Tippy Toes and Tantrums

Sick and Tired with the Sick and Tired

Early this morning I headed out to the grocery store to get Saltines and 7-Up, because while we're very lucky that our kids rarely get sick, when it does happen, we are never prepared. I hurried to the store before Kevin left for work, throwing on dirty jeans and putting my hair back in a pony tail. Mascara was smeared under my eyes and I had blue paint on my hands and arms after a long weekend of home improvement here and at my sister's new house. I looked like hell, but I was just happy that I remembered to put on a bra before rushing out the door. The grocery clerk looked at me with a smile and asked if I was on my way to work. I wanted to take a step back, let her really take me in, then ask her where she thought I worked, where looking like this would be acceptable. A windowless call center? Prison?

My sister and her husband got their first house last week, and we spent the weekend taping, sanding, painting, and inhaling the Simple Green that my sister was spraying liberally everywhere, with one day off to work on my own house, which needs to be packed up and emptied before the remodel begins. We have so much stuff, and in the end, this will have been a great exercise in downsizing, but in the meantime: boxes everywhere. My new hobby is panic attacks.

In the last week:

I helped drive my daughter and classmates on a camping trip that was later cut short by one day to high wind. Clover came home upset that the trip ended early, and this was somehow my fault based on how angry she was with me. In grade school, I loved books with obvious foreshadowing, but as an adult, experiencing the foreshadowing for the teenage years isn't fun. I'd rather it come on as a sneak attack.

I drove to five stores in order to find name brand Wiffle bat sets and Nerf footballs. Last summer, Cape Cod was lousy with Wiffle balls and bats, but here, all I could find is branded, thick bats that look more like something from the Flinstones than a baseball bat. What's up with that, California? But success happened! We are ready for a summer of Wiffle ball and touch football. 

Softball ended, Girl Scouts is wrapping up today, and there are only three more weeks of baseball. I love this time of year.

I cannot get any work done today with the incessant sounds of Cartoon Network blaring for the sick kid's entertainment. I'm consoling myself with 7-Up and crackers. 

Occupy My House

Every day, a new fort goes up in the family room. The fort building generally produces a turf war, first between siblings fighting over territory rights and right of way access (even imaginary properties have easement and setback issues), then later with me, the landlord who comes to evict the squatters. 

I hate these forts. I know they are a traditional part of childhood, but I think they are a mess, and I hate listening to the squabbling over space and noise when both kids have their own rooms with four walls and a door made out of material stronger than pillows. Rocket is the loud neighbor, while Clover would be the one calling the cops or yelling at kids to get off her lawn. And this gets played out every afternoon in our family room. 

These forts are the only thing being constructed at our house. People keep asking about our remodel and if it's almost finished, which would make me laugh if I wasn't trying not to cry. Nothing is new here. We aren't even at the building permits stage and sadly the hold ups have nothing to do with us, our architect, our builder, or even our neighbors. The plans were set in December, but it's been months and months of very expensive negotiations with county over our small addition. Bureaucracy is real and it sucks. I have this optimistic fantasy that we'll suddenly get a call saying it's all approved and we can move forward, but really, I feel like we're going to be stuck in this place forever.

We took down our back pergola this weekend to pass it along to my parents. It was a great addition and gave us some much needed shade, which means I'm not used to all of the bright light now that it's gone. Our backyard looks naked and sad without it, but hopefully (this year? some day?) there will be a kitchen going into the spot previous occupied by the pergola. My optimism is melting. 

So, it's March Now

The past two and a half weeks have gone somewhere, I just don't know where. 

We spent a weekend at Hidden Villa with other families from Clover's class. We did this two years ago and it was a relaxing, unplugged weekend. This time that wasn't the case, as we had to leave the farm for a few hours for baseball pictures and hit-a-thon, and the first game of the softball season. It wasn't relaxing, but there were great moments, like when Rocket was standing alone in a clearing between the cabins, and when I asked if he was okay, said, "Mom, did you hear the cows mooing?" 

We visited the cows, pet the baby lambs (so soft, really like a baby merino scarf), checked out the chickens, and saw the huge piggies.

Then it was my birthday, which was partially spent at a tile store.

Which felt as realistic as pinning a photo of a house with an indoor waterslide because the house remodel is on hold-ish, as we await getting our plans approved. It feels like that day is never, ever coming. 

Foot issue persists.

Gym continues. 

My new personal massager arrives tomorrow. When I told Kevin about how I got three massages at the gym from my trainer using a personal massager called The Stick, I could tell by the look on his face that there was a misunderstanding. This happened at the dinner table in front of the kids, which meant my attempts to clarify weren't helping.

Me: "No, it's a personal massager, the kind that you rub on your muscles."

Him: "Yeah..."

Me: "No, not that kind. It's a long stick with a handle."

Him: "Uh...huh..."

Me: Whatever.

I see now that The Stick is called, "the toothbrush for muscles." Thankfully I didn't know that when I talked to Kevin or the misunderstanding would have deepened. 

But today was a special day: it's the final day of Girl Scout cookie sales for 2012! I dropped off our troop banking report - the final step - and walked away feeling happy enough to skip, which I would have done if I didn't have that damn plantar faciitis. 

Self Medicating with Reruns and Cake

The upside of not watching much television is that shows in syndication are new to me. Instead of waiting for my favorite show once a week, with summers off, I get to watch it two or more times a day, not including frequent weekend marathons. The downside is that I've spent the past few weeks addicted to The Big Bang Theory.

I'm feeling kind of blah lately, maybe from the heel pain, the fact that I ate a good portion of a cake this weekend, or that during a certain time of month, I just want to either take a nap or kill somebody (in a justifiable homicide kind of way), but this explains why I want to curl up under the warm covers and watch sitcom reruns. 

My heel healing is working! But when I wear a pair of shoes with less adequate support or do exercises that leave my right foot unbalanced, it hurts again. When I complained about the dorky look of tennis shoes with jeans that I am sporting nearly 24/7, it was suggested I suck it up and buy granny shoes. The term granny shoes wasn't used, but when I heard "extra support," I remembered my nonnie's love for old lady Naturalizer shoes, which was fine because she was an old lady, but I am firmly in denial.

The double velcro version is called the Leisure Strap, while the single velcro version is called the Pleasure Strap. This is not a joke. Think about that the next time you see an old lady wearing them.

  

Boots may be sexy, but the one that I wear to bed challenges that thought. 

I'm bringing sexy back, triple pleasure strapped

But it works, even though I ordered a size too big and am too cheap to order a smaller one. 

I baked the best cake EVER, just because the p's (Pinterest and period) made me want a cake. I cannot remember the last time I baked a cake - it's been well over 10 years - and I even had to buy the pans. I should note that I buy cupcakes and cakes for my kids' birthdays, in case anyone was pitying them for growing up without frosting. My secret recipe: Duncan Hines butter cake mix, chocolate ganache for the center, and chocolate buttercream for the outside. Step aside Martha Stewart expectations, I had a coupon for a free cake mix. Free tastes awesome. The downside is that jeans a size smaller arrived in the mail this week, but after the cake, I'm going to wait before trying them on. 

Daily Workout Setback Due to Foot Pain

I haven't been on the treadmill and it shows. It's so bad that I can't feel below my knees, probably because I've been sitting in the same position, with a laptop on my...lap (painfully redundant), and I should really move.

I last used the treadmill the morning before we left for Tahoe. I'd been having pain in my right foot, but I decided to stretch more and ignore it, mostly because I had no other plan. It hurt like I stepped on a Lego, but while I was on the treadmill, it was fine, as long as I didn't slow down. If I ran, then walked, I hobbled. It hasn't been pretty, and it sounded just as ugly because I didn't hold the pain in. I whined.

But I wasn't ready to give up. I walked in Tahoe, we played in the snow, and when we returned home, I worked out with the resistance band, and I cleaned out the garage, but I didn't get on the treadmill and I miss it.

The bad news is that I have (self diagnosed!) planter fasciitis. The good news is that it's improved so much following the advice of Dr. Internet. Since, I've wearing supportive shoes all the time, except for bed, and even in the shower at home. If you've never tried shaving your legs while wearing Crocs, don't. I wore tennis shoes out to dinner twice this weekend, which felt like I gave up and announced it to the world in the form of Nike running shoes worn with jeans and a cashmere sweater. Just wait until the orthopedic band and shoe inserts arrive this week.

Better stretching and supportive shoes have lessened the Lego feeling. It's still there, but it's improved enough that I'm getting back on the treadmill. Which is great because I feel like crap.

Update: I did it! The first nine minutes weren't great, but I went really slowly and by minute 10, I was feeling awesome.

Reality is a Frumpy Lands' End Sweatshirt

Today I got low in my clothing reserves, where most of my wardrobe is in the hamper instead of my dresser. All of my usual long sleeve shirts were dirty, leaving me with a grey sweatshirt from Lands' End. I bought it a few weeks ago after looking at this photo, where it appears kind of silken and dressed up.

But then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror while wearing it, and here's what I really looked like:

I am a fashion disaster.

HP's Maker Faire Marketing Fail

While eating lunch at the Maker Faire, my son looked down and noticed a golden egg near the left foot of an older man sharing our table. The man picked up the plastic egg, opened it, and handed it to four-year-old Rocket. Inside there was a rolled up note that said "Congratulations! You found a Golden Egg." It said to return the egg to the HP booth for some Angry Birds fun.

The note was a little disappointing - after all figuring out that it was a leftover Easter egg would have been more exciting to a four year old - but the real disappointment came when Kevin and Rocket showed up at the HP booth with the egg and were simply told to toss it into the box for recycling. That was it.

Lame.

After the Maker Faire, a search showed that the person who turned in the most eggs would win a HP PC, which explains why my husband said there were at least a hundred eggs already in the recycling box when he arrived. Twitter also showed that they had some sort of Angry Birds scoring competition, but nothing was said about it when our egg was returned. Even if we knew about the PC contest, we wouldn't have tried for it, but the promotion was still weak. Why not a candy bar or a key chain or something for finding an egg? HP may have meant for the contest to be fun, and the egg certainly brought us to the booth as intended, but it only left a kid disappointed and his family less than enthused.

Sharks, Nerds, and Playing Catch Up

It takes a week to recover from vacation, but because the recovery week is still a normal week, everything gets ramped up to double time, at least for me. I feel like I'm swimming in one of those endless pools that I dream about, which are advertised at the back of New Yorker. It's like a thrill and challenge of swimming in the open sea, without the fear of a shark attack.

Speaking of shark attacks, I finally took Rocket to see Gnomeo & Juliet and one of the previews was for the movie about the teenage girl who loses an arm to a shark while surfing. Thank you, movie people, for the many questions I've had to answer this week about sharks, shark attacks, and living with only one arm.

Get up and shovel!

In Clover news, she seems to be turning on her own kind: she's suddenly anti-nerd. Nerds are bad because "they are boring and only talk about the periodic table." Her description of a nerd reminded me of Dr. Two-Brains, the villan on Word Girl. I tried to get her to expand her definition and ease up on so called nerds by asking her if she knew who invented the iPhone or the iPad. Her freak out ramped up with each question. "A nerd? A nerd! A NERD INVENTED THE iPAD?!!!"

Kevin tried to tell her that people would consider him a nerd, but Clover laughed that off. Rocket asked Kevin why when Kevin gets a haircut, he asks the stylist to make him bald. It's called the reverse mohawk, kid. It's what all the nerds are wearing.

Thinking of Something Pretty

Today was trying. More accurately, lately has been trying. It's one of those crazy, slightly overwhelming times when I have to remind myself that we have our health and a home, with a dog who barks incessantly...wait, I'm getting off message. I said the same thing to myself one day last month and then I looked up and saw this brightly colored artwork.

It made my day.

Last night I passed by three houses and one apartment that were already lit up for Christmas. Normally I would have thought it was way too early to bust out the greens and reds, but instead, the lights lightened my mood.

A splash of pretty can make a lot of the ugliness go away. Not all of it, but some of it.

Stanford, Kalifornia

Full of optimism and spirit, ready to scream "Go Stanford!" about three million times before the night was over:

 

A few hours later, watching her heart get stomped on:

After the interception with little time left sealed Stanford's fate, we went to the elevator to get down from the Sky Deck. When the doors opened up, revealing all of Cal's coaching staff who watch the game from the box, I moaned, "oh goooddd." As pleasant as one would be after an important win, they all so cheerfully said, "Come on in! There's room for you guys!" Kevin said I missed my chance to tell them, "You ruined a seven year old girl's birthday. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY!" They were all perfectly nice people, but we weren't ready to be literally surrounded by blue.

On the plus side, Clover got to see Tiger Woods, even though she's confused why a golfer was honored during a football game.

As we crawled through traffic on our way out, I told her the story about how seven years ago that night, she was born at the hospital right there (the traffic moved so slowly that I had time to tell her the story while creeping past the hospital). She cried both nights. First as a newborn, later because Stanford's passing game sucked. Let's hope this isn't a tradition.