I'm back!

I'm baaaaack!

And it's all thanks to my two faithful readers, Thyme and Kristine, who were standing out there in the dark, holding their lighters up for me. Let me tell you, when I get complaints from 20 percent of my readership, I take it seriously.

So, the last two months, in a nutshell:

1. The new job continues to be awesome and sometimes exhausting. Some days I am literally (I hate it when people say "literally," but I want to be clear I'm not exaggerating) running from one meeting to another. But it's exhilarating and amazing to feel such purpose in my work again. Someone I admire recently told me: "This is going to be the best job you'll ever have."

2. Natalie is loving ballet (see photo above) and she has signed up for tap, following in her mother's footsteps. We plan to take a Mommy & Me tap class this summer. Between tap and Natalie and I joining Daisies (little Girl Scouts), I'm in mother heaven.

3. We went to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. It was very cold!

4. I went skiing with my dad in Aspen - my first time on skis in 15 years!

And first time on shaped skis. We had a great time. Saw a bald eagle from the chair lift! I actually missed Natalie's ballet recital because I was on a plane to Aspen. Terrible!

5. We might get a puppy. A chocolate Labradoodle. Oh they are sooo cute! We drove up to Norco last night to see them and fell for two - a boy and a girl. Now I am tormented between them. Tony says either one will be a great dog and I won't regret whatever we choose. He is always so reasonable about these things.

The boy:

The girl:

6. Natalie is getting funnier and funnier.

The other day she asked when she'd have lunch with the principal again. Lunch With the Principal is an honor at school for kids who are doing well in class.

"I think that was just a one time deal, honey," I said.
"Oh."

"Though I don't know for sure. Do kids get to go back?"

"Yeah, if they left something in there."

I called the Mister right after to tell him.

There was another funny one. Recently at school, Natalie pointed out a kid to Tony.

"That's Ronnie. 'Cept his nickname is Ronald."

7. My 38th birthday is next Saturday. I feel good about it mostly because I have a wonderful job and family. Last year I had a classic birthday of self-loathing where I said to myself: I'm 37 years old and what am I &%$##@! doing with my life?? I would feel better about it if I didn't have all these gray hairs, which I suddenly see because I had the great idea to grow out my highlights. Guess who's getting highlights again?!

8. I have a new nickname here at Mill Peak Road. Big Mama. And we live at Big Mama's House. Natalie and Tony both think it's hilarious.

That's all for now. I will try to post more regularly, Thyme and Kristine. Or I will just see you at the next Kevin Faulconer event!

Halloween

We had a nice Halloween this year, beginning with a rainy trip to the pumpkin patch and carving these two beauties, which we named Pumpkinseed and Steve.

Sadly, Pumpkinseed and Steve only lasted a few days before their teeth curled in and they started to stink up the house.

Natalie, shocking everyone, veered from tradition and eschewed her Cinderella dress (worn the last two years), opting instead for Tinker Bell. Here she is dressed for the parade at school.

On Saturday night, Tony and I dressed as our favorite TV couple from our favorite TV show, "Friday Night Lights." Coach and Tami Taylor set a much better marital example than our choice last year: the totally dysfunctional, but extremely stylish, Don and Betty Draper from "Mad Men."

Here's Coach in his East Dillon Lions gear. He even got Croakies for his shades. Authentic!

And here's Tami. Wish my hair was longer, but I think I captured her Texas spirit. That silver and turqoise belt belonged to my grandmother. The boots were an impulse purchase that I justified by telling myself I would have them for life and they were the same brand worn by Teddy Roosevelt.

After we snapped this photo, we went next door to our neighbors' house. Dwayne and Manya and their friends spent the entire day dressing up the house with spiders and centipedes and cobwebs. It was the best Halloween house I'd ever seen. Oh! And someone brought a cake in a kitty litter box, with a scooper for serving and Tootsie Rolls on top. Gross, but tasty!

I think we might keep up the TV couple theme for next year. I was thinking Archie and Edith Bunker, but Tony had a better idea: Lucy and Ricky Ricardo! I'm going to start looking now for a red wig...

Happy Halloween!

The hawk and the ham hock

This morning I woke from a harrowing dream.

I was on the edge of a woods, with Natalie and Tony and I think a couple of my coworkers.

I looked up to see a large hawk circling low. He swooped down for a landing 100 yards away and I shouted to him.

"Hawk!"

I expected him to know his name. And sure enough, he turned, tucked his wings back, and walked toward us. He was huge.

I thought: he is much bigger than a hawk. This is an eagle! I could see his big talons and his giant, hooked beak and I thought: maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Go away!" I shouted.

He screeched and unfolded his wings and I realized as he grew closer and I backed up that he wanted something from me. And that he was taller than Natalie. Was he even an eagle?

Conveniently, I realized I had a ham hock in my hand. I threw it as far as I could, and the bird followed. I rounded up my family and coworkers and as we began to run I looked over my shoulder to see the hawk/eagle/prehistoric scary bird with the ham hock in his beak.

Then I woke up.

A little more on the ham hock: I used two for my bean soup on Sunday, and they remained in the refrigerator until last night, when Tony gave one to the dog. She went outside to eat it and gnawed on it with her hackles up.

Back to the '60s

Last weekend Tony and I went to a '60s party at the Del Coronado Hotel. It was hosted by his new men's club, the Rest and Aspiration Society, which is a fancy name for drinking and talking smart. But they are a nice bunch.

Every year they have a party that the wives attend. Which is really so weird and antiquated to me that the '60s theme seemed perfectly fitting. I happen to adore the style of the '60s and have a few vintage dresses - from a great store called Frock You! and from my grandmother's closet.

Here I am at Halloween, dressed as Betty Draper.

The day of the party I tried on this dress, but it seemed to have shrunk in the hips while hanging in my closet.

I had a backup, a green sheath from Gimbel's that my grandmother once wore. I pinned a great big brooch on it and I was ready to go.

I wore heavy black, liquid eyeliner and pale lipstick. I had my hair done, too. Here I am waiting for my martini.

The hair quickly fell though. (That $%#@! sea air.)

Tony was handsome as always.

Sadly, though, we were no match for the McNallys.

Upon arriving we were greeted by members of the host committee, dressed as flight attendants. That's my friend Stephanie on the left. Isn't she darling?

We drank martinis, ate Waldorf salad and danced to a great '60s band. We did the Twist. We slow danced. It was romaaaantic.

Here we are with our candy cigarettes.

When I left the ballroom for the Ladies Room, I turned a few gray heads. I think I reminded them of the old days.

When the party wound down and the ballroom cleared out, we started to gather up the centerpieces. I slipped off my shoes and went from one table to the next, and passed an older man.

"Barefoot and cleaning!" he said. "I need you over at my house!"

See? This '60s party was authentic!

Baby talk

Lately we’ve been talking about having a baby.

My approach this time around is decidedly more lax.

Recently I was to have my thumb X-rayed. It had been swollen and throbbing ever since that hike in Kauai, perhaps from when I fell into the hole, or the river, or slid across the mossy rocks, desperately grasping at wet ferns trying to stay alive. Lots of possible thumb trauma scenarios there.

As is the routine, the X-ray tech asked if I was pregnant.

“No,” I told him. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. Probably not.” I told him.

He cocked his head.

“Have you been trying to get pregnant?” he asked.

“Well. We haven’t been trying to avoid it.”

He laughed – “haven’t been trying to avoid it!” - and shook his head and walked me back to my doctor’s office to get a pregnancy test.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had women find out they’re pregnant this way,” he told me in the elevator.

So I took the test and waited for the nurse and was a bit surprised to find that that old, gooey, nervous hope rising in my belly. And then, the familiar dump of disappointment.

All for the stupid thumb that wasn’t even broken.

But now, five years into being a mother, the disappointment wasn’t crushing like I remember. No tears. No hating myself and my useless body and wondering what I ever did to deserve being denied what I then considered the most fundamental experience of being a woman.

This time, I got a breakfast burrito and was over it.

The most frustrating thing about all of it back then was that everything was officially fine. All the tests said so. It just wasn't happening.

Will it now? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I do know things are different now. I don't have that hole in my heart that I used to have. I feel happy with my life. I like being a mother. I have an incredible child and I'm proud of the mother that I've become. I think I will be alright either way.

Mostly, the discussions have been light and jokey, and centered on maintaining our current lifestyle. Could we send the baby to Natalie's dad's house when she's over there? Maybe we should adopt a 5-year-old because small children are really so much more enjoyable than infants. Or, we could just opt for a Golden Retriever, because that you can leave alone at home. Much more conducive to keeping the fire aflame.

Recently we floated it past Natalie.

"Would you like a baby brother or baby sister, Natalie?"

She didn't take much time to think.

"Noooo," she said.

"I already have a baby... Baby Miss Ann."

Bedtime beatbox

Lately bedtime has gotten a lot more fun because of the beatbox.

Each night I read a story to Natalie, or she reads it to Tony and me. And then Tony tells a story.

This is how it went when I was growing up, except for the beatbox part. I’d say to my dad: Tell me a story and read me a story! And he'd always oblige. His stories were often about Spot, a bluegill, and Spike, a perch. And each story began the same way:

“This is a story about Spot and Spike. One day, the two friends were swimming in the lake.”

If I complained about the familiar beginning, he started over - the same way, of course.

Spike was the leader; Spot, the follower. That’s because bluegills have narrow heads and therefore can’t be very smart. They had all sorts of lake adventures, such as running into the leeches, who like carnies operated a ferris wheel and didn't have the best reputations.

Anyway, Tony’s stories typically involve a girl and her mother, a girl and her friends, or a girl and a princess. Often they end with a dance party, something Natalie learned about during kindergarten when the children would dress up and dance to the soundtrack of Alvin and The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.

When Natalie senses the story is going to end with a dance party, she sits up in bed.

“And all the girls wore pretty dresses and there was popcorn and juice … and …” His hands go up to his mouth and Natalie shrieks and the dog barks and Tony’s forehead gets red as he busts out some very special beatboxing.

It’s become the best part of the night. And a great way to motivate Natalie: “Do you want dance party? Then brush your teeth.”

Tonight on the way home from school I asked Natalie whether she wanted Tony to tell a story.

"Yeah!" she said. "Dance party! A LOT of dance party."

Peace out.

What matters

I haven't been writing much here because all of my creative energy has been devoted to perfecting my resume, a cover letter and answering online questionnaires about my experience and qualifications. And then there have been two interviews. One with three people. The other was a seven-person panel (I felt like Sonia Sotomayor!). Tomorrow I have another interview, and on Wednesday, my fourth.

I think I've gotten pretty good at promoting myself without sounding like an arrogant jerk or Stuart Smalley (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit people like me!).

None of these leads has come from Monster.com, or cocktail party networking. All of this job hunting has been within my own office. A massive reorganization is underway, and we were told: Apply for everything!

So for weeks there have been closed doors, and scheming, and jockeying, and so much constant whispering it's like the jungle in Lost. We're now in the fourth week of interviews.

It's hard not to get totally wrapped up in the drama. But on Sunday I was able to pull away. And I realized some things.

1. Work, while important to me, doesn't have to define me.

2. We might want to get a bigger pool.

The girly girl toughens up

Natalie is a girly girl. She wears a dress everyday, often with sparkle shoes, and she sings princess songs to herself while twirling around to make her skirt fly out.

I may have contributed to this by painting her toes, buying all those dresses and generally being quite a girly girl myself. Yet I will unhesitatingly grab for a lizard in the backyard. Natalie recoils.

I wasn't always girly. As a child I was short-haired and scabby, got into fights and spent a lot of time outside in my snowfort, or in the tree in front of our second floor duplex, watching my mother watch television inside. One day on the stairs at school, a passing girl asked: "Are you a boy or a girl?"

But a few years later the boobs came, and with them the boys, and that was the end of that.

Because I think Natalie is so girly and because she doesn't get much exercise at school and because I worry she suffers from Nature-Deficit Disorder, I have decided to act.

Last Sunday was the day. We'd join our friend Donna on her trip to a small, backyard farm to buy free-range eggs. The farm also has baby chicks, goats and bunnies. "Less of an ick factor," Donna said, comparing them to lizards. And then, Tony and I would take Natalie on her first hike.

Natalie was excited for the farm, even obediently changing out of her dress into pants for the trip.

As we made our way to the goats, Natalie asked "What smells, Mama?" And to emphasize her disgust, she pinched her nose.

She wasn't interested in petting this cute little kid.


And wouldn't even offer a finger to stroke this two-day-old bunny's head.


"Look at Aiden," I told her. Aiden lives at this farm. But his example didn't mean much to Natalie.


I don't have any pictures of Natalie because she was never in the same frame as the animals, but rather wrapped around my thigh or holding her nose.

But here she is safely back in the comfort of our good-smelling home with the eggs we bought.


After a lunch of curried egg salad sandwiches and a nap, it was time for Phase Two. I had prepared for this with the purchase of new hiking shoes for Natalie. Of course I made sure there was some pink involved. Cute, right? She totally dug them.


We chose Cowles Mountain for our inaugural hike. It's close to home and a mile to the top, where on a clear day you can see for miles. I kept my expectations low: 20 minutes up?

She was timid at first, unsure of her steps, as she clutched Tony's hand and mine.


But slowly, she began to let go.


And enjoy the view.

We climbed about a third of the way up, and took a break for a snack. We'd made it much farther than I had hoped we would.

And then Natalie said, as she often does when she tires of something: "Mama? I go now."

So we brushed off the crumbs from the pretzels, took another swig of water, and then, something magical happened.

Natalie led the way back down.

The mister is 40

Today is Tony's 40th birthday. So I'm posting this picture, which I know is mostly of me .. but I look happy. Happy with him. And, Tony really likes his fade.

That's the Ocean Beach Pier behind us. We were on the end of it one day when I put my hands on his shoulders, looked him in the eye and told him for the very first time: I love you.


Happy Birthday, honey!

(Photos courtesy of katiegardnerphoto.com)

Those hikers on the evening news

Since we have been home from our honeymoon on Kauai people ask us how our trip was and if we have time and we gauge them as a receptive audience, well then we tell them about The Hike.
Our first day in Kauai it rained, so we spent much of the day at the Love Shack which was perfect because hey, we're newlyweds and also we were tired from our trip. The next day we were ready to be outside, but the weather still wasn't great. So Tony suggested a hike of the Na Pali Coast, which everyone said we had to do.

We'd hike two miles to the beach, have lunch and decide whether to continue to the waterfall another two miles away. The hike to the beach, the guide book said, was strenuous. To the falls: "treacherous."

Guess what we decided to do?

Let me just say here that I am not a wimpy hiker. I've done 20-milers through the desert and Sierra, and lugged a machete and plastic bag full of Coca Cola through the Amazon.

So I was ready to knock out eight miles in Hawaii. See?


As I mentioned, it had been raining. Which made the trail a little muddy.


Tony carried a big walking stick because a woman called Deborah from Detroit whom he met in the parking lot told him to. I told him the stick wouldn't help him in the mud and stayed about ten paces behind because whenever he'd slip, he threw his arms into the air, along with the stick.

But the stick wasn't much help. Was it?

So we slipped and slid up and down the trail and at one point I felt as though I was cross-country skiing. Also, it was very windy. See how windy? (You might also notice the red ties on the root. The State of Hawaii marks the trail with red ties. Here the red ties tell us not to walk off the cliff. Some red ties would have been very helpful later in our story.)

It took us two hours to slide to the beach, where we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watched this little guy and his twin approach us for scraps.


The sun was coming out and our bellies were full of peanut butter. Anything was possible! So off we went to the falls.

There was bamboo.

And very slippery rocks.

The trail crossed the river several times. I fell in. As did my new Nikon D-SLR.

But two hours after leaving the beach, we were at the falls. The spray took my breath away as I snapped photos of Tony swimming in the pool.

We were very happy. Invigorated! In love. And my expensive camera was still working! All was right with the world.

And that is the last picture of the hike. Because on the way back, no one was thinking about taking pictures.

For the first 20 minutes of our return trip, we heartily greeted each passer-by, Tony saying "Only a quarter-mile now. It's totally worth it!"

Remember those red ties? Well when it's time to the cross the river, there is a red tie that tells you so. But it's not necessarily in your field of vision. It could be hanging off a branch in the middle of the river and you just walk right on by, following the trail worn into the brush by so many hikers before you who made the same foolish mistake.

After a while, we stopped. I don't remember any of this, I said. Me neither, he said.

But we were tired, and I had just walked into a low-hanging branch and bit my lip. My legs were starting to shake like they did in college when the mean rowing coach made us run stadium stairs for an hour. "The Hour of Power," it was called. Anyway, we pressed on. We could still see the river, so we knew we were heading in the right direction.

Soon, the brush grew heavier. A man overtook us and my spirits lifted. We followed him, but he was too fast and I cursed him as he disappeared ahead.

Should we turn around? I asked. Tony shrugged, and we pressed on.

Much to my relief, five hikers caught up to us. We told them we lost the trail.

They were stone faced. The group was a married couple and their teenage daughter, and a couple in their early 20s. We forged on together as a group, the leaders warning the followers of slippery rocks and deep brush where the ground was obscured. We were in it together, by God!

But I could feel it splintering. I stopped.

"I don't want to be those hikers on the evening news," I said.

The young man looked at me, wide-eyed. "Me neither!"

He called to his girlfriend: "Let's turn back!"

"It's too late!" she returned. He turned to me.

"I think we should go back."

I thought about leaving with him while eyeing Tony up ahead, who called back to us that he could see the beach. We only needed to keep following the river. The look on his face implored me to trust him. Just like he had when he held out his hand earlier, telling me to take hold, to trust him, and I grasped it and fell into the river - with the Nikon.

He came back to me. We decided as a group to go from rock to rock, slowly making our way back to the beach.

I turned to Tony. This wasn't good.

Let me just say here that I am not one to panic. I am cool in a crisis. Give me a seizure, choking, earthquake, massive brush fire. I've been through them all and I kept my wits about me.

"We're fucked."

He said nothing.

"This is going to end badly."

He swallowed hard. I could see him rising to the occasion. He was going to get us out of here!

A moment later one leg was in a hole and I was pulling at ferns to get out. I could feel the skin peel away from my shoulder as I found my footing and Tony hoisted me up.

I looked to the sky for signs of sightseeing helicopters. Thought about how much water we had. Cursed that man again for leaving us. And of course thought about this. (How can you not while "Lost" in the jungle in Hawaii?)

We were in the river now, reaching from one large boulder to the next, the water rushing past waist-high. Tony was leading the way, testing the water's depth and finding rocks strewn close together. The father pointed to a mossy bank of rocks. Too slippery, Tony said. Someone might fall and hit their head.

Minutes later, the teenager spotted a clearing over the river. The trail! We scrambled up over roots and rocks and sure enough, there was the bamboo!

We cheered! We hugged!

And once again we were passing people headed in the opposite direction to the falls. Except now, all Tony said was hello.

He also said, "Honey, tomorrow how about you decide what we should do?"

Me resting at the Hyatt with three of my 16 bug bites.

Helen

My engagement and wedding rings (photo courtesy of katiegardnerphoto.com).

When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to let me try on her wedding ring.

I'd slip it on, fan out my nail-bitten fingers, hold my hand out at arm's length. One day, Grandma would say, she'd give the ring to me. Which is when I'd promptly take it off and drop it into her palm, hating to think of when or why that day would come.

When Tony and I decided to get married, I asked my dad - and my aunt and cousin - for Grandma's ring. It was tucked away in his attic since her death several years ago.

It was pretty dingy when it arrived by FedEx. Yet after a visit to the jeweler for cleaning, it looked brand new. I gasped when Tony opened the box, where it sat snug next to my engagement ring, which we rebuilt to sit flush with the band.

Now when I look down at my fingers typing, I see her ring, and almost her hands. But though I long ago stopped biting my nails and now paint them a shade similar to her favorite, my hands aren't nearly as lovely.

The other day, a story I wrote a few years ago about my grandma appeared here at The Women's Colony. It was perfect timing.

My great aunt Ryann and her sister Helen, my grandmother. She's wearing the ring.

Spring Sing

Natalie gave a fantastic performance during her last Spring Sing at Children's Growing Center. Next year it's off to first grade. We are sad. But also quite happy because Natalie is a big girl now and Spring Sing is a kind of a drag.

It's a fundraising thing that involves an hours long auction and drawing. Normally we sit through this and get more and more agitated. But this year we were smart. We dropped Natalie off at her classroom and then met Natalie's dad at a neighborhood bar, arriving back at school for the tail end of the auction and Natalie's class performing "Wild Thing."

Natalie sang and danced and she was super cute in her zebra print skirt. My friend Jennifer said it was her Swan Sing.

Great job, Natalie!