Cooties

I can be really weird about germs. Sometimes the 20-minute rule determines eating off the floor and other times I'm flipping out because I refuse to use the same cup later in the day. With an infant in the house, I get the germ jitters often. It's rightly so because in the last 12 weeks Pinkalicious had a cold, she and I both had Scarlet Fever, The Hubs and I had the stomach flu, and now my strep throat is resurging. This little guy needs protection!

Becka told me about probiotics that she gives her daughter to boost her immunity. It sounded kinda funky to me. The next day at Pinkalicious's gymnastics practice, there was a little toddler with snot oozing everywhere who seemed to turn in our direction with her phlegmy hack every 25 seconds. There was no where to hide. Inside I was screaming. I found myself exhaling slowly trying to puff the germs away toward another direction. It was lame and a little psychotic. At the end of practice, I drove like Cruella Deville to our health food store and picked up some probiotics for Mr. Monkey. And since then I've been shoveling 1/2 tsp. into one bottle a day.

By doing this, I do feel like I should be living on a commune making my own granola. It doesn't help that my mom and The Hubs think I'm strange and look at me with raised eyebrows. But hey, he's healthy, I'm not wearing Birkenstocks, and with all my illness lately, I'm thinking about some probios for myself, too!

Sell-out

I decided to start advertising on this blog. I'm not completely sure how it works, but I set up the counter on the site and it seems like I'm getting enough hits to maybe make it worthwhile. Mama likes her Starbucks. (That was not an ad)

My favorite part about it in the 5 minutes since it started is that 8/10 of the ads are directly related to spoons and cutlery. Of the remaining two, one is for Crate and Barrel that mentions serving pieces. I assume that this is all prompted by my Medicated Musings post where I discuss my spoons at length, but I have to wonder, is that really worth 9/10 ads? Scrunching all my posts together, would you really come away with the theme of Spoons?

And why are there so many random companies selling spoons? Compostable Bio Cutlery? Charlie's Spoon Factory: Putting Lena, Illinois on the map one spoon at a time? What? Maybe the word "random" came up as frequently as "spoon" and they merged the two together for the world's most ridiculous search for mouth shovels.

Anyhoo, feel free to click away on my ads and support the cause! A new Gymboree dress for Pinkalicious! A trip to San Fran! Electricity to keep us up to code! But be assured there is no advertising inside my posts - I'm just a total consumer (a.k.a. American).

More Precious than Gold

I wrote this post yesterday, but forgot to post it. We were too busy with our marathon of Favorite "Office" Episodes! =)

Today I spent with one of my life-long friends, Katie, who graciously journeyed to Vtown just so we could hang! Katie and I got to know each other through church in high school and have been living life together ever since. We've peed in frog-filled toilets in Ensenada, shoveled dirt in Poland, watched lightning hit the ground 20 feet from us in Germany, re-enacted "Mission Impossible" in Prague, and climbed walls in Wisconsin. Whether together or apart, we always have fun with each other, which is good because today all we could add to the list was going to the post office in Vtown.

I told Katie once that I was sure that God was going to send me to Africa with nothing but a first aid kit and a bible (which at that time felt like it was akin to God pressing the "smite" button on my life). We laughed about it then and we laugh even more now as Katie prepares for her sixth trip to Africa to work with the youth of Kayamandi in South Africa. This next trip will be the longest yet as she grows her Africa Film Project from her six months in 2008 into the Kuyasa Film School. The goal is to give impoverished high school aged kids the opportunity to learn the skills of film making and giving them the chance to work in the large and thriving South African film industry. Are you as amazed as I am by this vision?!

I smile as I reflect on Katie. I close my eyes and I see us hiding mustard in people's peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, giving "camuchis" (Spanish slang for piggyback rides) to our kids in Colonia 89 month after month, cruising down the 101 rapping with Tupac, standing together on my wedding day. I remember the excitement of seeing her name in the credits at the movies, and I imagine her in Africa again with her students and her friends. I'm tempted to be sad that it could be years before we see each other again. But who am I to be selfish with such a treasure as she?

Katie Taylor, I love you. You're crazy. Go crazy. Ahi Ahi.



Follow along with Katie at
www.kuyasafilmschool.org
www.threadsafrica.org

Pruning Practices

As I washed my face this morning, I saw lots of wrinkles around my eyes! (I'm chalking it up to dry skin. Investigation pending.) But it was what I did not see that made me giddy as a schoolgirl.

It all began around my sophomore year of high school when I developed a large freckle in the curve of my shoulder/neck. As the years went by, this freckle morphed into a mole, which got larger and three dimensional. I almost got to the point of looking like this:

Some of you may have noticed it flapping in the breeze every time the fan pointed my way.

The doctor said it was a skin tag, and that the solution was to cut it off... at home... with scissors. Hence, I have sported this thing for years. But as it continued to grow and practically housed its own teeth and spinal column, it started to snag on purse straps. Once it became a play-thing for my preschooler, that was the final straw. Last night, The Hubs broke out the scissors and snipped that little SOB right off my neck. I almost documented the drama with my camera (I'm calling that proof that I'm heading into Blog Hysteria, a rare case of psychotic delusions that make a person think that all life's trivia should be documented in detail via the world wide web), but thankfully I thought better of it.

So this morning it was just me and my cracked face. And what do you know, I lost five pounds!

Okay, yes.

It is really unfortunate that I am such a negative thinker; by this I mean that I am dominated in my mind by the word "No." It permeates most of the thoughts I have and of course, then my actions. One of the most painful parts about this character flaw is that I chose to be a parent, and I've found that I can't hide the imperfect parts of myself in this parenting game. Thus, I often find "No" being a regular word in my daily communication with Pinkalicious. "No" is perfectly acceptable for discipline, and at this stage in life much of what I do is discipline and teach. But there are lots of things we could be doing with our time if I wasn't naturally responding "No" all the time.

This has been a subject of prayer for me lately, as now that Pinky has a little bro, I feel like 1,000,000 legitimate reasons to say "No" have crept into our lives. Yet it is more important than ever that I embrace our times together with a loud "Yes!" Today provided such an opportunity to be tested. After gymanstics and our errand-running, Pinkalicious asked if we could have a picnic at the park. Now, I could list for you five reasons why that was not a good idea today, but thankfully I was not on autopilot and I responded with "Okay, yes. Let's do it!" We picked up some Jack in the Box and went to the park. I am so glad we did. Enjoy some highlights of my Yay-saying!

Pinkalicious in her gymanstic-wear, ready to eat!

Mommy-daughter moment. Could I be any luckier?!!

A Rainbow!

Even Mr. Monkey was happy to be out of the house!

I really love watching her run - it's the embodiment of total joy. And even though her back is to me, I can tell that she's smiling. Can you?

More smiles on the blanket!

Time to go, Mr. Monkey! 12 weeks tomorrow!

Beginning

The cold, it clings to ev’ry leaf
And turns each breath into a cloud.
Gelidity, it seems, unbowed
From which I cannot find relief.
Until one morning dawn unfolds
A warmth that once had been forgot.
The Robin Redbreast starts to sing.
The East is painted pinks and golds.
In seeing this, then I cannot
Conceal my joy, for it is spring.

--Dana

A Day in the Life

Six things I discovered in Vtown today:

1. A 50-year-old man (or thereabouts) riding an adult-sized scooter made from an old skateboard and bicycle wheels, being pulled along by two pit bulls. Apparently he is preparing for the Central Valley Iditarod.

2. Extensive, quality conversation with three women that did not include diapers or MOPS planning.

3. Five bras with broken underwires. I don't own a single bra with an in-tact underwire. Either one wire has snapped and the shard of metal is poking me or I already removed the broken wire.

4. It sucks to work for the Census Bureau. I watched a door-to-door surveyor get yelled at by a man claiming there had never been a census before, that it is invented by Obama.
Trivia: Why was Jesus born in Bethlehem?
Answer: Because his family had to go there for the census for Caesar Augustus.

5. An old band aid on my back. I don't know where it's from or who it's from. It's disgusting and weird, and I hope it hasn't been clinging to me for weeks.

6. A craving for onion rings that is unfulfilled. I really don't know this town. Although, qualifying my knowledge of a town by knowing the location of quality onion rings is kind of bizarre. By that measurement, I don't know any town.

I'm a little bit crafty, I'm a little bit rock and roll

Welcome Back!

Do you love how I started this blog and then totally abandoned it? In my defense, we got taken out with sickness which put me behind the 8 ball for this week, the end of MOPS.

If you remember my jaunt to JoAnn's a few weeks ago where I bought enough fabric to clothe an army (see my post, "In Excess"), then you can appreciate the 3x5 inch zippy wallets I made for my steering team as a thank you gift.






Wanting to give my team members something cute for all the hard work they did and the love they showed me this year, I found this online. I don't have a lot of sewing experience, so it was slow-going, but I feel fairly confident in them now (just in time to have made one for all my friends and now have no one else to make them for. haha)! If I make them again, I want to add a key chain on the side so that it is easier to take out/use when excercising. Anyway, I hope they can enjoy them either for themselves, or, as I told KVC, as a cute re-gift! =)

Here's the link to the tutorial I used if you want to give it a try (and then mock me that it took me so long. ha)! http://noodleheads.blogspot.com/2009/10/zippy-wallet-tutorial.html But I must insist that you make these while listening to 80s music. There is no better pairing than a zippy wallet and The Cure.

Medicated Musings

I've been gone the last two days with Pinkalicious to Sickieville. It's been a journey that has been super complicated by having an infant; well, complicated for someone for whom balancing two kids is new. I made it through with the help of mass antibiotics, a sweet husband who stayed home to shield our son from the diseased germs, and sweet friends who prayed for us and brought dinner the last two nights. I am more than blessed!! But as not much as happened I thought I'd note a few of the thoughts I've had in my hours of medicated solitude.

Scarlet Fever - The diagnosis from our doctors. Pinkalicious and I both have it. What year is this? 1879? I swear, any minute Anne Shirley is going to be headed to my house (Better put Anne of Green Gables on your list if you didn't catch that reference. It's okay to watch the movie. Give me a call and we can watch it together!). For reals, it sounds like something that should have gone out with the plague. But no. It rests in our throats in 2010.

Jolly Ranchers - I love Jolly Ranchers and rarely have them. That's probably why they hold such distinctive memories for me of friends' baseball games (What, me play? You've got to be kidding!) and summers of bike riding with Kel. But where did the name "Jolly Rancher" come from? I can't think of any reason why. My best guess is that these candies are used in 12-step programs to cure cowboys of their chewing tobacco habits, thus producing jolly ranchers.

Spoons - I have six kinds of spoon in my drawers. The first is the regular spoon. I don't know the technical term. It's smaller than the soup spoon (spoon #2). Deciding whether to use the regular spoon or the soup spoon usually depends only on what I'm planning to eat with it. Soup obviously requires the soup spoon. Ice cream... it depends on how much I have in the bowl. If I've mounded it in, then the soup spoon. If I have a scoop or two (yes, for me, two scoops is not a mound), then the regular so that I can savor it for longer. There's the iced tea spoon. I have four of these and only use them for fishing the remnants out of jars, most particularly spaghetti sauce. These spoons are invaluable for this sole purpose. There are also the serving spoons, slotted and unslotted, the newer additions: baby spoons, and lastly, the grapefruit spoons. These spoons are a must for eating grapefruit. I once had to eat grapefruit with a regular spoon and it was a total bust. But in acquiring grapefruit spoons for myself, I somehow ended up with eight of them. Eight?! This does give me the opportunity in indulging in several grapefruits between dishwasher loads, but come on, eight? I'll tell you, I'm thinking a grapefruit party is on the horizon, just to make use of these puppies.

Edumacated - I think I quote movies and TV shows the way people are supposed to quote books. Isn't that why everyone has to read "Hamlet" and The Great Gatsby and The Scarlet Letter and Great Expectations, so that we can read other works of literature and be able to understand the references (Because you can hardly read two books on the New York Times Best Sellers list without some reference to Mrs. Haversham!)? If I were to construct a must-watch list, it would have to include "Seinfeld," "The Office," "Arrested Development," and "I Love Lucy." I can't get through the day without a quote from at least one of these and, might I add, many more people know who Ethel Mertz is than Hester Prynne. However, you won't get the joke about the Gatsby Swing Top in "Seinfeld" if you haven't taken American Literature.

You have just taken a peek into my hazed days. I'll pray for your sanity.

Protocol?

I started this blog not knowing what I would do or what it would be. I entitled it "Day-to-Day Dane" and felt the next day that I should probably write something everyday. There are millions of other blogs out there and who knows how many of them are everyday entries. But I wonder what they do when their sick?

Pinkalicious has had a fever since Saturday night and it is not going away. Last night a face rash began. Today I woke up with one of the most painful sore throats I have had in a long time and throughout the day I've progressed from sore throat to headache to body ache to white tonsil pockets. I have officially hit Crap status. Can I insert here that Pinkalicious has been whispering to herself "popsiclepopsiclepopsicle" for the last 10 minutes? I'm not sure if it's a subliminal message or a feverish delusion.

This is Dane's day today. And I have a good feeling tomorrow's post will be more of the same: a medical report update. Put it on my chart. Unless I am inspired by tongue depressors and ridiculously long waits for medical attention, of course. So stay tuned for the least exciting blog post yet!

Gonna Have a Good Time... hey hey hey

As of June 1, The Hubs and I will have been married for 8 years. In some ways this seems insignificant since we started dating in 1996. Out of 14 years, 8 feels minimal.

When we got married, we decided to honeymoon in London. First, because we both burn easily (we all know the real purpose of the honeymoon, and it ain't the destination, though some may argue that it does include site seeing). Secondly, because we had money saved and as we looked at the prospect of one or both of us being in school for several more years, we guessed that our honeymoon might be the last big vacation we would ever take. This hypothesis has proved true, altered only by the generosity of our families by whom we were invited to be tag-alongs in Cayucos or Mammoth a few summers.

If you can do the math, you will see that in two short years, we will be at our tenth anniversary (2+8=10) and that is the year I have had my sights on. I would love to do something lavish and celebratory for our tenth - we've been saving our Christmas and birthday money!! But as we haven't done anything as a family, just the three (now four) of us, I'm concerned about doing our first vacation as only a couple. But what can we do with a 6 and 1 year old? Disneyland, and ...? Would we want to do Hawaii with a toddler? Is it false guilt to think that we should be doing things as a family first and as a couple second? Anyone with toddler travel experience, help me out!

Either way, we are so lucky to be a family. The Hubs is a great husband and dad, and we totally enjoy our two kiddos. Life is sweet no matter where we are.

A Rant, My First But Surely Not My Last

I went to see "Date Night" last night (ironically, The Hubs stayed home with the kids and I did a Girls Night). It was tons of fun! The Hubs and I were debriefing about the other movies advertised at the beginning of the film, and were back to our long-standing debate: is it a preview or a trailer?

I am a Word Meister and this drives me CRAZY!! Common sense rules just looking at these two words. Pre- means before. You can break down the word and see that it means "before seeing." And everybody knows what a trailer is in other contexts - that big honking thing hooked to the back of the truck that completely obstructs your view of the road. It comes AFTER the truck, thereby trailing it. A movie trailer is trailing nothing, except, I'll grant you, extremely annoying paper bag puppets advertising a website that rips you off and saves a whole three minutes in the ticket line. But I digress. I'm watching these movie commercials BEFORE the movie. One might say that I'm watching (prepare yourself for coherency) a preview.

And this reasoning also holds weight when we notice that the preview/trailer is shown before the movie itself is released. For example, I don't want to see the trailer for "Titanic" because the movie has been out for 13 years; however, I'm salivating for an "HP: Deathly Hallows" preview - a movie that has yet to come out. (Yes, I heart Harry. No, I don't wear my Snuggie as an invisibility cloak in the privacy of my own home.)

On Wikipedia, it says "the term 'trailer' comes from their having originally been shown at the end of a feature film screening. That practice did not last long, because patrons tended to leave the theater after the films ended, but the name has stuck. Trailers are now shown before the film begins." At least that makes sense but when was this? "Originally?" Isn't that about 1920? What do they mean that the name "trailer" stuck? For whom? I swear I never heard the term "trailer" until I entered college. Everyone only ever called them "previews." And I grew up in LA. It's not like I was in Nowheresville raising catfish in the kiddie pool on my front lawn, talking about the latest preview.

So I want to hear from you. All you people who have been raised to call them "trailers" your whole life speak up! Am I alone on Preview Island?

Lame Pioneer

I first heard about The Pioneer Woman from "Christi, my Facebook friend from MOPS." Christi and I attend MOPS together but things are so busy at the meetings that I think we've only talked in person two times. So the only real keeping up we do with each other (or at least, I do with her) is through Facebook, where I enjoy the tales of her kiddos and the projects she's up to (a super crafty girl!). The reason I put her title in quotes is because that is how I always refer to her when I talk to The Hubs about her; "Christi, my Facebook friend from MOPS, is on a cruise!" or "Christi, my Facebook friend from MOPS, uses cloth diapers!" Christi MFBFFM inspires me with all that she is able to accomplish with four preschoolers, and Christi is inspired by The Pioneer Woman.

Today I tried a recipe from The Pioneer Woman called Onion Strings. You can find the recipe here: http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2008/03/onion-strings-oh-yeah-baby/ (okay, I thought I just added a link and I have no idea where it went... so, if it's still not here when I post, just copy and paste like it's 1997.). I have done a Dana version of her recipe sharing and I charted my journey through onion strings with my expert photog skills (p.s. if you haven't figured it out, I'm Napolean Dynamite when it comes to skills).

Dana and Onion. The beginning of a journey.

Dana bested by the onion, smiling through the tears. Cursed root vegetable!

Onion slices soaking in buttermilk. Drown, you delicious beasts!

Last night's Jello frosted over in the fridge! Treasures abound.

My cutie girl (nickname still pending) with the Jello ice. Science is everywhere!

Fry, baby, fry!

The pan handle I foolishly grabbed without a mit while frying the onions. Cuidado! El handle esta muy caliente!

Frazzled by my burnt hand, I dumped a bunch of onions in without flour. Here are some rescued wimps.

At this point, my house began to smell of burning oil. I forgot to take a picture of the final product, but they were delicious!

I'm not much of a pioneer. I didn't even like "Little House on the Prairie" (Michael Landon, you are no big fig). But looking at the pile of dirty dishes from this recipe attempt, I know I will need to be a conqueror.

A rose by any other name...

My mom has been following my blog. Contrary to my post about moms and Facebook, it has been fine that she is reading along, and has actually been very encouraging. Today she sent me an email about the advice from Consumer Reports about Facebook and blogging:

These are safeguards to prevent identiy theft and for the security of your
children and home:

Don't post your full name
Don't post the city you live in
Don't name your children
Check-out the safeguards provided by Facebook and your blog to ensure privacy.
Update those pages regularly.

I don't know what changes you can make on your blog after the fact, but
I know that some of the items listed above are already posted. It would be easy
to find your home, talk to your kids, and come off as one of your friends to
your kids because they could provide personal info found on your blog.

I'm not so worried about Facebook because I know all the people who are my friends there. And my privacy settings are as high as possible. But since this blog is open to the public (you will notice that I have thousands of followers), I'm going for a bit of anonymity.

Honestly, I'm feeling a little paralyzed at the task of choosing nicknames for my family for this blog. I LOVE nicknames and believe it's important to be able to get at least three nicknames out of each of my kids' real names. However, almost all the nicknames I have for them include their name in some form. I want their references to be cute and clever but I'm not coming up with much.

For my husband, I think I'll just go with "The Hubs." I refer to him that way all the time when I write. For my daughter, I'm tossing around "Cinderella" (her favorite princess, and my way of tricking her to wipe up the floors), or "Pinkalicious" (because she is determined to wear pink in some form everyday). I'm not really happy with either of those. For my son, it's even harder. I've only known him for two months so far. We used to call him "Peabody" before our big ultrasound, but he's a 24.5" pea now. I kinda like "Seven Costanza" just because I think it's funny and any reference to Seinfeld makes me happy. But wouldn't typing that out get a little annoying after a while? "And then I turned to Seven Costanza and..." There is the tried and true "Maboob," a mullet-sporting white kid in the Riverside ghetto where I used to work. I think that would just end up making my blog pornographic. "The Hubs and I were giving Maboob a bath..." Maybe I'll pull a Dr. Seuss and name them Thing 1 and Thing 2.

Well, the pillow is calling. Last night, I was Beyonce` and torn between my two loves: Denzel Washington and Idris Elba. Tonight I'm fine being anyone, except Maboob.

Deforestation

With all other surfaces cleared last night, there was only one left: my face.

Eyebrow waxing is an imperative luxury for me. I had a girl in Placentia (where we lived before Vtown) that did a great job. She took my brows from “Okay” to “Nice!” But in the process of making things “nice,” biology took over. The adage, “Pull a hair and two more will grow back” came true and my natural brows went from “Okay” to “Yikes!” Unfortunately for me, achieving “Yikes!” status coincided with moving to Vtown where the corners are peppered with trees, not nail shops. This required an actual effort to find someone to tame the beasts and it has proven no small feat. I tried for about a year to find someone I liked and in the end, I gave up. My friend, Jenn (a.k.a. JDogg), gets her brows done at Chateau Harrell (her last name is Harrell), and encouraged me to self-manage as well. I don’t have skills though, and I can only take my brows from “Yikes!” to “Hmm.” So today, two years later, I thought I would try again at the new place by my house Hand2Love (Don’t get me started on that name. It bugs.).

Making this venture was scary. Men may scoff, but only we women know the dangers that lurk in a nail shop. They are inevitable because they all swirl around the language barrier. After being there for a while, the technician will likely be talking in another language with a coworker. Often times there are sideways glances and laughter involved, and it is easy to become paranoid that I am the subject of the convo. There are very few times in my life when I wish I had Frank Costanza with me; usually these are the times. But when it’s time to speak English, the workers have such thick accents that it’s impossible for me to truly understand them. I want to be nice and friendly, but every smile-and-nod ends up costing me another five bucks. Suddenly, I’ve gone from a $10 manicure to a $45 hot oil mani/pedi with flowers on my toes! Becka just says No to everything and that usually works for her.

When I was paying today for the best eyebrows I’ve had in three years, the gal started to ask me a question, which she had to repeat two times. I still couldn’t understand, so I did a Becka and said “No, no thanks.” I could tell I made her mad - I still have no idea what she said. Now my conundrum is, do I go back next month and see whether she carries a grudge (thereby making me pencil-in my expressions for the following two months), or do I return to Chateau DeVries and the safety of my “Hmm” brows? Either way, the earth got a little bit warmer today, thanks to me and my fantastic eyebrows.

MOPS and McCartney

Well Friends, I have begun several blogs but they are all failing. One is on catalogs, one on errands, one on helicopter parenting, and one on Seinfeld. I think I blew all my compositional juices on my MOPS article for our newsletter.
Being that it is past (passed?) 10:00pm, and my house is in desperate need of attention for my meeting tomorrow, I'm am at a loss... or am I?

Behold!! I present to you the letter to my MOPS group! [insert wild applause here] But, it's not just any letter; I am taking my cue from Paul McCartney and turning my English sentences into art by repeating them in French.

Goodnight mes amis.


To My Favorite Mamas:

It is warming up. May is here! There are 20 days of school left!! Are you ready for summer?!!!

Confession: I am a winter girl. Bring on the fog, the fireplace, and the fleece! The prospect of summer heat isn’t thrilling to me and it conjures up memories of metal seatbelts and sweating on the way to the mailbox. I do admit that there are lots of great things about summer, though. I love swimming in the pool with friends (if you have a pool, make sure you get my number before you leave), BBQs, beach days, and free movies at the theater (where it’s sometimes so cold, I can wear my fleece and pretend it’s winter – BONUS!).

The beginning of summer signals the end of our MOPS year. It’s hard to imagine that nine months have already gone by. What a joy it has been to be the coordinator of our group! Our MOPS group is full of so many girls who are warm and welcoming. I have totally enjoyed getting to know many of you better this year. And the Leadership of 2009-2010 blows me away with their commitment to GateWay MOPS and reaching out to the mothers of Tulare County. They are amazing women, without whom there would be no MOPS.

It doesn’t feel like it’s time for the year to end, yet. But if our team has done its job, then our program will merely be the scaffolding of the relationships you’ve built that you continue to enjoy this summer. I look forward all that the summer holds for each of us! Thank you for the opportunity to serve you this year as your coordinator!

With love,
Dana


Mes Favoris Mamas:
Il se réchauffe. Mai est ici! Il y a 20 jours de l’école gauche!! Êtes-vous prêt pour l’été?!!!
Confession: je suis un hiver fille. Porter sur le brouillard, le foyer, et la toison! La perspective de chaleur estivale n’est pas palpitant pour moi et qu’il évoque des souvenirs de metal ceintures do sécurité et la transpiration sur la façon de la boîte aux letters. J’admets qu’il existe beaucoup de grandes choses au suet de summer, cependant. J’aime la piscine de la piscine avec des amis (si vous avez une piscine, assurez-vous vous obtenez mon numéro avant de cous laisser), le barbecue, plage jours, et libre films au theater (où il est parfois tellement froid, je peux porter mes polaire et pretender qu’elle l’hiver – BONUS!).

Le début de l’été marquee la fin de nos MOPS année. Ill est difficile d’imaginer que neuf mois se sont déjà écoulés. Quelle joie qu’il a été d’être le coordinateur de notre groupe! Notre groupe MOPS est plein de tellement de jeunes filles qui sont chaleureux et accueilant.J’ai totalement jouissent connaître beaucoup de vous mieux cette année. Et le leadership de 2009-2010 coup m’enlever á leur engagement de passerelle MOPS et atteindre les méres de Tulare Comté. Ils sont étonnants femmes, sans lesquels il ne serait pas MOPS.

Il n’a pas envie qu’il est temps pour l’année á la fin, encore. Mais si notre équipe a fait son travail, alors notre prgramme sera simplement l’échafaudage de la relation que vou avez constuit que cous continuez á bénéficier de cette été. J’ai hate que l’été détient pour chacun de nous! Je vous remercie de l’occasion de vous dervir cette année, comme votre coordonnateur!

Avec l’amour,

Dana

When Eighth Grade is Over, It Still Never Ends

My first text of the morning was from Kim. Kim, or KVC, as I like to call her, is one of my Vtown MOPS friends. I have so few Vtown friends who are not from MOPS that I probably only need to mention when a friend isn’t a MOPS buddy. But I have to mention it with Kim because if I have been any good as our MOPS coordinator this year, it is purely due to following her leadership. In the process of being her understudy last year we became friends, and this friendship is a source of total enjoyment for me. Today’s text from KVC was full of doom: “Well, it’s official. My mom found me on FB.” [cue scary music]

This is the plight of so many and it makes me wonder. Why does Facebook turn us back into junior highers? There is something so invasive about Mom seeing our profiles or being able to post on our walls! Is it that Mom is trying to be a friend? [eye roll] Like, whatever!! Almost all the people I know whose mom is their friend on Facebook did not request their moms for friends, but rather, accepted their mom’s friend request out of compulsion.

But it’s not just the mom thing (or in-law thing – pick your poison) that makes it like junior high. It’s looking at other people’s profiles. There are the status updates. Who was hanging out and didn’t invite me? Or, This is your millionth complaint about your elbow – Shut Up! And, there are the wall posts. Do you do anything all day besides Farmtown? Or, Why isn’t anyone writing on my wall?... except my mom! And it’s the friend box. How many friends do they have?... How many friends do I have?! And of course, the complete Facebook bitch-slap: the unfriending.

I have been the recipient of a few unfriendings on Facebook and it sucks. One time, an old friend was spring cleaning her Friend List; apparently I am the MC Hammer tape in the back of the closet. With another friend, I, and about fifty of my friends, were accused of spying and therefore denied access to the captivating world of her Facebook wall (I hope you sensed the sarcasm I intended here). But really, since I cared about the people who were my Facebook friends, it felt mean and unwarranted to be unfriended, much like being shunned at the lockers.

I never really responded to this morning’s text beyond, “Bust.” But the brace-faced, permed girl inside me is screaming to the Stussy-wearing girl with the scrunchy inside KVC, “DON’T DO IT!!!!”

Music and Lryics, Part 2

The other day, I was using Gwen Stefani to help me describe my day to Steve: "This day is bananas b-a-n-a-n-a-s." Isabella asked us what the song was about and Steve answered her that it was about a girl who wears modest clothes. What?!
When I questioned him about it, he said, "Yeah. She doesn't wear hollowback dresses... isn't that a dress with no back?"
"No, it's Hollenbeck Girl. Not Hollowback Girl," I said authoritatively.
"Hollenbeck?" he questioned.

This lead me to yet another internet search, although this search didn't result in enough fabric to clothe two families. For the sake of being fair, I looked up "Hollowback Dress" to no avail. Tim Gunn would be pleased that I already knew there was no such thing as a hollowback dress. But what I did discover is that Hollowback is a breakdancing term - one that is super impressive might I add. Here's a picture of me performing a hollowback:

You can recognize me by the armpit hair and the Japanese undertones that my British/German genes naturally produced.

But what surprised me most was that the song is called "Hollaback Girl." Being the urban genius that I am - D-Dizzle is my street name - I hopped onto UrbanDictionary.com and unearthed this gem of an analysis:

Gwen Stefani uses the term brilliantly in her song "Hollaback Girl", both as
a simile and a metaphor. She’s letting the guys know that she ain’t a booty call
and that she’s not gonna be sitting around waiting for them to “holla back”.
She’s “been around the track a few times” so it’s not gonna happen again. She
uses the cheerleading terminology as a metaphor, she’s a “squad” leader not a
follower.

What depth.

I also discovered, when reading the lyrics, that what I thought was being sung, "bis mush," was actually, "this my shit." I should have learned from the "Michelle" debacle that nonsense words = wrong words, but being that I am a slow learner, I found myself shocked. Yes, shocked that the words weren't "bis mush." One would think that a girl with hearing aids would not be surprised to learn that she had misheard. But then, 'one' wouldn't really know my desperation to be right. That desperation probably stems from insecurity. I guess insecurity is "bis mush."

Music and Lyrics, Part 1

I love music mostly because my mom loves music. Many of my childhood memories are based around music for that reason, I think. When you're with Shar, the radio is on. For years I would sing along with her, making myself the master of lyrics for so many songs, including most Whitney Houston hits (pre-crack pipe), the entire soundtrack of Dirty Dancing, which was our theme music of 1987, Christopher Cross (was it he that inspired my desperate need for a ride on a sailboat?!), and Genesis, complete with dance moves that Kelly Haverland and I will take to our grave.

A fan of the Beatles, Mom would usually crank it whenever their songs came on. The songs I best remember singing with her are "Penny Lane," "It's Been a Hard Day's Night," and "Michelle." It wasn't until 2002 that I learned from my friend, Jennifer Allen, that not all of the lyrics of "Michelle" were in English. There are French lyrics in that song!! For all of you who are as baffled as I, here they are:
"Michelle, ma belle,
Sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble,
Très bien ensemble."

What?! My whole life I was certain that the lyrics were,
"Michelle, my bell,
some day for we won't play piano songs.
Play piano songs."

Personally, I like my version better. It's not such an obvious repetition of the previous stanza's "these are words that go together well." Translating something into another language is a cheat. Instead, mine is a lament for the day when the happy couple can no longer play "Heart and Soul" together. How touching.

Move over Paul McCartney. We all know who the real musical genius is. .... It's me.

In Excess

Looking for a cute gift to give on a budget can be a bust. I'm not creative enough to spruce up the mundane and make it into a treasure. I, therefore, decided that this time I would copy something from the internet. As luck would have it, I found a cute project with a tutorial, and off I went to JoAnn's Fabrics to rock the house with my new-found craftiness. (By the way, if you ever want to find a bitter woman, check the fabric counter at JoAnn's. They are the most cheerless bunch of sour grapes I've run across. High school seniors in Saturday School have nothing on these women.)

I'm a novice with sewing so I bought 8 yards of fabric for my project just in case. Tonight I began cutting the fabric... and reading the directions.

Let me break here and advise you of the importance of reading the directions. We all remember the elementary school teachers haranguing us about directions. It was for a reason. They are essential to life. Directions show you how to put your Ikea dining table together (Eftersom der findes mange forskellige vægmaterialer, medfølger der ikke skruer til vægmontering. For gode råd om forskellige skruesystemer, kontakt din lokale faghandel.), how to wash your hair (lather, rinse, repeat), how to Hokey Pokey (you put your right foot in, your put your right foot out). Life without directions is mayhem. Life without directions is 8 yards of fabric for a project that is the size of a 3x5 card.

Thanks to Steve, my algebra-wielding husband, the math has been done and I officially have 63 times more fabric than I need.

I am choosing to look at this, not in condemnation of my sloughing-off of the wisdom of my teachers, but rather, a celebration of the Girl Scouts. Be Prepared!