Mother of perfect angel or being held captive against my will? We'll never know.

My Dearest Sissy:

Hope all is well with you and the family. I love your poignant and astute additions to the Three Little Pigs. It was funny that you should mention that, because Sofia loves the story and I often show her the old Walt Disney classic “silly symphony” of it on youtube. She loves yelling out “huff, puff, huff, puff!” and interestingly, they show the first two “lazy” pig brothers singing and dancing while the hard-working pig is laboring with the bricks.  True to form, the lazy, hippie-artist brothers, also keep singing the taunting song “whose afraid of the big, bad wolf” over and over, even though they’re clearly scared, and never once thank the industrious brother for saving their lives. Your endings, particularly the one about paying rent and building their own brick homes, is infinitely better! Sofia, by accident, found another short cartoon about Pluto’s birthday, and basically the entire cartoon is about how Pluto is tortured by the birthday guests, when all he wants is a slice of cake. At the end, the mean, and thoughtless guests, eat up all the cake, leaving poor Pluto in tears! Then, after they all leave, and Pluto is crying, does Mickey “surprise” him with a slice of cake. WHY? why was all that necessary? and frankly, he was owed that cake, so in the end, to make up for all the torture, shouldn’t he have gotten his cake, plus damages for pain & suffering? Old cartoons are either sad or scary. 

Speaking of cartoons, Dean and I have decided to wean Sofia off of Caillou. Not really because I have such a problem with him, but Dean has developed a sensitivity to Caillou’s backtalk. As I’m sure you’ve witnessed, Sofia learned, “I don’t want to!” and “No, that’s MINE!” and “GIVE ME THAT!” from the little, bald headed fellow. I’ve grown a bit attached to the cartoon, because, well...a)Sofia has learned a lot of great things from him and b)I’m pretty sure he’s bald due to cancer of some sort. I know, I know, they say he doesn’t have cancer, but I’m certain they just don’t want us to treat him any differently. Meanwhile, I’ve got Sofia watching a few episodes here and there, not to cut her off cold turkey. I took more of a methadone approach to Caillou, better to give her a non-euphoric dose, lowering it as time goes on. She now watches one episode a week. She’s taken to liking “Little Bear” on NickJr...which, at least is calm and quiet, but just gives me the creeps. The whole show gives me the creeps. Can’t put my finger on it, but it just does. Thankfully, she loves musicals, so tv-time can mostly go to clips of Sound of Music “Do Re Me” and Annie’s “Tomorrow.” Do you remember before having children thinking we’d never use the television to babysit our kids? We were judgmental losers who didn’t know anything. 

I can’t believe how big Sofia has gotten. She’s turned into this little lady who loves tea parties, pretend feeding her babydolls, and cooking. Wow, now that I write that, am I raising a girl in 1950s deep south? Anyway, she’s obsessed with her bumblebee costume and any type of shoe in general. Do you ever just wake up and think, “omg, when did I become a mother” and do things like literally kiss snot, because my adorable daughter said, “Mama, nose running. Kiss it, make it better?” It was disgusting, but I couldn’t stop myself. And why do I take outright abuse as being hilarious. Just yesterday, I was changing Sofia’s diaper and her feet were close to my head. She actually asked me, “Don’t kick mama in the face?” It was an urge, that she thankfully QUESTIONED. WHY? All I could do was laugh. Why do we do these things? 

I truly believe motherhood is best compared to Stockholm Syndrome, the phenomenon where hostages express empathy and positive feelings towards their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them. Just think about your life prior to children and how much has changed. Think about how loyally and fervently you adore your little boys. Now tell me, what have they done to deserve this unconditional love? Mostly abuse us. They cry, they need constant attention, they throw tantrums, they make huge messes that they can’t clean, you certainly can never leave them, you cook for them, feed them, change them -even changing their diapers is a fight, wake up at all hours to soothe them...I mean logically, they are irrational people who need constant coddling. They hold us hostage and after a day of tantrums and exhaustion, after they are asleep, we actually MISS THEM and wish they were awake to kiss them 1000+ times. Sissy, we love our captors. It’s that simple.

Sometimes I wonder if Sofia is Marilla from Anne of Green Gables: aka, no-nonsense girl. She rarely cries, has slept through the night from 8 weeks old, and just like Marilla, she knows when to a) mind her own business b) stop the needless gossiping and c) go to bed at a reasonable time. Okay, the first two aren’t really applicable, but Sofia’s sleeping habits have always been amazing. Besides sleeping 8 to 8 and taking a good nap during the day, she has strangely taken to putting herself to bed at times. Last week, she was tired, and came and kissed us “night, night.” Normally I have to prompt bed time, so Dean and I decided to see what she was going to do. We watched as she turned off her light, slammed the door shut, and (viewed from the monitor) ran and jumped into her bed and went to sleep. Seriously? She did this two days in a row. Oh, and if we get back late one evening, and she goes to bed past her bedtime, she’ll sleep in to 10am. The kid likes her beauty sleep! Come to think of it, Marilla wouldn’t sleep in and certainly wouldn’t appreciate Sofia’s puff-sleeves, but would find her a kindred spirit of sorts. No fuss’n about food, sleep, or chores. 

Alright my beautiful Sissy. I miss you and my smart and funny nephews more than you know. I wish so much you could come out here for a visit. You’re the best in the biz and never forget it. Philly expects a visit sometime this year...

Love you with all my heart,

SissySara

Football Gear and Photo Ops

Dear Sisee -

First of all - do Texans have a patent on "y'all"... cuz it's such a useful and effective way of communicating "you all."

Just a mini letter follow up about the pure, unfiltered mayhem, associated with taking pictures of kids. Last weekend, in honor of the Duck game, Brett and The Boys were all dressed in their over-priced gameday best. It was a lovely sunny day on top of that, so I thought Hey! Why don't I just snap a few quick pics of the 3 Duck fans? You know - just real quick! Easy peasy!

I get out the iPhone (which you know can snap a continuous stream of pics pretty quickly) and it took no less than 51 - yes, FIFTY ONE (I just counted) - shots to get a semi-decent one where:

A) neither kid was trying to run away,
B) no one was backwards, bent over, looking down or crying,
C) Brett wasn't blinking, nor looking frazzled-with-a-hint-of-anger at having to endure this for ONE. FRIGGIN. PICTURE. and,
D) no one was blurry.

I'm frankly just surprised it happened in 51 takes. But I remembered your long-held conviction that it takes a "minimum of fifty" shots, before one looks even remotely decent. Insanity.

Alas, here is the winning entry, if you will....

It took a small miracle and 51 shots to make this happen.

The things we do, Sisee, the things we do.
Love you. Miss you. Give my Sofi the Kissies.
Ava

Two Kids: Way Harder than One Kid.

Dear Sisee –

I’m so glad you faired ok during Huricane Irene. Sorry you had to suffer the inconvenience of staying in a hotel and having to throw out a bunch of food. WHY DO BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?? WHY?? Right, Sis? BTDubs – WORST hurricane name EVER. Who names these things? Irene? Really? It’s 2011, and Irene is soooo 1970’s. Why don’t they just call it Hurricane Sara, since that’s what they CALLED YOU IN COLLLEEGGGE! (Said in Party Girl voice)… WHAAA! Haha – don’t you love it when people boast about ridiculous nicknames like that? Boasting about nicknames takes just the right recipe of inappropriate and self-important, no? If you recall, we know a guy whose vanity license plate said “PARADOX” which I imagine made him feel extremely witty. (For our reading audience, I should clarify that said vanity plates were on a giant, banana-yellow Hummer. So really, if you think about what kind of guy drives a giant yellow Hummer with a vanity plate that says PARADOX… it’s not so much a “paradox”, yes? In fact, it’s the exact opposite of a paradox. It’s “I know exactly what kind of person you are and it makes perfect sense.”) Ah, Paradox, with your crushed velvet super-snug t-shirts… where have you gone?

Sisee, you and I have discussed on numerous occasions the rage that can suddenly come about as a result of trying to get kids to stand still for photos. This past weekend we had booked our “annual” family photos, and the rage, Sisee. The rage! I understand they are young. I understand a 3 year old and a 1.5 year old aren’t going to openly embrace the idea of posing repeatedly for a camera. But oh man alive, it was COMPLETE INSANITY. First of all – typical of Oregon’s own in-your-face, defiant weather – it had suddenly and for no apparent reason stopped being sunny and warm, and was now cold and drizzly the day of the photos. Having anticipated the shift, I had bought the boys sweaters, and I personally think overcast days make for beautiful photos, so nothing was gonna get me down.

So we get to the new location for the pics (a covered but still outdoors hybrid option, if you will) and as the photographer begins snapping away Evan suddenly decides he is STARVING and needs “cheesy chicks” RIGHT. NOW. (Yes, cheesy “chicks” – the Target brand version of Goldfish crackers, which frankly aren’t as good, but we had a box and he’d spotted them at some point and convinced Brett to put them in the diaper bag.) So… yes, 5 minutes into the shoot, every time he was asked to smile, sit, look at the camera, walk in a certain direction, look at a certain thing, his response was “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Hey Evan, can you hold Daddy’s hand and walk toward Joshua? “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Ooh Evan, what’s that over there – can you look at the flowers? “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Ridiculous. And INFURIATING. It’s as though the thought of said cheesy chicks had wholly consumed him, and he was LITERALLY incapable of doing or thinking about anything else. At some point, Brett got a small cup out of the car and put some cheesy chicks in it, which he kept in his back pocket - we would placate Evan with a few in between shots. CRAZY.

Then there’s Alec, who God bless him, had taken on his usual stance of “I will do whatever I want, whenever I want.” There was a moment where the boys were on a (dry) platform, and Joshua was trying to get some candid pics of them laughing and playing, and I swear Alec KNEW – he just KNEW – to only bend, turn, face the EXACT OPPOSITE direction as the camera. At one point, I tried to gently rotate him, and he whipped his head toward me, clenched teeth and growled “Nooooo Mama.”


What?! What do you mean “No Mama”?? Actually, YES MAMA. Ok?! Yes. You WILL turn to face the camera, you WILL give Joshua your adorable smile, you WILL do something cute and charming which will result in your curls bouncing up and down, and you WILL understand that Daddy goes to work every day and works hard to provide you with a good life so that you can have food to eat, a roof over your head, clothes on your back and ANNUAL FAMILY PHOTOS, so you WILL be cute and adorable for the camera and give Mommy at least ONE 8x10 that will make Mommy smile every time she passes it in the hallway. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?? END OF STORY!!! ARGH!!! (Ps. He didn’t understand.)

We haven’t gotten the disk back yet, so Lord Almighty only knows how many good prints we can get out of that session. I'm just relieved poor Joshua didn't throw his hands up at some point and storm off. God bless people with more than two children who do this every year. I don’t know how they keep their sanity. Maybe they just wait and get family photos after the youngest turns 5. Not worth it before that. SIGH!

Sis, have you ever read the Three Little Pigs? For some reason, Evan loved this book for several months and we would read it to him every night. The book was a very condensed board-book version of the story, with the illustrations directly from the Disney cartoon. I think the reason Evan liked it so much was the “twist” with the Big Bad Wolf, who “huffed and puffed”… I think it’s Evan’s first introduction to a character who is the bad guy in the story.

Anyway to sum up the story, there are three little pigs who are supposed to build houses for themselves. The first two are lazy and don’t like to work (this is how the story describes them), so the first pig builds his house out of straw (which to me actually seems like it would be quite difficult – how do you get straw to stick together and form a house?! Not easy, but for the sake of the story, let’s assume it’s super simple.) The second pig is also lazy and likes to “dance and sing” so he wants to get the job over with and builds his house out of sticks. BUT… the third little pig is “wise” and works hard to build his house out of bricks, which he double-secures by painting it with “wolf-proof” paint. This is where my first major problem with the story comes in – if third little pig knew the wolf was gonna come along (as evidenced by the wolf-proof paint), why didn’t he tell his brothers? Were they SO lazy that they would’ve still preferred to build their homes out of inferior materials? Really?!

So the brothers 1 & 2 are hanging out together, singing and dancing (what lazy kids did before the advent of X-Box, I imagine – those activities would be considered extra-curricular, and beneficial, today.) Long story short: Big Bad Wolf sees them, chases them, follows #1 to his house of straw, blows it down, #1 gets away to #2’s house, that gets blown down too, and the two of ‘em hightail it to 3^rd little pig’s brick house. Pig #3 is all “Whoa, come on in! DON’T WORRY. My crib’s totally made up of bricks YO, so like no problemo Little Dudes.” Should not have put quotes there, I made that up. Yes, Third Little Pig is Keanu Reeves in a number of movies made before 1995.

Creepy photo of Father, anyone?

So… BBW comes to the house and tries his whole huff and puff schtick. Doesn’t work. He climbes over the roof and tries to go down the chimeney, at the bottom of which a random and totally nonsensical giant caldroun of boiling water is awaiting him. His bum gets burned, and he books it outta there and swears to never chase the little pigs again. Then… THEN… (this is the part that irritates me to no end)… the 3^rd little pig and his selfish, lazy brothers live happily ever after. That’s it. C-Ya!

Just dancin' it away. No consequences for their actions.

  

Ok… WHERE do they live?! In that little studio brick house with the creepy picture of their father as a Ham hock? All THREE of ‘em?! And the two other little pigs just get to live somewhere safe and don’t suffer any consequences for their laziness?! WHAT?! I’m so annoyed by this ending (and what is frankly a terrible lesson): Hey lazy kids, no worries ok? Your hardworking responsible family member is always like totally gonna bail you out, ‘right lil dudes? Tubular! (Yes, Keanu, again.) What is that all about?!

So every single time I’ve read the story to Evan, I have added a few senteces to the end, like:

“Then the 3^rd little Pig allowed his brothers to live at his house for 2 weeks until they built their own brick houses and moved out.”

Or: “And the first little pig and the second little pig paid their brother rent until they could get back on their feet again.” 

Also (this one’s my fave): “And the third little Pig taught his brothers how to build brick houses for themselves and in exchange they cleaned his place and cooked for him while they lived at his house.” MUCH BETTER moral of the story, riiiight? As the French (who sound infinitely more wise than other nationalitites because of their charming, difficult to understand accents) say: “Tres Ridicule!”

Kids stories from our day had some pretty scary things in them, right? I was thinking about Snow White, and how her stepmother hated her so much, she tried to KILL her with a poinsoned apple! Because she didn't like that Snow White was more beautiful - that's it. OH! – And when she found out Snow White wasn’t dead, she hired someone to kill her and bring back her cut-out heart as evidence. Oh! Em! Gee! Can you imagine reading this to Sofi?? Yikes!

OK, can we talk for a minute about hipsters?  I feel like one of the perks of having moved to the East Coast is that you don’t have to deal with hipsters aymore. Their off-trend skinny jeans and wrinkly plaid flannel shirts, with some sort of “vintage” tee underneath, and that weird parted-from-waaaay-too-far-one-side-of-the-forehead hair.  Living in a $550,000 1912 bungalow, which either mom and pops rent for them, or they bought themselves with their 3/4 –up-the-latter management position at Addidas salary, which is not in the ubber rich “inner” east side hood, but in that one pocket that’s been “up and coming” for like 7 years, which everyone pretends hasn’t REALLY been gentrified, but good luck spotting dark skin anywhere.  Raising chickens, and getting their farm shares (both of which admittedly, people in my suburban neighborhood do too – further evidence that the most conservative person in Portland may probably still be a crazy left-wing liberal in Texas) and driving the “best” version of the Prius. Talking like they’ve got a PhD in agricultural studies whenever the subject of “certified Organic” comes up – because EVERYONE knows that the REAL organic farms do waaay more organic-y stuff and wouldn’t ever stoop to try to get that sell-out certification, anyway. Growing beards without regret, and wearing hemp clothing. Anyway, you get the point.


So while I was at a Starbucks on the east side (aka: hipster side) of town recently (after a certain appointment where I was assaulted with a high-powered laser – please see last blog entry. We both know I don’t leisurely stray east of NW 10^th.) I noticed a couple waiting for their lattes, all plaid and glasses, pouting on each other, the male of the species senselessly wearing one of those 80’s arm sweat bands, just in case his one arm suddenly starts profusely perspiring. I had paid for my Americano with the Starbucks app on my iPhone (YEAH. THAT’S HOW I PAY. BACK OFF people!)(Seriously, only reasons for not doing this: A) jealousy, B) no iPhone/Droid, C) being too good – for Starbucks, iPhones, Whatever. Only possibilities.) Two women behind me noticed my payment method, and both asked to see what was going on. I showed them, and they agreed that it’s some seriously awesome business not having to tote your wallet into Starbucks, and as I turned toward the finished-drinks waiting area, I TOTALLY caught hipster duo give each other The Look… about me! I was like WHAT! I KNOW YOU didn’t just give ME The Look! Me? You’re giving ME The Look? No! I am giving YOU The Look, hipsters. Whatever, I Iet them pout on, and as I was leaving, I saw that they were driving a Mercedes S Class. I was like, Wait, what kind of hispsters drive a MERCEDES?! Then I realized, Ooooh that’s riiiight – the same hipsters who go to Starbucks… aka: FAKE hipsters. So, I guess they weren’t real hipsters after all. In fact, I’m guessing they are from California, and within a year they’ll be selling that $700K remodeled 1924 Craftsman and moving into a micro-mansion in Cedar Mill, which’ll be awesome for his commute to Columbia Sportswear.

Well, Sis I had more to say, but my kids are trying to go into the garage and play with potting soil in an unused flowerpot. I’m actually considering it, if it buys me another 20 min.
Love you – and Happy Birthday, my beautiful Sisero!

XOXO

Ava

Hurricane Irene is like that friend who needs a lot attention, crashes at your place, needs money, and keeps you up all night crying about her boyfriend, only to leave with an attitude of entitlement, as if somehow she did you a favor.

Hello my dearest Siss-Miss,

Hope all is going well in the land of “very comfortable” aggressive, walking sandals and wool socks. For a place that always rains, why are people even owning open-toe/open-foot shoes? And why does one’s wardrobe always have to be ready for an impromptu rafting or camping trip? These are, I imagine, one of life’s riddles that we may never have answers to, but will undoubtedly be answered time and time again, when people reach the pearly-gates.  I remember all too well, when Dean’s friends were visiting us from LA, Florida, DC, Atlanta, etc for our wedding, and after going out only one night on the town, they decided to just “stay in” the rest of the days, because well, they noticed the sandals with socks, and of course, the matching North Face fleece.  I mean, why invest in a nice jacket, when the forest green fleece and royal blue patagonia ski cap will keep you warm and dry? It just makes sense, people. Why? Because it’s comfortable. By the way, the rest of the world hasn’t been comfortable in years. Well, not since hammer-pants, but even those, when paired with an upper-ribs bearing, cut-really-short, matching military blazer, made it decidedly uncomfortable. Cosby sweaters: comfortable. Paired with a 3 button, high wasted, triple pleated slack: UNCOMFORTABLE. Northwest grunge movement: comfortable. Paired with an inability to keep steady employment and a refusal to leave your parent’s basement: uncomfortable. Hahaa. Only kidding, sissee-roo, only kidding. I do have to say, that I was walking through  Macy’s the other day and saw some flannel dark colored, plaid button down shirts. Then, I saw the very same thing at the fashion capital of the world, Costco! They were selling, thick, dark green/navy, flannel shirts. This is undoubtedly the result of the powerful hipster alliance between Brooklyn and Portland. You know Eddie Veddar and all those other grunge bands made a collective, heavy, sigh of relief. I mean, they may be anti-corporation or what-not, but who can hate Costco and their sweet deals? If no one else, I’m sure the lead singer of Everclear will certainly purchase one -for no other reason than that he’s ALWAYS around nw 21st, and continues to bleach his hair that really “cool” blonde...‘Nuf said. Can I just say that my favorite part of Portlandia was the first episode where they sang, “The dream of the 90’s is alive in Portland” -I sing it regularly to myself. 

So, even though Hurricane Irene, really was the lamest hurricane of all time, especially in light of what happened in Japan earlier this year, it was, however, most definitely, the most inconvenient, nuisance of all time. She was set to hit Philly sometime late, late evening on Saturday, so naturally, we were evacuated from my building in the early afternoon. Unfortunately, our building lies in-between a river and canal, so it’s an optimal flood zone. We weren’t able to return to our place until last night...at 5pm. So basically from Saturday though Tuesday early evening, we had to stay in a hotel, all due to heavy flooding. This meant Sofia sleeping in the same bed as us, which Dean thinks is “adorable,” mainly because she’ll leave him alone, and instead, insist she share my pillow, by aggressively throwing her head in my direction -even though there were 4 other pillows on the bed. So, needless to say, I’m very glad to be home. And, as an added inconvenience and cost, due to the the entire first floor being 3 feet under water, the electricity was cut off, and all of my chicken breast, fish, shrimp, steak, ground turkey, etc in our freezer needed to be thrown out, after 4 days of being thawed. I had a giant garbage bag of just meat, and another of milk products, eggs, etc that needed to be tossed too. Seriously? As of this morning I have NO food in the house and need a trip to Costco asap. How much is Irene gonna cost me and can I take her to small claims court? 

Meanwhile, you will be happy to know, that as of last week, we changed Sofia’s crib to a toddler bed. Neither one of us was really prepared for this event, and I have to say, that I was extremely sad. It’s like that feeling you get, every time you put away the clothes they no longer fit into, except x100. Seems like it was the last step from her officially being a baby. In my mind she’s an infant, but I guess she’s just my little “giant-baby.” Why did she have to grow up so fast? Why couldn’t that first year, last more like 3 years? You’ll be happy to know, that she’s sleeping well and only gets off the bed in the mornings when she wakes up. Yay!

Just as an aside, after 5 years of marriage, you would think you know your husband pretty well, right? Apparently, I do not. Nothing was more glaringly clear when just last week, I was looking at our saved programs on the dvr and noticed “Lopez Tonight” recorded. I seriously thought it must’ve been an error and asked Dean about it...and you know what he said? “Yeah, keep it, I recorded it to watch Def Leopard.” WHA-WHA-WHA-WHAAAT? what? REALLY? Who is this man? When has he ever made me listen to Def Leopard on our many road-trips or trips, etc? When? I even sat there with him as he forwarded past the interviews to listen to whatever song they were singing in delight. Seriously, Sis, I clearly do not know my husband and will likely never know him at all. As the mean sister in P&P says, “I am all astonishment!” 

I will leave you with the following true story, I believe you’ll appreciate. My friend told me her patient was complaining about abdominal pain and was worried he had a burst appendix. The next time she saw him she asked about it, and it turned out he was just wearing his fanny-pack too tightly. The buckle was digging into his stomach. Omg, why is that so funny?

Alright my dearest Sister, I have to get Sofia some “supper” which is what she calls all meals thanks to Caillou. Super mom this morning got up early to drink her coffee in peace! I know, I know, I’m really stepping-up things today. Please kiss my handsome nephews for me and let them know that if I can’t have them, no one will...oh, wait I got their message and Dean’s mixed up. Just tell them I love them dearly. 

Love you and miss you so much. July went by too quickly.

xo xo,

Sara

Extreme Pain Showdown: Child-birth vs. Laser Hair Removal

Dearest Sisee

It was so wonderful having you and Sofsof here for a month. You’ve been gone for hardly 4 days, and I already miss you something fierce. I was thinking of her sweet face and curls, bouncing around here, keeping her own against Feisty Ninja – aka: Alec. Love you guys so much!

Let’s get down to business: Three Men and a Baby –worst movie EVER. Three Bachelors, living in an atrium-like penthouse, circa 1987, have to take care of a baby girl. CLASSIC, right?? In one famous – or infamous – scene, Tom Sellek and Steve Guttenburg have to change the baby’s poopy diaper. Tom Sellek is an “architect” but can’t figure out how to fasten the two Velcro sides of the diaper… HILARIOUS, right?? OMG, why did they make this horrible movie? It was wildly popular too, right? We were flipping through the channels and Brett landed on one of the HBO’s showing this, and we were hooked… for like 15 minutes. Then we found ourselves suddenly angry, and couldn’t bear it anymore.

Oh, and as a sidenote: Hey, HBO… we may be giving you the 6 months free trial then promptly cancelling you, but this does not mean our standards are low for your programming. Not Three Men and a Baby low. I mean, seriously?! C’mon! At least show something from the 90’s… like one of those Charlie Sheen movies where he plays baseball. No respect, I tell ya. (Yes, Rodney Dangerfield… my standard for my own humor drops lower and lower each time.)

So, after church on Sunday we were having lunch at home, and wanting to engage Evan in some conversation, I asked, “What did you learn in Sunday School today?”

Evan: “I learned about Jesus!”
Us: “Oh, good – what did you learn, Sweetie?”

Evan: “Jesus invited his friends over for dinner.”

Us: “Oh, that’s nice! We like that story! Do you know why he invited them to dinner?”
Evan: “Jesus invited them over for dinner because he bought a new car and wanted to show it to them.”
Us: “Uh… oh… ok.”
Evan: “They wanted to go for a ride in his new car, so he took them to the store because he needed to buy more milk.”
Us: “Um… are you still talking about Jesus?”
Evan: “Yes. He bought a new car and his friends liked it and thought it is really nice.”
Us: “He also loved his friends and told them about God, right?”
Evan: “Yes he did. And he also gave them a ride in his new car.”
Us: “Ok, fair enough.”

Obviously, Brett’s new car has thrown my little man into some sort of obsession – he regularly wants to walk around and see the different cars in parking lots, so he can inspect them closely – but I never thought it would turn into Jesus and the Parable of the New Car. Can you imagine? Then one by one, Jesus let them ride shotgun…

Oh, Evan… love you so much.

So… it’s no secret I have zero respect for actors. Or ACT-TORS. That’s it. I have no respect for them.

Actually, I had turned the tv on a while back, while the kids were napping. The channel was still on PBS, on which the kids had been watching cartoons in the morning. So, Charlie Rose – which Google informs me is a “great American journalist” – was interviewing the actor, Bradley Cooper, who was promoting the movie The Hangover 2.

Bradley Cooper: Making huge contribution to society via movies about hangovers.

Now, given that Mr. Cooper appears to be rather attractive (in movies, where hair, lighting and makeup people are heavily involved), I decided to watch some of the interview. OMG Sis, Charlie Rose asked so many ridiculous and indulgent questions, it almost pushed me over the edge (into letter-writing territory). Questions like, “How WAS it working with the GREAT Zach Gallefenagias?” And “SHARE with us the AMAZING EXPERIENCE of woking in Thailand.” (Or wherever it was filmed. I’m not gonna look it up, CUZ I DON’T CARE.) Of course there was the obligatory director-related question, “How was it working with Joe Schmo Director, and how did he ENABLE you to DRAW OUT the INTRICACIES of your character?” Naturally, Bradley Cooper – being the ACT-TOR that he is – self-importantly answered every question as though he had cured cancer and Charlie Rose was giving him the opportunity to share how he managed to isolate that one bad chromosome that was causing the cancer to proliferate, thereby rescuing mankind once and for all.

Seriously – it was like “Well, Charlie, Zach is AMAZING. His timing is TRULY GENIUS.” And “I had played this character before, and it was SUCH A PRIVELEGE getting to explore some of his vulnerabilities.” OMG SHUT UP! I kept saying to myself, aloud “We’re still talking about THE HANGOVER 2, right?! RIGHT?!” Un – friggin – BEARABLE! Of course, I made all this dialogue up, but it was VERY similar to what actually transpired during the interview. Charlie Rose… dude, have some self-respect.


So, as you know, no thanks to Dad and his super-hair gene he graciously passed down to us, (and society’s very strict standards for female body hair) I’ve been getting a bevvy of laser hair removal for the last decade – the latest (and most appropriate to discuss in a blog) area, being my under-arms.

Wait, before I go on, let the record show that Ava is getting her under-arms lasered AGAIN, because having children somehow re-stimulated the hair growth. Yes, the hair was gone, and it came back.(WHY?! And: UGH!! Also: NOT COOL! Wow, thanks, Having Kids.)

Anyway, so I was sitting there at my #2 of 6 session, trying to make conversation with the lady while she assaulted my armpits with what amounts to fifty little needles inside the radius of a nickel, going repeatedly into my skin. OUCH! It hurt so bad! It ALWAYS hurts so bad. No matter how much numbing gel you slather on, it’s still complete, teeth-clenching, fist-squeezing pain, over and over and over again. I found myself thinking, Is this the worst pain EVER?? Then I thought What have I experienced that would be more painful than this? Oh yeah, child-birth. But that was like a one-time deal per kid, this is SIX sessions, PER body part. Hmm…

I don’t want to offend all the mommas out there  - but I think maybe laser hair removal hurts more than having babies.

Now, I have to make a few disclaimers. My childbearing experience was waaaay nicer than most: “pre-drugs” (“…to take the edge off until the anesthesiologist gets here, Sweetie.” – Nurse Mandy), epidural (the Lord’s gift to women) as soon as I got to the hospital, a Starbucks Americano and surfing facebook on my smart phone, 15 minutes of pushing with Evan, 7 minutes of pushing with Alec… DONE. So, obviously, I’m not Hippie Earth Mom, “bearing down” and giving birth “the way women have done it for thousands of years.” (They all say this like it’s some sort of badge of honor. I don’t want to do ANYTHING from thousands of years ago. I don’t want to eat out of crudely chiseled dirty stoneware, I don’t want to sleep in a cave, I don’t want to defend myself against wild animals and deal with the anarchy of lawless lands, I don’t want to bathe once a month in a river, and I certainly don’t want to GIVE BIRTH TO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING somewhere other than a hospital with quick access to every available medical professional. But hey, good for them. J)

Where was I? That is, before I was passive-aggressively passing judgement on hippie Earth moms… oh yes, laser hair removal. It hurts so friggin bad! It’s not right! I don’t understand why modern medicine has made it possible to take a pill and GROW hair, but not to just as easily REMOVE hair. I don’t get it! And it’s not like my super black, coarse, thick Persian hair gets eliminated in the first session. Nooooo. I have to go back, over and over again. What are you gonna do – the price we pay, am I right? Ladies?  As Brett says, “Stop complaining – things could be worse for you.” (He’s really sweet and nurturing like that.) Next time though, I’m say to the tech, “Please stop making casual conversation while you inflict this severe pain on me. THANKS.”

And as a final note on the topic: Dear beautiful blonde people, please don’t ever, EVER talk about being hairy. You are not hairy. It’s not possible to grow blonde leg hair and consider yourself “hairy” – ok?! Enough is enough.

Well, I better go. Sisee, I miss you so much! Please give my Sofs a big kiss and say really loudly to her “WHEREMOMMYGO? WHERESISEEGO?” You are my sunshines.

Xoxoxo

Ava

Suffering indignities for cheaper prices.

My dearest Sissy,

I think the whole dessert rule is your pièce de résistance when it comes to good ideas. How freeing it must’ve been to leisurely enjoy your dessert, with peace of mind and the choice to perhaps, save some for another time. Truly brilliant. I believe some of the greatest scientific minds of years past only dreamt of such a discovery. I have to say that it made me want to apply this approach to full meals as well, but realized quickly it was a slippery slope that will only lead to those weird marriages where everyone splits everything evenly and are so inflexible that they eventually lead to ...well, I don’t know, drug abuse? For sure, something not healthy, which involves parallel lives. So let’s just keep it locked in for dessert, and only dessert. 

I hope you are enjoying your full portions now that you are vacationing in beautiful San Diego. I couldn’t be happier for you, and I’m sure the boys are enjoying all that special attention from wonderful family. 

Meanwhile, I am here in Philadelphia, preparing, slowly, for July in Portland. It’s actually hard to pack light, because I’m worried I can’t just bring summer clothes due to that whole phenomenon last year, where the weather was cold and overcast everyday until 1 pm or so, and then cooled down again around 6pm. Seriously, why do I have to pack a coat and sweater? It’s SUMMER. Ah, who knows? But seriously, outside of the terrible, gloomy non-seasons of Portland, you will be pleased to know that even though there is no discernible reason to be pleasant and personable, Oregonians are generally very friendly, and so...be happy that at least your normal personal interactions don’t leave you angry at every store you visit on your chore list. 

What I’m trying to say is, you guys have a little thing called “customer service,” whereas here we have a lot of...well...attitude, coupled with laziness. A lethal combination. A specific type of attitude that I like to call, “you should be happy I showed up to this job today, and I have no intention of helping you.” God help you if you actually need to locate an item -cause it’s not gonna happen. Ever. Not to mention, it is perfectly normal to see clerks eating beef jerky or cheetos, or on their cell phones while they are checking your items at the register. Totally normal. So basically there is this Target like less than a 10 minute drive away from us, and by going there, I easily replace common curtesy for convenience, or as my friend, A, said yesterday, “the Target that makes you aware of all your poor decision making and bad life choices that led you to have to shop there (a fast spiral of self reproach).” Let’s just say, one of my visits there included waiting in a super long line, only for an inebriated, erratic mom &  tween daughter to walk up to the front and go ahead of the 7 people waiting. Even though at times I welcome confrontations where it is socially acceptable to teach other’s manners in a public forum, I opted to keep my mouth shut, because of well, I wish I could say some kind of principle, but really because I was scared. Scared and felt sorry for the poor daughter who was being pushed around by the crazy mom. For the record there was a young, muscular man behind me who didn’t say anything as well, and when they left, he was like “WHAAAAAT?” We bonded over what we had witnessed and now talk almost daily on skype. Hahaaa, I’m kidding -I never saw him again, but we did for that moment share some observations over what we had seen. So last week I decided I had enough and would find the next closest Target, which was in the heart of the burbs. Not only was this new store not crowded, but there were plenty of workers actually working and not having private, loud conversations between themselves -plus, the shelves were stocked, nicely! I thought I had slipped past some type of portal to an alternate universe, but turned out to be the result of taking two freeways away from the inner city. Amazing! I was in heaven. 

So over the weekend, we were at the mall, which is far into the suburbs called “King of Prussia,” -it’s a huge, huge mall with tons of stores and is very clean and nice. No problems with customer service out there, people are sufficiently friendly and professional. Whilst there, I commenced my search for the perfect mommy espadrille, or wedge, which involves maybe a 1-2” heel, and most importantly, will not hinder one’s ability to quickly run after a toddler before they jump on an escalator. Needless to say, it has been a taxing, difficult search. At Nordstrom I noticed some cute casual ones, sitting with the Sperry “deck shoes” -you know the ones, that all the kids wear? They’re hip -and fit perfectly in my grand scheme to be down with the cool kids and eventually become Amy Poehler’s ridiculous character in Mean Girls. Let me refresh your memory and remind you of some of her quotes I can’t wait to say to Sofia’s teenage friends:

“I just want you to know, if you ever need anything, don't be shy, OK? There are NO rules in the house. I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom.”

“Soooo....what is up? Whats the 411? What has everybody been up to? What's the hot gossip? Tell me everything. What have you guys been listening to? What are the cool jams?”

Cute wedge that may or may not break one's ankle

Okay back to finding the comfortable and “maybe young kids will think I’m a cool mom” wedge: I decide to shop around and look at some of the other stores who also carry Sperry and realized that Lord and Taylor (a glorified Macy’s) was having a huge sale, where the exact shoe was 55% cheaper! Very exciting, right? Unfortunately, they were completely sold out and only had one left, in like a size 11. I asked if they had any at another location, and sure enough, they had a few left at their store -GET THIS- only ONE BLOCK away from the infamous Target I had vowed to never go back to. I decide to call the store and put it on hold, so I can come by and pick it up later. Now this is what one has to deal with in Philadelphia: even though I had put it on hold and told them I would be there to pick it up right before the store closed, I arrived at 6:55pm, and when I asked the woman in the shoe department if I could pick up the shoes, the sales clerk explained to me (with a lot of attitude) that they were CLOSED. I was like, “well the doors were open, and I have the shoes on hold” and she replied, “Doesn’t matter, you’ll have to come back another time, register CLOSED. REGISTER CLOSED ALREADY!” I was so upset and couldn’t believe that absolutely no attempt was made to locate, say, an OPEN REGISTER,(or bring the shoes out to me) anywhere in the store! I was so upset and upon entering the car and looking at a puzzled Dean, I exclaimed, “Only in PHILLY! ONLY IN PHILLY DO I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS CRAZINESS!” Btw, while walking out of the store, I noticed it was like 6:59pm. The store wasn’t even technically closed yet. Dean was upset too and stated the obvious, “If I was there, there’d be no way they could’ve pulled that.” It’s true. Dean gets answers, and raises his voice when people act up, while I’m the sucker who just stands there astonished by the gall. God bless her, she just didn’t want to work!


The next morning, I was at a mommy playdate, with a group I had recently joined (yes, I did venture out and try a new one, which I have not mentioned because, well, it has been nice, good, great, and the women have all been super friendly and welcoming), and posed the question to some Philly natives and transplants, and wanted to know if I should just swallow my pride and go and pick up the shoes that day. The women, all who were used to suffering the indignities of shopping in Philly, all agreed that temporarily forfeiting one’s principles is worth the steep discount. I took their sound advice and left the playground, headed to the store of mistreatment. While there, you would be pleased to know that the sales associate not only was super helpful, bringing me the shoes in 3 different sizes to compare fit, but also very friendly with Sofia -who immediately removed her own shoes to try on as many as she could get her hands on before I could snatch them away. So here I am, thinking to myself, “Sara, you ought never generalize. There is such a thing as courteous and professional sales associates. You mustn't expect the worst and now you can leave the store with a positive experience.” No sooner do I thank her for her kindness and assistance, and attempt to reinforce considerate behavior, do we have the following exchange:

Me: Thank you again so much! You were so helpful, and I really appreciate all that you did. Really. Sofia, say “Thank you.” (thank you)

L&T sales clerk: You’re welcome. Sofia? That’s a beautiful name.

Me: Oh, thank you!

L&T sales clerk: Yes, Sofia’s the name of Jesus’ granddaughter.

Me: (not thinking, automated response) Oh really? That’s nice.

Me: (now actually thinking) Wait? What? Jesus’ GRANDDAUGHTER?

L&T sales clerk: Yes, you know. He had a children with Mary Magdalene, and his granddaughter is Sofia.

Me: um, I don’t think so...(cut off)

L&T: Well, it’s a long story, I’d be happy to tell you about another time, but YES, HE HAD CHILDREN, HE WAS MARRIED.

Me: (thinking to myself, “I CAN’T. I CAN’T RIGHT NOW, I HAVE THINGS TO DO. Pick your battles.”) oh. urgh. well, bye!

Sissy! She tried to squeeze in a very controversial and well, kind of INSULTING ( & perhaps blasphemous) belief, into NORMAL CONVERSATION. I seriously was laughing on my way out, thinking, I cannot shop in this city unscathed. Something super inappropriate and awkward has to happen, no matter what! Needless to say, I’m definitely looking forward to countless uneventful interactions while in Portland and am so happy to be near you again. I can not wait! 

Hope you’re enjoying your vacation. I am counting down the days until we’re singing “reunited and it feels so gooood” in our normal, 70’s variety show manner. Kiss the kiddos for me.

xo xo,

Sara

Husbands don't like to share dessert. End of Story.

Dear Sisee –

I can’t believe you put yourself out there! Frankly, with your generally pessimistic, glass-half-empty attitude, I never thought you’d take my advice. Which is why I’m always dispensing it so freely, even though you’re the psychologist. I just figure if I throw enough Velcro-covered balls at the yellow felt wall thing, one or two are bound to eventually stick. So, good for you for taking my advice! Yeah! Huah! (Yes, “huah” from that one Al Pacino movie where he’s blind and says a lot of very seriously uncomfortable and inappropriate things about the female anatomy, yet still manages to come off as “endearing” because of the whole blindness thing. Oh, and Chris O’Donnel! What happened to that guy? He was so cute. Oh no, he’s on a CSI spinoff now, isn’t he? Don’t tell me. Sigh, why?! He could’ve done so much better. Well… could he have? I don’t know. Maybe I should stop judging him – the man probably has a wife and kids and a mortgage from 2005 when he probably bought something in the “Pacific Pallisades” for way more than it’s now worth. Fine, Chris O’Donnel, do CSI. My apologies. )

Not related to letter, but Chris O'Donnel has mouths to feed. Stop judging him for CSI: LA

Seriously though – you are not at all a pessimist, and I applaud you for trying to branch out. Also, as you so wisely wrote in the comments section of your blog -  the likeliest scenario is that cool Philly moms already have groups of close friends and aren’t seeking out more via meetup sites. So you are left with the controlling, insecure, cult-creators, hoping to capitalize on newbies’ desperation to grow their group. I love that at one point during your awkward date, you laughed out loud! Sis, I’m kinda surprised you didn’t start somethin’, Michael Jackson-style (got to be startin somethin’, yeah yeah).  I’m totally sister-mad that someone thought it was ok to put you in that situation. What did she think was gonna happen?... you’d suddenly realize the error of your ways, apologize and immediately fork over the $5 membership fee? Rude! Aw, but knowing the special love you have in your heart for uncomfortable situations, I’m also kinda happy for you. If there’s one thing we’ve learned from this (yes, “we” – clearly the sister empathy makes me just as much a victim, if, frankly, not more so) it’s that we should be open to new friendships even if we already have a super awesome mommy circle. So, really, the lesson is for me, not you. Sorry. I am (truly) thinking about visiting meetup.com (OMG, I almost wrote “trolling”… WHY?!) to see if there are any great moms in Portland in your situation, who I could connect with other good mommy friends. See, your trials aren’t for naught. I’m so glad you’ll be visiting soon and I can give you lots of love. Love you so much, Sisee.

Sis, if you recall, back in me ol’ college days, I had befriended a hilarious old couple – Lily and Irwin from NYC –  with whom I would have coffee and chit chat on somewhat of a regular basis. They were childless, stylish and would freely dispense all manner of advice and share all sorts of so-crazy-it-must-be-true stories with me over coffee. I really have to write about them more in depth another time (they partied with Danny Kaye!), but one of the things about them that I always found intriguing was the way they shared dessert. We would often meet at coffee shops and cafes, and they would always get one dessert to split between the two of them. BUT, they wouldn’t just split said dessert the usual one plate / two forks method – they would instead also get a second plate, cut the untouched dessert in half and place one piece on the other plate, thereby having two separate half desserts instead of one shared dessert. Make sense? Ok, I always thought this was odd, but not enough so to ever ask why. It just seemed weird that two people in love (especially for so long) would want to remove the romantic part of sharing a dessert – the sharing part. Well, fast forward to modern-day, married Ava, and it all suddenly comes in CLEAR as day. Sis, I’ve realized something: HUSBANDS DON’T LIKE SHARING DESSERT. They like dessert and they certainly like you, but it’s not in their chromosomal make-up to split dessert with anyone, even wifey aziz. Now they pretend, mind you, that they are “sharing” with you, (and because they love you, they may even believe they are “sharing”… am I right? Doctor Sara?) but if you pay close attention you suddenly notice some alarming behaviors: A) They take bites that are 2-3 times the size of a woman’s. While you’re gingerly gathering the perfect morsel of chocolate tort with the edge of your fork, he’s stabbing at that thing like he’s digging for beef inside a bowl of stew. B) They consume at DOUBLE the consumption rate. Bada bing, bada boom, finito.  They’re fast eaters and savoring dessert isn’t gonna fit into the mathematical equation. So basically they are eating twice as much, twice as fast, which mathematically means you (the wife) get only about 25% of the dessert (or I should say what I assume is “mathematically” were I to try to make a nerdy mathematical equation out of something this ridiculous) (actually, I’m not clever enough to legitimately develop a mathematical answer – if someone else did it, I’d be impressed and SUPER interested in the results)… Ok, where was I… oh yeah, because you are eating from ONE plate, it SEEMS you are 50/50 sharing. Brilliant, right?! (Well, for husbands, not wifeys.)

She: Wow, that's one awesome head of hair.
He: I'm gonna eat all of the dessert.

Now, mind you, I’ve been married 7.5 years but only figured this out in the last year or so. One night Brett and I were “sharing” something after dinner – imagine a cheesecake or similar – and I realized that even though I was not particularly hungry, I was eating really superfast. And I also realized that I wasn’t enjoying said cheesecake because I was consuming it with little to no “savor” factor- I was just rapid-pace eat-sprinting through dessert. Soooo not fun and totally against my nature. (I like to take my time. Bite here. Sip of beverage there. Another bite or two, with all the proper proportions of dessert components. So on and so forth.) So WHY was I marathon racing through dessert?! Well, in order to (subconsciously) ensure I got my fair share! So after a few such episodes, I thought to myself ok, this is ridiculous! and started… are you ready for it… asking for my share of dessert on a SEPARATE PLATE! TADA! And I have to tell you… even though Brett loves me (and I’m positive he does)… he didn’t seem too happy about it. He was kind of reluctant at first like  Why do we need to get another plate dirty? We’re SHARING. but eventually, we developed a system of pre-splitting the dessert (or TRUE SHARING as I like to call it. In my head.) We’ve never talked about it or anything, but now we have entered an interesting (and frankly AWESOME) new phase of dessert sharing where we get two SEPARATE desserts and give each other a few bites upon request. I feel so liberated! I’m not rushing through my sugary confection and can take my time enjoying every bite – and even saving any that I may feel would be more appreciated the next day. Amazing! Everyone is happy! So rise up wives and claim what is rightly yours! – the whole 50% of the dessert which you were promised and nothing less!

Sis, I feel I should conclude my letter with an update on potty training. When last I wrote, things were a hot (wet, gross) mess. Well, we have made much progress! It has been at least 3 weeks since Evan has worn any sort of diaper – pull-up included. He is no longer deathly afraid of the #2. We got rid of Totally Ineffective Potty Chart and with the dangling promise of suckers, cupcakes and ice-cream sandwiches (sometimes for breakfast… honestly, if he was smart enough, he could totally leverage the poop-in-the-potty thing to get sweets for whole days on end - I’d totally do it), he does his business and moves forward. We still have accidents on occasion – which are surprisingly still totally disgusting and nothing less… pee and poop are always gross, who knew?! – but all in all, it has been a successful and money saving endeavor. I’m surprised someone from Costco corporate hasn’t called to ask why our monthly spending has reduced by $50-100. Maybe they don’t have a person who handles that. Or maybe we are just spending that same money on ice cream sandwiches and red velvet cake (it’s $10 for that whole gigantic thing! TEN DOLLARS! Sold. Next.)

Sis, I’m heading to San Diego to make good on all my weather trash talk from earlier posts. Also, I’m going to get some sun. It’s the middle of June, and it was at one point this afternoon 55 and rainy. Don’t get me started. DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED. Love you so much and am thrilled that I’ll be seeing you 3 days after I return from SoCal. Many kisses for that beautifull niece of mine.

Xoxoxo

Ava

Don't ever "put yourself out there" unless you have to

My Dearest Sissy-roo,

Why is Evan doing this? I heard things get harder in year 3...but I feel like maybe he’s trying to “teach” you a valuable lesson on socio-cultural boundaries and autonomy. Okay, I’m kidding, he’s just being a brat. The cutesiest, adorable brat in the world, mind you. Can’t wait to kiss and squeeze that lil’guy. I’d offer you my usual standby threat I use on my friends and acquaintances: “You know I can put you in a 24 hour psychiatric hold right? I’ll just say you’re a suicidal addict and you’ll have to spend the night in a locked unit.” But alas, I don’t think little Evan would understand that and of course, if he did, he’d probably never forgive me for introducing that imagery. In fact, it’ll probably be one of those memories he’d somehow hold on to, and bring up awkwardly and casually when he’s like 19, hanging out with the family in my kitchen. It would go something like this:

E:“Hey Auntie, did you threaten to put me in a locked psychiatric unit when I was really young?”

S:“How can you expect me to remember those things?”

E:“Um, I still have nightmares from that...so, um...don’t you think I was kinda young?”

S:“Are you questioning me? In front of OTHERS? This is the kind of disrespect your mother warned me about 16 years ago!”

This conversation would inevitably force me to resort to insincere crying, pressuring Evan to console me...and be such a waste of his time, as to never bring it up again. the end.

In all seriousness, I think it’s just a little kid thing. All kids do it -including my precious Sofia. Sofia’s in a very interesting phase, where she now understands what being “nice” is, and is constantly reprimanding cartoons for not being nice. I think it all started over Caillou being mean to his younger sister Rosie, and Dean and I both saying that Caillou needs to be nicer to his sister. So now, as Sofia watches her favorite cartoon, I’ll catch her yelling at the top of her lungs, in a really mean voice, “Caillou BE NICE! BE NICE NOOOOOW!” It’s such an aggressive reprimand, that I have to come to his aid, and say, “he is nice, he’s being nice now, geeeez!” She’s also become super “helpful” especially with babies. Her thing is to bring out all her toys and give them to whatever child is around, only to become super jealous and immediately take the toy away. She offers a toy, only to take it back! Super embarrassing. Oh, and now trying to redirect her involves her yelling “STOP IT!” at the top of her lungs. How did the sweetest kid in the world start having 2 second melt-downs? 

Sofia’s also getting her two bottom molars in these last couple days which left us sleepless the last few nights. She was crying at 2:30am, and by that time was wide awake. We both tried, at 4 different times to hush her back to sleep, but with no avail. We brought her into our bed at like 3:30am, thinking she might, well you know, snuggle cutely and sleep. Of course, not only was she wanting to play, my eye-balls were sore from her pushing them in and saying “eyes. eyes. eyes. eyes. eyes.” She also restated 1000x a pretty traumatic event from earlier in the day, when she let go of her balloon and it flew up in the sky. Imagine at around 4:30am hearing, “booon, sky, bye-bye, Pia (Sofia) let go, booon, in sky, birds, airpane, byebye, blooon, booon, bye-bye, NOT NICE! NOT NICE! boon went bye-bye.”

Omg, I was so tired, and all I could dream about was that stupid balloon flying in the sky, flying free. I was so jealous of that balloon. The next day I was a complete zombie. Thankfully last night she slept soundly. Why can’t I be one of those people who sleep less than 5 hours a night and wake up refreshed? Dean and I both after being sleepless were questioning whether we wanted another child. We have become accustomed to sleep, not to mention, Sofia slept through the night since she was 6 weeks old...we are not built to wake up every 3 hours. So, I guess we’ll just hold off a little longer on introducing another baby. 

So as you know, it’s been quite the challenge for me to make Mommy-friends here in Philly. It seems like generally, most of the women I get along with, are ones who return to work. So I went on meetup.com to look for some mommy play-date groups to join and a few months ago joined one...only to un-join after 9 days. I don’t know if I’m too judgmental, but seriously, after joining I received 10 emails in the first 5 days, all of which were very sternly explaining their “rules and regulations” and very aggressively asking for a 5 dollar yearly fee. Within 3 days, the emails became even more aggressive, with updates to the “rules” and then, saying that if I didn’t attend a meeting within the first few days, I’d be ejected from the group. It just so happened that Sofia’s nap time was at the exact time all their group meetings were, so I contacted one of the group leaders and explained, and she seemed easy-going enough and understood why I couldn’t participate. The NEXT day, I get an angry email from the other group facilitator, telling me that I should just pay my fee online with a credit card, before I get kicked out! hahaa, omg, I have no idea what crazy cult-group I had stumbled upon, but seriously, it was craaaazy! So, I naturally discontinued my membership and explained to them that I was no longer interested and needed to be part of a more “flexible” mom’s group. So a few weeks ago, against my better judgement, and as a misguided attempt to “put myself out there” -pretty sure advice I got from you Sissy- I decided to contact the “nice” group facilitator who had originally suggested we meet up at a park outside of the group’s involvement. I sent her a friendly email to see if she wanted a play-date. Her response was very puzzling. It was like, “you can definitely re-join the group and I’d love to see you with the group. group. group. etc. GROUP.” Basically, more cult-mom’s agenda. I replied, assuming she’d never respond, saying, “I’m not really interested in the group, but thanks anyway and if you ever want to just have a play-date I’d be happy to meet up with you sometime.” She doesn’t respond for a few days (after she had responded within hours of the first email) and finally suggested we meet at a nearby park the following week. Okay, so this is the craziest part: She showed up, CLEARLY UPSET WITH ME! not to mention, with a major chip on her shoulder. I tried to be nice at first, but then just stopped all attempts at making conversation. I seriously started laughing out loud to myself at one point, because she was so cold and rude and very stand-off-ish, that it was obvious she was trying to teach me some kind of LESSON for snubbing her cult. UNBELIEVABLE. If you didn’t want to meet with me, WHY DID YOU? Seriously? I was so confused, but also a bit amused by the absurdity of the whole interaction. No one forced this play-date! Anyway, so it was unbelievably awkward, and completely ridiculous...but I guess it taught me?...something? Did it? Who knows. 

Anyway, I’ll keep you updated on more futile attempts to “put myself out there” and use “nothing risked, nothing gained” type affirmations daily to attract other friendly, flexible mommies...ugh, but until then, I will continue to rely so heavily on you, that it will force you to relocate close to me.

Alright my love. Please kiss those boys and let them know that Auntie can’t wait to see them in the next few weeks. Yay! 

Love you tons,

Sara