December 18, 2006

get your retro on

So! The contest!

First I need to say this: I was stunned by the response. 130 recommendations! You all! And my god every single one of them was creative and cool. You made it hard for us to choose just one winner. Marisa and I had a great time reading all of them, and we both wound up with Christmas and birthday gifts that we wouldn’t have thought of otherwise. So thank you!

Second, a huge thank you to Marisa for her help (and for designing those great tees) and to Alyson at ThisNext for HER help (and for providing the prize). The Internet is full of great people. It makes me feel all warm inside.

Awww. Now let’s get to the good stuff.

And the winner is . . .

Amy, for her recommendation of these totally cool pink and white roller skates. Hooray for roller skates!

Marisa and I loved this recommendation for two reasons: first, because roller skates are the essence of retro; they are something that we had as kids but that our KIDS will most likely never have (and will absolutely mock us for remembering fondly). They take us back to junior high Saturdays at the roller rink, when life was simple and the world was a safe place.

Second, because Amy’s description cracked us up: “Ohmigod, it is 8 a.m and my rainbow t-shirt is on, and my hair is feathered. My comb is in the back pocket of my Jordache jeans. My dad dropped me off at Skate Town and I was SO ready for the Couples Skate.

“Rollerblades, schmollerblades. Get a pair of real skates and relive the ’80s. A little ‘Tom Sawyer,’ anyone? Rush rules!”

We both read that and though OH I SO REMEMBER THAT! The comb in the back pocket! It was a Goody comb, of course.

Thanks again to everyone who played, and to ThisNext for their support. We’ll do this again. Soon!

December 15, 2006

it is possible that I am wearing a Christmas sweater RIGHT NOW

I’m sorry, I didn’t really get a clear read on your opinions about holiday themed sweaters. I think it was your reluctance to speak up.

Actually, HOLY JINGLE BELLS, BATMAN! That’s a lot of very funny commenting there. Nice work.

I’m going to hold my peace on this one; the celebration of Christmas / Hanukkah / Ramadan / Festivus is a deeply personal issue and not one to be taken lightly. If your particular celebration includes a sweater embroidered with Frosty the Snowman or a pair of sparkly socks or even matching pajamas for the whole damn family, then so be it.

(Aside: Does anyone else find the idea of having MOMMY monogrammed on your pjs a little disturbing? Or is that just me?)

(Aside #2: While I will not chose a side in the holiday sweater debate, I WILL say that I am totally in favor of decorating the dog, and if we had one, he would absolutely be wearing antlers and a bell. Or a Santa hat! And maybe even a little Christmas doggie sweater. And now some of you are saying GOOD THING SHE DOESN’T have a dog. Ah, but I have kids, and they are eminently decorate-able as well.)

The last time I got that big a rise out of people was when I wrote about Linda Hirschman–you remember her; she’s the one who said that economically privileged, educated women had an obligation to return to their careers after having children. She also argued that the educated elite (her words) should marry men from a lower social class, who would have lower expectations for their own success and would thus be more willing to compromised their own careers in support of their wives’ careers. She recommended that the elite should only have one child, because having more than one child makes it more difficult to manage work and family.

Actually, she may be on to something with that last thing. But I digress.

I was thinking about Hirschman yesterday because I’ve been digging through my closet trying to find something to wear to Wade’s office party this weekend, and trying to get myself ready for the inevitable cocktail party conversation–you know, the kind that starts with, “And what do YOU do?”

I eat bonbons and drink martinis all day, while wearing a dress and heels. And pearls! Of course!

I’ve been reading the New York Times and Slate and Salon.com this week, in my spare seconds, in an effort to amass something to talk about besides my children, because despite the fact that I think they’re the Most Fabulous Children Ever, I am aware that other people don’t necessarily want to hear about them over drinks on a Saturday night. Also, I’m really looking forward to talking about something–anything!–else, like why I would vote for Barack Obama before I would vote for Hillary Clinton or why I’m skeptical that dumping more and more federal funding into curing autism is really a good idea, or what the new census data says about American culture. Because it has to mean something that Americans drink more bottled water than beer, don’t you think?

I wonder if there’s any census data about how many Americans wear holiday-themed sweaters.

December 14, 2006

what say all of you?

Holiday sweaters: yes or no? Discuss.

Also: Contest! Ends! Tomorrow! Details in sidebar! No time to link! Must revel in kidlessness! And drink martinis buy underwear!

Edited at 9:05 am, while the hot water in the shower heats up so I can put on some real clothes and go run MORE errands because YES I have ALREADY been to SuperTarget and OH MY GOD what is with all the TRAFFIC??? Doesn’t anyone have a JOB?

Good lord you all are funny. Vests! I hadn’t even thought about the vests! Yikes!

Since you’re so opinionated:

Holiday pajamas: yay or nay?

And how about those holiday-themed socks?

Contine to discuss.

December 13, 2006

why don’t I get a Rest Time?

When school started this year, I swore a solemn oath that I WOULD NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING AT THE BOYS’ SCHOOLS EVER AGAIN, SO HELP ME BUDDHA, because I am still scarred by my last school volunteer experience.

But it was just a matter of time before they got me. You knew that, didn’t you?

Yesterday, in a fit of holiday-induced weakness, I agreed first to help organize a fundraiser at Henry’s school and later, to be the backup substitute for Charlie’s class, if the scheduled sub couldn’t make it today.

Guess who spent the day with Charlie’s preschool class? (As an aside, Wade and my mom are both convinced that I will end up chairing the fundraiser at Henry’s school, but unless every meeting starts with a stiff drink, I can’t see that happening. Then again, see above regarding volunteering AT ALL. Dammit.)

This was the most time I have spent at either child’s school, and I have to say, I was impressed. I’ve always liked this school, which isn’t surprising since we went through a complicated process of randomly picking it out of the phone book based solely on its location researching and interviewing and carefully considering what we hoped Charlie would get out of it. We liked that it is located in between our house and Henry’s school the small class size and that the school day starts and ends exactly fifteen minutes earlier each way than Henry’s the facilities.

Okay, there were a lot of things going on when we chose this school, but we’re genuinely pleased with it. And after today, I am even more delighted. The teachers treat their students in the way I am always wishing I could treat my own children; they are consistently firm and fair and loving. They laugh with them and give them hugs and pats when they need them, but they don’t put up with any crap. Their heads don’t spin around when the SAME kid asks the SAME question five times, or when five different kids ask the SAME question, without listening to what the other kids are asking or what the teacher is saying. And yes, I know that preschool-aged kids are like that and that it’s always easier when they’re not YOUR kids, but I’m feeling inspired now. If those lovely teachers can be so calm with seventeen kids in a room, I can certainly do it with TWO!

Which is easy right now because my kids are out in the yard chasing each other around and digging in the dirt. Oh, and not pestering me.

I was also impressed by how genuinely sweet the kids were, and by what a relatively good job they did of following directions and remembering the rules and working and playing nicely together. They all seem like very happy little people. Except for my kid, who first refused to sing any of the Christmas carols they’ve learned for Sunday’s performance and THEN cried–nay, SOBBED–when he realized that I was going to leave during naptime rather than staying for the ENTIRE day. Because hello! I have stuff to do! Like buy underwear for my husband! And also, uh, some other stuff! That is important and cannot be done with a four-year-old in tow!

In the end, I took him with me. Of course. Because I’m a sucker (see above, again, about how I was NOT GOING TO VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING EVER) and because I thought maybe, just MAYBE, if I bored him to death with my errands (pharmacy, dry cleaners, dollar store, but ONLY for plates–no candy or toys!) he would think twice the next time about saying “BUT I WANT TO GO WITH YOOOOOUUUUUU!”

Sadly, I did not get Wade any underwear, because the Gap seemed like far too much fun for Charlie and not enough of an object lesson. Sorry, honey.

Tomorrow, though, I will be buying underwear and stocking stuffers and running various other Last Minute Holiday Errands, because tomorrow is my last full day of Both Kids In School until January 3. JANUARY THIRD, you all! That’s NEXT YEAR! Henry gets out at noon on Friday, and I am dreading the moment when Charlie realizes that he still has THREE FULL DAYS of school the next week. Although at the same time I am thankful that Henry is out because it gets me out of helping with Charlie’s Happy Birthday Baby Jesus! party, so really it’s a draw.

While I am revelling in my last kid-free day, you should be getting in your last minute Retro Gift Contest entries! Contest closes at midnight on Friday, and I’ll be damned if I have the first idea how we’re going to pick a winner. Because the stuff! is so cool! and retro!

Keep the recommendations coming. And don’t forget that you can put together a wish list of your own at ThisNext, and then you can send the link to that one person who is still asking WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS? That’ll teach ‘em.

December 12, 2006

it’s a toll-free call

This is the first year that I have not been able to get any kind of purchase from telling the boys that SANTA IS WATCHING YOU! In the past, a quiet reminder that Santa had his eye on them was enough to stop even the worst behavior, but this year it’s not working.

In fact, I have been reduced to telling the kids that I have Santa’s phone number, and threatening to CALL HIM RIGHT NOW and let him know that they are jumping off the bed AGAIN.

I picked a bad year to tell that story, though, because both kids have recently discovered the joys of the telephone (although because they are BOYS they still only want to talk for ninety seconds, at best). Henry is forever asking if he can call Daddy’s cell phone, which is fine on a weekend when Wade is out running random errands and the conversations go like this . . .

Henry: Hi, Dad, where are you? Jamba Juice? What are you getting? Is it a large or a small? Okay, bye. [redials] Hi, Dad, where are you now? Still at Jamba Juice? Where are you going next? Okay, bye. [redials] Hi, Dad, where are you NOW? In the parking lot? What parking lot? At Jamba Juice? Okay, bye. [redials] Hi, Dad, are you still in the parking lot? You’re in the car? In YOUR car or MOM’S car? What? Okay. MOM! DAD WANTS TO TALK TO YOU! I think you’re in trouble.

I try to discourage calling Daddy at work. For obvious reasons.

Charlie is better on the phone, if only because he’s less interested.

Me: Charlie, do you want to say hi to Nana?

Charlie: Sure!

Nana: Hi, Charlie!

Charlie: Hi, Nana! Gotta go!

And he runs away.

But! Santa Claus! So one day recently I was stupid and decided that it would be FUN to take the boys WITH ME to the grocery, AFTER SCHOOL. It was not fun. It was SO Not Fun that finally, somewhere in Frozen Food, I announced, “I have Santa’s phone number and if you do not GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW I am going to CALL HIM and tell him NO CHRISTMAS FOR YOU TWO!”

Which lead to the following conversation:

Henry: Do you really have Santa’s phone number?

Me: Yes.

Henry: Do you REALLY?

Me: YES.

Charlie: What is it?

Me: I’m not allowed to tell you.

Henry: Charlie, it’s probably programmed in her cell phone. That’s where everyone’s numbers are.

Me: No, it isn’t.

Charlie: Then where IS it?

Me: In my head.

Henry: Really?

Me: Yes.

Henry: No, REALLY???

Me: YES!

Charlie: What is it?

Me: I’m not allowed to tell.

Henry: How did you GET Santa’s number?

Me: When I brought you home from the hospital, the nurses gave it to me. Every new baby comes with Santa’s phone number.

Charlie: Did I?

Me: Yes, they gave it to me again when you were born.

Charlie: So what is it?

Me: I can’t tell you.

Henry: Wait, wait. What about babies who are . . . what’s that word? When they get a different mommy and daddy?

Me: Adopted?

Henry: Yeah. What about babies who are adopted?

Me: The parents who take the baby home still get the number.

Henry: The mommy?

Me: Usually, but sometimes the daddy.

Charlie: Does OUR Daddy have Santa’s number?

Me: No.

Charlie: Oh. What IS Santa’s number?

Me: I can’t tell you.

Henry: Are you telling a tale?

I think what tipped Henry off is my assertion that I have Santa’s number stored in my head. Because in the end, that’s the part of the story that is the least believable.

December 11, 2006

like crack, with frosting

Over the weekend, I rediscovered my love of the cinnamon roll–you know, those gigantic ones, the size of a baby’s head, covered in cream cheese frosting. And butter. Mmmm, butter. The best part of the cinnamon roll is that, unlike every other pastry in the universe, this is one that no one else in my house really likes. Henry will politely but reluctantly agree to share one with me, thus taking the edge off any guilt I may have about eating ANOTHER cinnamon roll, but after about four bites, he’s done. And Wade and Charlie are freaks who prefer the healthy(er) options like scones and coffee cake with real fruit baked in them.

Which is fine with me because I’m not in the mood to share these days.

But the cinnamon roll is like a big, gooey tranquilizer, which was precisely what I needed this weekend, because I spent most of it wrestling with WordPress (love WordPress! Love it! But still! New things are scary!) and trying to get That Other Blog up and running. And finally, after about four hundred cups of coffee and several (ahem) cinnamon rolls, I succeeded. And there was much swearing rejoicing. (Okay, there was some swearing, too, but mostly rejoicing.)

The new site is here. Tell your friends! And thanks to all of you for your help and support and general enthusiasm. If I were Oprah, I would buy each of you a car. Or at least some great new shoes.

Or maybe just a cinnamon roll.