BATMOM

Naughty Trees

The Question: "Why are you being so naughty today George?"

The Answer: "I am not George."

(This is not atypical: when he could barely speak, he told us... after we told him to please stop screaming... that he was playing the part of a bad guy, so he just had to be bad.  For at least three seconds Tom and I found ourselves stumped.) 

So we expected to hear that, if he was not George, maybe he was Lex Luther... or Darth Vader.

George looked all around the table and then got his "clever" grin going.

"Who are you if you're not George?"

"I'm a tree."

And he began to laugh and laugh and laugh...

Who knew my son would transcend the Dada movement at age four?

Up: George tests the turkey. He's also learned to test his parents. But he's cute!

Down: George demonstrates "bad guy" with vigor.

***

We played Greenday for the boys today. Tom had a feeling that Cole, especially, would love it (he loves The Clash, Madness, anything with dynamic changes). Cole went nuts in the back of the car, slamming from side to side and "playing" the drums (or the back of the car seat, as it were). "Bite my lip and close my eyes / Take me away to paradise!"  George asked Cole to "be quiet" so he could hear the words. "Louder!" Cole screamed. "Louder." 

Cole also responded to Beethoven with a different type of enthusiasm. "They're going up and down stairs, Mommy." At first, I didn't know what in the hell he was talking about. "Up the stairs!" he screamed. "Yeah. You're right." And when the strings scurried down the scale: "They're going down, down, down the stairs."

Up: Cole is still working on the concept and execution of puppet shows!\

Down: This is the position in which we first saw Cole (my first sonogram). Cole is part monk, part madness ;-)

 

***

And Adeline. How is she these days? 

She screams to me and Tom, "I carry you." Don't worry, it doesn't mean she actually carries us. She's big (99th percentile for height thanks to Tom), but not that big. She says that when she wants to be carried. 

She's very into hats these days. She likes to wear the lavender one to bed if we let her. She's choosing her own clothes (and she has pretty good taste except for the lavender hat). She has two doting grandmothers who buy her gorgeous little dresses and she expects to be admired in them!

On the other hand, she likes to be thrown in the air and chase her brothers and stomp in the mud. She's no wimp. Whew. I like the idea of girly tea parties (being a big tea party person myself), but I like the idea of a strong woman drinking with me (especially in her lavender hat).

 

Adeline laughs.

 

Adeline twirls.

Adeline dances!

Race cars and jackets

Yesterday, I went to meet my new colorectal surgeon yesterday (who will do the reversal of the ileostomy). Nice guy. I hope he's a good surgeon!

Not much to report here. Today I learned that based on how the stock market has performed it would have been better to keep any savings or investments under our mattress or in jars like my grandma for the last ten years... Except for the fact that I'm a princess and a little pea or a dollar bill makes me nervous all night...

We went to a thank-you party for George's teacher (who is having visa issues and a baby...). Adeline shrieked most of the time. "Coat! Coat!" "You want it off?" I asked politely. "Yeah."  I took it off. The crying got louder, "Coat! Coat!" "You want it on?" "Yeah." On, off, on, off, on... Oh Adeline. She grabbed most of the drinks left on the table: wine, water, juice... It's all good. Most of the beverages (I manged to yank the wine out of her hand, but that only prompted a "Mine! Mine!") ended up on the floor or if we were lucky, on her coat.

Oh, Adeline. Sweet Adeline. She loves mini race cars and her pink jacket (and she like it off and on, apparently).

The Nannie-Nannie Boo-Boo Stage

Cole likes to sit on the strawberry booster chair. I like him to sit on it because then he doesn't stand in his chair during the entire meal. Cole likes to tower over everyone at the table or maybe he just wants to be at the same level as Daddy

Today, George decided to start singing "Nannie nannie boo boo. You're not a big boy. Nannie nannie boo boo." How did he learn the same words with which my great grandmother probably tortured her older siblings? Cole got MAD. He began to scream, in his method-acting way... "I AM A BIG BOY, GEORGIE! I AM A BIG BOY!" He turned bright red and tried to stand up on his strawberry booster seat, but fortunately that is not possible.

George, despite warnings, kept taunting Cole and ended up in a "time out." (Tom hates that term. He points out that time does not stop). With George in his arms Tom came back down wearing Adeline's poofy, glittery, fairy-like hair band from his left ear. We are all still wondering why ;-)

Photos:

Romulan Ale

Today Cole announced to all of Long's Drugs Prescription Center workers and their long line of customers that he loved boobies. "Dere's one right dere!" As all of the people in line turned their heads to see the "boobies," I was the only one who turned to US on the magazine stand... the 3 year old booby-lover is not my child. He was pointing to a kitten on a large cardboard cut out. An elderly man with thick glasses squinted to get a better look. "Meow."

I worked on the Alaska screenplay today. It's a bumpy drive down memory lane... that's now being fictionalized. It's fun to remember my adventures in Alaska (and its fishing canneries) with fellow opera student Beth. We're both in the Bay Area with husbands and babies now. It's hard to believe we were ever that crazy. 

I suppose it's good to remember and occasionally get a little "crazy."

I saw my integrated medicine man today. My change in diet starts. My try-not-to-get-a-recurrence-of-cancer routine begins. More change...

Speaking of change, this made me laugh (I admit to being Guinan in a Star Trek murder mystery party. I got to wear a broken lampshade with purple stockings over it on my head. We drank a lot of blue Romulan ale from the upside down couch frame bar). From today's SF Chronicle by Debra Saunders:

If you're not a "Star Trek" fan, you might not get this, but as I've watched President-elect Barack Obama these past few weeks, I feel as if the country is passing the torch from the brash, rule-breaking Capt. James T. Kirk, whose Starship Enterprise boldly went where no man had gone before in the original sci-fi series, to the more cerebral governance of Capt. Jean Luc Picard, who ran the Enterprise, not so much as his merry ship but as a cutting-edge corporate venture, which culled databases and held meetings to brainstorm possible responses to new challenges. (Note: when "Star Trek: the Next Generation" first aired in 1987, viewers didn't look at corporate execs as greed-filled panic-fueled incompetents.)

Read the full article here.

Welcome to Reality

Today was a pretty sad day. I've been trying to get my resume together and apply for some special events/development jobs in the non-profit sector, but the thought of a 9 to 5 day without being able to pick up my boys or spend time with Adeline sounds HORRIBLE. I will also have no time to write. Part-time jobs with benefits seem impossible to find. 

Honestly, I feel as if I'll just start to hate and resent anyone who gets the time with my family that I don't have (nannies, schools, au pairs, grandparents, anyone). But reality is reality, and I must learn to live and act in the world again. Will I ever feel normal? I never have, so I suppose I never will. Ho hum.

I don't know how to balance home and work. I write now around kids' schedules. I have good friends who are doing it, who love it, who hate it... I fear I would be the later. Plenty of people do it successfully (obviously), but could I? 

Maybe I'll get really lucky and my screenplays or book will get me an agent and work before I have to give it up. Dreams... those seem to be a thing of the past. We're all about reality these days. Welcome to the recession. (Insert sarcastic 'yipee' here).

"Cop, Cop. Was up, was up?"

A cop gave me a ticket this morning. I had just come from having some stitches removed which, in turn, came from a suspicious mole being removed. I don’t want cancer of any kind. Remove all suspicious items ASAP. I was late to my appointment because a friend told me the story of 2 of the 3 of her young children being sexually abused by a step-brother... you can never know someone else's pain... I went to write in yet another coffee shop. Closed. I tried another, but missed the turn. The last resort, a coffee shop I don’t like (I need safe, small, but not too small and warm). I turned quickly into the driveway when there was an opening in traffic. A garbage truck blocked my way, and then a cop pulled up behind me with his lights on. Me? Me! You must be kidding.

I was nice and not abrasive (Tom tells me I get too angry when bureaucracy knocks on my window).I was shaky. My car was a disaster. Would he think I was a bad mom? A slob? A drug-addict? I couldn’t find the registration. I needed to call Tom. Where is the registration? But can I talk on a cell phone in the driver’s seat when I’m illegally parked, trapped between a stinky garbage truck and a stinky cop? I found the registration. I got a ticket.

I could have told him I had stage IV cancer. So? I still broke the law (though it was a confusing situation with my turn… in my mind anyway). But it was not my intent to break the law. Sometimes I drive too fast or take an knowingly illegal u-turn, but this was not the case. I understand we are a country of laws, but I am so tired, very tired, of shaking when I see a cop. An expensive ticket? Does he know the cost of this cancer crap? Was he minding the traffic when my neighbor’s nanny’s son was shot and killed? I know this is irrational and that we have to subscribe to this system of justice, but I can’t help but feeling that he needed to hide to catch “wrong-doers” to fulfill a quota. It is not his job to establish or worry about intent, but BUT BUT...

I have cancer. No, I had cancer. It is time to start living as a healthy person and not as a victim. I still have issues with my leg (particularly when holding children or dancing in really tall heels), does that mean I should still use a handicapped placard? After all, I've earned it... right? I'm not so sure. By law, I can still have the placard. It is convenient. But is it right? And is it best for me?... this notion that I am not quite healed or still wounded or not really healthy. I don't know.

I heard Lawrence Lessig  (one of Tom's ex-professors) speak on the radio today about the change in cheating in America. It is way up among students. He talked of his time teaching in Russia and how the right and wrongs were muddled, and those that wished to “move ahead” or “create art” or “think” were forced to do so covertly (in a way, cheating). They were shocked when he punished the students cheating. Lessig's blog is here. 

He feels America is moving in that direction and his latest fight (or one of his fights) is a new way forward in copyright laws. If music can be downloaded for free, youth will do it. Is it right to set up a system of laws that “we” know will be broken? 

Perhaps I have not written with cohesion tonight. These are thoughts in my head and I'm just letting them loose as they come.