Bea-el-zabub & Hell-oise

Warning: Do not be fooled by these cute little faces. These two toddlers are spawn of Lucifer. While Steph & Jeff are moving in to their place in McJersey, I am mom to 6. Now CeCe was billed to me as the "special" one, the fragile little flower who would miss her mommy and daddy so much that I'd spend my days consoling her. Not on your life. CeCe is a gem. It's double trouble who are making my life insane. While one is attempting to break the DVDs, the other is shimmying under the security gate to raid the ointment shoe box in the back of a drawer. I came into Bea's room to find Ouisie sucking down Desiten with lidless tubes of Neosporin, Monistat, and A&D smeared across the carpet. We've had dancing on nightstands, bags of chips empied, crushed and sprinkled everywhere. I cannot let either of them out of my sight. Uh-oh. I hear a crash.

Crying over spilt milk

I took Jonah to the orthodontist this week and had this panoramic x-ray taken. The glasses cracked us up. You can see all the teeth vying for space, so he will follow his mother's path of having teeth pulled and then wearing braces. There are worse things.

There are a few things I keep meaning to write about but keep forgetting. We got home from our trip Friday nite and when we entered our bedroom, both Dave and I were hit by a wall of stench. Let me brag for a moment and say I inherited my mother's acute olfactory system. So if meat is within 12 hours of going bad, I can smell it. If a mouse dies in the wall, I smell it (even when nobody else does for days). When Dave was camping/consulting and came home complaining that his tent had turned moldy, I took one whiff and knew that a feral cat had sprayed it. So I was going crazy in our room, knowing that that something organic was rotting but not knowing what or more importantly, WHERE.

For 3 days, Dave and I hunted all over for a rogue diaper, a rotten hunk of food, a mildewing item. You may be wondering how something so vile can go undiscovered in a bedroom. In our defense, I have to say that the since Dave's sister and kids have been staying with us, Georgia & Millie are sharing our room and there are baskets with their clothes, sleeping bags and blankets, Barbies and ponies and giant box-forts all over, making it really hard to search. But then I moved the swingball set (our room is the same size as the two car garage it's over) and there was a crunchy patch under it. As I leaned down towards it, I swear the vapors singed my eyebrows. Clearly a huge glass of milk was spilled and left to fester and rot. Almost a week later I am still working on this patch but it's getting better.

The highlight of the week was Tuesday nite when Stephanie, Carolyn & I painted my kitchen a lovely lovely green (Dried Parsley to be exact). We started right after America Idol and finished by 1:30. It looks so good. Now I need to do the cabinets. I'm sure they also get done late at night when the kids are asleep. Bea is obviously the hardest one to paint around, but Georgia & Millie are a close second with their, "Please can't I help paint!" and "You're right mom, it's not dry yet..."

Another item I wanted to mention was a follow up to us getting kicked out of a restaurant last month. When 3 of Dave's sisters, Suzie, Stephanie & Sarah, came out for Georgia's baptism, we went out in a big group to celebrate Suzie's birthday. Lindy made reservations for 11 at this nice place in the North End for Saturday nite. Then they call Lindy to confirm, which she does. And then they call again to confirm, and Lindy was a little annoyed, having to play phone tag about a reservation that was never in question. So was testy on the phone. Whatever. We show up that night, 10 minutes late because the place no longer provides valet and we had to hunt for parking. The chef storms up to Lindy, pointing violently at his watch, and lights into her for being late, for giving the hostess "attitude" on the phone, blah blah blah. Basically, he makes such a fuss that we have to leave. Jeff was awesome though. As we are walking past the open kitchen within earshot of the chef and sous chefs, he makes some comment about getting on to "Chow Hounds" which is a website for reviewing restaurants. Every one of their heads popped up and they had such anxious faces... Ever resourceful, Lindy found another place around the corner that could seat us immediately and was really good (though Lindy hated their olive oil--as she was telling this to the waiter I was so panicky, afraid we'd have to leave a second restaurant in one night). In high school I was kicked out of Denny's, and 5 years ago Jen T. & I were kicked out of McDonalds. I guess I'm moving up in the world.

Fast forward to this week. Lindy finds the name of the owner of Monica's, George something, and calls to chat with him about "the incident." She launches in, telling him about the multiple resersvation confirmation stuff, being late due to change in valet service, the "maniac chef," etc. etc. It takes about 10 minutes, and George listens patiently before saying, "You know, I'm not just the owner. I am the 'maniac chef' too." He apologized and told her to come back in and ask for him to get special service. I'd be scared he'd hawk a loogie in my linguini, but that's just me.

Reefer Madness

Puerto Rico is amazing. We spent the better part of the day snorkeling. We are a few minutes walk from a great spot. The giant reef is right off the beach; you wade in a few feet and it just drops. I can't describe all the fish. I felt like I was in Nemo.


So to fully appreciate the picture below, I need to give the back story on our niece Eloise (aka "Ousie"). She's not quite 2, but has been talking up a storm for ages. It freaks people out, how articulate she is. Over Christmas she sang "Silver Bells" and does this whole, little miss pageant both arms over the head, slowly lowered as she croons, "Dressed in Haaahhhh-li-day style." So when she was just a year, her mom Stephanie drove past a party store and as soon as Ousise saw the sign, she shouted, "Party City!" The next time they were out they went past another party store and she (correctly) called out "Party Depot!" (This should tell you more about Stephanie's party fixation than Eloise's precociousness) So when we're with Ouisie, every few hours we say "Party City" to which she replies, "Party Depot." Even Bea has gotten in on the "duck season/wabbit season" call and response. So back to Rincon. Today as we were out driving Dave slammed on the brakes and made us go take a picture of this hilarious store. To which I replied, "Condom Depot!"

I Deserve a Break Today

I feel used and betrayed by one of most central institutions in my life. No, not the Mormon Church (though I do resent both the early & late meeting times). Another institution that, like the LDS Church, is meant to be the same everywhere. Today I got hosed by McDonalds. McScrewed if you will. We are on vacation in Puerto Rico and Dave said he'd go get me my favorite breakfast, an egg McMuffin. I love egg McMuffins. I practically have a testimony of them. I have seriously considered moving to Hong Kong because there, they serve them all day long. I remember my first egg McMuffin. It was the early 70s and my sister and I must have seen an ad on tv announcing the arrival of this culinary genius. So my mom took us to McDonalds in Tarzana, CA the very first Saturday they were served. And I've never looked back. Their magical blend of Canadian Bacon, English muffin and American cheese is a trifecta of all that is right with the English speaking world. While in the early morning sickness stage of pregnancy I learned that the rich protein of egg meat and cheese eaten early enough in the day would stave off puking. Last week, 4 of us entered a McDonalds at 10:29, all hankering for a McMuffin and there were only 3 left. These are some of my dearest sisters in the world, and still, I could not be a good sport and take a sausage bisquit or some other pale substitute.

And then today, Dave gives me this, THING. The meat was the scary luncheon variety that is ribboned with fat and has a rainbow sheen. And, hello, English muffin? Try buns as big as J.Lo's. I couldn't even finish it.

On the bright side, we are in a magical place called Rincon. It's on the far west of the island and is known for it's gorgeous beaches and the good surfing.(today a surfer informed us her favorite waves were usually at "Hobo Beach.") Having grown up around LA, Rincon feels a lot like the Canyons that shoot off the Pacific Coast Highway. It is a weird blend of farmers and surfers and hippies. Unlike the other parts of P.R. I've seen (admittedly, not much) there doesn't feel like a great divide between the have and have nots. I looked this up in the Lonely Planet and they agree.

Too bad I had another dining misadventure. We picked a total locals only place as we had really good luck in Old San Juan with the lunch counters, etc. I don't know what made me queasier, that "Evelyn" as she introduced herself to us, pulled the meat out of tupperware that had clearly been sitting outside in the sun all day, or that she pet the neighborhood stray dog while grilling said meat, or that she used so much raw garlic that it scorched my nostrils, or that she had on a mesh tank top with moles, for real, poking out of some of the holes in the fabric. Mole holes. But being the people pleaser I am, I ate that horrid khabab and said I liked it. Now that I think about it, I ate more of my vile dinner than I did my McBreakfast. Happily, we found another little place that sold amazing fruity drinks and yummy rice and beans. Alls well that ends well.

Georgia's Baptism

Our little Georgia was baptized today. She was so excited--to get baptized, to have so many friends and family in attendance, to NOT have a fever. Dave & Dava spoke; Diane played the piano; Lisa, Jen, Carolyn, Bekka, Becca, & Dava sang; friends did food; and the slide-show I have been working on since December was super sweet. Georgia, who normally hates being the center of attention, just beamed. Dave summed it all up well when he said, "Any day I get to wear a jumpsuit is a good day."

Bea's favorite part was riding the trash cans. Yes, we are hobos.


Now we are frantically shifting gears as we take off for Puerto Rico tomorrow morning. (We lured Dava here on the pretense of Georgia's baptism, convinced her to "stay on for a while" and then planned our escape...)

Sick Sick Sickies

We are the house of sickness. It started Friday nite, right after Georgia's birthday party. She was tired, achey, and asked to go to bed while guests were still here. It's five days later and she still has a fever. I took Camille into school late on Tuesday (it physically pains her to go to school if Georgia doesn't) and the office informed me that 10 kids were absent from Georgia's class. The secretary leaned in kind of conspiratorially and said, "Apparently there was a party Friday nite and ALL the kids are really sick..." So we are now the vector of all illness it seems.

Because this is Georgie's 8th birthday and she will be baptized this Saturday, lots of family are in town. 3 of Dave's 4 sisters are here, with 2 cousins. Almost all of us have some version of the virus. The babies have goopy eyes and fevers, the toddler is miserable, we all have amazing headaches, and currently Stephanie has the highest fever (though Suzie wins as pastiest, which is saying something as she lives a block from the beach). Grandma Dava arrives tomorrow and we are all desperate for her to take care of us, make us soup, bring us cool washclothes, put us to bed with purple flavor motrin.

But we've still managed to have some fun. We watch Idol and Dog Whisperer, eat Mike's pastries and raw cookie dough (Laurie Low's recipe with 3t of Mexican vanilla), and have been to the Christmas Tree Shop twice and are headed back tomorrow. Nothing soothes stabbing aches and pains like cheap Valentine's decorations.

I am excited for my Georgie's baptism. She is such a big girl, and seems to understand that she is making a big commitment. Too bad she doesn't appreciate that she'd look so much cuter in the white satin dress with the beading than the faux shantung one with the cheesey lace jacket... Oh well, I guess even THAT sin will be forgiven.

"That one one"

Dave left town today. He's been in town since right before Christmas and it has been delightful having him around. I do not look forward to single parenting again. I like to think that I stay on top of stuff, but then things get sprung on me at 8pm and I shift into manic headless chicken mode. Jonah said he had a little homework left. Upon further inquiry a "little" meant a 6 page brochure on the 13 colonies, divided into 3 regions. We dash to the computer and try to throw something together. Jonah informs me that I am a better writer than Pop, which is his way of saying I help him more, with a ghost written sentence ending up here and there. We're on a roll now, making jokes about New Jersey being "the Garden Colony" and having been settled by Quakers, "a peace loving people known for their quiet meetings and yummy oats..."

Then Georgia, who earlier had said she had no homework, pulled out her folder at 8pm and started to cry. All 3 girls have been sick, so she had a pile of work from yesterday that she needed to complete. So I leave Joe to his brochure and help Georgia on her stuff. Then Miss Millie, who in kindergarten is not supposed to have any homework, pulls out her folder and not only has math sheets to do (now it's 8:30) but is STAR OF THE WEEK and has surveys to answers, self-portraits to draw, pictures to collect and show and tells to prepare. It would have gone home on Friday, if she'd been there, or Monday. Now it is Tuesday night, and two of her precious five days as class celebrity are gone gone gone! I immediately had a flashback to Jonah's star week in kindergarten. We moved over the weekend, and Sunday night I checked his backpack and found the star forms. Not a single photo album was accessible, and even the slew of fridge photos were packed away. I had to call my friend Jen, who'd helped me pack, and have her remind me where that shoebox full of photos and magnets were. Anyhow, my piles of crap worked in my favor today and I was able to grab a handful of pix from the many Costco envelopes sitting on my desk for Millie to select from. I ran from kid to kid, keeping them focused lest they get distracted and start playing Runescape (Jonah), drawing & shredding paper (Georgia), or sniffing out candy & gum (Millie). So it was 9:30 before the older 3 got in bed.

So I have another wonderful Grandma Jean story to share (hence the photo above of Bea kissing her--Bea adores her and asks all the time, "Where Deanie? Where Deanie?"). Every day of her visit here, she talked about how she was supposed to get back surgery when she got home, and how she did not want to do it. So the day after her return, she calls up Dave's brother PF and tells him about her frustrating attempts to contact her doctor to cancel the surgery. "So I'm on the phone and they say they can't connect me to my doctor. How can that be? I tell them I'm not having any surgery, and they'd better put me through to the doctor so I can cancel it and they just won't help me!" PF is confused, as we all are when she's telling us a story because we KNOW crucial information has been omitted. So he tries for clarification, "Grandma, now who did you call to cancel the surgery?" "Why that one one number." PF: "NINE one one, you called 911!? That's for emergencies, Grandma." "Well, this was an emergency. And they wouldn't help me. I was so mad, I hung up on them. Then I decided I would not take no for an answer so I called that one one again." PF, incredulously: "What happened?" "They found my doctor's number, just like I knew they could." That poor 911 operator! It would be easier for 911 to just call 411 and get her the number than to argue with her. And the best part, she's never set up her surgery, so she went through all that to cancel an operation that had never been scheduled. She's a force of nature, that Grandma.