I Should Have Been a Cosby Kid

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a Huxtable:

There were certain things that I knew weren't possible. For example, I was reasonably sure that I couldn't ever become African-American. Even in this age of extreme science and plastic surgery, I was pretty sure I was stuck in my own pinkishly white skin.

But I really, really wanted one of those fabulous sweaters. I also wanted my family to engage in a musical number on our stairs. Wait - we didn't have stairs. Okay, I wanted stairs, too.

The ability to spout adorable one-liners and wrap up any possible family issues in between commercial breaks appealed to me. Whenever I was put on the spot, I just heard a dial-tone between my ears. I wasn't ever able to think of something precocious or cute to deliver in a sassy way.

I wanted giant bangs. I tried, but they never quite looked like Denise or Vanessa's.

Occasionally, I came close:
*Note the fabulous sweater and socks-with-flats.

I wished that my dad would dance with a beatific look on his face, to a song featuring wind instruments.

I have also always loved Jello Pudding.

Not that I didn't have a monster crush on Alex Keaton, or anything. I also had posters of Kirk Cameron on my wall - to this day, I remember that he kept his "...awesome bod by staying on the Pritikin Diet" (whatever the heck that is). But I wanted to be a Huxtable.

Living in that all-girls school with this bunch:

probably would have been a close second.

I still love watching television, but I'm mostly hooked on reality shows these days. I can think of a few that I'd like to be on - I would love for a couple of fashion savvy designers to hand me a bunch of money to redo my wardrobe! I'd buy whatever clothes they wanted me to for a free trip and a shopping spree! But that's different. Those are shows that you would be on - not live in.

I wanted to live in that house in Brooklyn, with the pink doors and Clair's dried flower arrangements.

And I wanted one of these:

October 16th, 1985

Hi! My favorite television show is (are) the cosby show, Family ties, silver spoons, small wonder, and I like Different strokes. I like the family programs. I like to see what they do and how they solve tough situations. I like to get involved and watch it every week (day) I like to see what they do next, like a comic. I like funny shows mostly, and scary shows. I like detective shows alot too! I like reading better, especially about Ramona Quimby, I've read "Ramona and her mother," "Ramona and her father, " "Beezus and Ramona" "Ramona the pest" and I'm reading "Ramona for ever". I'm going to start reading all of Henry Huggins books because sometimes he is in some of, most of Ramona's books.

The Quimby's should be a television show.

idk How i Got Sooo Blest!!! (Really? Did You Actually Think I Would Type That?)

Ten years ago, I worked with a guy who really "grabbed The Bull by the horns", you might say. He was such a live-life-to-its-fullest kind of person, that I wouldn't be surprised if you called me and told me that he was in Spain last weekend and he had wrestled an actual bull by its actual horns. I would just answer, "Oh geez, that guy...".

Our cubicles were across from each other and part of a typical day would have proceeded like this:

Me: I just read the latest Stephen King novel/Sting interview/Arthur Miller play. It was awesome.
Bull Wrangler: Yeah?
Me: Yeah. I wish I could tell him how great it was.
Bull Wrangler: Well then let's figure out how to get him on the phone. I think I know a guy who works with his publisher...
Me: I really like Ernest Hemingway's work, too.
Bull Wrangler: We should call him up.
Me: He's dead.
Bull Wrangler: I know, but don't let that stop you. If you really want to talk to him, you can find. a. way...

Oh all right, he never actually said any of that - but that is an example of how just about any conversation with him would conclude. Nothing was impossible.

One time, I was driving him to the airport and we were running late. Traffic wasn't moving and the terminal seemed like a million miles around the corner, although we were just on the other side of our destination. We were soclose! He was afraid that he was going to miss his flight, so he jumped out of the car, ran across the freeway and hopped over the fence into long term parking.

I watched him run through isles of parked cars, toting his leather overnight bag and laptop case. He disappeared into the airport jungle.

But he made his flight.

I pass that airport on my way home, when I pick up my kids after work. I've been thinking about all kinds of funny things that have happened during this decade and that was one of them.

A few other things that made my list (in no particular order):

*I got married to my High School Sweetheart.

We're still married.

*I drove into "The City".

Whatever. Go ahead and judge - you probably drive into whatever big city you're near all the time. I, however, have been freaked out about making that trip since I saw "Adventures in Babysitting", in 1987.

Elizabeth Shue was brilliant in that movie...

*I had kids.

Now, I don't want to sound like one of those people. You know who I mean: The people who post on Facebook three times daily about how "Susie B. Swell thinks her kids are the apple of her beautiful cerulean blue eye" or "i am so blest, idk how i got sooooooo lucky".

But seriously: having kids has been pretty much been like winning the lottery. Peanut and Bean are some kind of Energizer Bunny comedy duo. They begin performing when they open their eyes in the morning and they don't let the curtain fall until they close their eyes at their bedtime.

My daughter's wit is so acerbic and beyond her eight-and-a half-years, that sometimes she'll deliver a joke and I won't get it until several hours later, when I'm ruminating in my car. She'll just roll her eyes and walk away. I don't think any other kid on the planet can change whatever tune is on the radio into an introspective ballad/top40 hit/80's throwback about Ghengis Khan and make the song not only informative - but catchy, too.


Who knew listening to tyranny could be so much fun ?

Oh, and my son? He has the voice of a little angel. And he gives awesome hugs. And he's a snappy dresser. And he rocks at Mario Kart.



2000 - 2010 went by pretty fast. When I think about all the things that I've experienced and all the people that I've met during this decade, it feels sort of like when someone's life passes in front of their eyes in the movies.

Tell the next ten years to roll along a little more slowly, wouldja? I'm afraid I might miss something worth remembering...

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Ferris Bueller

All I Want For Christmas...Is For Someone Else to do my Christmas Shopping...

As THE Holiday draws nearer, I find myself in a panic (I find myself in this state more and more, these days) trying to figure out what to buy for everybody in my family.

For instance: What do you purchase for a mother-in-law, who is about as close to being a living saint as someone can get? To give you an idea of her worthiness of sainthood, let me tell you about the time that she won the baking contest for me. Not just "won the baking contest", but "won the baking contest for me".

I am a horrible cook. Really. I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to prompt you to say "no you're not" or "oh, you do just fine": I have no skill in the kitchen, whatsoever. Just ask poor MacG what he had for dinner last night. To make it worse, my sister-in-law is a professional chef. A really good chef, too!

I acknowledge my lack of kitchen mojo with equal parts shame and exasperation - with myself. So, when my Mother's Group was having a baking contest I panicked ( I told you!). I decided to ask my mother-in-law to teach me how to make her failsafe, delicious, (excuse the pun here) cannot fudge up recipe for fudge.

Let's just say that I can fail even the failsafe recipe, when it comes to standing anywhere in the vicinity of stove or oven. Or a spatula. I have some success with the microwave, but even that isn't always a given. The first batch was gritty and inedible. So, looking at me with pity (because I was perhaps the only person she had ever seen who screwed up the fudge recipe - or maybe it was all in my imagination. I doubt it) my MIL offered to help me with another batch.

We both looked skeptically at batch #2 and decided to let it sit overnight, as if the Fudge Fairy was planning on making an appearance and BAM! turning the lumpy, bumpy, mass of chocolate into something fabulous.



I did not hear from my baking tutor the next morning. The baking contest was scheduled for just after dinner. At around three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang and who did I find on my porch? Why, it was Saint MIL: holding a large tray of the most beautiful Peanut Butter Blossoms that you've ever seen. You know: the cookies with the Hershey's Kiss pressed artfully into the center?

I won the baking contest with those cookies. It was a contest where you put in $5 and get to take the pot if your dessert is selected as the King of Desserts - so I made around $50.

I felt guilty afterwards and told them that I was not the artist who created the beautiful blossoms. In all honesty, they knew me, so they should have realized that such a fantastic creation couldn't have emerged from my impossibly unskilled fingers. They were forgiving and sweet and told me to take Saint MIL out to lunch. I think I did, I can't remember.

I sure hope I did.

SEE? How do you find a Christmas gift for someone like that?

One year, I was so stumped about what to get my grandfather that I got him a rock.

Yep, a rock.

It wasn't just any rock, though. I actually had to get military clearance to remove this rock from a U.S. Army Base.

My grandfather found The Rock when he was stationed as a Major on the base, in the 1960's. He found it at a nearby rocky mountain just had to have it, so he and one of his fellow army dudes loaded it onto their jeep and dumped in in a field near the officer's quarters. He loved the darn thing, because it had a white circle on the top of it, with a little river of white spilling down the side.

He thought it looked like God, Himself, had set a big white paint can on it while painting the clouds.

Fast forward 40 years and The Rock was still where he had left it, but was now a part of the landscaping in the parking lot for the base Post Exchange.

My grandfather used to take us to visit The Rock. He would make us salute it.

I'm not joking.

I managed to get clearance from the Commanding Officer of the base (wow, did I feel rad and all Army-like writing that!) through a long string of emails and phone calls, to remove The Rock. However, it literally weighed a ton and had been sinking into the dirt for four decades.

The Commanding Officer arranged for us to have a tractor and a tractor driver, too. They met Me, MacG and Sis on sunrise, three days before Christmas - and pulled our gift out of the PX parking lot island. It dropped into the bed of MacG's truck and almost blew a hole right through it.

On Christmas Eve, my brother met us at grandfather's house and we snuck (as much as people can sneak a monolith through the bushes at midnight) it into the front yard, using brute strength and a wheel dolly. Thus completed Operation Rock Rescue.

You have never seen a reaction like his, when we led our grandfather out the front door in the morning. Tears streaming down his well worn face, he yelled "My ROCK! My ROCK!" He wrote a song about it later. He also wrote a poem.

And that, my friends, was the perfect gift for a man who already had everything...



So, uh, what am I supposed to get everyone this year?

Eureka

I'm pretty sure that the people who hand out Halloween whistles in lieu of treats don't have a 6 and 8 year-old musical team living in their homes.

So far, two of them have -uhm, mysteriously- disappeared from my house.

I meant the whistles, not the children.

I keep saying, "I don't think this is a good time/place (it switches back and forth with great regularity) to blow that thing." But honestly, when is it a good time to make noise with an off-key pumpkin? Bean had one in his hand when he was getting out of the car for Sunday School, last weekend. Good time for it? Nope. Peanut picked one up at 6:45 on Tuesday morning. Another not-so-great time for the darn thing.

I found one in my purse, while I was at the gas station this morning. This one was a purple ghost with a mouthpiece up his heinie.

It accidentally fell into the trash, when I was operating the pump. That's okay: I think I have another one in my kitchen.

While I was looking for my wallet, I found a few other strange things in my bag:

A camping headlamp
Nine green Army men
An Easter egg eraser
A Lego Tonton
My Brighton earring, which matches the one that Peanut lost
A receipt for some pants that I bought in July. Of 2009. The purse was a Christmas gift from last year.
Taco Bell Mild Sauce (thank goodness I found that before it decided to explode)
A flip flop

Yes, you read that last one correctly: I had a shoe in my purse. The bag has a zip-up compartment in the middle of it - perfect for storing one tote-along shoe. Peanut brought the flip flop somewhere for some reason (I almost wrote "thong", but the idea of writing about my 8 year-old daughter's thong made me totally cringe). Just one. Hey: when I say that my little girl is an original thinker, I'm not exaggerating.

No wonder my shoulder hurts all the time.

OK: I heard that! Whether you were thinking, "Sounds like it's time to clean out your purse!" to hurt my feelings, sound humorous - or if you were offering genuine, helpful advice- I heard it.

I'll do it. Besides, I might find some really cool stuff in there that I haven't seen for a while.

Maybe I'll find MacG's plaid Banana Republic pants that poofed into thin air, when we were moving three and a half years ago(that really was a mystery - not a "mystery"), or my Great America season tickets that we never found in 1995.

Or maybe I'll just have a lighter purse.

Thinking Outside of the Box - Doh! I Meant "Inside"

We were headed to a halloween party at our church and, unlike some of you perfect parents out there, I haven't purchased the pieces for the kids' "real" costumes, yet. Since Peanut and Bean have enough costumes to transform every child within a two mile radius, I felt confident that they would find something fantastic in the Ikea bins, upstairs.

Before I continue, let me mention that after a lifetime of being involved in theater - I have a true love for costumes. Seeing people turned into a plant, animal, or mythical creature is akin to some kind of crazy magic. I, myself, have been hired to design and/or costume children's theater productions for many years (okay- OKAY! Those who really know me will want me to mention-in full disclosure- that a lot of those costumes were sewn with a glue gun. In all fairness, it's really hard to sew foam!).

MacG and I were sitting on the couch, when we heard, "We're ready for the costume party!" My daughter's sweet little munchkin voice was proceeded by her appearance, as Elphaba - that's the Wicked Witch of the West, for those of you who haven't been acquainted with the musical, "Wicked".

"You have to paint me green!" She cackled. I agreed.

Then came Bean. We could hear him thumping uncertainly down the stairs and craned our necks to see what fabulous character he had chosen.

My son had decided to attend the church costume party, as a Cardboard Box.

Peanut had "designed" the getup. It had a large box with armholes for the suit and a smaller box with eyeholes for the mask. She had drawn a mustache on the front of it.

A Cardboard Box?!

I am ashamed to admit the next part:

I said, "Wow, guys. Really...uh...creative. You couldn't find a real costume to wear?"

*Ouch* I feel awful for having said that. Thank goodness Peanut responded with:

"This IS a real costume, Mom. I worked really hard on it." Bean nodded his square head.

Well, okay, then.

I painted Peanut's face (and the inside of her ears and back of her neck: it had to be right. It was really hard to remove.) green and off we went. My children had been thinking outside of the box, while creating this recycled facade. My son was now, literally, thinking inside of the box - and I had to deliver him to the party in his new, square state.


Bean was disturbed that people kept mistaking him for a robot. "I. AmaBOX!" He would correct them.

After some spooky fizzy punch and carnival games, came the costume parade. Ian donned his mask - it's pretty difficult walking around with a box on your head - and joined the circle.

The kids walked around in circles and a microphone voice called, "And now, the judges will tell you what they've decided."

You mean the costumes were being judged? *Sigh*

"For funniest costume: The Box!"


Bean went to accept his award and I was flooded with pride (and guilt for having tried to talk him out of wearing it). Peanut spent the remainder of the evening bitterly telling anyone who would listen, that the concept was hers, dammit (all right, she didn't say "dammit" - she's only eight - but you could hear it in her voice)! Bean agreed to share the chocolate bar that he had won and all was well.

This was my latest lesson on not trying to stop my kids from being creative and unique. Sometimes it's a hard lesson to learn...

Luckily, my children are very persistent and persuasive.

And creative and unique.

An Hour Drive That Lasted Three and a Half Hours. Three Hours and Forty-Two Minutes, to be Exact

Have I ever told you that I have a paralyzing fear of heights?

I'm not talking about "climbing up the ladder" heights. I'm talking about "driving on a on-way dirt road looking over the ocean/a steep canyon/a severe drop into sharp conifer trees" heights. Whenever I know that there is going to be a road like that in my future over which I absolutely must travel, I make MacG drive. I close my eyes, hold onto the door handle with a force that turns my knuckles a bluish white, and say really bad words under my breath. I don't open my eyes until he tells me we've survived. Unfortunately, we live in a state, which is home to many, many beautiful mountains and we find ourselves traveling on these awful, quaint roads too often for my liking.

I got to drive myself across three such roads, this week. Well, okay, two such roads: I was hopelessly lost and went over one of them twice.

Peanut (she's eight) was going on a school camping trip to one of our state parks, with two 3rd/4th grade classes. Yes, that's forty-seven eight through ten year-olds. I volunteered to go with them. I was in charge of all the food for the kids and around fifteen adults - and I had forgotten the peanut butter. I figured that the odds of someone in this particular group needing peanut butter for making their lunch sandwich the following day was pretty high, so I stopped at the grocery store on the way out of town. I would only be ten or fifteen minutes behind the rest of the caravan, I figured.

Big mistake.

Really big.

I should have brought another parent with me to navigate, but every seat in my little (totally not-a-mom) car was completely filled with food. Along with my duffel bag, the front seat had several condiments lined across the seat and piled up on the floor. Do you know how much ketchup this age group eats? The back seat was covered with twelve watermelons. And they were heavy! I could feel my car accelerating quite a bit slower than usual. The trunk looked like a fruit cart: 90+ Gala apples, three bags of oranges, enough grapes to feed... well around 70 people. There wasn't any room in that car for someone to hold the map. Barely enough room for the map!

So I ended up on the wrong side of the coast. On a one-lane, dirt road. Overlooking the ocean. Twice.

The drive started out quite wonderfully: I had moon roof open, windows down all around. I had my favorite teen vampire soundtrack on superloud. There was a Cherry Coke Zero in my drink holder. Since I don't normally go on solo road trips, I was relishing the breeze and the music.

I had used an online map service, which had given me the direction to travel up the coast, find this nightmarish road and turn left onto a street - which hasn't existed for around 40 years. Apparently, it would have brought me into the back entrance to my destination. Forty. Years. Ago.

I had become desperate enough to ask an old man on a motorcycle for some guidance. He had a giant handlebar mustache, which bounced when he said, "I don't know what- in- the- hell you are talking about. I've lived here for half of my life and I've never heard of that road." He was yelling through my window: "You are at least fifty miles away from where you want to be."


Since I was in charge of cooking and it was almost time for our little campers to eat dinner - I began to panic. Just a little. As I headed back down the highway, I noticed that the fog was closing in on my little silver car, making it look like I was driving on a thoroughfare in the middle of the ocean. It was so awesome.

You realize that I'm being facetious, right?

I was sick to death of teen vampire music, at this point. I had listened to all three movies (don't hate) and I was done. My own racing heart accompanied the raucous bouncing of melons on the backseat, setting a rhythm for my trek across the coast.

I stopped at the first McDonald's that I could find and bought a giant Coke, so I didn't feel like a dork being there. But not one person who worked there "ever knew that we even had state parks". They referred me to an

extremely

slow

talking

man,

who had a crumb of something McFried on his lip. He told me to goheregothereandturnleft (only much slower than that). It turns out that he really meant to turn right, because when I next stopped at Burger King (I interrupted a domestic dispute to ask for directions) they sent sent me back the way I came. I bought a cup of coffee before I left.

On my way out the door, a much younger motorcyclist than the first one said, "Listen. I'll tell you how you can get where you're going. For real, this time." And he did.

I made it to our campsite by 5:01pm. The school camping schedule had stated that we would begin to cook at five. "You're late!" One of the kids said, beginning to unload the watermelons.

He had no idea...

Tenth Anniversary of the Tasty Titanic

My wedding cake was ugly.

It wasn't tacky or cutesy, or anything like that - the caterer dropped a case of soda on the "real" one on the morning of my Big Day, so they tried to make another one realquick and frosted it while it was still hot.

It looked sort of like the Titanic: Listing to the side, as if it had recently collided with a gnarly ice burg. The little bride and groom were up to their knees in white liquid sugar and roses looked like they were melting down the sides. It cost us hundreds of dollars, but my mom made sure that she got a refund.

When we arrived at the reception, my mother blocked my way to the door. The following conversation is the best recollection that my memory can serve:

MOM: Uhm, we have a problem. It's the cake. It's, well, you might have to see it for yourself...
ME/BRIDE: *GASP* What happened to it?
MOM: It...It looks like it is a little bit squashed, it-
ME/BRIDE: Squashed? What do you mean squashed?
MOM: They ruined the first one, so-
ME/BRIDE: You mean the ugly cake is the second cake?
MOM: Yes.

I looked at my new husband and decided that a sinking cake wasn't going to ruin our special day. We burst into laughter and my mom gave a huge sigh of relief. MacG and I made our grand entrance to "Groove is in the Heart" and we sailed by the disgraceful dessert as we crossed to our table.

Although it had the appearance of being slowly sucked into the Bermuda Triangle, and by the time we cut it it had turned from a three- tiered cake into a lumpy one-tiered cake, we had no option other than to serve it to our two- hundred- and- some- odd guests.

It was delicious.

Life is like that sometimes, isn't it? My mother once told me this: "Life is not beautiful. You have to make it beautiful." I believe her. How many times have things gone terribly wrong, but the way you handled the situation made it even better than it could have been, otherwise? It happens to me all the time... Some of my favorite trips, friends, and purchases have become my most beloved, due to some sort of unplanned calamity.

We had a fantastic reception. It was ten years ago, this month. Looking back, I wouldn't have changed a thing - except that some of the people that I now hold near and dear would have been there. But, at the time I didn't know that they existed. I guess you can't have everything.

However: You can have your ugly cake.

And you can eat it, too.