Tippy Toes and Tantrums

How to Send a Birthday Card Love Bomb

Today is my mom's 70th birthday, which seems downright youthful when expressed in dog years (490). She didn't want a party, which was fine because we threw her a giant 60th birthday ten years ago, where we used up the best theme available for an adult party: margaritas. It was also the party where we let her tell people that I was pregnant, which explained why I sat alone in the kitchen alternatively fighting nausea, then stuffing my face. 

This birthday we needed something different and created a birthday card love bomb. The impetus for the idea came from Jordan Ferney's postcard surprise idea, and while I thought that I could print a photo of my mom on the back of the postcards so that each one contained a section of the print, it didn't make sense. Trying to find the right photo to define 70 years would be next to impossible, plus, it would detract from the message side of the postcard, which is the meat of the project. 

We made a list of 70 friends and family members (excluding my dad, for secrecy reasons), and in late April, mailed them each an addressed and stamped postcard with a note asking them to share a memory, funny story, or birthday wish for my mom, and to mail them between May 4-9.* Her birthday is today, May 10, and the mail range made sure that she got some birthday love each day of the week leading up to the big event. 

Love bomb directions, ready to go.

We bought 70 size A6 note cards in Blush, 70 A6 envelopes in Strawberry, Strawberry printing paper, ink and 7, 0, and flourish frame stamps, all at Paper Source. We chose postcards because for many people, it can be daunting to look at a large empty piece of paper that needs to be filled. A postcard is short, sweet, and easily filled. After buying postcard and envelope stamps, we were ready to go. 

I stamped while my youngest sister addressed the postcards to my mom. I wrote up the note explaining how to participate, then stuffed and addressed the envelopes. We didn't tell our dad about it because he's not great at keeping secrets, but it's also hard to secretly get ahold of him as he rarely answers the phone and my mom compulsively checks caller ID. He's also the type of person who keeps his cell phone off until he needs to use it. The fact that people may be trying to reach him is of no concern to my dad. 

Only one person mailed her postcard early, but because it was only one, my mom didn't think anything of it. It wasn't until the second one arrived that she asked where people were finding this 70-stamped stationary. 

Our project cost just under $150, but could be done for less using materials already on hand or from a less expensive craft store. We're happy with the quality and outcome from the materials we used, which, while not cheap, is far less than throwing a party for all 70 friends and family, without any of the post-party clean up.

My mom loved the love bomb. She was touched by the notes, and one cousin even included some prime Giants tickets, making it the best birthday gift ever for my mom.  

*When googling the birthday surprise post, I found a similar adaptation in which the author asked for letters mailed to herself and she presented them to her dad on his birthday. It's another way to try this great idea. 

Catholics Watch The Masters on Easter

A simple plan to combat overeating at Easter. Set up the buffet in front of the TV:

Everyone watches who eats what and how much. Want seconds? They must be justified to the room full of people glued to The Masters, mostly because you're blocking the TV while freshening your plate. Please note: the picture was taken a few hours after the party began. Brunch was long over, but people we starting to go back for lunner (is that lunch and dinner? linner?).

We've consumed a lot of peanut butter in the last few days, almost all egg-shaped and covered in chocolate. Reese's tastes the most fresh at Easter. Halloween usually has some dried out peanut butter cups, which makes me wonder if people buy their Halloween candy on Nov. 1 and store it in their freezer until next year. 

Mustering up super human strength, I made it back to the gym today, and while on the treadmill, I listened to two old Jewish men discuss the recent holidays. I could no longer listen to Ozzie Guillen on the TV in front of me explain how "I love and respect Fidel Castro" was misinterpreted  - the guy rambles regardless of language, thus the holiday talk was a welcome diversion.

One man explained to the other that his weekends have been taken up by the recent holidays as he had to go to someones house for Palm Sunday, "then, of course, there was Easter."

other guy: What's Palm Sunday? Is it like a second Easter?

first guy: Yeah. I guess so.

other guy: We went to Passover at an orthodox friend of my son's. It was four hours!

first guy: Four hours! Why so long? Did you fall asleep?

other guy: I wanted to, but we all had to read. We read every single page in that book! I didn't get to bed until 12:30, which is three hours after my bedtime!

first guy: Every page? Why?

other guy: The guy's orthodox, so you know he couldn't start it until after sundown, which was 8 p.m. Then he read, and he passed the book around so we can all read. We ate during half time. Not half time, but intermission. I told my wife, if they ask about us next year, tell them we're busy!

first guy: How do you know him?

other guy: I told you, he's a friend of my son's. His parents live down the street from us, and he did too, until 2000. He was a partner in a tech firm, and he left, getting $200 million, and soon after, everything crashed. He got out with the $200 million, so after that, he became orthodox.

first guy: Ahhhhhh. The converted are all like that. 

A Successful Start to the Rebuilding Year

This morning, I woke with a headache, which soon turned into a blinding migraine that hurt even in my teeth. But still, I made it to the gym. For the past month, I have worked out every day, and I wasn't about to let a migraine break my streak. I am the Cal Ripken Jr. of my garage treadmill.

I've belonged to a gym for years, and I attended regularly, but when I started with a personal training in October, I found out that a water workout does not build the strength to lift in the workout room. This moved me out of the water and upstairs, to the giant room with all the machines and sweaty people. I'm pretty pleased with the amount of strength I've built up in the past few months. You may not know it to look at me, but I am strong enough to kill you, which was my goal. My goal wasn't to kill you, per se, but to be ready for the zombie apocalypse that Rocket promises is coming. And I'm feeling pretty ready.

I'd been kicking around the idea of a treadmill, hoping that post-remodel, there would be a nice, out of the way place for one in the house, but that wasn't going to happen. Late, on the night after Thanksgiving, I decided I was ready for a treadmill that wasn't a clothes hanger, even if this meant working out in the garage and dropping the dream of getting two cars in there. With two minutes to spare on Black Friday, I ordered a treadmill at a screaming deal. I was ready to go...but unfortunately, it took a month for the treadmill to arrive. (The delay was due to either laziness or an attempted shake down by the local delivery company, but the treadmill company handled it all so well, that I loved them before stepping foot on my treadmill.)

The treadmill arrived the day before Christmas, and I was too busy to try it, then I got sick Christmas night and was wiped out for days. Suddenly, it was Jan. 2, and I was finally ready to roll, I mean run. I shouldn't say roll because my fear is that I stumble, hit the treadmill deck, then shoot off the back, much like my middle sister did TWICE at my parents' house. I've used the treadmill almost every day since. On the days I don't, it's because I've used the one at the gym. (The gym treadmill has a TV that I either love or feel motion sick from watching, it all depends on the day. Also, I secretly race the people around me at the gym. I can now take most old people. Most. Not all.)

The treadmill and other zombie apocalypse prep was not a New Year's resolution. What was a resolution of sorts was my word of the year - strive - but truly, within days of proclaiming strive the focus point of my year, a new, better word kept popping up in my head: rebuild. This year is about tearing down the old, weak parts, and rebuilding something better to replace it. This has been a great month and a great start, even when there were set backs (literally, property set backs) with the house remodel plans, migraines or another special time of the month that made me want to curl up in bed and eat chocolate ice cream (which I did, after I did my time on the treadmill), a heavy workload, and various other issues, all the things that would normally wear me down and make me feel sour, didn't. I made a conscious decision to be more positive, and it's worked. It hasn't work every moment of every hour, but overall, I feel more upbeat.

I'm kinda sad to see January go. It was a good time.

Rambling on with Down Feathers at My Back

I've wanted to make some throw pillows since last Spring when our new family room furniture arrived, but the project was low on my list of things that needed to be done. Even though I wanted to create the pillows, every two months or so, I'd consider buying them from Pottery Barn, just to end the pillow war, but my gosh, throw pillows are over priced.

I broke down and bought a Christmas pillow at Target and when I went to pack it away before the end of the year, Kevin groaned. He rolled his eyes when I bought the pillow, but losing it was now sad. As if we were going to keep out a red pillow with a snowman year round. It was time to act. I'd bought two pillow inserts at Ikea a few months along, in a feeble attempt to push the project along, so with only hours left in the year, I made a simple, striped, quilted pillowcase.

Ka-POW 2011!

But it was only one pillow, which became fought over during the next two days, so with one insert left, the ironing board still out, and sewing machine uncovered, I made a second one. The second pillow was mostly an idea of bunting and some guess work, but I love it even more.

My goal was to make the pillows in 2012, and since that's done, I can ride out the rest of the year.

That third pillow is still needed and maybe even a fourth for another spot, plus I do want to make a log cabin pillow, which means I'll be racing to beat the clock in a little under 12 months from now.

I made a point of having some quiet time to plan out some goals for 2012. Normally, I need shorter term goals, but I recently came across a list of goals for 2011 set during a planning meeting with Kevin. It was a meeting that felt like a delinquent student being ordered to see the school counselor to talk about the future, but still, we accomplished every goal, except one, which is being rolled into our remodel, and technically one other was missed, but I have no idea what it means, so maybe we did accomplish it.

With my accomplishment high, I made a new list. A list I've already managed to misplace (this is what I get for using paper from a tiny notepad nabbed from a hotel), but like last year, hopefully when I do find it, much of the stuff is ready to be crossed off. My word for the year is strive. Strive to do better, be better, and achieve my goals (the ones I can remember).

The gym yesterday so full there was only one treadmill open when I arrived. A lot of older people were there, which was a huge boost to my self-esteem because I was going much faster than them (yes, everything is a competition to me. We may be on a treadmill, but we are still racing), but one very little, very old man in a mint green polo shirt had me worried as he was going 1.2 mph while standing at a 45 degree angle. He was holding on the the handles for dear life, but I was so afraid he was going to fall on his face because his feet were so far behind him.

Here's where I was going: my trainer told me a man had a heart attack there the day before, when the gym was packed full of New Years resolution people trying to undue weeks, months, years of neglect in a few days. CPR was performed on the pulse-less man and he was saved, but it was a lesson in prolonged perseverance. Things or situations rarely do a 180 overnight, they are more likely to change over time through work. I've been preaching the benefits of hard work to my kids for some time. Neither buys it - sometimes I don't want to either - but I hope that by plugging away each day, striving to be better, that not only will good things happen, but my kids will learn the same. Because I'm tired of being the guidance counselor calling the eye rolling delinquents into my office for a planning meeting.

Cell Phones, Ollies, and Diego

I had the unfortunate experience of having to attend two funerals within a week. Here is what I learned from being surrounded many older people: they have cell phones; they turn up the volume on their cell phones so they can hear the ringer; they do not turn off cell phones or ringers, even in churches; when their cell phones ring in church, they either can't hear their cranked up ring or they believe that if they ignore it, it will end. Two funerals, three cell phones ringing, all belonging to old people. Not one was answered.

In other news, determined by what's on my iPhone:


My kids started skateboard camp. First, it was only Rocket, but when Clover saw his cute new skateboard, she developed a desire to ollie. This is the girl who is still scared of ice skating and bikes over 12 inches high, but we sighed, told her she'd have to stand on the skateboard not lie down, then forked over the money to add her to camp. Giant surprise: she loves it. She's no threat to Tony Hawk, but she's conquered a fear, which is especially awesome considering she is the only girl in a camp full of boys.

Kevin and I spent the day in San Francisco this weekend, walking around the Mission, stopping at Renegade Craft Fair, and loading up on pirate supplies. It was awesome.

Now I am experiencing the joy of listening to a nine year old dissect the intellectual gaps in Go Diego, Go! Clover: This is obvious! Duh! Did they have too little money for special effects? This is horrible! Obviously ice is slippery! Those bobos aren't really sorry, they just said they were sorry. First the blanket was on the llama's neck, then on her back, then on her neck. A llama can't move her own blanket, so how did it move? Are we supposed to believe this is magic? This is weird and stupid. Rocket (to everything said by his sister): Yeah! Oh holiday vacation, you test my patience.

Three Days

In a very, very rare moment of planetary alignment, Rocket took a nap while Clover was at school, allowing me to make great headway on birthday work. Sure, I had to pay for it with afternoon exuberance, but hey, I made progress on the birthday stuff! The paper lei supplies are finished and ready to go, as are the name tags with each child's Hawaiian name.

(Please note my restraint in not making a pun about getting lei'd or the such. Our senior homecoming float in high school was Hawaiian themed and we had a huge banner that said "GET LEI'D" on the back. Oh how funny and oh so clever, we thought! We are getting a sex joke under the radar! Woo hoo! I've grown up.)

I was almost hit head on twice today by two different old man drivers. Both times they were driving over a double yellow line, putting them on my side of the road, and both times they looked surprised, then mad to see me on what they thought was their side of the road. The first time I let it go, the second time I honked like hell. The lanes are clearly marked, people! I don't mind the long drive to Clover's school, but I seem to encounter society's ass hat drivers every day of the week. And is it really okay to mount GPS things on the center of the front windshield? I've seen a lot of cars like that and it seems like half of their vision is taken up by the GPS. This has to be wrong.

Put Down Your God Damned Phones

And drive! Seriously, people! And get your dogs off your laps too!

This morning I was on my way for a tour of our local public school (where, when it was over, I returned to my car and cried - good times!) and I was stopped at a four way light. When it turned green, I waited WITH MY SIGNAL ON to turn left, staring at the very slowly oncoming SUV, who had also been stopped, wondering when she was going to go. Finally I realized she wanted to turn to her left, but was not signalling because she had her left hand holding her phone to her ear and the right hand holding her coffee while her wrist was handling the steering. She was unable to signal. Why the people behind her - the long line of traffic being held up - did not honk, is beyond me.

Later in the morning I was returning from taking the kids to see the Easter bunny at the mall (Rocket cried big tears) and was stuck behind what appeared to be a very confused driver in another SUV. She would stop about two car lengths before a stop light for no reason, them move over in the lane, like she was going to change lanes, but then would jerk back. Finally I had a chance to pass her and as I did, I looked into her car and saw that she was a very short old lady who was on the phone while struggling to drive. Her phone was plugged in too, which was perfect. While she may have simply had a low battery, being plugged in made it look like a much older car phone. It fit the picture.

Finally, we got behind an old man who lingered at stop signs and drove erratically, only to find upon passing that he was looking at a map resting across his steering wheel and had a dog in his lap.

When did people stop caring? People get lost, yes, but pull over when there is someone behind you and resume your search after. The same goes for people on the phone. When I was young, I thought it was the law that drivers had to keep their hands in the 10 and 2 positions. Now it is lucky if people use one hand to drive. I made a commitment to Kevin a few years ago after Clover was born that I would not use a cell phone while driving unless in traffic or in an emergency. I knew my focus was not fully on the road when talking, so I agreed. My children's lives are more important than any call. It seems like 90% of the time, when behind a slow or erratically moving car, the driver is on a cell phone. And it makes me crazy that cell phone use is not cited during car accidents. Cars have become traveling homes and I don't think that is necessarily a good thing. When cars are computer driven, it will be great to be able to eat, talk and read email while driving, but until then, I wish those drivers would get out of my way.

Sugar and Nuts

I'm back to not worrying after seeing the neurologist yesterday. The MRI never got scheduled due to severe stupidity on the scheduler's part. After getting off the phone with me on Monday, she seemed to forget about the whole thing until I called back yesterday to check on the progress. Then she tried to blame my doctor for her inaction, but it was completely her fault. It didn't matter anyway because the neurologist said to hold off on the MRI for awhile anyway and I've decided not to call the scheduler about this change just to see if she ever proceeds with getting the clearance from my insurance. My guess is that I never hear back from the MRI office. I'm thankful I didn't have an aneurysm or something similar while waiting on the scheduling ding-dong.

The neurologist was a trip. He was a character that you are more likely to find in a movie based on a John Grisham novel than in a real doctor's office. (If I had read a John Grisham novel I could have said he was a character from a book, but I haven't, but I did see the movie with Tom Cruise in Memphis and the Cayman Islands. I've totally forgotten the rest.) The doctor was older, had a soft southern drawl and was in an office that was several shades of dull brown and had not been updated since the late 70s. He did have a computer, but the old monitor took up two-thirds of his desk. When I walked in the waiting room, he was on the phone in his office on what sounded like a funny personal call (the other person in the line had screwed up their BMI calculation because they had their height wrong). He asked me into his office a few minutes later and began peppering me with questions about Bell's Palsy. Not "how are you feeling?" type questions, although there were some of those, but he quizzed me the history of the palsy, including when and where it was discovered, what precisely is it, where precisely it is (and this included a spinal model!), etc. I felt like I was sitting in a professor's office back in college. I had to be on my toes at all times. The doctor was slow, he would really think and consider each thing I said before moving on, which made my quiz uncomfortable. In the end, he told me I could pass the boards for neurology. It wasn't clear if this is how the doctor entertains himself or if he was testing my brain function. I'm just happy I passed, which is silly because I was not being graded, but it took my mind off of what he told me, which was that there is a direct correlation between the length and intensity of the pain and the length of the palsy. Basically, he thinks this is going to go on for awhile. After he walked me out, he went right back into his office for another personal call. Who does this guy chit-chat with all day long? I think the same thing when I see people constantly on a cell phone. Who could they be talking to so frequently?

On the drive home, I stopped at a y-shaped intersection down the hill from us. The traffic on the main street does not stop and where it forks off to the side, a traffic island was added over a year ago. There is a house at the point where the second street connects and the half-oval island is to prevent people from taking the turn too fast right in from of this house. The traffic island is painted with white stripes and it includes small plastic bumps and larger cement blocks, just like the ones found at the end of spaces in a parking lot. There is no mistaking this for an open part of the road.

As I stopped, I could see this old Oldsmobile flying down the hill, well above the speed limit, so I stayed stopped. Without signalling, the driver turned at the fork, cutting it really close to the house, driving over the huge bumps. It was an old lady wearing tan wrap around glasses (the kind old people prefer, they look like the ones handed out when you get your eyes dilated) who looked like she was riding a horse as she bounced around in her car going over the bumps at full speed. She looked over at me, with my mouth half agape in a palsied WTF look and seemed to frown, like I was the crazy one.

In other old person craziness, my great aunt has been telling my cousins that I have cerebral palsy. My mom has received some confused calls from relatives trying to figure out what is going on and why it took 36 years to diagnose cerebral palsy.

Today is the first day in about a week that I have not had a doctor or acupuncture appointment. I decided to relax over a bowl of cereal, but the Cheerios tasted awful. I bought a box of Frosted Joe's Os recently on a whim at Trader Joe's and I am hooked. Now regular cereal tastes boring, but I'm not going to further indulge the kid in me who was denied sugary cereals by my mom. It is a slippery slope toward a lover affair with Tony the Tiger.

The Old Crazy Man Scared Me!

What does it say about me when I am completely shaken up by a phone call to Pottery Barn's sales department? And it wasn't due to their prices.

I called Pottery Barn to order a piece of furniture, which should have been simple and straightforward. There was a small twist, which was the I had a paper gift certificate, so following their protocol I need to place the order via the phone (or in the store, but the item is higher priced at the local store), then they give an address to mail the gift certificate. An elderly sounding man answered Pottery Barn's 1-800 number and told me he had never heard of such a process, and when I told him I had done this before and that the address was in Las Vegas, he said he had no Las Vegas address and that this was simply not done, all while making me feel like an asshole for even suggesting such a scam. He proceeds to tell me what I need to do with the paper certificate, including going to the store and having it changed into a plastic gift card, then returning home and calling back (very efficient!) to place the order, and the options finally end with...placing the order with him, then mailing the gift certificate in for a refund. I politely said that that was what I had asked about initially and he barked that "it's not always clear!" The old man scared me! I said that I should just call back later, he agreed, and I hung up. I wish that I had gotten his name, but it was a combination of feeling scared and really wanting to end the call.

I didn't know what to do so I called my husband who said to call the number back and if I got the old man again, to hang up. I finally worked up the courage to call and got a nice older lady on the phone (is their customer service set up in an old folks' home?). She was empathetic and made me feel better. When I explained what I had wanted to do to her, she said of course it was possible and the address is in Las Vegas. It took about three minutes for her to handle the transaction, almost the same amount of time I spent talking to the angry man. The crappy part of that call was that my item is backordered, meaning it won't be here for a month.

When Cars Drive Themselves

Tuesdays are our busiest days here with french class first thing in the morning and ballet two towns over immediately afterward. Tuesdays involve a high level of stress and always include me trying to get Rocket to take a nap during both classes, only to have to hold him if he does fall asleep, causing a burning pain in my shoulders. That is the stress I can predict each week, but then there is always something else, and today's added stress was elderly drivers.

On our way to ballet, I was on a major street with three lanes each way. There was some landscaping work on the island in the middle for one block, forcing two lanes to be closed in the direction I was headed. The traffic wasn't bad, so it was not a big deal. We were merging into the right lane, when the angry old guy behind me, apparently unaware of the giant flashing arrow directing traffic to move over, begins honking at me because he thinks I'm just slowing down the middle lane for no reason at all. It wasn't one honk either. It was repeated honks until he just laid on the horn. I get into the right lane and in the rear view mirror, I can see the look of surprise on his face when I move over and he sees the orange cones right in front of him. Does he wave or give an acknowledgment that he was wrong and an asshat for aggressively honking? No. As soon as the lanes open up, I slow down, waiting for him to catch up to my car on the left, so I can let him know I think he's a jackass, but he wouldn't even get near me. I was going under the speed limit and he was going far slower. Then he turned.

As I drove on, I came to my senses and thought what am I doing? I'm an adult with kids in the car, I just need to let these things go. That worked until we got back in the car to go home. I was headed straight back on the same major street, when a very old couple in a Lexus waiting to turn right, just went ahead and turned right in front of me. I was going about 40 mph, so when the guy slowly pulled out, I almost rear ended him trying to stop. Again, I let it go, passing him on the right - he was going so slowly that even though I was going the speed limit as I passed, it felt like I was racing by him. I passed another old man in a nice car about a block away. It felt like a parade of old people. Until one got confused as to where he was headed. I was in the middle lane in a spot where the right lane merges off the street, making a v, and there is a painted island in that open spot where the lanes split. An old person driving in the right lane got overwhelmed, I guess, and drove straight, right onto the painted area and stopped just before hitting the sidewalk. This stopped traffic in both lanes because the drivers on each side expected this person to come to his senses and pick a side, but it didn't happen while I went by. I looked back and the driver was looking to both sides, seemingly totally confused as to how he got there and where to go.

At a time like that, Kevin says "when cars drive themselves," which has become his mantra, as mine is becoming "oh, just fuck it." Kevin has full faith in technology and cannot wait for computer driven cars to hit the mass market. He is certain it is going to be the end of traffic, accidents and many other driver errors. He has slowly made me a believer too, but somehow I think old people will find a way to be a wrench in the system. By that time I may be the old person causing problems (Kevin thinks the technology is only about 13 years away from being mass marketed, but I think he is being optimistic). I can just imagine the younger people driving by me as I jerk along, pressing buttons, trying to get the newfangled car to move, all while yelling "just fuck it!"