crazedparent

Dude, where's my blog?...

I have opened up my Typepad account every day for the past two weeks intending to write a post and getting too deep into other stuff (read: work) that I let it go. What can I say, it happens.

I was interviewed last week on View from the Bay about family friendly travel. See the clip here. Quirks that make me cringe: I close my eyes when I'm thinking and two, I actually said there were two and a half rows in a plane. Shakes head.  I'll be back on again in two weeks dishing on another fun topic, stay tuned.

And then there's this clip with me and the mighty Q. I was interviewed about Cubes and Crayons, the new love of my life. It was all good until I got home, looked in the mirror and realized I had not a single ounce of makeup on. 'Cuz when you work from home, you don't really need alot of makeup. And sometimes you forget to wear it when you go out. Sigh. But Q.! He's so cute!

Moving on.

I've been writing alot about family travel lately, mostly because I'm consumed with thoughts of vacation. I waver between two spots: Kaua'i, Hawaii and Siena, Italy. Two extremes, both gorgeous.

Six has taken a great interest in Italy. We recently read a Magic Tree House book that was set in Pompei. Our chats about this book led us to talking about when the hubs and I went to Italy in our pre-kid days. The photo albums were pulled out, stories were told. And then I showed Six this amazing story about a new underground subway being built in Rome and we talked about all of the historic buildings it's going under. How the diggers have to be very slow, very careful, so as to not disturb or damage the buildings.

Next I read Eat, Love, Pray by Elizabeth Gilbert. The first chapter overwhelmed me with the images of Italy. (I could do without the rest of the book).

And then yesterday, my husband, who has been witnessing my increasing desire for the land of grappa, brunello, panforte and panzanella, brought home the movie that makes me melt into my desire for Italy: Under the Tuscan Sun. It's a cliche chick flick but sweet jesus, doesn't it make the country look so magical?

Mostly, I just want to see Italy through the eyes of my sons.

Is vacation on your brain? Where's your dream destination right now?

Keeping promises...

As he climbed into his bed, Six reminded me to fill out his field trip permission slip.

"Mom, don't forget."

"I won't, sweets. I'll do it right now. Go to sleep."

"Do you pinky square?"

"I promise I'll do it."

"Mom, pinky square."

"I pinky square."

He was so serious with his request that I didn't have the heart to tell him it was pinky swear, not square. My heart was otherwise occupied. Melting into a million different puddles because of his interpretations of phrases overheard at school. 

Keep me honest...

My body used to be really good to me. After not working out regularly for a really long time, I jumped into this swimming business with zest. My body was sore -- muscle aches, sore limbs, and that general "what the hell are you doing to me WOMAN" type of reaction. But it didn't last too long and for that I am eternally grateful.

But my body, it remembers. And so when I go about swimming four times a week for several months on end and then just up and stop because I'm adjusting to a new work schedule, my body, it gets mad. And even.  Like "go ahead, try on those nice new jeans that fit you so nicely when you were training, go on sister!" Only they just don't fit as well as they did when I worked my body over in the water.

Yes, I missed swimming for four entire weeks. I missed lessons. I missed my late afternoon laps. And last week when I was preparing to return to my lessons, I almost canceled. But I went to find not only that I had a brand new instructor (sad), but someone else taking lessons with me. She is in her late 40s and is starting from scratch, like I did several months back. Talk about inspiration and good timing. I needed to see her there to remind me how far I'd gone in my swimming and to remind her about how quickly she will learn. And once I started splashing around, I realized how much I missed that feeling in the water. The slow pace and rhythm. And that clarity of mind that you get after focusing on nothing.

But back to the body and the jeans. What. the. eff?

I'm trying something new. And I'm sharing it with you because once I "say" it, I know that I'll have someone else to help keep me honest.

Beginning this week, I will be waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to swim my laps before the kids are up. I will do this three times a week. Do you hear that body? You're going to get WORKED OVER.

Bloggy and real friends, pester me. Ask me. Remind me.  I will thank you for it.

Keeps me awake at night...

Do you think Lisa Lisa was pissed off at Full Force when they left her for Samantha Fox, only to use the same drum beat and boom-chick-boom-chick as the Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam with Full Force songs?

I really, really need to stop listening to the 80s channel on XM radio.

Spare moments...

Idle time is difficult to find of late. But being part of this, simply put, is neat.

I visited the Santa Monica Yahoo! office last week and spent the night here. I now want to redecorate my home from top to bottom. I will be starting with a brand new bed.

I haven't hit the pool in three weeks. I'm feeling it. That'll change Friday. I'm diving back in.

Six started T-ball a few weeks ago. He walked into our bedroom at 6:30 am, the agreed-upon time he is allowed to wake the house up. "Mom, Dad," he whispered, "I'm all dressed for the game." Indeed he was, baseball cap, jersey, pants, cleats and all. When he was a newborn, I used to hold him and talk about baseball games. How someday he would play T-ball and I would watch him take swings at the bat. How he'd look so cute in a uniform and be so awesome on the field. Isn't it something when all that talk actually becomes your life?  I'm making myself cry so I'll just stop now.

Finally, I missed BlogHer Business. Only because I was in Santa Monica (coveting house decor). I should be sad that I missed this brush with greatness. Instead, I'm really, really bummed that I missed this brush with another kind of greatness, fanny pack and all.

Happy week!

Birthday girl...

Little Luna Lovegood turned one today. The boys have asked if we can bake a cake to celebrate. Any excuse for frosting. And guess what? I'm game. She's had a tough year, but it seems like she's making the most of it. On our couch.

Happy birthday Luna Lovegood.

The bed is broken...

"What did the doctor tell the five little monkeys?" I ask in a motherly, syrupy tone as the boys stand on our bed after pretending it's their personal trampoline.

"No more monkeys jumping on the bed!" they cheer back, hopping off the mattress as they scurry to get ready for school.

***

I climbed in bed Sunday night and within seconds heard the "clunk" of something not good as the corner of my "side" dropped to the ground. It would appear as if I had broken our bed. And I didn't even have fun in the process, I thought to myself. But no, it was the boys. Their fun and games had split a piece of wood that held the sides together.
 

It was near midnight as my husband and I took apart our 11-year-old Shaker-style bed frame. The bedframe hand-made by my brother as a wedding gift. It now sits in pieces, the head and foot board resting in the playroom while the remaining parts are on the floor in our room.

The boys woke up Monday morning while we were still asleep, our mattress on the hardwood. "Heeeey," I heard, "Why's your bed on the floor, guys?"

"Because some little monkeys jumped a little too much on the bed after the doctor told them to knock it off,"  I answered only to hear Six laughing...as he jumped on the bed.

"Hey mom, guess what? Now it will be so much easier for us to get on the bed! And Luna doesn't even need help to jump on it!"

Leave it to a him to find some good out of mom and dad sleeping on the floor.

You must love this song...

Alejandro Sanz is one of my serious Latin crushes. (You may recall his sizzle with a steamy Shakira video for La Tortura".) I've been listening to "Try to Save Your Song" over and over because I just can't get the silky smooth blend of the horns, guitars, drums, and ahem, vocals of Alejandro, ll bubbling up to that big crescendo. Don't worry about understanding the words. Just pretend you're chilling out with a fruity libation with the tunes loud and the beat strong. Go on. You'll thank me for it.

Hi, remember me?...

I've been neglecting my little crazedparent nook while I soak in the goodness of my new job. The only word that describes my current state of mind is "giddy." I was able to hang out with so many smart, lovely blogging friends over the past few weeks at events in San Francisco and Chicago and I'm guessing my giddiness was visible (Ladies, was I dripping with the gid?) I hate being cryptic, so I'll just say I'm the parenting editor of this new site.

Of late, I've been spending my time thinking about writing. Not my work-related writing, but creative writing. The essays that I love to scribe and read. I find myself asking, What makes a good writer? What differentiates writers like Anna Quindlen from Jodi Picoult? Toni Morrison from Nora Zeale Hurston? Po Bronson from Malcom Gladwell? While they all cover different genres -- fiction, non-fiction, investigative journalism, social commentary -- each of them write stories that lure me in, even when I don't want to be lured. And when I'm done reading, I feel so grateful to have immersed in this journey of words.

I sit down to try to get my own words on paper and find myself stuck in language, my writing voice tainted by what I want to emulate and what is really mine.

Over the weekend I read a wonderful essay by Toni Mirosevich. It was a simple story with a powerful theme. No grandiose metaphors. Just everyday language that was brilliantly coupled, word by word, line by line.

It was just the reminder I needed that big thoughts don't require big words. It's all about the lure of good, solid storytelling. With a splash of bold color.

I think I can do that. Or shall I say, I'm up for the challenge.

What do you think makes good writing? And what authors/essayists/writers do you love to read?

How to quickly lose $65...

It's 10:23pm on Tuesday evening and I'm sitting at Gate 84 in San Francisco International Airport, waiting for my red eye flight to Chicago to board. As I left the house, I felt like I was missing something. My driver went through the mental checklist -- laptop, jacket, gloves, scarf, boarding pass, wallet, luggage -- okay, it's all there. We were on the road for about 15 minutes when it occurred to me that I'd left all of my makeup at home.

"Crap," I sighed from the back seat when I'd realized my error with the knowledge that the stores in Chicago wouldn't be open before my first meeting.

I ran through airport security, hoping to get to my saving grace -- The Body Shop -- before it closed. But first, airport security made me cringe and as they tossed my $20 Aveda hair gel into the trash. Ouch.

I scurried to Body Shop store window as the cleaners started to bring in the equipment. The managers were closing out the registers.

"I can see you're about to close. I just left all of my make up at home. I know exactly what I need. Please, please, I promise I'll be super fast if you just let me get what I need," I pleaded.

"Make it quick, and don't step on the wet floors," the male manager answered with an annoyed eye roll.

I ran around different displays quickly picking up eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadows, the works. The female manager helped me, asking what I needed and pulled the items off the shelf. This was a woman who knew my pain. And to the folks at The Body Shop corporate, the gal who works the late-night shift at SFO rocks. Because in less than five minutes, I had spent $65 on a second batch of makeup.

I hate flying. I'm so exhausted I'm praying (the rosary) that I'll fall asleep for the length of the flight.

And to those of you who I hope to see on Wednesday in Chicago, check out my new, purdy eyeshadow. It'll make it all worthwhile.