June 12, 2006

the cone of uncertainty

Okay, not evacuated! Or evacuating! And yes, there MAY be a tornado warning that includes Holmes Beach, or there may not be; depends on what channel you’re watching. Either way, there are no sirens, which makes it, uh, interesting. If we DO have a tornado, we will be piling six adults and three children in a teeny weeny laundry room, which should be fun! Or something.

It’s raining here and the wind is picking up, and we’re watching the house that’s being built across the canal to see how much of the roofing materials blow away over night. We’re also taking bets on the likelihood that the screen cage over the pool here will still be intact tomorrow. Otherwise, we’re just drinking beer and watching Family Guy and making jokes about the cone of uncertainty, which is the possible path of the eye of the storm. I love that–THE CONE OF UNCERTAINTY! I think that will be the title of my autobiography.

This afternoon, my brother was watching the news, both to see what lay in store for us and what might be happening to his house in Tampa. He told Wade, “there’s no mandatory evacuation for this area, just mandatory beer drinking.” And so we did, because in an emergency, it’s important to follow the rules.

(Other examples of my brother’s wit: when we were talking about Wade’s possible terrorist status, John said, “Any cavity searches? Did they charge you extra for that?” He’s like that all the time. Thank god.)

Anyway, things are fine. All our electronics are fully charged and my sister-in-law’s car is in the garage (the rental car is in the driveway, because NOT OUR PROBLEM). And our optimism is SO GREAT that we’re talking about going to Sarasota for lunch tomorrow.

We’re good, but other people north of us may not be. Keep them in your thoughts; I’ll be back later with the Beer and Hurricane Update.

alligator stew and crawfish pie*

I’m sure that you’ve been glued to the TV for the last day, watching for news about Hurricane Alberto. No? Well, we have! But maybe that’s because the area covered by the current hurricane warning ends just south of us, in Longboat Key. (We’re in Holmes Beach, on Anna Maria Island, if you care to Google that.)

It’s warm and rainy here, as you might expect. We’re just hanging out, watching World Cup soccer and weather reports and and biding our time. Right now it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere, but we’re also not the ride-it-out types, so if we get the word to evacuate we will. We have flashlights and ice and bottled water and plenty of booze, so we should be fine!

The house is terrific–lots of room for everyone, cable TV, and THREE huge jacuzzi tubs. The boys have had TWO baths each since we got here, and Wade promised them that if they would both rest, they could get in the big tub this afternoon, and then have an ice cream cone. We’re also enjoying the wildlife that live RIGHT BEHIND the house–today we’ve seen a blue heron, a couple of pelicans, some parrots and a mama and baby dolphin. All without ever leaving the house! So hurricane aside, we’re having fun, although my fake tan has completely washed off and I’m apparently not going to get any REAL sun this week. Oh well.

I’m able to get on the internet from the beach house (thank you, neighbor with the unsecured wireless connection–we’re pretty sure it’s the guy across the canal with the big screen TV, no furniture, and no blinds on the windows) and while I can RECEIVE e-mail, I can’t SEND any (probably my punishment for stealing the neighbor’s wifi). So if you’ve e-mailed me about anything important, like NFL fantasy football (Tony, I’m out, but thanks for thinking of me!) I’m not ignoring you. I just can’t get back to you. But I’ll keep updating about the hurricane, as I can, so watch this space.

In the meantime, take a spin past Mir’s new venture, Want Not. It’s a SHOPPING blog, people! And it’s all about how to shop AND save! It’s the perfect site. A warning, though: if you’re going to click the link on this post, be SURE to cover your eyes. Because good lord what is that! Sheesh.

And I’m also over Carnival of Family Life today, too, along with some other really terrific family and parenting bloggers. Enjoy! And don’t worry–we’ll be fine. Wet, perhaps, but fine!

*No that’s not what we’re eating (eew)–it’s a relevant song lyric. Who can name the song? Anyone? Anyone?

June 11, 2006

my carry-on bag weighed eighteen pounds

All of the following things ocurred, in this order, between 11:00 am (CST) Saturday and 12:00 am (EST) Sunday:

1. At check in, we were told that Wade’s name was on an FAA watchlist. Oh, no, wait, it’s not, it just SOUNDS like a name on the watchlist. Carry on!

total time spent wondering what might make someone think Wade was a terrorist: 45 minutes

2. After racing through our lunches, we hustle everyone to the gate only to learn that our flight to Dallas is delayed. And delayed. And delayed. And that there are mechanical problems that will take no one knows how long to fix. But wait! If we hurry to another gate, we can get on THAT flight! Oh, no, sorry, flight full. Call this 1-800 number to reschedule! Sorry, number busy. Okay, now we’re on another flight that leaves in TWO HOURS (nearly four hours later than our original flight). Carry on!

total number of swear words said while on the phone with the LOVELY American Airlines rep who rescheduled me: two*

3. To make up for the fact that we are now going to get to Tampa at 10:48 (and not 6:48, as originally planned), we open a bag of chips for the boys (leftover from lunch) and have a couple of beers (Wade and I had the beers not the kids–sheesh). Then we set up the DVD player and pop in a movie to pass the time. That’s when I remember that the AC adaptor for the DVD player is in the luggage. Which is checked. So once the battery dies, no more video! Carry on!

total cost of two 20 oz Sam Adams drafts in the Oklahoma City airport: $15.00

4. When we get to Dallas, we are told by the gate agent who meets the plane that our connecting flight is leaving two terminals away. We haul ass to the train and get to the gate, only to find that our flight has been rescheduled TWO GATES AWAY from where we JUST landed. Return to train, return to gate. Carry on!

total number of peanut butter and honey sandwiches Henry and Charlie ate in Dallas: four

5. On the flight from Dallas to Tampa (which leaves late because of mechanical difficulties) the battery on the DVD player dies and we learn that the iBook’s speakers are NOT louder than the engine of the Very Big Plane. Charlie asks me three too many questions about where the water is and what those lights are and how Uncle John will get to the airport. My brain implodes. Carry on!

total number of times Charlie announced, “I have a wedgie**!” on the airplane: two

6. At baggage claim, we loiter by the carousel in the naieve hope that all those American Airlines employees who have assured us that OF COURSE our luggage will arrive with us! are right. Watch as everyone else on our flight leaves with clean underwear. File claim for bags. Pile into minivan without booster seats for kids and head for beach. Both kids fall asleep with their heads wedged under my armpits. Five minutes from the house, Charlie starts to cry in his sleep. Henry wakes up and says “What’s up with Charlie?” We dump the boys in their beds where they fall immediately asleep. Carry on!

total hours of sleep before the boys climbed in bed with us to start their day: fiveish

Yes, it was a long horrible day of airline employees who couldn’t answer our questions and children whose only question was “WHEN WILL WE BE THERE?” But the WORST part was this: in the terminal in Okahoma City, I saw a woman wearing the sparkly shoes with cut offs and a cowboy hat.

Tomorrow: Tropical Storm Alberto! Carry on!

*The automated voice menu at American Airlines does not recognize either FUCK or JESUS CHRIST as words and will ask you, very politely, to “please make another choice.”

**This morning we realized that Charlie’s underwear was on backwards. We also realized that it had most likely been that way since Friday night.

June 9, 2006

have your people call my people (but keep in mind that my people may be crying)

First things first: I wore the sparkly shoes. Are you proud? With a brown t-shirt and white Bermuda shorts (although I think they are properly “pedal pushers,” which REALLY makes me feel all 1950s housewife). AND the photographer TOOK PICTURES OF MY SHOES. There were even pictures of the shoes AND the iBook. That’s almost better than pictures of my kids.

At one point, the photographer had me sitting in a lovely white armchair in our family room, with my legs hanging over the arm and my iBook in my lap, all Carrie Bradshaw (PS you should TOTALLY picture me writing like that from now on, despite the fact that it is IMPOSSIBLE to type with the laptop perched on one arm of the chair and your legs dangling alluringly over the other). I was relieved that I had NOT decided to wear a skirt. Because this is still not that kind of web site.

The whole thing was completely crazy and completely awesome, and I only said, “DUDE!” once, to the kids, not the interviewer. AND I didn’t swear once, which is a miracle considering that just as the photographer was saying, “Maybe now we could get the boys to come and have some pictures taken,” Henry knocked Charlie on his ass in another room and the crying started. And when I went into the room, in my sparkly shoes, to assess the damage, HENRY started to cry, too. Dammit. But at least the reporter (hi, John!) knows that I’m telling the truth about the chaos around here.

I’m not sure I ever figured out why I started this site, but when I was putting my sparkly shoes on today I realized why I love it so much now. Friday Playdate lets me be both who I am and who I would like to be. I’m not someone who would wear heels and shorts (although I promise it was totally J. Crew and not at all Daisy Duke); I’m someone who wears the much more practical ballet flats (which is what I actually DID wear to lunch today). But I would really LIKE to be chic and hip and interesting–and today, for one really fun hour, I got to be, all because of this blog.

The other thing I was thinking about last night and this morning, as I was reading all of your very helpful and VERY funny comments and e-mails, is how deeply I am indebted to all of you who read this site. I’ve said this before, but I feel fortunate that Friday Playdate is such a nice place to write and read. I am still completely surprised that so many of you keep coming back to hear about my life (seriously, it’s not that interesting! I know! I live here!) but I appreciate it so much. If it hadn’t been for you all–all of you, even you lurkers who never comment (hi, lurkers!), I would never have worn the sparkly espadrilles for this interview. I would never have HAD this interview. So thank you.

Oh, and the plumber! I called Molly in a panic this morning and said “I NEED A PLUMBER RIGHT NOW!” and she gave me a number and by 9:00 the leak was fixed. Thank god. And thank you, Molly!

Now I have to go pack for my week at the beach. I’ll be back sporadically next week; we’re pretty sure the beach house doesn’t have internet access, but my mother has scoped out the closest Starbucks (seven miles from the house). How helpful is that?

Now if she just remembers to get half and half for my coffee, everything will be perfect.

June 8, 2006

and still! no plumber!

A few days ago, I had a nice e-mail from a guy who writes for a series of local magazines, asking if I would be willing to let him write a one-page feature on Friday Playdate, as one of their monthly “Spritz” items–tagline: “A refreshing splash of happenings, interesting people, pop culture and loose talk.” Sadly, this web site does not fall under the category of “loose talk” (how cool would THAT have been?)–no, to Wade’s and my great amusement, we are “interesting people.”

Hoo boy, THAT’S funny.

Anyway, I talked it over with Wade, who said, “Go for it!” and I e-mailed the nice man back and said “Let’s do it!”

The writer called today to see if he could come to my house with a photographer tomorrow. (When I answered the phone and he said, “Hi, Susan, this is John Parker” I said, “Oh, I was hoping you might be the plumber*!” I’m sure he’s VERY EXCITED to meet me, after an introduction like that.) “We’ll take a few pictures and talk for about an hour–you know about, your family and the blog, why you started it, that sort of thing.” Of course! No problem.

A reporter and a photographer are coming to my house tomorrow. To my HOUSE. TOMORROW.

Holy crap.

Fortunately, my housekeeper is ALSO coming to my house tomorrow (and will JUST have finished cleaning, if all goes well, when the Magazine Men show up), so that’s good. But now I have a few other small problems, like what to wear and what to tell the nice man. Oh, and there is always the VERY REAL possibility that my kids will go COMPLETELY berserk while I’m trying to sound Very Smart and not all, you know, like I usually sound here.

Dear God, please let me get through this interview without yelling at my children or saying DUDE more than once. Amen.

But now I really need your help, Internet. What do I wear? And, more importantly, OH MY GOD does anyone have any idea why I started this blog? Because I certainly don’t.

Seriously. I have no idea. Other bloggers have these long manifestos about why they blog or how they started or what they see as the long-term goal for their blog. I have none of those! I don’t know how I got here or what my point is or where I’m going. I’ve got, um, pictures of my sparkly shoes! And my boobs! And . . . yeah, nothing. But I have until 1:30 tomorrow to come up with a good story. So HELP ME. Come on. Why did I start this blog? It can be a group project!

In the meantime, you should hop on over to Picture This and see the boys in all their pool-bound glory. Tracey is writing a really interesting series on “movement”–you know, blur. Stop by, say hello, ask her a question. I plan to pester her regularly with “How do I . . . “ photography questions. Come on, she’s got a whole blog to answer them in!

Now I have to go stand in front of my closet and hyperventillate. Because WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR??? It’s the eternal question, you know.

*The plumber, for whatever it’s worth, NEVER called, which is a HUGE problem as the hot water in the tub in our guest bathroom will not shut off. This started last night at the end of the Worst Day Ever. Oh god I just realized that I may also have a PLUMBER here tomorrow during the interview. Fuck.

June 7, 2006

how bad a day was it? well, I bought a pair of Bermuda shorts, if that tells you anything

The other day I had a lovely e-mail from Velma, who said something about how it sounded like the boys and I were getting into a nice summer groove. And I nearly fell over laughing because if this is the groove, then I am screwed. Screwed, I tell you!

Yesterday Wade left for work at 6:30 (AM, people!) and reappeared twelve hours later. TWELVE HOURS. The boys spent every single moment of that twelve hours moving–running, jumping, hopping, skipping, poking each other (and me, on the rare occasion that I got careless and wandered too close to them). Honest to god, the only time they sat still all day was the seven minutes it took them to eat inhale the lunch Caroline made them. By 4:45 I was cursing whoever had forgotten to go to the liquor store and wondering if it would be okay to serve cereal for dinner (answer: yes!). By 6:00, the boys were fed and bathed and in their pajamas, and we were all piled in Henry’s bed to read. Henry chose Stuart Little as his bedtime story (what the hell was I thinking buying that book? seriously, a woman gives birth to a MOUSE and no one bats an EYE? jesus christ). When Wade finally came in, I said, “OKAY AND AFTER YOU EAT SOMETHING I’M GOING TO LEAVE FOR A WHILE OKAY? OKAY??? OKAY?????“

He said, “Hello! Good to see you! I won’t ask how your day was.”

Of course, JUST as I got the kids calmed down from the HUGE excitement of seeing Daddy (Charlie announced, “Henry! I thought Daddy would NEVER come home!”), Wade’s parents called to see if they could come by and say goodnight to the boys. As soon as the kids heard the door open, they tumbled out of the bed and started hopping around like those little spring-loaded toys with the suction cups (you know, you press the suction cup to the floor and the spring makes it pop into the air at some unpredictable moment). At that point, I gave up.

And, apparently, I cracked. I told you it was coming!

Somehow, I found myself at Old Navy. Trying on BERMUDA SHORTS. Remember when I said that no one past puberty should wear Bermuda shorts? And the Internet was all, WHOA! hold on! don’t diss the Bermuda shorts!

And I was all, whatever, thank you for playing. No high waist underwear with low rise pants! Yeah!

Ahem.

This is hard for me to say, but I was wrong. And you all were right (especially Holly, who made fun of the “city shorts” concept, because really THEY’RE SHORTS not dress pants! let’s just be clear about that). Bermuda shorts hide a multitude of sins–far more, it turns out, than self tanner (go figure). I bought a nice pair of cargo Bermudas (Old Navy calls them “utility shorts”) and I’m thinking that I probably should have bought the basic twill ones in white. Could I wear the lace up espadrilles with those, you think? Or is that just . . . weird?

I came home feeling refreshed and covered and ready for a new day! I was not, however, ready for the new day to start at 4:45 am with a blood-soaked Charlie coming in to announce sleepily, “Mama, I had a nosebleed.” If you’ve not ever had the Spontaneous Nosebleed (caused, most often, by the insertion of a tiny finger into a tiny nose) at your house, let me warn you: your child will look like an extra from a particularly gory episode of CSI (or possibly CSI Miami, depending on where you live). This is NOT how you want to be awakened from a deep sleep and possibly a sexy dream about Chris Noth.

What? WHAT???

So you think, hmm, the day starts with a blood-covered child; how much worse can it get? Well, let’s see. The boys got haircuts, which was fine once the haircut lady showed up (late! which made me cranky! because UP AT 4:45!), and then we did some stuff (read: I drank coffee while the children poked each other in another room) and then we went and got Charlie’s glasses (crying, lots of crying, because the glasses make everything look weird) and then headed to the dentist (Charlie fell asleep in the car on the way, maybe because he got up at FOUR FORTY FIVE this morning!) where Henry had a complete breakdown when the very lovely hygenist* said that she needed to X ray his teeth (no X rays! because it might feel weird!) and then home, where I parked the kids in front of the TV and said “STAY THERE” and called my friend Cheryl to get her cranberry martini recipe (one jigger cranberry juice, one jigger Absolute Citron, twist of lime–”Delicious,” she said, “and healthy! Prevents urinary tract infections”).

I did not make a cranberry martini; I opted for a nice Merlot instead. And now I will await the flurry of calls and e-mails from people who know me for real, because OH MY GOD YOU DON’T DRINK RED WINE!

I do when my head is exploding. And when it’s all that I have in the house. (It was tasty, and no I don’t know what kind it was.)

Look at me, drinking Merlot in my Bermuda shorts! I think the world is ending. Take cover.

*I don’t have a clue if that’s spelled correctly, nor does my spell checker. Anyone?