Tippy Toes and Tantrums

Homeschooling and Free Cheese

Forget preschool, Super Why! will have Rocket reading in no time. I dug through the DVR to buy some time to make a phone call and buried in between way too many episodes of Dr. Who was a Super Why! As I hung up the phone, Rocket was pointing to and repeating the letters on the TV screen. No guilt here, this is educational!

A little TV is the least I could do for him after a morning of errands. I told him we had to go to the grocery store and as I pulled up to Safeway, he screamed, "NO! No samples!" Whole Foods - our regular store - has found the key to loyalty: a few cubes of cheese on toothpicks. Rocket is smart enough to remember Safeway does not have samples, whereas Whole Foods frequently has so many samples that I don't need to feed him lunch.

The thing about Safeway is that I'm always impressed with how much I can buy for less than Whole Foods. I walked out with five bags of groceries today for $54, but the thing is, I don't feel good about any of it. Not even the baby carrots were organic. We went to buy soccer snack for this week, which is a conundrum in itself worthy of another post. Should I buy healthy or follow the lead of past weeks/parents and buy what the kids want? I tried for a mix, which will probably receive mixed results from the girls.

Anyway, Safeway is the place for packaged, sugary snacks, so that's where we went. Whole Foods has packaged, sugary stuff too, but it's much more likely to be sweetened with cane sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup, which isn't perfect, but I don't feel nearly as horrible. The whole things gets me feeling very Michael Pollan and sad that it is much cheaper to eat unhealthy, and then there was the sadly true line that Tiny Fey as Sarah Palin uttered during Saturday Night Live that dollar menus at restaurants should help struggling families weather the economic crisis. But I digress...maybe I'm annoyed because Safeway does not have a Star Wars/space theme cake, which means I'm on my own for Clover's birthday next month. The helpful bakery worker suggested that I go with Spiderman instead because they make a Spiderman cake. They also make a Spiderman Jr. cake with a short, blobish creature that I assume is baby Spiderman or Spiderman's baby? I don't know. Clearly the Safeway cakes are not designed by nerds.

(Not Very) Fancy Lunch in the Big City

Yesterday we headed straight into the heart of touristville for my middle sister's birthday lunch and while I had mixed emotions about giving up my relaxing Sunday (isn't it in the Bible, And on the seventh day, there was football?) to spend competing for parking only to then cram in between tons of foreigners and out-of-staters with cameras, it was actually okay.

Admiring the mighty Lotsa Lox, which I misremembered as "Lox-a Love." I like that better.

My mom decided we should go to Rainforest Cafe on Fisherman's Wharf because she thought Rocket and Clover would like it, but when she threw out Mel's Diner as a backup, I knew it was more that she doesn't know current San Francisco - other than what is within one block of AT&T Park - to suggest something better. We went, partially because I can't remember when we last look Clover to Fisherman's Wharf and Rocket had never been, but also because my youngest sister yelled at me last month for forcing my preferences onto others when it came to birthdays. So we went.

At the bar, overly impressed by the fake sunset.

The patron saint of parking smiled upon us: we found a street spot right in front of the restaurant. Rainforest Cafe was a little like eating at an amusement park: there were gimmicky drinks (served in rave-inspired glasses with flashing lights) and decor, the food was overpriced and dry, and a character (a frog) walked around posing for photos. Rocket initially tensed up when the fake thunder roared, but as I waited for him to freak out, he surprised me by relaxing and enjoying the chaos. Maybe he's ready for Disneyland after all.

Change Machine

Rocket needs to bring a family photo to school with him today, most likely because the teachers like to put family photos on the wall to make the kids more comfortable. But I don't know for sure if that's the case because the teacher is making it sound like the photo will be transformed into something so amazing, it borders on mind blowing ("It's a big project!" she practically squeals) when really I think the photo will be tacked onto some cardstock, which will go on the wall with Rocket's name. It could also be my bad attitude about mommy and me class. Why isn't this a drop off class again?

Last night I made a quick copy of a photo we took at a Rockies game this summer - one that makes us all look like we have red hair, but it's recent and decent, making it my best option - but I forgot to put photo paper into the machine. Actually, that's a lie. I didn't forget. Again, I have a bad attitude about this "big project." This morning I felt guilty enough to run it again with the photo paper and there was an odd circle shape scraped across the print. I ran it again and this time as the print slowly inched out of the copier, dimes started dropping from the machine, making a clink, clink sound like a slot machine. Hey everybody! I can solve the financial crisis with the help of my magic copier! 40 cents at a time!

As I stared at the machine, wondering what the hell happened, Rocket ran in, grabbed the coins, yelled "my money" and ran out. That kid is trying to kill off all of my electronics by shoving coins into them. Car CD player, laptop disk drive and now my all-in-one machine is under attack. Sewing machine be warned: you're probably next on his hit list.

For the Love of Carpool

Before my daughter began kindergarten, a mom friend mentioned the idea of forming a carpool. I pretended to go along, but inside I firmly thought "no way." I don't drive a minivan and I didn't want the hassle of cramming extra kids into my car's doll-sized third row. Also, I wasn't ready to trust my first born with just anyone cruising down the highway. Without a carpool, I drove the 25 minutes to my daughter's school, back and forth two times each day. Between drop off, pick up and some extra playground time, school transportation easily gobbled up almost three hours of my day.

When I was offered a spot in a carpool this year, I jumped at it and soon embraced it with religious fervor. Carpooling has changed my life.

This school year I only need to drive to school three times a week, picking up two of my daughter's classmates along the way. I drive two mornings and one afternoon a week. Those three other mornings, I get to sleep in a few additional minutes, which any parent knows is golden. I don't have to worry about gas, traffic, metering lights or merging in and out of the carpool lane. With only one afternoon pick up, my two year old has a somewhat regular nap schedule - or at least as regular a schedule gets for a younger sibling. He can sleep deeply in his crib, instead of falling asleep in the car and waking up awkwardly slung over my chest as I would wait for my daughter's class to let out.

I love carpool.

From time to time I want to tell my daughter and her friends to shut up as they try to overtalk each other, but mostly it's fun to hear their discussions. I've made the mistake of trying to clear up misinformation, but I quickly learned there is no correcting a pack of six year olds. When I politely said that two weeks is 14 days, not eight, I was shot down. Also, I've learned that it's more important to be an expert Lego builder than kind to animals (long story) and apparently the word "sweet" is back. Fast cars are sweet, as are new Star Wars books. The kids screamed "sweet shades" at another driver with orange reflective sunglasses that I thought were dorky. (The kids are unaware that other drivers cannot hear them from inside our car. They constantly yell to other drivers or demand I call the other drivers because they believe license plates double as cell phone numbers - which would be so convenient when stuck behind a slow driver.)

The downside to not being at my daughter's school twice a day is that I feel less connected. I used to know what the class would be doing each day or who was out sick and I don't get to hang out with my other mom friends as much when we'd chat as the kids climbed play structures after school. I miss that a lot, but not nearly enough to give up the extra time that carpooling has given me. Email will have to help fill the gaps of what I am missing because as long as I can wedge those kids into my third row, my love affair with carpooling will continue.

Doin' It Ostrich Style

I think I've mentioned Rocket's way of putting his hands over his eyes to avoid anything stressful, strange or incriminating. Well, I've decided to do my best to incorporate that method into my arsenal. Life is stressing me out. Not my little life, so much. I'm busy just like everyone else. (A huge pet peeve is when someone notes how busy they are as an excuse for even the smallest thing. "I couldn't email you back about what to get my child for their birthday because I am so biiiizzzzyyy." When asked a follow up about what is going on, the answer is always lame like "Of you know, soccer and school." NO DUH! Everyone has those things to juggle too, yet it's no excuse to act like a tool. Everyone is busy. Get over it.)

Larger life has me stressed. First it was the presidential race. My stomach clenches and I can feel my pulse rise. I've turned off The Daily Show mid-show and I've started listening to more sports talk radio for the first time to avoid heartburn-causing subjects. People on the other side are clearly underexposed to information at best, but knowing that they feel the same way about me and those on my side makes me even sicker.

There is no hiding from the fiscal "crisis," which is bad because I have such a pessimistic economic outlook and instead of "crisis," I tend to scream "we are going down!" I had to turn off NPR the other night when I heard a Republican pundit lay the blame for the "crisis" at the feet of Barney Frank. Are you fucking kidding me? Why not blame Barney the purple dinosaur too? Okay, see, this is why I have blood pressure problems. I also read a quote from some "expert" that IF we do head into a RECESSION, which is where I stopped reading because ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Aren't we in a recession? And I'm not scared by a recession, it's the step beneath it that worries me. Is it possible to freeze cheese? Should I stock pile pasta and firewood? Is the Unibomber's shack on the market?

After breathing into a paper bag, I moved on to a safe media: The Hills. I love this show because it is about nothing. No matter my problems, for a half hour a week I can be thankful that I have a brain and have never been as vapid as this bunch (minus Whitney, I love her). But in my neediness, I got too attached to this show and now I get the same stomach sickness wondering why no one has pushed Spencer Pratt off of a cliff.

What is going on with this world?

Maybe it's time to refill my Lorazepam prescription while I cover my eyes until it all blows over. Rocket is on to something. And he's adorable when he does it too. That part I cannot pull off.

Fulfilling the Stereotype

Even the pinatas are hung in vineyards at Sonoma County birthday parties.

And Now Back to Our Story

September has gotten in the way of my plans to actually enjoy Clover being in school until 3 p.m. The first week, each morning I said to myself, "Maybe today I'll take a little nap." By the second week of school, I knew better. There is no nap in sight. The next two weeks are booked every single day, but I have high hopes that October will be kinder. Or January. January should be lovely.

Back to last week when we took a day off to head to San Francisco. As we approached the door of the California Academy of Sciences, the day was already a huge hit with Rocket. "TRUCK! Truck, mama!" He could see a motorized scaffolding thing inside the building being driven by a worker scrambling to finish the construction before the big opening at the end of the month.

We saw the moving truck exhibit a few minutes later. People probably thought Rocket was fascinated by the Galapagos/evolution wall, but it was really the contraption in front of it that had the kid mesmerized.

Clover quickly found her favorite exhibit: the gift shops. "Look at the lovely shopping!" she told me as I was trying to engage her in a coral reef, which is pretty awesome, but apparently out shined by the junior lab shop 20 feet away.

(Praying toward Mecca)

The Academy of Sciences is unrecognizable from the old one we used to visit on elementary field trips. The highlight of the old one was a few fish, a crocodile and a floor that shook to recreate a earthquake. It was heavy on dioramas with cavemen, Native Americans and taxidermied animals. It was painfully boring in spots, but we used to be thrilled just to be out of the classroom for the day. The new place has a handful of more modern dioramas, almost as an homage to the old exhibits, but mostly it is full of really cool, fun stuff, including an electronic floor with computerized images of bugs that scatter as you step near them. The kids had fun stomping around the floor, then Rocket tried to tackle Clover on it.

(Even the chickens have solar paneling before me.)

When out on the roof admiring the gardens, Clover pointed to the de Young Museum across the street and bitched about how that was the museum she wanted to be at, an art museum, all in a tone that implied she'd been scammed. I tried explaining that where we were was the hot ticket and how it was leagues better than when I was a kid, when the place was metaphorically in black and white, while now it's in color, and yet, we thought it was good back then because that's all we knew. It was all an old, back-in-my-day cliche and she rolled her eyes in response, fulfilling the age old tradition.

We eventually left for lunch near the windmill on the edge of Golden Gate Park before crossing the street to Ocean Beach. On our way to the restroom at the restaurant, we walked passed a model of the park on display in a glass case, causing Clover to squeal with delight. "It's like a museum! This is a nice museum."

I give up.

Family Field Trip

An outline of our day playing hooky as a family. More explanation will follow when someone gets off my "wap" and stops begging for "Vader wegos!" When Clover walks out the door for school, Rocket morphs into the neediest person ever, becoming my insecure, clinging boyfriend until 3 p.m. each weekday.

How Do You Earn this Ribbon?

The kids' swim school has the wackiest ribbons, down to the down-right pervy:

Darth Mall

I forgot to lower my expectations this weekend when we took the kids to meet Darth Vader at Pottery Barn Kids. First off I realize Darth Vader at Pottery Barn Kids is laughably preposterous. I spotted a pink skull and crossbones quilt in a bedding catalog a few weeks ago, signaling that it is pretty much anything goes in the children's bedding world, which is why I didn't blink when Pottery Barn Kids capitalized on the littles' love for Star Wars.

The staff had everyone line up outside, very much like the lines to buy an iPhone a few stores over in July, except this was full of knee high nerds, all wearing their Baby Gap Star Wars t-shirts. (Yes, we bought into that promotion too, but that is because I love the quality of Junk Food t-shirts. Or at least that's how I justified to myself buying a Darth Vader shirt at Baby Gap.) The line moved quickly and my expectations grew as we heard it was four characters, not only Darth Vader, waiting inside. I am embarrassed to say I was a little nervous when walking in, but not nearly as nervous as Rocket, who covered his eyes when he spotted Darth Vader. Covering his eyes is Rocket's coping mechanism for whenever things go wrong. If I catch him coloring on the wall, he covers his eyes. If I catch him sneaking out of the house, into the backyard, he covers his eyes.  I think I am going to try it out myself. When something goes wrong or gets scary, I'm going to cover my eyes and wait for it to pass. 

As we walked over to get into position for the picture, I noticed I was at least three inches taller than the storm trooper, then I saw that the Jedi was an older woman. I guess I am sexist because afterward I immediately said to Kevin, "What's the deal with the woman?" Kevin said he thought they were all women and thinking back, the fighter pilot was very feminine too. "Don't you think they're just Pottery Barn employees in costume?" Kevin asked. I had thought the woman Jedi looked familiar.

They were supposed to sign autographs, but to move the line faster, they told us we had to wait until everyone had a picture. Clover and I stood with our book (which Pottery Barn Kids was selling as something to have signed), but soon after our photo, the characters took a break. Darth seemed like he'd been drugged. He didn't move or interact with the kids the entire time we watched and he walked off looking haggard, even for someone wearing a mask. He may also have osteoporosis: 

The bunk bed background didn't help make the little storm trooper any more intimidating:

The storm trooper took a short break and came out to work the crowd, high fiving the kids. Rocket rushed forward for a high five, then ran the other way once he got within five feet of the trooper. Rocket was riveted by the characters, but he wanted to watch them from a safe distance of across the store. Finally Vader came out. Rocket covered his mouth and made the heavy breathing sound, showing more character work than the person wearing the Vader suit.

Realizing it was going to be an hour before they got to autographs, we put the book down and left. The whole thing kind of sucked. It was as memorable and believable as when my uncle dresses up as Santa for Christmas. At age three, when Clover saw him, she said to me, "He's not the real Santa," but he gave out candy canes (even better, last year he gave out Scharffen Berger, making it easier to overlook the elastic holding his beard together) and that's good enough for her to go along with it. The kids loved the little Star Wars coloring book/handbook that they were given for free, which helped them overlook any unbelievability in the characters.

Maybe they did believe it and years from now they'll tell people Darth Vader really does exist because they saw him at the mall when they were young. When I was about nine years old, my parents took us to the mall to see a unicorn. I swear to friggin god, a real unicorn. I've only told a few people this story because people always look at me like my parents really gave me acid and took me to the mall. I will acknowledge that it was likely some freakish miniature pony mutation or the outcome of a horse mating with a deer, but it had a horn that they let us rub for good luck, so I know it wasn't something glued on to the horse's head. It was a real horn, which totally blew my mind because I knew unicorns didn't exist, yet here was one in front of me. My parents have zero memory of anything significant that happened to me during my childhood (a very convenient therapy escape plan on their part), so there is no use asking them what this thing really was.

Maybe the kids won't remember this when they are older or even a week from now. Or maybe they'll look back and remember Luke as a 50 year old woman.