00

. . . on my iPhone, which is obviously a necessary and highly enjoyable pairing with my Adam Lambert iPhone wallpaper.

Anywho.

Laura and I were upstairs and I thought I heard my iPhone ringing downstairs.

Me: "My phone is downstairs and I hear it ringing."

Laura: "That isn't your phone."

Me: "I think it is."

Laura: "It's not Adam Lambert . . . unless his latest song is ice cream truck music."

Brown Butter Sea Salt Cookies Are the New Crack

2011-02-15T10:43:00.000-08:00

These are the most delicious cookies on the planet, probably even the galaxy, probably even in every galaxy. My in-laws sent us a dozen of them for Christmas. It probably would have gotten ugly around here if the three of us had to split the booty evenly, but I opened them first and ate a half-dozen before I knew what hit me. WHAT?

My in-laws sent us two dozen for Valentine's Day.

Tom and Laura are sick.

Advantage Cheri. (Again.)

NOTE: This is not a paid product endorsement or advertisement. I wrote this post and included a hyperlink to the Brown Butter Cookie website because Holy Mother of Everyone Who Is Now or Has Ever Been Holy these cookies are the best cookies E.V.E.R. And, yes, my dear MIL, this means that I'm still giving away my writing for free. I love you, too.

Four Years of Therapy, Three Facebook Status Updates, Two Blog Posts, and Forty Holes Later

2011-01-22T08:05:00.000-08:00

This is the reason that this happened.

Part-Time Position Available

2011-01-13T14:16:00.000-08:00

Help Wanted: Part-time. Applicant must enjoy word problems and be able to provide moral and technical support for a sleep-deprived mother with her ~~child’s~~ 5th Grade science project presentation board layout. The ability to bake delicious red velvet cupcakes considered a plus.

My daughter finished her science report and presentation board last night except for some holes that needed to be punched around the edges with a sharp object. Don’t ask why. If I tell you, you’ll have more facts with which to come up with a diagnosis that has been eluding my shrink for years. Or maybe my shrink actually has a diagnosis, but for some reason won’t tell me. (No, I’m not paranoid.) (WHAT?) Seriously, he knows exactly what’s wrong with me. He’s awesome. I just forget a lot of what he tells me. But I digress. (Yes, my tendency to forget and digress is part of the diagnosis. I already knew that part. Thank you.)

Back to the holes. I told Laura that I would punch the holes for her. Stupidly. Because those holes? NEEDED TO BE EVENLY PLACED AROUND THE EDGES. And I? Apparently don't know how to do things that are evenly even around the edges. And my husband with his undergraduate degree in Engineering was blah blah blah in a meeting. And Laura with her math brain the totality of which obviously came from her father's half of the DNA was blah blah blah at school. I didn’t want to wait. (WHAT?) (Add compulsive to the above-not-mentioned diagnosis, if you really must.)

I started off eyeballing the poster and putting 40 little Post-its where the holes were supposed to be punched. WHAT? In my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I would have started off by punching holes first.

So, I think we can agree that I have grown as a person.

Then after moving each Post-it 500 times, I started trying to measure and do Algebra and maybe Geometry and calling a banker friend (because bankers are supposed to be good at math, right?) and updating my Facebook status. And even with graph paper and a ruler and an actual pencil and starting in the middle and working my way around the sides and several Facebook status updates and comments later, I could not figure out how to put 40 holes around a 48” x 36” board in an evenly even manner. I kept trying though. It became a gosh-darned quest. (See compulsive above.)

So, I think we can agree that I have not grown as a person.

Then my friend Trish emailed me four words, in lowercase letters, which caused me to conclude that if she wasn’t taking it seriously enough to bother with the shift key, why should I? Trish’s email said: "eyeball it. screw measuring."

I went back to eyeballing and then proceeded to hole punching with a renewed spirit.

So, I think we can agree that I've grown as a person.

And while I was typing “40 holes around a 48” x 36” board” up there just above right here, this popped into my head without an invitation:

"Divide the number of holes by the total number of inches! Duh."

Yes, "duh" really did pop into my head, too. So, then . . .

40 holes divided by 168 inches means 4.2 inches between each hole.

I think. But I don't even care if that's wrong because I already punched the dang holes AND I didn't measure in between a single one of them. I'm not sure if that means that I have grown as a person or that I'm shrinking AND/OR that I'm really bad at math or really good at math, but as long as I don't care, then . . . I don't care.

Also, moving 40 Post-its 500 times equals 20,000 Post-it moves. I did that word problem in my head. Booyah.

Finally, I'm still looking for someone to make me some delicious red velvet cupcakes on a part-time basis. Interested applicants should submit a baking sample. STAT.

Einstein Has Left the Building

2011-01-10T10:54:00.000-08:00

This morning:

Me: "Laura, hurry up!"

Laura: "I'm coming!"

Me: "You're going to be late for school."

Laura: "I don't care if I'm late."

Me: "Laura, it's my job to make sure you care if you're late."

Laura: "Mom, Einstein was always late for meetings."

Me: "He was? I didn't know that. How do you know that?"

Laura: "I don't. I just made that up."

(Photo Credit: Einstein photo was totally, flagrantly, possibly infringing on someone's legal rights, and without any sense of artistic integrity on my part, jacked from Google Images.)

It's a Good Thing Blognut Won't Read This*

2011-01-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

We have really nice next-door neighbors and I am so sad that they put their house up for sale this week. And being interested in the asking price because as a homeowner it is always nice to be abreast of market trends and whatnot, and not at all because I am nosy, I went to the real estate agent's website to take a look. There I found a YouTube tour of the inside of the house, and can I just tell you that I'm ready to strike a match over on this side of the fence and move right in over on that side of the fence? It's beyond lovely. Every room looks like a page from a Pottery Barn catalog. Tasteful, aesthetically pleasing, and spotless.

So I ran into my neighbor out in front today. We chatted about the holidays, where they are moving, why they are moving, etc. And our conversation concluded as follows:

Me: "Your house is so lovely, who staged it for you?"

Neighbor: "Um. Nobody. That's our stuff."

Me: [Suddenly mute for the first time in my life. Well, except for the time that Adam Lambert put his hand on my shoulder.]

Neighbor: "Really, we live that way."

Me: "Uh, ahem, yes, of course. Well, yes, um, really, your home is so lovely. It will obviously show well and sell quickly."

I was wondering if I gave myself away. Surely he would be able to tell by my stupid "Who staged it for you?" question that we don't live that way. Quickly I talked myself into a comfy state of denial that I was sure I could make stick. No, this neighbor has no clue about my cluttered closets, cabinets, drawers, and, shut up, I'm not even going to mention what's under the daybed in my office. Because the outside of my house looks okay. It's not at all cluttered with unwanted and unnecessary things.

Just then he looked up and reached over my right shoulder into a tree at the side of my front walkway. I watched him pluck a large black spider and a strong black web off of one of the limbs. I was about to jump sky high when I realized it was a forgotten Halloween decoration still hanging in the tree.

*In case you didn't know, Blognuts hate spiders.

Some of Us Are Destined for Greatness. Some of Us Not So Much.

2011-01-03T11:48:00.000-08:00

Monk Seal photo by Cheri
Poipu Beach, Kauai, December 29, 2010

Laura and I came across this monk seal sunning itself on Poipu Beach. The monk seal is an endangered species. It was pretty awesome to see one up close. So I decided to catch it on video just as it started moving around. It sort of sat up, shifted position, moved its little flipper-y arms around, and then it started to urinate. There was a lady in the background screaming, "IT'S PEEING! OH! LOOK! IT'S PEEEEEEEING!" She was making the whole thing a sort of double rainbow moment. I began to visualize getting rich from the about-to-go-viral video that I would later post on YouTube. And that's when I realized I'd turned the camera off, not on.

Laura, riding a horse into a volcano
Haleakala, Maui, December 21, 2010

There is more capability in each of us than the human mind typically comprehends. Think of yogis who are able to sleep on a bed of nails or walk over hot coals. To get there, even part way there, we first must believe that something is possible. And then we have to take action. Developing a practice can be a way to start. Or turning on the camera. Either way.

Rainbow photo by Adam (@clunkclunk)
Santa Cruz, January 2, 2010

Hau'oli Makahiki Hou

2011-01-01T08:10:00.001-08:00

Happy Haikulidays

2010-12-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

the best gifts of all
are not found under the tree
they look upon it

3-Day and TSA

2010-11-22T17:28:00.001-08:00

I had the honor of giving Jason and his ~~teammates~~ harem a ride from the finish line of the Susan G. Komen 3-Day at Petco Park in San Diego to where their cars were parked at Del Mar Fairgrounds.

On the morning of the last day of the 3-Day, I offered to meet Jason and team at their campsite in Mission Bay to pick up their gear ahead of time so they wouldn’t have to deal with it later. I was listening to NPR on the way. The program on the air was a panel discussion about the new TSA body-scanning and pat-down procedures. Callers and panelists were discussing their experiences and sharing their views. The topics included terrorism, personal freedom versus public protection, government intrusion into individual rights, and the particularly sensitive issues that scanning and pat downs raise for survivors of sexual abuse. In all, much of the discussion revolved around the darker side of some of our human shortcomings, and I was feeling a little sad as I thought about these things.

And then I pulled into Mission Bay and saw a sea of pink tents, men and women dressed in pink, people who had just walked forty miles in the rain hugging each other, and signs with the names of those who had either survived or had valiantly fought and lost their battles with breast cancer. The collective spirit and love washed over and around me in such a palpable way that I began to cry. I looked ahead and saw Jason and his team waving and smiling from ear-to-ear as my car approached them. I got out and they were all hugging and thanking me for picking up their gear, and I was all, "Dudes. I drove here in a warm, dry car. You guys just walked forty miles in the rain and are about to do twenty more. Thank YOU!" I asked how they were holding up and not one of them complained; in fact, they cheerily responded, "GREAT!" There is so much love in this world. So. Much. Love. You can see it and feel it, especially when so much of it is gathered in one place. And sometimes it’s wearing pink.

Later that day, I watched Jason, his teammates, and 4,000 others walk into Petco Park. After a sixty-mile, three-day journey, every last one of those people was smiling as they walked by. Some of them had plastic bags stuffed into their shoes because of the rain, but those people were smiling too. Some of them were dancing. Others were jumping up and down. Some were doing a conga line into the park. I was crying. During the closing ceremony it was announced that the 4,000 participants of the San Diego 3-Day raised over ten million dollars. I heard that and was awash with hope and joy. When some of us fall, many more will do the work to lift each other up. I also came away with a new rule that I think is best shared: Whenever the opportunity arises for us to be in the presence of a collective consciousness of such power and goodness, we should put ourselves in the midst of it. It cannot help but remind us that we are blessed people.

I'm going to get on an airplane over Thanksgiving weekend. Having a law degree, I am aware of my legal rights as they pertain to a full body scan and pat down search. As a survivor of sexual abuse, I am sensitive to how a full body scan and pat down will feel to me, how just thinking about it feels to me. As I approach the airport security checkpoint, I will be mindful and protective with regard to boundaries for my daughter and me, and I have talked about all of it with her. I don’t have to get on an airplane. Nobody is making me go through the checkpoint. (I am also aware that others who travel for work or other reasons may have no choice, and the increased measures may mean something different to them. I respect that fully.)

As for me, I am traveling by air willingly, and in so doing I will treat the TSA agents with the respect and dignity that I want from them. I appreciate that we live in a place where we can talk about these issues and work together to make things better. I think right now the vast majority of us are simply trying to figure out how to balance air travel safety with our treasured personal freedom. Although I am aware that there is always potential for abuse in any system, I will be mindful of and watch for this potential. I can be patient with the process and keep my eye on the prize, which is a travel experience that is as safe on the ground as I can make it and as safe in the air as TSA can make it. This holiday weekend I will be grateful that I had the choice to travel by air to be with family. It is Thanksgiving after all.

The Truth About Marriage: A Halloween Tale

2010-10-31T09:02:00.000-07:00

Before

June 26, 2010

After

October 31, 2010

(Pictured: My son-in-law, Adam, and my oldest daughter, Kristen. I hope you enjoy a peek at the love and the fun that these two share.)

Fifty Things I Spent Fifty Years Figuring Out

2010-10-04T00:32:00.000-07:00

1. The absolute most important thing we can do in this world is love and care for children – yours, mine, and ours.

2. Forgiveness means that I have moved on, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m going to take you with me.

3. In every situation, there is always something for which to be grateful.

4. Love never ends, but sometimes it changes venues.

5. Intention is a matter of the heart but the effect of any action is felt in the soul regardless.

6. Lucy Ricardo knew how to make taking oneself seriously very funny.

7. You usually can’t plant new seeds without stirring up the soil.

8. A soft answer may turn away wrath, but I will get all up in your face if I see you pick on someone who is not your own size.

9. Sobriety allows me to see more clearly and love more dearly.

10. Making a judgment call requires courage. Being judgmental is cowardly.

11. Sometimes a swear word tastes as sweet as a cupcake, but too much of one will become a burden on the lips and too much of the other a burden on the hips. But still, I like swearing and cupcakes, which makes me a work in progress.

12. Happiness isn't something you have to go looking for, it's always right where you put it.

13. We don’t escape this life without hurting others from time to time; it’s what we do about it that matters.

14. If I’m uncertain, I can wait.

15. If there weren’t rough patches on the mountain, we’d have nothing to hang on to as we climb.

16. Explanations are often overvalued in the mind of the explainer. Words of comfort and acts of love are strong currency in any situation.

17. If we aren’t busy trying to bury them, we find that we can withstand the painful memories just as we have already withstood the pain itself.

18. I can feel compassion for someone without acting on it.

19. A mother of the bride’s role is to effectuate her daughter’s vision. The father of the bride’s role is to bring the mother of the bride coffee in the morning, give her foot rubs at night, and do some other stuff in between.

20. Freedom from the burden of blame means that while I may acknowledge that what you did was wrong, I take responsibility for how it affects me now.

21. The tools of avoidance are often far more painful than the pain itself.

22. When we pity someone else we look down into a pit from higher ground that insulates “us” from “them” and allows the illusion that we would never be faced with a similar challenge. When we feel compassion we are coming along side another human being with an engaged heart, to relate and interact with love and respect and empathy, even or especially when that is uncomfortable for us.

23. There are times that I cannot simultaneously set a healthy boundary and take care of the other person’s feelings.

24. Acceptance is the opposite of giving up.

25. The phone part of my iPhone totally sucks, but the awesomeness of the “i” part makes the suckage of the phone part sort of totally worth it, which means I’m fifty years into this life and I’m still involved in a dysfunctional relationship.

26. Diogenes said, “We have two ears and one tongue in order that we may hear more and speak less.” I would add that we also have two eyes that if kept open will allow us to see what others will show us, and a heart that will allow love and blood to flow out through the veins and in through the arteries if we stay away from hate and trans fats.

27. Humor is sometimes a gift and sometimes a burden. It is a source of pleasure, relaxation, and laughter. It can be harmful though when it is used to block the direct expression of feelings, thoughts, and ideas. But still, I will never believe that finding the humor and seeking the truth are mutually exclusive.

28. Love means being willing to say you’re sorry and mean it, whenever the person you love needs to hear it.

29. I used to think that sarcasm was a combination of wry insight and wit. I still think that sarcasm derives from legitimate frustration and pain, but I now see that its function is to diminish the other person.

30. The more you find yourself hurt by or annoyed with someone, the more that person has to teach you about yourself.

31. It is not my job to make my children happy. My job is to teach my children that they are responsible for their own happiness, to encourage them to follow their dreams, and to guide them to the tools that I think they will need to do it.

32. The little voice inside of you usually has something big to say.

33. Guilt trips require a lot of baggage.

34. It’s okay to say no, and repeat as necessary.

35. If you’re afraid to fly by the seat of your pants, find a best friend or two who does, put your arms around her, and enjoy the way the wind feels in your hair.

36. Problems are hard things, not bad things.

37. Doing right isn’t always good. Doing good is always right.

38. I've tried it both ways, and I can tell you for sure that it is easier to turn your best friend into a spouse than it is to turn your spouse into a best friend.

39. Soul mates are like ducks in a pond. They look so natural and peaceful as they glide along the water, and they’re paddling under the surface to keep moving along together.

40. A mother’s love is never divided when she has more than one child, it is multiplied.

41. If you dance like nobody’s watching, there is a greater chance it will end up on YouTube.

42. Try on the shoes before you buy them, but don’t waste your time on shoes that don’t fit even if you think they look good.

43. You can’t celebrate differences if you don’t recognize the universal oneness in all creatures.

44. Thoughts have power, but putting a little action behind our intentions goes a long way toward making shit happen.

45. I am blessed with the best friends in the world as evidenced by our ability to sit at the same wooden table listening, talking, eating, crying, laughing, drinking and not drinking, occasionally getting up to pee or negotiate a peace treaty between a couple of kids, and not realizing until it did that nine hours just went by.

46. At the age of fifty, I look back and realize that I had a good body when I was twenty-five, but I sure didn’t like it then. I’m going to try to start liking my fifty-year-old body now because waiting until I’m seventy-five seems like a big waste of time and energy.

47. I’ve never met a man in eyeliner I didn’t like.

48. All you need to know is in his kiss.

49. Heaven and Hell are real. Heaven is inside of each of us, and Hell is not knowing it.

50. Plain M&Ms are the best. Plain M&Ms with Adam Lambert’s and my picture on them make the best better.

Edited to add:
P.S. Some of these thoughts are original, some were borrowed and adopted, others were borrowed and amended, and many more were bought and paid for during years of therapy.

The Big Reveal: Why Jeff Probst Would Never Vote Me Off His Island

2010-09-02T10:22:00.000-07:00

Sorry to leave all three of you hanging . . . but I was on vacation, yo. And guess what else? My scanner, hard drive, and emails waited until I came home to take their vacations. This greatly impacted ~~the amount of fun I have wasting time on Facebook~~ my productivity. But I fixed the scanner, hard drive, and email situation . . . and I didn't even have to call my son-in-law (who happens to be an Apple Genius, just saying). (You're welcome, SIL.)

So, now that ~~I can scan stuff for blogging purposes, send and receive 578 emails daily with Kate and Trish, and upload photos to Facebook again~~ I'm able to work again, I have a two-for-one message. True story. I'm going to reveal why Jeff Probst would never vote me off his island and throw in a special back-to-school public service announcement.

We all know (because I brag a lot) that I have awesome hair, mad ice cream- and pizza-making skillz, and that I'm a whiz with Photoshop. Also, everyone but one person thinks that my chocolate challah bread pudding is mouthwatering, but that's a post for another day. I may or may not be slightly stalker-y, but that's only with one man and that's because he sings like an angel and has bedazzled eyes. Duh. But none of these are the reason that Jeff Probst would never vote me off his island.

As it happens, Laura keeps a Survivor water bottle on her desk at school, which sparked a conversation between me and her teacher last semester. I told her that my husband and I have seen every episode of every season of Survivor. And in the last few years, Laura has become a Survivor fan too. You know how some guys remember the college stats of professional ball players and such like? Zzzzz. Oh! Sorry! I wrote the words "professional ball players" and dozed off for a second. Anywho. Laura remembers Survivor stats. It isn't just that she remembers who won each season. She can tell you every person's name from each tribe, who voted out whom, who was in an alliance with whom, and such like. I wonder if we could teach her to do that with cards and take her to Vegas? Anyway, I also told Laura's teacher that I threw a Survivor party for Tom's 40th birthday, which is also a post for another day.

In short (as if I ever am), Laura's teacher knew that we are devoted Survivor fans.

And, as it turns out, Laura's teacher has family who work on Survivor and know Jeff Probst.

ARE WE THERE YET? Almost.

So why would Jeff Probst never vote me off his island?

Amongst the aforementioned mad skillz and traits that I have, I am badass when it comes to helping with teacher prep work. I love to cut, paste, mount, photocopy, organize, laminate, file, punch holes, staple, sort, clip, stand on chairs and hang up stuff, and basically do any work that teachers need done. I love it. I really do. I have my greatest moments of zen when I'm cutting and pasting stuff for a teacher. True story. Also, I liked being the teacher's pet when I was a kid, and apparently I still like it.

So because I ~~have no life, job, or skills besides owning awesome hair and being able to blend strawberries and cream into a frozen concoction that helps anyone who tastes it hang on~~ would come into the classroom on a moment's notice and help a lot with prep last year, Laura's teacher sent me a bunch of Survivor stuff. I got the signed photo from Jeff (we're on a first name basis, obviously), a signed hat, other hats, visors, shirts, buffs, and such like.

Now, for the public service announcement.

School is back in session for many, many children and their hard-working teachers. Help out a teacher in any way that you can. Volunteer. It's a good thing to do. And you never know who your child's teacher might know. Heh. But seriously, folks. I will be volunteering to help Laura's teacher again this year, and not because of who she might know. Although you know I'd be less than honest if I didn't say right now that a little part of me hopes that Laura's teacher is BFFs with Adam Lambert.

Why Jeff Probst Would Never Vote Me Off His Island

2010-08-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

Although I obviously have mad Photoshop skillz, I swear to Mark Burnett that this signed photograph is 100% legit.

Who can guess why Jeff Probst would never vote me off his island?

(I'll post the answer on or about August 31 ~~when I get back from our vacation that we're spending at home sharpening our kitchen knives with our guard dogs, Freddie and Jason, at our feet~~.)

How My Marriage Was Saved

2010-08-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

So. I may or may not have the tiniest amount of PTSD, and one of the ways it plays out is that my startle response is such a finely tuned instrument that if it were a cello, Yo-Yo Ma would play me like a fiddle. (I don’t know what that means either.)

I know that even normal people (I don’t mean you) (or you) (heh) have a startle response, but I also think that people who jump and scream like hot lava got in their shorts might have some latent PTSD going on themselves. I happen to have the curse and the benefit of knowing my demons, and, by the way, after getting to know them even better in therapy in recent years, they each have cute nicknames now.

Just don’t walk up behind me and say something because I might go ninja on you. And if we go out to eat, be a good friend and don’t make me sit with my back to the room. Because when the server walks up to ask if we’ve had a chance to look at the menu, I will jump up out of my chair, scream, and pee myself. Then everybody will look at us and feel sorry for you. But before you start feeling too sorry for my friends and family, I have mad Belgian waffle and homemade strawberry ice cream-making skillz to make up for this. Just saying.

In every place we’ve lived since 1998, for some reason my computer desk has been situated such that my back is to the door of the room. And every darn time my husband walks into the room, I jump up, scream, and stay up on the ceiling fan for twenty minutes or so until I have a pulse again. As an aside, this never happens when Laura walks into the room because she chatters constantly and I always hear her coming. Tom on the other hand is stealth. I have repeatedly asked him in my very best Bruce Dickinson voice to wear a cowbell. "Guess what? I got a fever. And the only prescription is . . . more cowbell." Tom does not cooperate with this particular plan, but making him live in another house is not an option. Trust me, I know this. And besides who would bring me my coffee every morning, and then patiently wait for me to jump and scream before setting it down next to me?

I was telling my friend Trish yesterday over Belgian waffles and homemade strawberry ice cream that short of buying all new office furniture, I don’t know how to solve this problem because there aren’t any corners that don’t leave my back to the door. You may be wondering why I bought a corner desk in the first place, and if the words “subconscious self-sabotage” come to your mind, call me! I could save hundreds on therapy this month if we could chat more about this.

Trish is an artist and her home is a showcase of elegance, warmth, and Zen-like calm. I knew she’d take one look and say, “You’re right. Dump the furniture and start over,” and then I wouldn’t feel so bad about the online shopping spree that was about to ensue.

But Trish took one look, suggested that I move the long desk that was under my window around to the side of the other desk, put my file drawers under the window behind me, and, well let me show you . . .

Trish even helped me reconfigure and reconnect my computers and peripheral devices, after we cleaned two inches of dust from them. And while I know that my Belgian waffle and homemade ice cream-making skills really are that good, the truth of the matter is that this isn't the first time that Trish has proved to be a saint, and not even a dead one, like saints usually have to be.

Now there will be no more surprise attacks from sneaky husbands with coffee and I have more effective and efficient workspace with no online shopping spree for the all new furniture I thought I'd need. With my back to the second-story window, the only surprise attacks I have to worry about now will be from birds or flying squirrels.

(SNL photo courtesy of Google Images.)

Adam Lambert in San Diego: My Backstage Surprise . . . True Story

2010-08-06T20:04:00.001-07:00

Backstage Dude: "No individual photos. Group photos only. No autographs."

Jamie: "Oh Cheri, don't do a group photo. It should just be you in the picture with Adam Lambert."

Cheri: "No, really, Jamie, you pose with him alone, and I'll do my photo with Tom and Laura."

Jamie: "But you love Adam Lambert and he loves you. It should just be the two of you in your photo."

Cheri: "Honestly, I'm totally happy to have Tom and Laura in the photo too. " [I could always crop them out later.] [I have bomb-diggity Photoshop skillz.] [What?] [Kidding about the cropping.] [No, I'm not.] [Yes, I am.]

Then it was my turn to meet Adam for the fourth time (third was here) (second here) (first here) (not counting when I saw him sing the national anthem at high school football games just a decade ago) (WHAT?). True story.

First I showed Adam my iPhone boyfriend wallpaper and he smiled patiently. True story.

Next Adam patiently signed the 16x20 photo on canvas that my friend Trish gave me (click to enlarge the photo and check out the name on the red heart pin on his lapel). True story.

Adam also graciously signed a For Your Entertainment CD for Laura (yes, I had one left after I gave away over 500 of them to my closest friends). True story.

Then I told Adam that my oldest daughter, Kristen, went to high school at Mt. Carmel at the same time he did, and that she said to give him a rainbow hello with glitter on top. Adam told me to tell her the same. True story.

Then we posed for our group photo -- or what I thought was our group photo.

Then Adam Lambert put his hand on my shoulder and I totally lost my flippin' mind. Totally. I went mute. Seriously? Seriously? That never happens to me. I lived in L.A. almost all of my life and I practiced family law in Beverly Hills. Celebrity sightings? Meh. Pretty much a whatever thing. (Except for Johnny Depp.) But in that moment when Adam Lambert touched my shoulder? I was struck dumb. Totally. Gah. True story.

In hindsight, and had I any ability to speak at all, I would have told Adam to pay no attention to my middle-aged-mom-fan disguise because I'm really a hot young androgynous-looking gay dude who he should take home and get to know better. Right? That wouldn't have been as creepy as an old broad who'd just showed him a Photoshopped picture of herself with him on her iPhone before she went mute.

Anywho.

As I was walking away, I turned back to watch Jamie get her photo taken with him, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Not Jamie and Adam.

Tom was having his photo taken with Adam Lambert. True story.

Now I can't decide which one of them I love the most. Tom or Adam Lambert? Tom or Adam Lambert? Hmmmm. Thankfully, I have this picture of them together to pore over, which may or may not facilitate the decision-making process. I'll get back to you with my final answer.

Apparently Tom was taking photos of us while Laura and I were getting "officially" photographed. So when we were done with ours, Tom simply went next.

And then it was Jamie's turn to put her head on Adam's shoulder . . . *love*

Oh. Yeah. There was also a concert. And it was fantastic too. The best one I've ever attended, and that includes the Stones and Elton John. True story.

I'm still basking in the afterglow of multiple Lambergasms one week later. True story.

The End

Dear Deb, Debbie, and Whom It May Concern:

2010-07-18T12:25:00.000-07:00

Thank you for stopping by to check on me. Currently, I am very busy taking a blogging break. And as new-agey-clichéd as this may sound, I am enjoying living in the present moment this summer (except for the tooth extraction/bone graft) (see below). I've been spending quality time with my family and friends, reading, going to movies, relaxing at the beach, swimming, and plan to get some more use from our Disneyland Passports. My youngest daughter, Laura, and I are working our way through the Everybody Loves Raymond series (we're on Season 5), and after watching all five seasons of Weeds, Tom and I are now on Season 1 of Arrested Development. So this blogging break is of a yet-to-be determined length. It could last all summer. And fall. Or until Tuesday. I just don’t know.

Meanwhile, here’s a top-ten list of catch-up things to tide us over for the summer (and fall) (or until Tuesday) (I just don’t know):

1. Much to the relief of my family, I did not fall off of my shoes and land on my Spanx-encrusted arse at my oldest daughter Kristen's wedding as expected. In fact, the wedding went off without a hitch, except that the bride and groom were hitched, of course.

2. My big toenail did have to be removed two weeks before the wedding (yes, Deb, pus was involved) (no, Debbie, no hot toe doctor was involved) (yes, the same toe that has been the bane of my existence since October 2008) (three times now the nail has been removed) (I’m keeping score) (I found a toe doctor within walking distance from my house) (to save on gas) (except that I can't walk so well) (obviously). The morning of the wedding I painted the skin on my toe with New-Skin Liquid Bandage and then two coats of polish to match the other nine nails. It didn’t look too bad. True story.

3. The Mac Prep + Prime that the Mac God sold me before the wedding kept my face from melting off during the outdoor ceremony that took place in temperatures all up in the 90s, yo. I do not do product reviews or endorsements, and I’m not going to start with an unpaid one for Mac Prep + Prime. However, I am highly recommending and endorsing the activity of getting yourself a Mac God. Everybody should have one of his or her own.

4. I am not selfishly savoring snapshots (appalling attempt at alliteration, apologies), but have 3,768 photos from the totally awesome bridal shower, rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception to sort through. I will post some photos someplace or other when some sort of sorting and uploading is accomplished. Meanwhile, we need a few photos of the dress (that Kristen designed) (true story) and whatnot to tide us over:

Pictured (click photo to enlarge):
Kristen & Adam; Kristen & Adam
Kristen
Courtney; Laura
Tom, Laura, Cheri, Kristen & Courtney

5. Speaking of saving on gas (see number two above), my Volvo does not. But with fold-down third-row seating and room for five passengers, I get picked to drive for my youngest daughter’s class field trips (I actually like doing this) (what?) (I really do). It was also awesome for helping Courtney move in May, and it was great for taking a two-week road trip that included Kristen & Adam’s wedding preparation and festivities in June. I have had the car for two years now, and after several days on pain medication (see number six below) I finally named my car, Ikea, owing to its very large size and being Swedish.

6. Immediately upon my return home following the wedding, I had a tooth extraction and bone graft (to be followed by a dental implant in a few months) and the aforementioned pain medication. Apparently, so much pain medication was involved during my recovery period that when our family played Scattergories one evening, the letter rolled was “D,” and under the category of brand names Laura wrote "Darvocet." True story.

7. I put off this extraction/bone graft procedure until after the wedding because I knew that I would need all of my energy to pull up my Spanx before the ceremony. And because I was a tad freaked out about the source of the “donor material,” a euphemism for BONE TAKEN FROM SOME UNKNOWN PERSON’S CORPSE, that would be grafted into my head. Think about it! If Albert DeSalvo were the donor, I might end up wanting to strangle someone at the wedding. As it turns out, I’ve been having random urges to marry a billionaire and become a TrimSpa spokesperson, so guess who it is that I’m thinking provided the “donor material” for my bone graft?

8. Possibly still under the influence of Darvocet (not an endorsement, obviously), I asked my wife if we could throw an African-themed Bon Voyage for Jamie (who was on her way to Swaziland) and Happy Birthday party for Courtney's dog, Rafiki (aka "thebrindledog"). True Story. Kate read Go Dog Go to the children and the piñata was filled with doggy treats. Also True Stories.

9. I have tickets to see Adam Lambert’s Glam Nation Tour concert. Duh. I am so excited and expect to be having my usual multiple Lambergasms! Duh. I am going with my youngest daughter, my husband, and my wife. Duh. I will be wearing my biker boots and leather bracelet with the metal spikes. Duh. Laura, Kate and I have already planned to put purple streaks in our hair. Duh. But I really need help deciding which of my four (yes, I have four) (what?) Adam Lambert T-shirts to wear:

a., b., c., or d.?
(Sorry I don't have photos of my chest in the last two shirts, Stu.)

10. Finally, I have another decision that I need help with. Not nearly as important as what shirt to wear to the Adam Lambert concert, but still. In fact, I am ashamed to admit this publicly (whereas I don’t mind telling you that I wore painted toe skin and Spanx to my daughter’s wedding), but I am going to need a new washer and dryer, you know, for doing the L-word. Hello, my name is Cheri, and I have done laundry. There. They say that admitting it is the first step in getting rid of the problem. Meanwhile, do you have or plan to buy a particular washer/dryer that you like/dislike? Tell me. Please.

So. That’s it. Except that during my new-agey-clichéd living-in-the-present-moment blogging break that may or may not last all summer or fall or until Tuesday, I plan to continue some random drive-by visiting of OPBs (Other People’s Blogs). Until then . . . please help me with numbers 9 and 10 above. Thank you.

Love, Cheri

XO

P.S. I'm off the Darvocet now. True Story. Heh.

A Photo Essay by the Mother of the Bride

2010-06-12T09:55:00.001-07:00

Two weeks from today, my oldest daughter is getting married to the man of her dreams in a what is sure to be a lovely outdoor California summer afternoon wedding on a grassy spot near a chicken coop in a town where temperatures are predicted to be in the upper '90s. I am not even making up the part about the chicken coop either.

Obviously, the real question on everyone's mind lately is "What will Cheri wear?"

To begin with, this is my dress. Obviously, when I wear this dress I will look exactly like the woman in the picture, except for the shoes:

What? It's true. These are my shoes:

My shoes had to be:

a) sandals because my big toe is still totally messed up and I'm about to lose the nail again
b) platforms because heels would sink and my feet need to be up very high because I'm allergic to grass
c) up very high so that I ~~can delude myself into believing that I~~ will appear thinner
d) all of the above
e) none of the above matters because I'm going to fall off of the platforms and end up in ER before the ceremony even begins

If you're ~~nosy like me and~~ wondering what the dress ($119 at Nordstrom) and shoes ($135 at Charles David) cost, it wasn't too bad. So, pleased with myself for saving money by not going the haute couture route, I decided to pick up some new makeup. Things started going sideways for my husband's retirement fund at the Mac counter when I was helped by a darling man wearing this:

Also? Laura's college fund went by the wayside when I noticed that the Mac ~~sales consultant~~ God had eyes exactly like these:

As the Mac God was showing me various items in black lacquer pots and tubes and bottles, he reached out, took my hand, and looked right into my eyes.

Mac God (holding my hand): "Promise me something."

Me: "Okay."

Mac God: "When you apply makeup to your eyes, start at the brow and work down to the lashes."

Me: "Okay."

Mac God (squeezing my hand): "Promise me. Really."

Me: "I promise."

And I meant every word of it, too. Also? I bought every single thing he told me to buy.

Of course, I quickly realized that in order to actually put on the dress, I would need to put on two pair of these, which cost more than the dress, by the way:

Of course, I then realized that in order to actually put on two pair of Spanx, I would need to put this on my buttocks, thighs, and belly:

Of course, then I realized that in order to put on enough lube to put on two pair of Spanx, I would need to go here:

Dress? Check. Shoes? Check. Spanx x 2? Check. Makeup? Check. Promise to start eye makeup at brow? Check. W.A.I.T. Brows? Not check. Maybe I should get them waxed again, after all, my first experience getting my eyebrows waxed wasn't so bad.

Except this is what happened when I went back, and, by the way, this is the good side . . .

And, I'm not even joking when I tell you that starting today my brow wounds developed scabs. Please promise me that they will be healed in two weeks. Please. It's okay to lie about this. Promise me. Really.

There is good news though! While I was at the store looking for fake toenails, I spotted these:

But seriously folks?

None of the above matters one little bit (unless I do fall off the shoes and it ends up on YouTube) because . . .

All eyes will be exactly where they are supposed to be on my beautiful daughter's wedding day. And judging by the look in his eyes now, I'd say the groom's will be where they're supposed to be for as long as they both shall live.

(Photos, not of the bride and groom and the one to be used in pending eyebrow-waxing litigation, were lovingly borrowed from Google Images and used for a greater good. "A greater good" being an exception to copyright laws, I'm pretty sure. Not that any copyright laws were violated, of course, because I'm not that sort of person. Duh.)

Q: How is this blog like Johnny Depp?

2010-06-09T04:50:00.000-07:00

A: Johnny Depp and this blog share a birthday.

Blog This Mom! is four today. Mr. Depp is forty-seven, but found time away from his private Caribbean island to come by to celebrate.

(The Captain Jack photo was plundered from Google Images and mercilessly ravaged to suit the self-serving purposes of Blog This Mom!)

Ways to Improve Your (My) Experience at the Gym

2010-05-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

Suppose for the sake of argument that you found yourself endowed with a few extra pounds on your ass, which you’re certain has nothing to do with the fact that you started eating sugar and glutens again during the holiday season (in 2008) and everything to do with God’s plan to dole out retribution. Why would God seek vengeance on someone’s posterior region when there are so many other regions in the world in need of his loving attention? I'll share my theory. Because last year someone may or may not have noticed that someone else’s ass had gotten bigger. (The someone else happens to have a disagreeable and unpleasant personality, for the record.) And now the noticer’s ass is bigger too. God can be like that. What?

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Improving your (my) gym experience.

So someone had to go to the gym tout de suite. (I love using the term tout de suite.) (I love suites.) (And sweets.) (Duh.)

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Improving your (my) gym experience.

Why tout de suite? Here’s an algebraic equation (I think) that explains it better than words:

A + D = G

A = ass size; D = daughter’s wedding in June; G = gym

Sorry about the math. Are you still with me? Please stay. Stay to help me. I really need help. Duh.

It is important for us to come up with ways to improve your (my) experience because it turns out that you have to do things at the gym that are not the same as sitting on the couch watching back-to-back episodes from season three of Weeds.

I've thought of a few. Here they are:

First of all, going to the gym often means getting up early, which is clearly a problem. A cappuccino machine would be an obvious way to improve the gym experience. In fact, a cappuccino machine is obviously far more important than the stupid water cooler often found in gyms. Duh.

Working out at the gym often involves things like repetitions, circuits, and other efforts that take time and energy. This is why there needs to be a barista to operate the cappuccino machine. Duh.

Also? It turns out there are heavy things at the gym. Rumor has it that these things are called weights. And? It turns out that people who go to the gym are expected to pick up these heavy items. I don’t know why. Don’t bother trying to explain it to me. I don’t care. So, obviously, there needs to be a bell captain at the gym to pick up the heavy things when you call down to the desk. Duh.

Are you still with me? Thank you. I promised I’d need help, and you stayed. I love you.

So.

Much like it is at the gym, I can’t be expected to do all of the work. Can you help me think of other ways to improve your (my) gym experience?

Carabiners Are the New Hoops

2010-05-24T18:31:00.000-07:00

INT. CHERI'S CAR, DRIVING HOME FROM SCHOOL - DAY

Me: "Laura, do you have carabiners in your earrings?"

Laura: "Hehehehehe. Yeah."

Me: "Did you wear those to school today?"

Laura: "Hehehehehe. Yeah."

Me: "You went out the door with those things in your ears this morning and I didn't notice?"

Laura: "Hehehehehe. Yeah."

Me: "Holy crap."

Laura: "Am I in trouble?"

Me: "No. I am."

Laura: "Hehehehehe. Yeah."

Yellow Lines

2010-05-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

She drove the Mustang with weathered yellow paint, windows gummy with yellow nicotine residue, into the Sav-On parking lot near LAX. She was probably there to pick up a prescription; she rarely left the house for any other reason. Her little daughter sat in the passenger seat. She was all of about seven years old, maybe eight.

The spaces in the parking lot were painted with yellow diagonal lines, and the woman drove down the narrow aisle in the wrong direction, unable to park. Realizing that she was going the wrong way, she waved her hand and with conviction in her voice she said, “They repainted the lines in this parking lot. Last week this row went the other direction.”

Her little girl looked out of the window, down at the asphalt, and peered at the lines as the car moved along the aisle. The yellow paint was cracked and faded. The child knew right away that row of parking spaces was angled in the same direction that it had been the week before. She looked over to the next aisle to see whether it was freshly painted, knowing that it was not, but perhaps still hopeful.

The little girl saw an entire parking lot with row after row of cracked and faded yellow lines. She knew right then and there that the thing that would matter would be the direction that she would drive, when she could drive. Meanwhile, she remained silent as the car moved along, against the direction of the lines.

What Else Not to Say

2010-05-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

So, on Friday, I wrote a rush-job post about a strange woman who looked me right between the eyes and asked:

“Have you ever thought about getting a Botox injection?”

You can’t make this stuff up, right?

But there was more. And some context might help the perplexed among us (except probably not).

I was in the small reception area of a local salon waiting to get my eyebrows waxed (which I’ve never done before, but with my oldest daughter’s upcoming wedding in June I thought it might be nice to see if a professional could do something with the hot mess over my eyes) . . . where was I? Oh yeah. There was another woman also waiting for an appointment. She was thumbing through Us Weekly when she turned to me, looked at me carefully, and possibly thought I was there for Botox, right? Except they don’t do Botox at that salon. Just nails and eyebrows. I asked. (No, I didn't.) (Yes, I did.) (But only because I was wondering after the strange woman's question.) Anywho.

You might be wondering why I kept answering her after the initial Botox question besides the fact that I’ll always whore myself for blog fodder. You know how the freeway slows and you see flashing lights ahead? And you know how you get annoyed because the slowing is due to rubbernecking? And you know how you vow not to look when you pass by the accident, but then you peek ever so quickly? This conversation was like that for me. I knew what was ahead, but I just had to hear it anyway.

Here’s how the entire conversation went:

Strange Woman: “Have you ever thought about getting a Botox injection?”

Me: “Um. Oh. Uh. I don’t know.”

She went back to her magazine. And then . . .

Strange Woman: “Do you live in Rancho Santa Fe?”

(Note: Rancho Santa Fe is like the Beverly Hills or Bel Air of San Diego.)

My thoughts: WTF?

Me: “No.”

Strange Woman: “Oh. Where do you live?”

My thoughts: WTF?

Me: “XYZtown.”*

Strange Woman: “Oh. XYZtown is nice . . . if you’re by the beach.”

(Note: I don’t live by the beach.)

Strange Woman: “Do you work?”

My thoughts: WTF? I have an iPhone, a laptop, and HDTV, why would I want to work?

Me: “Yes.”

My thoughts: Holy crap. What have I done? Now she’s going to ask what I do.

Strange Woman: “What do you do?”

My thoughts: WTF do I say now? I can’t say writer because I’ve been paid exactly zero in the last three months. But even when I’m not paid, I do write. Sometimes. Crap. I hate having this why-can't-I-say-writer conversation in my head, particularly right now.

Me: “I’m a writer.”

The strange woman looked right at me. I’m sure that if she could have raised her eyebrows she would have. Then as she opened her mouth to speak . . .

My thoughts: Holy crap. Now she’s going to ask me what I write. She’s already dissed my face and where I live. What the hell will be her response if I just tell her I’m a blogger? But what if I don’t say blogger? An idea formed quickly beneath my wrinkled forehead and unkempt brows! What if I pretended to be Barbara Kingsolver? Surely this woman doesn’t read anything other than reception-area magazines, and even if she did, would she even remember the author's profile picture from the jacket of the last Barbara Kingsolver book? I bet I could get away with it! Think of the blog fodder that would create!

Receptionist: “Cheri? Lindsay is ready for you now.”

Saved by the brow.

______________

*I'm using a fake town so the person who came to my blog last week by searching "fat black tranny mom" can't find me. (I'm not making this part up either.)

What Not to Say

2010-05-07T14:39:00.001-07:00

Here's a helpful hint.

Don't walk up to a complete stranger (who, for the record, is minding her own business), look at her carefully, and then say the following:

"Have you ever thought about getting a Botox injection?"

Because that? Just happened to me.

I'm not even lying.

I even looked around for Ashton Kutcher, with my wrinkled forehead. No cameras. I was not being punk'd.

This public service announcement has been brought to you by the prune head formerly known as Blog This Mom! Gah.

(Downy Wrinkle Releaser and dog photos totally stolen from some websites after a Google search.)

In Which Cheri Drops the F-Bomb

2010-05-05T06:40:00.000-07:00

Fundraising. There, I said it. And you can say it too.

May 7 is the deadline for Jamie to raise enough money to take her heart to Africa!

Please give.
No gift is ever too small.

Let's help Jamie get to Africa.

Tweet, blog, update your Facebook status.

Spread the F-word today. For Jamie. For the kids in Africa.

A Cell Phone for Me: A Guest Post by Laura*

2010-04-20T19:57:00.000-07:00

*Laura's school assignment was to write a persuasive essay. It was sent home from school today with a grade of E+ and the teacher's note: "Very convincing!" Laura generously allowed me to post it here where generously equals responsibly, independently, and without waiting.

Mom and Dad, for many years now, I have wanted a cell phone. You have always told me I am too young for a phone, but now that I am ten I think that we can discuss it again. I have been extremely responsible at home, it would give me more independence, and you wouldn't have to wait for me after events.

First of all, I have been extremely responsible at home and at school. At home, I have taken your dishes and washed them and I have helped empty the dishwasher. At school, I have kept my desk clean and organized. Also, I have never left my iPod anywhere and I will be even more cautious with a phone. As you have seen above I am very responsible.

Secondly, it gives me more independence. At home I cannot even pack to go to Los Angeles without you standing over me. I can afford at least 1/3 of it and I won't have to interrupt calls on the home or cell phones to call my friends. Also, I can call you when I get lost. I know you like to monitor my belongings, but I am ten now and I need to have personal belongings. As you can see I really need more independence.

Last, you don't have to wait for me after events, I can just call. During Karate, Art, Knitting, and play dates you always have to wait for me outside, instead you could be getting a massage, having coffee with friends, or having a romantic dinner with each other. After I am done I can call you to pick me up. You can do many things when I have a phone.

As you can see, my responsibility level is high, I need more independence, and you won't have to wait for me after events. I've been waiting several years for a phone and I think now wold be the perfect time to get one.

by Laura

I Think It's Okay to Share a Blogging-Related Email When the Message Really Speaks to the Recipient, Right?

2010-04-15T06:46:00.000-07:00

For a long while I didn't have an email address linked to my blog. I had no particular reason to have or not have it linked, I just didn't. But a particular blogger friend, who shall remain nameless, kept emailing me to say that she'd like to engage in discussion about my witty comments (what?) on her blog, but without the email link she had to keep going to her email program to write back. Or something like that. Anyway, I finally did it. And now when I leave a comment on someone's blog, sometimes I get nice emails in return, and that's cool. So, overall, it's fine.

I got a lot less junk mail when there was no email link, that's for sure.

I think most bloggers get almost daily offers to do product or book reviews, accept a morsel of pocket change to put an ad on a sidebar, and similar. I don't do that stuff here, denying myself a lucrative career, I'm sure.

In that regard, I think it is important to note here that when someone in marketing takes the time to at least pretend they read your blog by mentioning something that hooks you in the first line of the email, well, at least it's entertaining. My favorite email started with, "I've been enjoying your website and reading about the wonder that is Adam Lambert!" You know how teenage girls do that annoying thing where they try to work the name of their crush into every conversation one way or another? You may or may not have noticed that I do that a little bit (what?), so I found that email downright endearing. I still didn't endorse or review whatever the product was, but I gave the sender bonus points in my head.

Anywho. On the other side of the spectrum from a personalized message (from someone who was able to glance at my sidebar and see the Adam Lambert Homage), there are the more plentiful canned emails. Or, maybe I can just stop worrying right now about whether I've shared too much personal information on my blog. Because last week I got this email:

Dear Blog This Mom:

As a Canadian blogger, you have been identified as a participant in a short survey to gain a better understanding of the Canadian blogging environment, as well as to gain your perspective on some of the products you may have purchased recently. Your opinion is important to us and you will be eligible to receive free products and coupons upon completion of the survey.

The survey should take only 5-7 minutes to complete. All of your answers will be kept confidential and personal data will only be used to allow for delivery of free products and coupons.

To begin the survey, please click the following URL: [Redacted because, yeah, redacted, heh.]

Thank you in advance for your participation!

I guess this means that I should start watching hockey.

We Offer the Finest in Earthquake Detection and Home Security Systems

2010-04-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

After the 7.2 earthquake (centered in Baja California) struck on Easter Sunday, Laura sold us an earthquake detection system. Installation was included in the $3 sales price. We bought two because we're ~~stupid~~ supportive parents like that. What?

Last week, Laura installed a "47-point security system" in her room.

Spring break is over now. However, I'm guessing that the appearance of various inventions around my house are from from it.

Is Putting Primary Responsibility for Correcting the Problem on the Victim's Shoulders Any Better Than Blaming Her For It?

2010-04-08T08:59:00.000-07:00

"An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it."
~Mahatma Gandhi

One of the best parts of blogging and tweeting is that uncensored thought can be aired. Sometimes that means a bit of joy can be shared, the burden of our sorrows can be divided between supportive shoulders, or ideas can be discussed. When that happens it is freedom of speech at its finest. Yes, there are times people say asinine things or draw conclusions that wouldn’t stand up in the light of day, much less make it across an editor’s desk to publication. And for those times, comments and replies allow for a response (or even a smackdown) when one is needed.

Even in newspapers, particularly the editorial pages, opinions are just that. Opinions. We all know (or should), that just because an opinion is found in a newspaper doesn't mean it is well informed, takes into account the whole picture, or is right. More importantly, even if a particular point made is right, that doesn’t necessarily make the overall message a good one.

Last week, I wrote a post about the message being propagated that if the then-child survivor of the attack by John Albert Gardner had testified at trial, Gardner might not have had the opportunity to hurt other victims. While it may be human to go through the “what ifs,” nobody knows better than a survivor that the “what ifs” turn into a scorched-Earth search in the mind of the survivor – for the rest of his or her life unless some significant healing happens. So, really, rather than focusing the “what if” question on what would have happened if the survivor had done something differently, what if “we the people” took protecting our children seriously enough that survivors of violent sex offenders were uplifted and supported by the entire community and what if the perpetrators of violent sex crimes were sentenced to life without the possibility of parole the first time they offended. That would be a start.

On April 2, 2010, an editorial in the San Diego Union-Tribune discussed important and significant improvements made in the process of obtaining witness testimony, and then concluded by saying “the biggest need, however, is an educational effort. The point must be made to parents how important it is for their child to testify, so that no perpetrator escapes conviction to become some other parent’s worst nightmare.” The most glaring failure in that statement is that it seems to make the victim's testimony of paramount importance. The narrow focus on the need of the victim to testify ignores the more critical issue that failure to keep our keep our children safe is a systemic problem. This gives the appearance of shifting responsibility of others' safety to the victim. Wouldn't it be a wonderful world indeed if all it took was a victim's testimony to keep a perpetrator from ever hurting someone else?

Testifying at trial is important -- if it is possible. And a lot more goes into the determination of whether it is possible for a victim to testify than most of us ever want to have to wrap our heads around. Everything and anything that our criminal justice, mental health, and social services systems can do to link hands and make testifying easier for the survivors and their families is essential. But testifying at trial isn’t the one-stop solution everyone – including me – would like it to be. Following the testimony, we also need laws that have the teeth to keep violent sex offenders off the streets permanently, whether in prison or secured in mental health facilities. Victims of violent sex crimes don’t get a second chance; neither should the perpetrators.

A greater degree of certainty that the result would get these guys off the streets so that no one else would be hurt would make the process of providing testimony that much more tolerable to victims and their families. If violent sex offenders are put away after the first offense, a lot less testimony will be needed.

Earthquake Status Report

2010-04-04T19:52:00.001-07:00

Our Easter eggs ended up scrambled today, as a 7.2 earthquake (upgraded from the original 6.9 reports) centered in Baja California sloshed the water smack out of our swimming pool.

While Tom and I stood in a door jamb with Laura, I had the presence of mind (don't say it) to run back for my iPhone boyfriend because, darn it, I wanted to be the first one to tweet the news. I'm pretty sure that I was first because the ground was still shaking while I was tweeting.

Within the hour, Laura had developed an earthquake detection device. She installed it on my desk. Also, she charged me $3 for it.

I should note, for the record, that Laura installed an earthquake detection device made of frogs on our dresser. Tom paid $3 for that one.

In summary, the earthquake caused $6 in damages at our house.

Release Date: April 4, 2010

2010-04-03T20:26:00.001-07:00

Happy Easter!

For the Now-Twenty-Three-Year-Old Hero Who Survived the Assault of John Albert Gardner in 2000

2010-03-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

I keep finding in the news, on blogs, and other places that people publish opinions (sometimes disguised as, or obscured with, facts) the message that you were “spared from having to testify at trial” and your attacker was released from prison after serving only five years, only to attack more young girls just like you. That message might mislead some to draw conclusions that would be wrong. And it breaks my heart to think that it might be hurting you.

I know that you weren’t spared at all.

I know that although you weren’t spared, you spoke up back then.

John Albert Gardner was not released too soon from prison to attack other girls because you didn’t testify at trial. He was put in prison because you did speak up, for yourself and for those other girls. He was released too soon because our laws do not adequately protect victims of sex crimes. He attacked those other girls because he is a monster.

The fact that he was still able to harm others is a failure of our society and our legal system. But you – at the tender young age of thirteen – did all that you could do to stop him, and you did stop him for as long was possible given our woefully inadequate legal system.

Our stories ought to dispel the notion that not testifying at trial is the problem. I can’t tell your story, but I want to try to shine a light on it by telling another from three perspectives, all mine. In particular, I want to pick apart the fallacy that you were spared. My purpose is to honor you, and other girls like you, who speak up. And, I’m not forgetting for a minute that there are many more girls of all ages and in a wide variety of circumstances unable to speak for themselves, so we have to speak up for them, too, whenever we are able.

*********

A Prosecutor’s Perspective

I lay claim to the prosecutor’s perspective because I worked in the office of the Los Angeles District Attorney as a certified law clerk during my last year of law school. I assisted the D.A. with hundreds of cases, including sex crimes, and prosecuted over sixty felony preliminary hearings on my own. I learned in law school, working as a Judicial Extern for a federal judge, and during my time in the D.A.’s office that most cases are resolved by a plea agreement. There are many reasons for plea bargains, including that the criminal justice system would collapse if every case went to trial.

One of the reasons often first pointed to in cases involving sex crimes, is that a plea agreement makes it easier for the victim. It doesn’t. It might spare the victim from telling the story in one courtroom setting. But it doesn’t spare him or her from telling the story. And, in some cases, the victim actually wants to tell the story at trial and doesn’t get the opportunity.

What is also overlooked is that a conviction in any case requires that a jury find that the prosecution has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that the crime charged was committed by the defendant. In cases involving sex crimes especially, guilty is a very difficult verdict to get. A plea bargain can ensure that the perpetrator will be sent to prison for some period of time rather than risk being set free entirely.

Even to get the case to the plea bargain stage, the victim must endure telling the story multiple times, e.g., to family members, police officers, social services, prosecutors, physicians, and mental-health professionals. I know that you had to endure that.

A Parent’s Perspective

I have three daughters, two of whom are now about your age. I also have a daughter who is now just a few years younger than you were when you were attacked. I can tell you that the strongest urge that I have in my life is to protect my children. If something happened to one of them, my first and foremost concern would be their overall health and safety. Sometimes our children’s interests and the interests of the community are one and the same. At particular points in time, though, it may seem that our children’s interests and the interests of the community conflict. If that were to happen with one of my children, I would put her interests first. If that is what your parents did for you when making decisions about you, their minor child at the time, then I believe that they did their best as parents.

A Survivor’s Perspective

When I was fourteen, I testified against my father in court for sexually abusing me throughout my childhood.

My father was in the courtroom, the right of the accused in our legal system. He stared hatefully at me while I sat on the witness stand and answered the prosecutor's questions. I had to describe in graphic detail what he did to me over a seven-year period, some of it violent. When it was over, it was decided, not in consultation with me, that he would plead guilty to whatever offense it was that they offered him.

Plea bargains are not always made to spare the victim from testifying. Plea agreements often take place following the testimony.

My father served time in prison, followed by time in a mental-health facility, and became a registered sex offender. At the time that my father was released, my mother took him back. I was 16 and still living at home. Back then registered sex offenders had to carry a card with them at all times identifying them as such. My father showed his card to me, and my mother asked me to look at it carefully and afterward reminded me of it regularly, as though it was a burden that I had caused him. I moved out when I was 17. At the time, operating in naiveté and denial, I believed that my father had molested only me, learned his lesson, and would never touch another child. I later found out that he molested other victims, and that he has since been in and out of prison for violent crimes. Although I have no contact with either of my parents, the last I heard, he is out again.

I recently filed a written report with law enforcement, and have had several conversations with a detective in the jurisdiction where my father resides, not for the purpose of further punishing my father (there is nothing that I need from him for me), but to warn other potential victims so he cannot hurt anyone else, and so that law enforcement could monitor whether his description matches any unsolved crimes. If he has re-offended, those victims can be helped and other potential victims beyond them protected. It seems to me that the most effective thing that I can do now concerning my father is to make sure I fully warn those charged with the duty to protect innocent people like us from dangerous people like him.

*********

I am NOT saying that testifying in court is useless. Speaking up is never useless – before court, in court, and after court. My father was put away and placed on sex offender registry, just like John Albert Gardner was put away and placed on that list. Even as inadequate as are our laws, and as painfully short as the enforcement system came to keeping those two monsters from hurting others, they were put away and marked to warn others because two little girls spoke up.

Telling the story is essential for our safety and our healing, and one of the most difficult things imaginable. We must work together so that the story in which any one of us might find ourselves does not become the subject of rank speculation and misguided opinion. Rather, we must ensure that every survivor is supported and uplifted by the community. Our laws must change so that when survivors speak up about violent sex crimes, the result is a life sentence without the possibility of parole for the perpetrator. Victims of violent sex crimes don’t get a second chance; neither should the perpetrators.

From time to time people will say that a particular case will inspire positive change in our laws or our community. And from time to time it will – and that is a very good thing. I want you to know that what you did inspired positive change too. When you spoke up back then, you got that ball rolling. You are a hero.

Adam Lambert and I Love Her

2010-03-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

Adam Lambert and I love this woman:

EDITED TO ADD: Apparently Fox blocked content of the video from YouTube, but you can watch it HERE.

Apparently Sue hasn't seen the recent pictures of Adam in Japan with his bedazzled eyes.

I just love a dude with bedazzled eyes. Don't you?

Jamie's Heart

2010-03-21T10:31:00.000-07:00

My friend Jamie just might be the most loving human being I have ever known. If you know Jamie, then you know of her love. If you know Jamie in the blogging world, you know that her words are always inspirational, soothing, and encouraging. If this is the your first introduction to Jamie, you'll feel her love now, too.

Jamie's love nurtures.

Jamie's love teaches.

Jamie's love bespeaks.

Jamie's love transcends.

Jamie's love is multifaceted.

Jamie's love is preparing to spread across the planet.

Let's help Jamie get there:
Heart for Africa

Please give. No gift is too small.

"In every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.”
~Rachel Carson

My Third Date with Adam Lambert was Heavenly

2010-03-03T10:35:00.000-08:00

My adoration of Adam Lambert was apparent during our first date.

By our second date, judging by the look in his eyes, my adoration of Adam Lambert is requited.

Our third date nearly killed me, but every single hour of hell before and after was worth it for the sixty minutes of HEAVEN during which Adam Lambert sang and danced for me. And 3,499 of our closest friends. What?

Adam Lambert’s first solo concert took place at Fantasy Springs Resort in Indio, California. I will never go back there. Unless Adam Lambert is appearing there again. In which case, I'm buying tickets for Paul Anka. (Yes, he's still alive.) My plan is to go to the Paul Anka concert and hide under the bleachers near the stage listening to Adam Lambert on my iPod and living off granola bars until Adam Lambert's concert begins so I'll have better seats next time. What?

For my loving family, it was a three-hour drive ONE WAY in sometimes pouring rain, which would otherwise have been miserable since I’m a weather wuss. However, I was too sick with a sinus infection, raging sore throat, splitting headache, and onset of stomach flu to care about death by storm, but I still had a faint pulse so no way was I missing the Adam Lambert concert.

Once we arrived I was somewhat surprised to see that the venue was not much better than a high-school gym, albeit a high-school gym that seats 3500. I wasn't kidding about the bleachers, but at least the seats had backs, and every last one of them was filled. The show was scheduled to start at 8 PM, but we had to arrive early because tickets could only be picked up at Will Call. After the opening act, it was another 15 minutes or so before Adam and his band took the stage. My ten-year-old daughter was amazingly patient.

Laura: “Mom, when is Adam Lambert going to sing?”

Me: “Hopefully pretty soon.”

Laura: “How long does it take to put on makeup?”

The sense of anticipation in the crowd was palpable. The chants of “Adam! Adam!” were peppered with the rumbling of feet stomping rhythmically in the bleachers. The people seated around us were chatting amiably as we waited. One of the women in front of us complimented Laura’s outfit, which was all black and included spiked leather bracelets and fishnet gloves. What? My twenty-three-year-old daughter, Courtney, was in town for the weekend and came with us; she remarked about the enthusiastic and motley group of fans. She said, “Mom, I saw a grandma wearing a dress that I considered buying at Forever 21.” I have no idea what would make a woman old enough to be a grandmother dress like that. What?

Adam took the stage looking GLITTERY and announced that he got all "Indio" by wearing feathers. I immediately got up on my feet, as did my theretofore bedraggled family, and we didn’t sit back down until the almost three-hour drive home.

Adam began with “For Your Entertainment,” and moved through other songs from his CD including “Strut,” “Sure Fire Winners,” and “Soaked.” Although Adam’s moves make you think Elvis and Michael Jackson, and his voice makes you think Freddie Mercury, and his style makes you think early Elton and Boy George, he’s all of them and none of them because he’s so clearly . . . Adam Lambert. While he never misses an energetic note with his wide range when he belts out the rock/techno/dance numbers, he is equally captivating when he croons a ballad. “Broken Open” left me (and pretty much everyone) spellbound. Laura was as excited as the rest of the crowd when he did “Mad World.” She danced and sang along to all of his songs; Laura can do Adam Lambert's "For Your Entertainment" scream down to the last warble. (Thus far, Laura won't let me post a video of her scream on YouTube, although I promise you my efforts to bribe her into consent are ongoing.)

Adam always did what the Idol judges advise every contestant to do, he made songs his own including “Whole Lotta Love” back when he performed it during Season 8 on the show. Adam didn’t just sing his own version of “Whole Lotta Love” at this concert, he changed it up again performing an acoustic version that he praised his band for playing since he’d rehearsed it like crazy in his car but they hadn’t. The crowd went wild.

After the slower set, Adam plugged it back in beginning with “Music Again” and later “Sleepwalker.” In a fedora and a vest with peacock-feathered lapels, he pretty much flirted his way through “Fever” and I totally forgot that I had one for real. Adam asked everyone to get up and dance as he ended the concert with “Down the Rabbit Hole.” Where I was sitting, everyone was already up and dancing. In between popping antibiotics and Ibuprofen, I’m still up and dancing to the YouTube videos.

My patient, loving, and totally hot husband, Tom, who is also an ardent rock music ~~snob~~ lover, summed up the evening by describing Adam Lambert's performance as "masterful." I described it as my Favorite Concert Ever.

Adam is a gifted stage entertainer for sure, but he never misses a note with that mad vocal range of his. I'm willing to prove it. I've given an Adam Lambert CD to just about everyone I know for Christmas, birthdays, Valentine's Day, you name it, and Every. Single. Person. tells me how much they love it. So . . . assuming you're not already among the One Billion Served by my previous frenzy of CD gift giving . . .

I'm going to give away an Adam Lambert "For Your Entertainment" CD in a random drawing to one of you!

You're going to love it. I guarantee it. Even those silly doubters and naysayers among you, and you know who you are ~~and so do I because I saved copies of your emails so I could say "I told you so" later~~, have come back and emailed me to say those magic words, "Cheri, you were right" and those other magic words, "I love Adam Lambert!" Boo-yah. The cover art alone will make you lick the case. What? Don't worry, I won't lick the one I'm giving away because of my sick germs and all.

To have a chance at the CD, just leave a comment and, hmmm, let's see, since I'm blogging about once a month these days, let's say at midnight on March 31, I will use my Random Number Transmogrifier to pick a winner.

Edited to Add: And we have a winner! Congratulations Patti!

Ol' Man River

2010-02-22T09:06:00.001-08:00

As you drift along in the raft, the river sparkles, the sun warms your back, and the breeze cools your face. The trees and tall grass along the riverbed beckon you to admire them. Occasionally, you might use your paddle to move the raft along or steer gently. It is an opportunity to reflect on life like the sun’s rays on the water.

Along the way, the water becomes shallow in places, and where rocks and boulders become more plentiful and closer to the surface, the flow of the water changes. This is where the river hosts its white waters. The white water is powerful and beautiful and exciting. The turbulent water is also dangerous to those who do not understand and revere it or have a guide.

In the midst of the rapid waters, sometimes the people on one side of the raft must paddle like hell, while the people on the other side have to pull their oars completely out of the water. There are even times when it is necessary to paddle backwards. To keep the raft from capsizing, it is essential that everyone in the raft work together as a team, being willing to do the hard work or being willing to let go of the need to control things as necessary.

Although you may have been splashed or even soaked in the white waters, once the raft is gliding in the calm part of the river as it inevitably will again, the warm sun on your back feels especially comforting, and the cool breeze on your face is particularly refreshing. It is another opportunity to reflect on life like the sun’s rays on the water.

I Have on the Proper Attire for a Tornado

2010-01-20T13:43:00.000-08:00

Here on the west coast we are between storms. During this brief intermission I paused to reflect on what I learned during the last storm. It is this: I am a Southern California born-and-bred Wussy. With a capital W.

On Monday, while it was pouring rain (in what one friend called “Venti-sized drops”) and the wind was blowing hard (What? The palm trees were all bend-y!), I began emailing local friends who are from places like Minnesota and Colorado. I wanted to find out their reactions in order to determine if my terror was justified. (This is sort of like when I try to read the flight attendants’ faces during turbulence on a one-hour Southwest Airlines flight.) Also, I sent my husband a chain of emails such as:

“Hurry home!”

“But don’t drive fast in the rain!”

“Did you remember to order the gopher wood for the ark I want you to build?”

“Should I call the handyman about the ark?”

But yesterday, Mother Nature decided to be an even saucier wench than she was the day before by causing our local weather service to issue . . . TORNADO WARNINGS! Tornadoes! Here? Okay, earthquakes? They happen. Wildfires? Yes. Gas prices that make filling my tank cost more than my first car? That, too. But tornadoes in San Diego? That’s just not right.

Along with the tornado warnings FOR MY PARTICULAR PART OF SAN DIEGO, the local news channel provided instructions. “In the event of a tornado, get into a basement.” Seriously? I don’t know anyone in Southern California with a basement, and, if I did, I would have moved in with that family yesterday. That instruction was followed with, “If no basement is available, get into a downstairs closet.” Okay, you know what? That’s not going to work either. We only have one downstairs closet and it is tiny and contains something called a vacuum cleaner (although I'm not sure what that thing does). I want to be in my upstairs closet, which would be way more comfortable and contains nice shoes. So I emailed my husband and told him when he got home from work to start looking for me in the rubble near wherever the master bedroom landed, and that he would be able to identify my body by the Adam Lambert T-shirt.

When I went to pick up Laura from school, I realized that I was glad that I’d seen the movie Twister. If I hadn’t, I would not have known that a car can outrun a tornado. I drove home comforted by this thought, and that a house might drop on the woman who had been ahead of me in the carpool line because I don't really like her very much. (Hey, I should buy her some striped socks, so she has the proper tornado attire, too.)

Once I had Laura home from school, I thought about hiding the tornado warning from her—after all she’s only nine. But then I decided it was time for her to grow up and face the realities of life. (By that I mean that she should face the reality of tornadoes, not yet the fact that her mother is neurotic.) Mostly I decided to tell her about the tornado warning because two sets of eyes would be better than one looking out of the windows for funnel clouds.

Before the tornado warning had expired, I had a new dilemma. Adam Lambert was on Oprah yesterday. That meant that I had to stop staring out the windows and start staring at him. Adam Lambert’s brilliant interview and fantastic performance made that part easy. (Also, thank you Universe for DVRs because Laura and I watched it three times already!) (Yes, we really did.) (And some singing and dancing in front of the coffee table may or may not have been involved.) During a commercial break, I emailed my husband to give him new instructions about where to find my body in the rubble should a tornado strike while I was watching Oprah; i.e., he would be able to find me underneath where the roof caved into the family room, holding the television.

Another round of storms is due to hit our area soon, and the local news reports that this one will be worse than the last. But don’t worry about me! I’m looking on the bright side! Today might be the last day I ever have to do laundry. And now, if you'll excuse me, the dryer is making that horrible dinging sound. I have just enough time to fold a load of clothes before I leave for my therapy appointment.

My Pool Runneth Over . . .

2010-01-18T17:04:00.001-08:00

And so does my heart . . .

Marriage on Trial

2010-01-14T15:40:00.000-08:00

This is the best article I've read on legalized same-sex marriage, and I seek out and read everything I can on the issue. If I could have said it any better, I would have tried (see my sidebar). Ted Olson, my hat goes off to you.

Here is the link:

The Conservative Case for Gay Marriage: Why same-sex marriage is an American value

As long as some of us are denied marriage equality, none of us have it.

What do you think?

Should Auld Bloggers Be Forgot

2009-12-31T15:35:00.000-08:00

Wishing you a year filled with blue skies and wonderment.

Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
~Melodie Beatty

We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives not looking for flaws, but for potential.
~Ellen Goodman

Adam Lambert’s Appearance at Disneyland (On My Shirt) Was Not Canceled

2009-12-07T22:31:00.001-08:00

'Twas days before Christmas, to see Mickey Mouse

Went this blogger, two kids, and long-suffering spouse;

Decorations were hung down Main Street with care,

The folks at Disney had invited us there.

The kids snuggled the night before in their beds,

While visions of Tinkerbell danced in their heads.

And me in my Lambert shirt with eyeliner eyes,

'Twas worn as an homage; is that any surprise?

In the media there had arisen such clatter,

I’d searched the world web to see what was the matter.

Dancing like Madonna and kissing a boy,

It seemed ABC had become quite annoyed.

A bold performance by a talented guy

Had network executives crying, “Oh my!”

I scratched my head, wondered what was the trouble,

Then I concluded the standard was double.

There’s not so much fuss when the kissers are chicks,

That’s merely one way that some guys get their kicks.

And crotch grabbing, nothing is wrong with that action

So long as the grabber is named Janet Jackson?

Now, Eminem! Slim Shady! A rap sheet of shame!

And the guy kissing another takes all the blame?

He was called on the carpet! On talk shows appeared!

He gave poised interviews, was that not what they feared?

But there were kids watching some questioners said.

(This mom wants to know why those kids weren’t in bed?)

On music award shows there’s often a scandal;

Parents guiding children is too much to handle?

They watched Janet, Slim Shady, and dancers with guns,

But the guy at the end wasn’t good for the young?

For our daughter’s teachings, we’ll guide the way,

And turn up the radio when Adam is played.

“For Your Entertainment” is my kid’s favorite song,

Traveling to Disneyland, she sang along.

She knows all the lyrics, her voice can be heard,

“If I Had You” and “Fever”: she sings every word.

We arrived at the park; all songs had been sung;

The two little girls were ready for fun!

Space Mountain was the very first ride they did want;

Jack Skellington appeared where ghosts usually haunt.

“Thunder Mountain is next!” we heard the kids call;

Christmas carols at Small World were sung after all.

Then they ate cotton candy and watched a parade,

At 52 degrees no one needed shade.

Splash Mountain in winter, it was oh so freezing,

But Gibson Girl’s ice cream was still oh so pleasing.

We walked and we stood ’til our feet were quite sore,

We sat and we rested, then walked and stood more.

We rode lots of rides, even saw some old friends,

With Tiana and Naveen, we saw a new trend.

Now love knows no color in Walt Disney’s world,

We’re happy to see the melting pot stirred.

Movies, music and books—while words may be small,

We’re gaga when reminded that love conquers all.

In 2010 we can all keep in mind,

It is time to accept that love’s gender blind.

(The Princess and the Frog images courtesy of Google Images/Disney. My apologies to Clement Clarke Moore for taking such liberties with his poem, T'was the Night Before Christmas. Thank you to the Merriest Folks on Earth at Disney Resort Public Relations for the tickets!)

Twitter is Watching Over Me

2009-11-30T13:33:00.000-08:00

Seriously?

It was one thing when C&H Sugar started following me on Twitter. I suppose I had it coming to me because I was tweeting day and night about M&Ms, and may have even put up a link to my step-by-step Halloween Candy Workout instructions.

But how did Roman Meal find out that I ate bread on Thanksgiving ~~and that I may or may not have had some more bread every single day since Thanksgiving~~? Sheesh.

2012: I'd Go See the Closing Credits Again

2009-11-21T19:27:00.000-08:00

(Courtesy of Google Images.)

2012: Not so much
Date with husband: Excellent
Adam Lambert singing during the end credits: PRICELESS

It's Like I'm Practically Famous

2009-11-13T11:25:00.000-08:00

It's like I'm practically famous for my sugar addiction issues. It's like how the media picks up the story when a celebrity has relapsed.

--OR--

It's like C&H uses some sort of keyword search application and I tweeted something about Halloween candy one too many times.

Either way.

The question is should I call my agent now where call my agent now equals eat ~~another~~ ~~two~~ a bunch of teeny weeny "not-so-fun-size" bags of M&Ms now?

The Halloween Candy Workout: A Step-by-Step Guide

2009-11-08T14:57:00.000-08:00

Step 1: Warm up

STRETCH your upper body and neck by reaching to the top shelf of the pantry for the candy stash you hid from your family.

STRETCH your lower body and hamstrings by bending down to pick up the candy bag you dropped because it is so heavily laden with delicious booty.

Step 2: Strength training

LIFT the candy bag and carry it to the coffee table.

SQUAT and sit down on the couch to sort through mass quantities of candy looking for ~~one~~ ~~ten~~ all of the M&Ms.

FEEL THE BURN when you discover that the little traitor you gave birth to traded with her friends most of the M&Ms for Reese's.

Step 3: Cardio

RUN to the computer to tweet the following message: Why do these candies say "fun size"? The big package should be labeled "fun size" and the small should be labeled "not as fun size."

RUN back to the couch for more candy.

RUN to the trashcan to ~~hide the wrappers inside of an empty yogurt container~~ throw away the wrappers.

RUN back to the couch with an increased heart rate from the ~~sugar and chemical rush~~ cardio portion of your workout.

Step 4: Cool down

RECLINE on the couch.

STRETCH and reach for your iPhone to send a text message to your friend about M&Ms.

STRETCH and reach for your iPhone to read a text message from your friend about Reese’s.

TAKE DEEP BREATHS upon learning that there is such a thing as dark chocolate Reese’s.

Advanced Program: Circuit training

JUMP off of the couch.

RUN to the pantry.

STRETCH while reaching for the candy bag on top shelf.

SQUAT down and sit on the pantry floor.

LIFT the candy bag, sort through its contents, find no dark chocolate Reese’s, and curse.

WALK back to the couch feeling sad.

RECLINE and pout.

(Graphics courtesy of Google images.)

If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard.

2009-11-05T12:07:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about my middle child today. When Courtney was a little girl, she loved The Wizard of Oz. A friend of mine made a lovely Dorothy costume for Courtney, and she wore it almost daily, until it was threadbare. One year, students in Courtney's class had to make a clothespin doll representing their likenesses. This was Courtney’s:

I miss that little Courtney, and I wish that I could go back and get to know her better. If I could change one thing about Courtney’s childhood years, it would be that I would have been more present during that time with her. That one "little" change would have effected so many others.

I have regret, and it is painful. From regret comes opportunity for change, to accept responsibility, to make amends when possible, and even to forgive oneself. If we wallow in regret too deeply or try to bury it, we won't be able to do what we can do now. Eckhart Tolle (and others) are correct in pointing out that the present moment is all that we ever have. The past is gone and unchangeable. We can only plan the future.

I love remembering Courtney as a little girl.

I'm looking forward to spending time with Courtney at Thanksgiving.

It doesn't matter whether she lives in another state or she's all grown up now. In this present moment, I treasure Courtney with all of my heart.

Bewitching

2009-10-31T21:17:00.000-07:00

Photo by Trish

be·witch
tr.v. be·witched, be·witch·ing, be·witch·es
1. To place under one's power by or as if by magic; cast a spell over.
2. To captivate completely; entrance.

Adam Lambert & Blog This Mom: Together Again

2009-10-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

Adam Lambert's album cover was released today. If you need me, I'll be right over here licking my computer screen.

All Trails Lead to Petey

2009-10-19T19:02:00.000-07:00

When my oldest daughter, Kristen, was a little girl she named a snail that she found on the front sidewalk Petey. As the days went by, Kristen was amazed that Petey was everywhere until the day that she discovered multiple snails on the sidewalk. Kristen realized that they couldn’t all be Petey, but that was what she called them all anyway.

Now Kristen is 25.

All snails are still called Petey.

Happy Birthday, Kristen.

I love you.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Xanax

2009-10-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post may include TMI and references to a certain female organ that rhymes with China and a certain other organ that rhymes with Madder and a certain male organ that rhymes with Venus and a certain activity that rhymes with Hex. Rhymes will be utilized rather than actual names to thwart Googling pervs.

Another Warning: See the title up there? The word Xanax? I’m guessing the desire for one will hit you before you’re finished reading the first paragraph, and, if not then, likely during the second paragraph. If so, follow the instructions in the last paragraph.

One day I was minding my own business while having Hex with my husband when I felt something in my China other than his Venus. Upon investigation, I determined that I was harboring a superball all up in there. (This explains why I’d bounce a few times whenever I sat on a hard surface.) (Not really.) (But it sort of feels like it.) So I went to my China doctor, who told me it seemed like it wasn’t so much an issue having to do with my China as possibly my Madder. She referred me to a urologist (an urologist?) ("an" seems weird) (which is it?).

The thought of going to this urologist ("this" solved the "a" or "an" dilemma) made me veRy nErVous. I didn’t want some dude up in my China or looking into my Madder with a scope. Really, who would, right? Except for Googling pervs. But they're not here because of the rhyming. So a very good friend gave me a Xanax to take before the appointment. I felt so much relief knowing that I could go to this appointment with a little something to get me through it.

On the day of the appointment, I decided not to take the Xanax. I decided to go to the urology appointment and just feel my feelings. (I'm pretty sure this got me extra credit points in therapy, by the way.) Also? Maybe I would even tell the doctor that I was having feelings about the procedure. There would be an idea! Share my concerns with my chosen medical professional.

So I went in stone cold sober, to feel my feelings, and have my superball (that is not an actual superball, just in case you missed that part) checked out.

Waiting in the doctor's office, one of the feelings that I got in touch with was that I knew that I had love in my purse. My friend gave me her Xanax during a time in her life when she was dealing with all manner of personal bullshit, so I knew that she gave it with love, and I swear to God my purse felt all warm and fuzzy (although maybe I shouldn't have put it down on the floor mat during the drive over).

It turned out that the urologist gave me THE CREEPS! And guess what? If I’d taken that Xanax, I might not have been tuned into that particular feeling. This first appointment turned out to be just a consultation (although I wasn't sure going in), and the procedure was supposed to take place the following week. After a brief inner struggle over whether or not to just get the procedure over and done with (I was trained to be a good girl, after all), I called and canceled the appointment. I got a referral to another doctor’s office and feel much better about that upcoming appointment.

Meanwhile, I told my friend that I planned to give back her Xanax. Only this morning another friend and I were having coffee. She told me she was getting on an airplane today, and that she not only hates to fly, but this time she was flying alone, without her family. So . . . I asked her if she needed a Xanax to take with her, laughing and telling her how it helped me. My traveling friend said she didn’t think she’d take it, but that she would put it in her purse, just in case.

And that is how The Sisterhood of the Traveling Xanax got its start.

So . . . to my friend who gave me the Xanax in the first place, you’re just now finding out what I did with it, and I hope you still love me as much as I love you. The Traveling Xanax should be home by Sunday, so if anyone else needs a turn, I can hook a sister up.

John Phillips & Roman Polanski: Two Big Conversations and One Big Question

2009-09-30T14:07:00.000-07:00

A big conversation got started last week when Mackenzie Phillips’ book was released and she made an appearance on Oprah. Opinions are flying around television, radio, and the Internet, and even some unfortunate jokes have been made about what happened to her. And I mean what happened to her.

I know that many people, apparently Oprah included, consider what happened to Mackenzie following the rape by her father to have been consensual because many of the acts occurred after she was legally an adult. And, under the law, we properly hold adults legally accountable for their acts. Even Mackenzie believes that because she was an adult she consented, and it is courageous of her to publicly accept her part in what happened.

But legal ability to consent is not the same as psychological ability. (I’m not offering a diminished capacity defense here, but Mackenzie isn’t being adjudicated in a court of law for a crime.) Mackenzie and her father were not equals. Her father had power over her for many reasons, not the least of which was due to her drug addiction (and it was John Phillips who taught his then-child how to put a needle into her veins). Let's not gloss over that he began the abusive relationship by raping her and then telling her they made love. Like many abusers, he cultivated a belief in his victim that her submission was consent, gaining her psychological cooperation in order to maintain his abusive power.

John Phillips failed utterly in the most important role he was blessed with in this life, being a parent. He was the very person who above all others should have been protecting his daughter from sexual abuse, from drugs, and even from harming herself. Instead, he brought harm to her, the worst kind. Phillips had been grooming and controlling Mackenzie long before he forced his penis into his daughter’s vagina, and after he did that he managed to convince his damaged and drug-addled child that she chose to be his lover. Mackenzie was the victim. She is the survivor.

And this is the stuff of jokes? I read someone’s opinion yesterday that all dark humor has a group that will be injured. I understand that, but I’d like to consider that statement further. Sure, we hear comedians joke about celebrities, reality show participants, ethnic groups, someone who has a big mole, or blondes. And, sure, that person or group is poked and could be hurt. Having said that, a successful comedian knows his or her audience. I’m not saying that poking at others is okay, but I understand that it happens. I’m the first person to poke fun at myself, or things about me that I perceive to be a shared human condition. And I’ve taken a joke too far, too. It happens. None of us is perfect. But joking about certain subjects goes beyond dark humor, and even beyond poor taste. Incest falls into that category, and, in particular, jokes about the survivor having choice or enjoying incest ought to be no-man’s land. Would it be funny to joke about the holocaust, murder, slavery, abortion, or 9/11? Incest is never funny either.

Are you dismissing this just a little bit because you’re thinking that I'm an overly sensitive survivor, too hurt to see the humor? Yes, I am a survivor of incest, and sensitive, too. This is precisely why I’m speaking up, and with some authority on the matter. Bless you if you don’t know this first hand, but survivors of incest are statistically a very large group. Survivors are also some of the most resilient and accommodating folks on the planet, sometimes too much so. And they’re some of the funniest, too, as humor is a very powerful coping mechanism. However, joking about incest sends a harmful message to survivors, and encourages everyone else to be glib about it.

Another conversation was started in the media this week about the whole Roman Polanski thing. Yesterday, Whoopi Goldberg said on The View that "It wasn't a rape-rape." Having intercourse with an unconscious 13-year-old girl isn't rape? No, Whoopi, it wasn’t rape. It was child rape. So Hollywood will gather 'round to defend this guy because what? It is more acceptable to have sex with a drugged minor than it is to do it by physical force? Why does Roman Polanski deserve a pass? Is it because the perpetrator is a talented artist and/or an old man now? Because that old man did not pay for his crime under the system of justice in which he committed the acts. Is it because the survivor has forgiven him? Forgiveness by a victim has nothing to do with absolving the perpetrator of responsibility.

These conversations in the media raise a big question in my mind. Is our society more interested in honoring and protecting persons of wealth and fame than our children? It sure seems like it to me.

[EDITED TO ADD IN RESPONSE TO COMMENTS:

Swiss filmmaker Otto Weisser called the rape and sodomy of the 13-year-old child in the Polanski case "a little mistake."

Polanski gave an interview to the novelist Martin Amis in 1979 (the year after Polanski fled this jurisdiction) that reportedly appeared in the Condé Nast U.K. publication Tatler, in which Polanski said:

“If I had killed somebody, it wouldn’t have had so much appeal to the press, you see? But… f—ing, you see, and the young girls. Judges want to f— young girls. Juries want to f— young girls. Everyone wants to f— young girls!”

So, it seems that this so-called "little mistake" was not only the intentional rape and sodomy of a child, but Polanski said he believes that everyone wants to do that to young girls. Um, no, Polanski, just so we're clear, only very sick bastards want to "f— young girls."

This is who Hollywood embraces?

For thirty-two years the victim in this case* has been victimized again and again as the media diminishes the absolute horror that she experienced, and throws support behind the perpetrator. It is completely understandable that she just wanted (and still wants) the case to go away. It's time for Polanski to go away, where he should have gone thirty-two years ago.]

__________
*Although she's been identified in the media, for the sake of the privacy she's said she wants, I will not identify her by name here.

Instead of Cleaning Out the Closet

2009-09-29T12:42:00.001-07:00

I swear every morning when I'm helping Laura find something to wear to school that I'm going to clean out her closet later that day.

But then I have coffee with Trish.

Or I eat a frozen protein bar (which is almost like a frozen Snickers bar) (not really) (but frozen) (and chocolate-y) (and frozen).

Or I ~~wander around looking for good stuff to buy at~~ pick up cleaning supplies at Target.

Or I catch up on ~~Nurse Jackie episodes~~ important errands.

Or I email back and forth with Kate forty-seven times in thirty minutes about anything that doesn't have to do with cleaning out closets.

Or I watch Harry Connick Jr. on Oprah, and then email back and forth with Kate forty-seven times in thirty minutes about Harry Connick Jr. (Except that for the Harry Connick Jr. part I may or may not be emailing back and forth with myself since Kate isn't answering because she's at work probably, like, working. Whatever.)

I know. It's so unlike me to have a crush on a man who isn't wearing eyeliner, huh?

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C
(me thinking of Exhibits A and B):

Harry Connick Jr. is really dreamy and I emailed Kate to tell her that I totally want to have sex with him, except not just sex. I would totally like to go to a country fair with him, eat caramel apples, drink lemonade, and then have a picnic lunch in a nearby meadow. Only then would I have sex with him, but under the picnic blanket because I have stretch marks.

But then I felt sort of guilty thinking about having a crush on Harry Connick Jr. because from what he said to Oprah he seems to really love his wife and three daughters, and I'm married to a man who seems to really love his wife and three daughters.

So I'm better off having crushes on men who wear eyeliner because I don't have to feel guilty about that.

Also, when I emailed Kate the part about having sex with Harry Connick Jr. under a picnic blanket? I almost accidentally sent it to the wife of the pastor of my church whose name is also Kate.

The End

_____________________

(Photos of Harry Connick Jr. ~~on whom it is inappropriate for me to have a crush~~, and Adam Lambert & Captain Jack Sparrow ~~on whom it is perfectly acceptable for me to have a crush~~ courtesy of Google Images.)

A Winner and More Breast Talk, Including Photos of My Actual Breasts Because Stu Asked

2009-09-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

We have a winner, yo. I ran the number of comments on my last post through my transmogrifier, and number 25 was the winner. Congratulations Kelly at The Glass Dragonfly. You win a Save the Ta-Tas car magnet. I highly recommend that you don’t drive anywhere near a Volvo dealer with it on your car. Those guys are known criminals.

In other news, a certain person, who may or may not be named Stu, felt mislead by the title of my last post, “Breast Talk, Including a Covertly Taken Photo,” thinking for some odd reason that the covertly taken photo would be a photo of breasts. I can’t imagine why. However, I would never want it said that I was in any way misleading, so here are some photographs of my actual breasts:

What?

Now can we move on from breast photos to breast talk?

Cool.

On Monday, September 14, I posted a promise that I would call that day to make a follow-up mammogram appointment because my reminder card said appointments could only be made on M, W, or F. My doctor’s office prefers to do the scheduling of mammograms with the breast center (in the same building), so the mammogram and office visit can occur on the same day.

I called my doctor at 4 PM on Monday, September 14.

Gloria* told me she’d call me back on Wednesday because the breast center closed at 4 PM.

Gloria did not call back on Wednesday.

I called Gloria on Friday.

Gloria said the doctor’s computer scheduling system was down until the following Tuesday, and she’d call me back then.

I said that I thought the breast center was closed on Tuesdays, and Gloria said, “Oh, yeah,” and that she’d call back on the following Wednesday.

I was concerned that after she forgot the Wednesday before, maybe Wednesdays weren't good for Gloria and another week would go by.

So, I asked if I could just call the breast center directly and make my own mammogram appointment, and then I would call back the following Tuesday and let Gloria know when it was.

Then Gloria and I wrangled a bit because my reminder card said "bilateral" (and I knew it is supposed to be), but Gloria thought the mammogram was only supposed to be for my left breast.

My right breast and I prevailed.

Gloria said to give her ten minutes to fax the order to the breast center.

An hour and a half later the order was faxed.

I made an appointment with the breast center for the mammogram. Both sides.

I called Gloria back that same day (still Friday) and told her that although I knew that the doctor’s computer scheduling system was down, I could give her the mammogram date, if she wanted it, so she could put it in her schedule when the computer system was up again.

Gloria said that would be great.

I gave her the date.

Gloria said that date wouldn’t work with the doctor’s schedule.

I did not ask how she knew that if the scheduling system was down.

Y'all, I've had some therapy and some trial advocacy training and three daughters (two of whom are grown). It's a matter of asking the right question, you see.

So I asked, “What date would work?”

Gloria gave me the preferred date and I called the breast center to see if that was open. It wasn’t.

I called Gloria back to get a couple more options. One of them worked with the breast center.

I rescheduled the mammogram.

I called Gloria back and gave her the date.

Gloria said she put it in the doctor’s computer schedule (you know, the one that was supposed to be down until Tuesday).

And so, one week later, and several telephone calls, I have a mammogram and follow-up doctor appointments scheduled early next month.

On Wednesday of this week the breast center called me to see if I wanted an earlier appointment date.

Heck no. Gloria, my left breast, my right breast, and I finally have our schedules straight.

So, now I must ask . . .

Do you have a breast cancer detection plan? Are you current? And if you, you, you, you, or Stu is reading this, are your loved ones current?

I know the pain isn’t just having your breasts prodded, marked with a Sharpie, and smashed between cold metal plates.

Just scheduling the dang thing is a pain.

But you have to do it.

Or I’ll pursue you.

You know I will.

You know who you are.

If you want me off your back leave me a comment or send me an email that you’ve felt yourself up and that your appointment is scheduled.

That is all.

_________
*Gloria was named Gloria to protect the innocent.

Breast Talk, Including a Covertly Taken Photo

2009-09-14T06:32:00.001-07:00

Let’s talk about breasts, shall we?

With a family history of breast cancer (mother and great-grandmother), I take breast care seriously. I support friends and friends of friends who do breast cancer walks. Laura and I do Save Lids to Save Lives each year. I am known to relentlessly pursue and nag anyone whom I find out is overdue for her next mammogram. I drive around with this car magnet on the back of my car:

You get the point.

And yet, my “YOU ARE DUE FOR AN APPOINTMENT” reminder card has been sitting next to my keyboard for a month. I look at that card every day and know that between the mammogram, ultrasound, follow-up office visit, and, if it goes like last time, a second set of mammograms, insurance errors, etc., this will likely take me several telephone calls, followed by several office visits, and will include some vigorous sessions during which my ta-tas are summoned from their ever-southward migration to be prodded, laid bare on a cold slab of metal, marked with a Sharpie, and repeatedly smashed.

Who wouldn’t be procrastinating?

Today, it is my solemn vow to start making that round of telephone calls to get the mammogram appointment process started. I will do it today and not tomorrow because my reminder card says in yellow-highlighted letters that I can only call on M, W, or F to schedule appointments.

And so today I am also reminding you to be sure you’re current on your breast self-exam, mammogram, and pap smear. If you’re not the type to get mammograms, like Gary, or Gary, or Mo, then remind your loved ones, k?

A couple of months ago, Laura noticed that the Save the Ta-Tas magnet on the tailgate was missing from the back of the car. I remembered that my car had been in the shop earlier that week, so I wondered if it had been removed there, but it could have gone missing anyplace, so I didn’t think much more of it. Last week, I had to take my car in again for service. When I was taking care of the paperwork, guess what I spotted behind the service counter:

Yes, that would be my car magnet on the metal filing rack behind the service counter. No, I didn’t ask for it back because I’d already replaced it, and it seemed to be spreading a fine public service announcement right there in the service department. Also, perhaps more importantly, using my finely tuned pretending-to-text technique, I was able to covertly shoot a photo for blogging purposes.

Anywho. A while back, to save on shipping and in case it went missing again, I ordered a couple of extra magnets. So, if you leave a comment that you want a “Save the Ta-Tas” car magnet, I’ll use a random-number transmogrofier to pick a winner from the comments and send you one of my extra magnets for your car or fridge.

I'm a Totally Awesome Imagineer

2009-09-04T03:23:00.001-07:00

An end-of-summer Disneyland visit is fun. The crowds are not too bad, and the weather is still hot enough that a daily visit to Gibson Girl for ice cream is a necessity of life.

But still, a mind can wander while waiting in line on a hot day in September. A person in such circumstances might even decide to become a Walt Disney Imagineer in her own mind, and engage in covert operations in order to share with the general public her awesomely imagineered creations.

CIA agents may want to take note of this covert operation technique: Photos of a particular subject can be taken with an iPhone while pretending to photograph something else or while pretending to send a text message. [EDITED TO ADD: Agents should set the iPhone to silent mode so the shutter sound doesn't give you away. I think most digital cameras also have a way to silence the faux shutter sound, but you can't pretend text with a camera.]

Using my iPhone boyfriend, I was able to photograph my imagineered creations in order that I might share them. I employed the old pretending-to-text technique in some situations, in others I pretended to be photographing scenery or my daughter, Laura. So successful was I in my covert operation that the only technical difficulty I encountered was when my husband, Tom (who had no idea I was working undercover as a Walt Disney Imagineer), would spot me holding up my iPhone and move into the shot smiling. To maintain my cover, I would nod and thank Tom for posing. Then I’d pretend to put away my iPhone, and wait for him to look away. Once Tom was distracted again, I’d brandish my iPhone and return to the mission at hand.

So, without further adieu, I present to you, ~~heat stroke and ice-cream induced giddiness~~ Imagineering at its finest . . .

I imagineered this guy while in line for the Alice in Wonderland ride. I named him Enzo. As you can see, Enzo is wearing Minnie bride ears. Enzo was a newlywed and his husband was out somewhere in the park, so to speak. I asked "my wife" if we should marry Enzo, too, and she said we could if I wanted.

Meet Paulo. Paulo is Enzo’s husband, and I imagineered him while he was arriving at Tom Sawyer’s Island on a raft. Paulo is from Tuscany and he totally loves me and my wife, Kate, and his wife, Enzo, and my other husband, Adam Lambert. Paulo isn’t so interested in Tom, and I’m guessing the feeling would be mutual, if Tom knew about Paulo.

Todd was imagineered in Fantasyland. He played Rugby in college and is now the CEO of an iPhone apps company. Todd enjoys cocktails with umbrellas, beach volleyball, and giving foot massages. In the winter months, Todd likes sitting by the fire and sharing what he likes to call a “Hot Toddy.”

It turns out that I imagineered Paulo with a jealous streak. Hoping to distract us from the likes of Todd, Paulo fathered a baby for my wife and me. Totally worked. Baby Vincenzo was imagineered in Toontown, and we never call him Vinnie.

Stass was imagineered in Tomorrowland. When he’s not driving cars at Autopia, he races for Mercedes Benz. Stass totally wants to take my wife and me skiing. If we can bring our Hot Toddy? We will ski with Stass.

I would have had not-swiped-from-Google photos of Phil Donahue and Richard Attenborough look-a-likes (by the way, if Richard Attenborough was at Disneyland, who was minding Jurassic Park?), but these were two of the occasions during which Tom thought I was trying to photograph him and moved his head into my shot smiling. My covert operation had to be aborted in these two instances lest my secret identity be revealed.

And that's the story of how I became a totally awesome Walt Disney Imagineer.

What do you do this summer?

I'm SO Getting Botox and She's So NOT Getting a Pony

2009-08-30T06:54:00.000-07:00

Laura and I were in the bathroom, preparing for bed. She was brushing and flossing. I was applying cream under my eyes.

Laura looked up at me and was clearly thinking about something. Then, in a very sweet, loving, helpful, and well-meaning voice, Laura began this conversation:

Laura: "Mom, is that cream for wrinkles?"

Me: "Yes."

Laura: "I have a really good idea."

Me: "What?"

Laura: "Take some of that cream and put it on the two lines that you have between your eyebrows."

Me:

Laura [looks in mirror]: "Watch when I make an angry face."

Me:

Laura: "See how I have two lines between my eyebrows?"

Me:

Laura: "You have those lines all of the time."

Me:

Laura: "If you put cream there, it might help."

Me:

For the record: While my post title and photograph suggest that I'm rushing out for an injection, I'm not at this point in time. Having said that, because I read posts around the 'sphere both blasting and praising Botox, I'll just say this: I think the decision to do any cosmetic procedure is personal. I'm not opposed to Botox, and I don't see how having a cosmetic procedure conflicts with a personal lifestyle that, for example, incorporates organic foods and Yoga. What I struggle to understand are people who don't support other people's personal choices. So, if a Botox injection, a tummy tuck, or same-gender marriage isn't for you, then don't have one. My wife, husband, other husband, and I aren't telling anyone else what to do. Heh.

And . . . Laura's so NOT getting a pony.

But . . . now I do put spackle on the lines between my eyebrows every night.

It's No Wonder I Have Nothing of Substance in My Brain These Days

2009-08-24T14:38:00.000-07:00

Not so long ago, I fell down our stairs (well, five of them). My body made a thud as I hit the landing. Tom came running, and Laura called out from her bed.

Three weeks ago, I fell down after dropping off Laura and her friends at swim camp. Nobody saw me. When I picked them up after camp, I fell down again, in the exact same spot. That time all of the parents and kids leaving the camp saw me. At least I had helpers to pick up the contents of my purse, which had spilled all over the pavement during the fall.

Last week, I ran smack into a pole as I was leaving the grocery store. (I was walking, not driving.) A couple walking into the grocery store and Laura saw it happen. They laughed. I know. I should probably stay off of poles if I want to set a good example for my daughter.

Today I walked smack into a door frame, nose first. Tom heard the crack my nose made when it hit the door frame.

Tom: What happened?

Me: Ow, ow, ow! I walked right into the door frame and hit the bridge of my nose.

Tom: The bridge of your nose? Are you okay?

Me: It hurts! My eyes are watering!

Tom: You hit the bridge of your nose on the door frame?

Me: Yes! I’m seeing stars! Like in a cartoon!

Tom: There’s a mark on the bridge of your nose. [Editor’s Note: It’s really more of a gash. Heh.]

Me: It feels like it may be swelling, too!

Tom: Do you want me to get you some ice?

Me: No. I need to take a photo of it first to use in a blog post since I have nothing of substance in my brain these days.

Tom: How did your face get to the door before your feet anyway?

Me: I don’t even know. You’re just lucky I’m me. Otherwise, no one would believe the old “walked into a door” story and they’d think you did it. Hey! I'm going to hang on to the photos in case you ever try to leave me. They could come in handy.

I know, this photo is craptastic. I took it myself with my iPhone. If the swelling progresses or any bruising develops, I'll get a better one with my camera. Just in case . . .

Further Adventures in Texting with Laura & An Actual Conversation with AT&T

2009-08-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

We're having further adventures with the free text message application that Laura downloaded for her iTouch. I'll share.

Laura: "Emma is at the stables and Leigh is working today."

Me: "How do you know?"

Laura: "I texted them to see if they could babysit me. I don't want to go to the grocery store with you."

Me: "Um, Laura, this is more of a general rule than a rule about texting. You can't hire babysitters for yourself."

Laura: "Oh, okay."

Now that Laura (and her friends) are texting me a bazillion times a day, I called AT&T to make sure I have the unlimited text message plan because my text messages cost money, yo.

Automated Voice: “Press 1 if your call is regarding ###-###-###. Press 2 if your call is regarding a different number. ”

Me: [Pressing 1]

Automated Voice: “Please hold for a Customer Service Representative.”

Customer Service Representative: “Can you give me your number again? We don’t have a record of the one you're calling from.”

Me: “###-###-####”

CSR: “We don’t have a record of that number in our system.”

Me: “Um. I’m talking to AT&T, aren’t I?”

CSR: “Yes, but we don’t have any record of your number.”

Me: “You send me a bill for it every month.”

CSR: “Can you give me your number again?”

Me: “###-###-####”

CSR: “###-###-####?”

Me: “Yes.”

CSR: “No, we don’t have that number in our system.”

Me: “Um. But you know that I’m calling from that number, right? I dialed 6-1-1 to reach you from that number.”

CSR: “Let me try one more time. Hold on."

Me: "Okay."

CSR: "Oh. Here it is.”

Me: “I want to make sure that I have the unlimited texting plan.”

CSR: “For which number?”

Me: “Um. The only number that I have. I hope.”

CSR: “Oh, okay.”

Swear to God.

("Actual Conversation" title format inspired by the Minnesota Matron. Pictures courtesy of Google Images.)

Not a Simple Plan . . . with Unlimited Texting

2009-08-18T11:44:00.000-07:00

Laura wants a cell phone because ALL THE KIDS in her class have one. (Most of them do.)

She's not getting one.

I'm not saying that kids of any particular age should or shouldn't have cell phones. Depending on a kid's activities or schedule or whatever, some parents deem it appropriate or even necessary. Laura thinks texting her friends is necessary. Tom and I don't. We could be wrong. We don't mind being wrong sometimes.

Of course, it isn't that simple.

Also? Laura wants her own iPod.

I'm not saying that kids of any particular age should or shouldn't have iPods. As a matter of fact, Tom was given an iTouch that he never used, so we let Laura have it. For music and games. We thought.

Five minutes after the battery was charged, I got an email from Laura's iTouch.

I did not know that the iTouch has email capabilities. I learn something new every day around here.

Of course, it isn't that simple.

I got an email this morning from The Rat (Laura's nickname). The content of the message is unimportant; it was the signature line that got my attention:

"sent from the rat's iPod because her parents won't let her get a cell phone"

Swear to God.

Of course, it isn't even that simple.

Laura downloaded a free texting application that allows her to text from the iTouch.

Who knew that was possible? Not me. I learn something new every day around here.

Laura started texting her friends. Who started texting me. I don't know why. One recent night between 8pm and 9pm, I had over twenty texts and none were from MY friends. The next day at 6:30am, the texts to my phone from Laura's friends began anew. My plot to avoid all of this "unnecessary" texting was foiled by nine year olds and I had to make sure I had unlimited texting on my cellular plan. Because my text plan? Not free.

Of course, you know the drill, still not that simple.

This morning? After breakfast? Laura was downstairs and I was upstairs ~~fooling around online~~ working at my computer. This text exchange took place:

From Laura's iTouch: so can i have ice cream?

From Cheri's iPhone boyfriend: No.

From Laura's iTouch: down here it says yes.

Apparently the iTouch even comes with a mind of it's own.

How Do You Like Your World View?

2009-08-16T12:36:00.000-07:00

I ~~like~~ love to see the world through the handprints of a child.

How do you like your world view?

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

2009-08-14T01:01:00.001-07:00

And now, the big reveal from Wednesday's All in the Family post.

Here's a recap for those who were absent on Wednesday:

The guy in the first photograph is my future son-in-law, Adam.
Who is the guy in the second photograph?

Some of the guesses were:

Adam, now my son-in-law

Adam's brother, twin brother, or evil twin

Adam, now the father of my future grandchild

And Adam's answer: "Apparently I have a clone."

Adam and (my oldest daughter) Kristen

Are you ready for the answer?

Scroll down.

Keep scrolling.

You won't believe me.

But I'm telling the truth.

Keep scrolling.

Are we there yet?

Almost.

Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle.

Fasten your seatbelt.

This is fun, no?

It is for me.

Because I have no life.

Remember that truth is stranger than fiction.

You have reached your destination.

katydidnot's sailor and (my wife) katydidnot

Swear to God.

See? They're all in the family.

All in the Family

2009-08-12T08:56:00.001-07:00

The guy standing next to my oldest daughter in the top photograph is my future son-in-law.

Who is the guy in the bottom photograph?

If you already know the answer, step away from your keyboard. Let the other kids play. :-)

And For Her Next Act . . .

2009-08-07T06:35:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not have read, earlier this week we thought that Laura's Betta fish died.

The little faker was taking a pebble nap under the pump in her tank.

After we'd prepared a funeral service befitting a head of state, Lavender woke up, waved her purple fin at us, and yelled, "Psych!"

Lavender's nickname is now Lazarus.

~~Dr. Kevorkian~~ Tom suggested that since Lavender hadn't been looking very energetic and we did have the bathroom all set up for a burial at sea, maybe we should go ahead and, you know . . .

The next morning we found this in her tank:

And the day after that we got a letter from Lavender's agent. Apparently, she's been involved in contract negotiations with Sea World.

It seems that Lavender's agent has specified that considering her death-defying abilities, she will not take a co-starring role.

When we know the opening date of her one-fish show, we'll let you know.

Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent Because That's How We Roll

2009-08-04T08:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was putting away groceries in the kitchen. Laura went upstairs to take a shower. A few minutes later, she came back down.

Laura: “Mom, I have sad news. My fish died.”

Me: “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Laura: “Yes. I found Lavender under the pump.”

Me: “Okay. When Daddy comes home he’ll carry the tank downstairs and we’ll get Lavender out.”

Laura: “Can I get a hamster?”

Me: “No.”

Laura: “Okay.”

Me: “Do you want to do the traditional burial in the backyard or do you want to do a burial at sea?”

Laura: “You mean flush it, right?”

Me: “Yes.”

Laura: “Burial at sea!”

I went upstairs a little while later, and there was Lavender, kind of on her side, under the pump.

Tom came home from work a little while later and we told him the bad news.

We decided to hold the funeral in the downstairs bathroom.

Tom brought the fish tank downstairs and placed it on the kitchen counter.

I gave Tom a plastic cup with which to scoop Lavender’s corpse from the tank.

Laura and I prepared for the interment as we waited for Tom to bring in the dead fish.

We lit a candle at the burial site.

We plugged in the iPod on the bathroom counter.

It turns out we have four versions of Amazing Grace, including one by Billy Ray Cyrus. (How did that even get on my iPod?)

Laura opted for the one by Elvis. (Probably because it made us giggle.)

Laura thought of a few words to say during the service.

Me: “Tom, we’re ready. Are you going to bring in the fish?”

Tom: “Uh . . . no.”

Me: “Why not?”

Tom: “You might want to come and take a look.”

Laura and I went into the kitchen and looked into the fish tank.

There was Lavender, swimming around.

Tom: “You know, Lavender is acting like she’s close to the end . . . and you do have everything all set up in the bathroom . . .”

Me: “No.”

Laura’s former fish (who, apparently, may or may not have actually been dead when we buried them):

Pedro (formerly known as Sparkle, who then was Natalie, and then was Natalie or Savannah before being posthumously renamed Pedro)

Napoleon (who was formerly known as Laura, and before that was Savannah, and before that was Sparklie)*

Deb

Apart from Deb, who quite miraculously managed to avert a full-on identity crisis by hanging on to the one pithy name her entire life . . . all of Laura’s fish have endured several name changes.

Why stop now?

I’m thinking of changing Lavender’s name to Lazarus.

I’m also changing Tom’s name to Dr. Kevorkian.

___________
*Kate: Because I know it will arouse you, click the Napoleon link. (That post has legal words like intestate and possessory interest.)