We're Off to See the Wizard

Tonight, Circus Dad and I are taking the kids to Australia.  It's kind of a once-in-a-lifetime type of adventure for most people...and I not completely sure the kids get how exciting it is to get to GO to Australia.  I'm also note completely sure that Trouble will even remember this trip when she gets older.

Nonetheless, the adventure is about to begin.

I have literally spent hours poring over internet travel websites and tourist advisors trying to come up with the best possible itinerary.  I need to balance the following factors:  The Husband's need for an actual holiday, complete with relaxation, waves lapping at his feet, cold beers and access to spa services; The Kids' need for entertainment, meaning actual planned activities or access to kid-oriented attractions; Proximity to the breeder, so we can meet and play with the puppy that we will be bringing home with us at the end of our holiday; Access to good restaurants, where kids are welcome...but not necessarily the target audience.  So.  Our itinerary follows:

Day One: Arrival in Brisbane, securing rental car (which might be an adventure...as I hired from a company called Andy's Autos...I fear it might be like Rocky's Autos in Colorado, and I know The Husband is just cringing at my frugality on this one), taking the "scenic" drive South along the Gold Coast to Broadbeach, checking into the hotel and relaxing for the remainder of the day at one of the pools at the resort.  Seeing how we are taking the red-eye...we are counting on the kids (and us!) sleeping on the flight, but accounting for the 3 hour time difference, we figure this might be a burger-by-the-pool kind of night.  We'll play it by ear.

Day Two: Sea World!!  It's walking distance from the hotel...tickets purchased in advance (thanks for the tip, Trip Advisor, I'd have been peeved waiting in a long line full of Aussie Autumn/Easter break revelers), and we plan on hitting every single attraction.  I just hope none of the whales, sharks, dolphins or penguins eat any other animal, spectator, or trainer.  Dinner at the Mirage.

Day Three: Beach!!  I've found a "beach walk/playground crawl" itinerary on a Australia tourism website that reccomends spots to sit and relax/play in the water/eat/drink and 7 playgrounds along the way.  I'm trying to mix dad's need to have his toes in the sand and a cold beer in his hand with the kids desire to be completely and utterly entertained.  I'm hoping this works.  And I get to read trash mags all day.  Oh yeah!  Dinner at a lively Mexican restaurant...I'll report back.  I don't have high hopes for Mexican in Australia...but it HAS to be better than the Mexican in Switzerland.

Day Four: Carrumbin Wildlife Sanctuary.  This is the day when my kids will meet live Kangaroos (just hopping around!  Feed them by hand!  No lie...I have a scar on the middle finger of my right hand from an overzealous Kangaroo who wasn't willing to wait for the handful of Kanga-treats I had back in 1994), hold a Koala (maybe...those little dudes look vicious), run from an Emu, and witness other strange Down Under wildlife like the Platypus and the Wallaby.  I'm hopeful that this will keep them more entertained than a typical zoo.  I'm excited...but if this is anything like our Thailand attempt to meet live elephants....I'm going to be the only memeber of the family that wants to participate.  So...I'm cautiously excited).

Day Five: Easter Brunch at Conrad Jupiter's.  This is my attempt to acknowledge Easter...which both girls seem keen on...feed The Husband and throw back a bunch of champagne)  This will be followed by a trip to the Dog Showgrounds just North of Brisbane where the breeder will be showing and we will get to meet for the first time our new little man, Aussie.  I've allowed the entire afternoon for this activity.  I suspect the kids will be devastated when we have to leave him again!!

Day Six: Drama's Actual 7th Birthday.  As such, she will get to choose what we do.  There are 3 other amusement parks in the area, a number of beaches, a water park and the beach.  The world is literally this little girl's oyster for a day.  Dinner will probably be something horrifying like McDonalds.

Day Seven: Beach/Check out and then commute to the airport for departure.

So, there you have it.  Hopefully a nice mix of full-on excitment with laid-back relaxation.  We'll pepper that with cocktails, kangaroo kibble and some photo ops, and I'm hoping it makes for a really nice holiday.  If not, I'm putting the kids on Ebay.  Ungrateful little turds.

Takeaways and A Prayer

Okay.  Quickly...the party was great, the takeaways are: 

• Little Girls love Glitter
• A Painting Class is a Great way to get a gage of your kid's personality
• Cake Pops are delicious (and the base, while smart, wasn't actually all that fabulous...photographic evidence below)

• No matter how hard you work on something, hearing "This was The Best Day EVER" out of the mouth of your child makes Every.  Little.  Thing.  Worth it.
• I love those girls, because of and despite the Drama and the Trouble.  Sigh.

Now that I've had a little sentimental moment, I offer some comic relief.  It's not mine...though I wish I were this funny.  It's an excerpt from Tina Fey's new book: Bossypants.  Enjoy:

A Prayer for My Daughter

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her

When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short - a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day - And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Cake Pops

I'm Running on Empty, as Jackson Browne would say.

I have managed to pack my days so full lately that I've left no time for the little moments....like a quiet bathroom break, or, say, taking my peeling, chipped, Britney Spears-esque week-old nail polish off.  C'est la vie.

Today I spent an hour on the floor of my office gluing construction paper to a giant sheet of Styrofoam and then plotting out a grid on which to display the Cake Pops that I ordered for Drama's birthday party.  Why, you might ask, did I not just make a cake...or like any good Tai Tai (read: Chinese Housewife) buy one and have it delivered?  Well, it was partly the fact that I'm still stinging from the cake debacle of 2010.  Wherein I ordered a fabulous ice-skate made of cupcakes 3 weeks in advance only to find out 4 days before the party that the Bakery "no longer did cakes".  I did find an amazing last-minute bakery.  Drama's cake was STUNNING and absolutely delicious.  It also cost as much as a car payment.  So, this year I priced cakes, I debated making one and then I found the most adorable new product available from the Worlds Most Expensive Bakery (which actually has a page called Xtravagant Cakes...so you can have an exact copy of an Hermes Birkin Bag made out of cake and fondant for your 4 year old daughter's birthday...for about the price of a real Birkin Bag...only don't take my word for it.  You have to fill out a special request and give a blood sample before they will quote you a price on an Xtravagant Cake).  This darling little confection is along the cupcake line: bite-sized and cute.  It's called a Cake Pop.  Little round delicious globules of cake, dipped in frosting and sprinkled.  So cute!!  And about 25% of the price of a Low-Brow, Nothing Fancy Cake from the World's Most Expensive Bakery.  Yay! Sign me up.  Only, how do you put candles in a lollipop?  More importantly, how do you display them?  Enter a large sheet of Styrofoam and my creative "genius".   Let me just say that the pops better be delicious, and the kids better love them.

I still feel that my time is highly valuable.  My billing rate should be somewhere around US$300 per hour by my calculations.  Nevermind the fact that I have not worked in any actual financially-contributory fashion since 2005, where my billing rate was probably about 10% of that figure.  If.  So, by my calculations, this is going to be the world's most expensive Cake Pop Base.  I just have to finish outlining the giant number 7 with silver glittery pen first.  Because when little girls are the target audience, just add more bling.  Seriously.

Which brings me to the next point:  Birthday Gifts for overpriviledged children.  Obviously, one has to give a child a gift for their birthday.  And my children, while overpriviledged (relatively, of course), are actually really Good Kids.  They pick up their toys (mostly...or to be more accurate Drama picks up the toys while Trouble finds ways to get the rest of us to do it for her), they are grateful and polite and actually seem to know that they have more than they actually "need".  So, when I asked Drama what she wanted for her birthday she quickly replied, "an iPad".  Yeah.  Me, too, kiddo.  Not. Gonna. Happen.  "An iTouch?" I didn't even reply, I just raised one eyebrow and she looked sheepish.  "Rollerskates."  I had to think about this one.  Do kids actually still rollerskate?  I spent every Friday night in 5th and 6th grade at Skate City.  "You mean rollerblades?"  I asked her.  "No, the REALLY old kind, from the olden days, mama".  Ah.  Yes, that kind.  D'oh.  So, the child will inevitably get a pair of "old fashioned" rollerskates for her birthday.  Her sister will pick some silly sparkly bauble for her from the Stanley Market, and she'll have to make room somehow for the barrage of gifts that will arrive from the Grandparents that miss our kids and send them giant packages for their birthdays.  I'm thinking of instituting a "New Item In, Old Item to Charity" policy.  It's tough with Drama, though, because Trouble is just now growing into a lot of the toys that Drama doesn't use anymore.  But, seriously.  Does any household need a sofa-sized ottoman full of Barbies?  Because we have one.  And the lid doesn't close all the way.  And they are always naked.  Which isn't pertinent but I find it puzzling.

So, my overscheduled, chipped-polish, high from sparkly-fumed-marker self is going to go upstairs to finish trimming the Cake Base.  Check back after Saturday for photographic evidence of my genius.  Or to smile at 14 adorable first grade girls, and one grinning Trouble.

The 18 Days of Blogging Hiatus

Not one to make excuses (because I subscribe to the theory that Excuses are like steamy turds...everybody can make one), I generally believe that one has to admit when they screw up, apologize when one is warranted, and move on.  That said, I feel that I must submit the following by way of excuse, in poem form.  Please forgive my horrific rhythmic sensibility.  Oh, and you have to discount all qualifying statements in parentheses.  They do not rhyme.  Ever.

The 18 Days of Blogging Hiatus

On the First Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me a bad case of T.B. (or some other equally rare, nearly extinguished wasting disease marked primarily by a hacking cough and an inability to breathe deeply...lasting seemingly for all eternity)

On the Second Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me two girls on spring break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Third Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Three Visitors who wanted to sight-see (I actually enjoy this part...as I love visitors, but it throws me off my game), Two girls on spring break and a bad case of T.B.

On the Fourth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave mto me Four Trips to Stanley (market, that is...for souvenirs, gifts and general tourist-ing), Three visitors, Two girls on spring break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Fifth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair (for Miss Breck Hair, which almost makes it worth it...but seriously...that's most of an entire DAY), Four Trips to Stanley, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Sixth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Six Daisy Scouts (to prepare for a Flag ceremony...none of whom are familiar with the Pledge of Allegiance.  Don't raise your eyebrows.  None of them have gone to school in the USA, and some aren't even American), Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanley, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Seventh Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Seven Days of Delay (on the closing of our new house), Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanley, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break and a bad case of T.B.

On the Eighth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break and a bad case of T.B.

On the Ninth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Nine late-night wakings (by Trouble...in case anybody has been sleeping through my last dozen posts), Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Tenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Ten Piles of Bills (to be paid, filed and or dealt with), Nine late-night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanley, Three Visitors, Two Girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Eleventh Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Eleven Playdates (to be managed, taxi-ed organized and or led), Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Twelfth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Twelve Birthday Party Projects (invitations: addressing, mailing; decorations: designing, painting, purchasing; favor bags: envisioning, procuring, assembling; food: ordering, picking up, arranging delivery;  activity: paying for somebody else to do it), Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Thirteenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Thirteen Home Improvement Projects (not complaining...having a new home is AWESOME, but it's a lot to try to stay on top of from a distance...MTD you are a lifesaver and we can never repay you for your help), Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Fourteenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Fourteen Choices of Itinerary (of things to do on our Australia Vacation...again, not a complaint...but it has to be worked out!!!), Thirteen Home Improvement Projects, Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Fifteenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Fifteen First Grade Girls (coming to Drama's Birthday Party this Saturday), Fourteen Choices of Itinerary, Thirteen Home Improvement Projects, Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Sixteenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Sixteen Government Forms (to be filled out for the export/import/adoption of our new puppy), Fifteen First Grade Girls, Fourteen Choices of Itinerary, Thirteen Home Improvement Projects, Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Seventeenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Seventeen Numbers (to dial internationally...for managing house closing issues, home improvement projects, travel itinerary questions, dog export issues and all other international calls that have to be made...frankly it's just annoying. Everybody should be on Skype.  Oh.  And Skype should function better), Sixteen Government Forms, Fifteen First Grade Girls, Fourteen Choices of Itinerary, Thirteen Home Improvement Projects, Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

On the Eighteenth Day of Blogging Hiatus my Bad Karma gave to me Eighteen different kinds of insecurity (I'm not that funny...I shouldn't be writing at all...it's not like anybody is reading it anyway...I write like I talk...Blogger is annoying...blogging is kind of self-important...am I talking to myself...I'm totally scatterbrained...The Husband hates this...Maybe I should just bail...I'm not a trained writer...I make painful grammatical and spelling errors...are people laughing at me...do people just say they think it's funny...are they laughing AT me or WITH me...what's the difference, it's just semantics...this is a little bit embarrassing....Sweet Baby Jesus, I am talking to myself), Seventeen Numbers to Dial, Sixteen Government Forms, Fifteen First Grade Girls, Fourteen Choices of Itinerary, Thirteen Home Improvement Projects, Twelve Birthday Party Projects, Eleven Playdates, Ten Piles of Bills, Nine late night wakings, Eight Boot Camp Workouts, Seven Days of Delay, Six Daisy Scouts, Five Hours in the Stylist's Chair, Four Trips to Stanely, Three Visitors, Two girls on Spring Break, and a bad case of T.B.

Language-ish

In my observation, every family develops it's own individual language over time.  Little inside jokes and nicknames or silly words that come to replace proper language become commonplace in interactions among family members.  Families with very small children, I think, experience this in an even more intense fashion.  Particularly if you happen to have a child (or two) who speak in idiosyncrasies or with slight speech impediments.  Both of my girls had (have?) little speech issues that have altered their pronunciations.

When Drama was tiny, she had a passionate love affair with her pacifiers, which led to a (still present) issue with her palate and, in turn, her pronunciation.  More than a few people told me that I had to get rid of the pacifiers when she turned one.  I managed to get rid of the bottle when she was about 14 months old (no small feat, I tell you, seeing as the child had been so completely spoiled by her nanny in Chicago that she was "unable" to hold her own bottle or sippy cup).  The pacifiers were another matter.  You may recall that I am an admitted Sleep Whore.  I will do whatever I have to do to secure extra minutes of sleep.  And though Drama, relatively, is my Good Sleeper...I had nothing to compare her sleeping to and still wished she would sleep longer, even though she had a 6pm bedtime and a 7am wake-up (I know, I know!  I'm confessing to my idiocy here!)  I received as a baby shower gift these adorable little pacifiers (the Soothie kind that they give at some hospitals in the US), attached to a small beanie-baby type stuffed animal.  The brand name of this ingenious invention is Wubbanub, and I mention it here because they are amazing.  They are heavy enough that they rest on the baby's chest and don't pop out and roll into the corner of the crib or the carseat and by 10 weeks or so, Miss Drama could locate her paci and pop it back in her mouth.  Looking back, it allowed her to self-soothe from an early age...and is obviously a big reason why she slept so much better than her non-paci-using baby sister.  But that's another Oprah.  Anyway.  Miss Drama had 2 of these ingenious little guys, lovingly (if not creatively) called Duckie and Puppy.  They were, DUH, a red puppy and a yellow duckie.  I had a stockpile of no fewer than 4 extras at all times.  Trouble is, they are infant sized pacifiers.  And Drama used them to fall asleep until she was three and a half years old.  You might have noticed that my general over-riding parenting policy is "Do What Works".  And though I tried to get rid of Duckie & Puppy numerous times...I always caved and gave them back to her because (we had a long flight to the US coming, she's facing a hard transition, her baby sister is coming, I'm too tired to deal with her not sleeping, insert any other excuse here) I was too lazy to deal with it.  Eventually the Paci Fairy came to our house, took Duckie and Puppy to give to new babies who need pacifiers, and left Miss Drama a puzzle and a new stuffed animal to sleep with.  We had 2 rough nights and that was it.

So back to the speech thing.  Up until the interference of the Paci Fairy, Miss Drama had a rather pronounced overbite.  In fact, it was so big that she couldn't say "F" or "V".  She literally could not bring her bottom lip to her top teeth.  So, for a long time, though she had a huge vocabulary and spoke early and mostly clearly...she said things like "Don't make Sunny Saces at me!" and called her best friend "Aza" instead of "Ava".  So, in our house, we still say "dont' make sunny saces at me".  Because it's funny.  But I know it would mean nothing in any other environment.

Trouble used to have a pretty major issue with her s-blends.  She could speak pretty well but any word that began with "S" and another consonant, she'd just not say the "S" or she would replace it with another sound.  Skirt became "Kirt", Snack was "Nack", and inexplicably, Smell was "Pell".  Literally overnight she figured it out and started speaking clearly with proper s-blends last summer....but we still sometimes say "kirt" for skirt.  Again, because it's funny.

We also have the added hilarity of having lived in two countries where we don't speak the local language fluently, but we'll adopt some local phrases or words into our Family Vocabulary.  My kids still use the French Little Kid Vernacular for naps and loveys.  A Nap is a "Dodo" (short for Dormir, to sleep in French) and a lovey or favorite stuffed toy is a "Dou-Dou".  I have no idea where that came from but all French-speaking kids call their plush Dou Dou.  My mother in law always confuses "Dodo" and "Dou Dou"...and my kids truly don't understand why she is confused.  They also don't know the American phrase Doo Doo, so they don't get it when people think they are talking about poo.  But put  us on an airplane in the middle of the night and my kids will be crying that they can't fall asleep without their Dou Dou...and you'll see us get some really wacky looks from fellow passengers.  In addition, both girls are going to school in bi-lingual programs now.  Mandarin and English.  I don't claim in any way that either of them either speak nor understand Mandarin...but they have picked up some phrases.  Lately, Drama has taken "Ai Ya" as her go-to catchphrase when anything isn't going her way or she's troubled.  It's kind of the Chinese equivalent to "Are you kidding me?" or "Oh Come On!".  And she says it with the funniest Chinese intonation.

And like EVERY family, we all use favorite phrases from movies, TV shoes, or just plain making fun of silly things we've said to one another over the course of our lives.  Here is a list of my current favorite things that are part of the Circus/Broccoli Family Language:

• "I just want you to Love Me, Jason": to be used at any time you want attention or want to call out somebody for being a big baby and needing attention.  Original Source: Made for TV version of The Bourne Identity starring Richard Chamberlain & Jaclyn Smith.  Line delivered by Jaclyn Smith's character in a moment that can only be described as overacted and hilarious.
• "Oh, do you need some Voss water, too?": used to point out how spoiled and entitled our children are.  Original Source: Grown Ups staring Adam Sandler.  Referring to Adam Sandler's character's painfully spoiled children ordering Voss Water at a hole in the wall BBQ restaurant.
• Any and All Homerisms from The Simpsons.  Too many to reference.  Starts with "D'oh" and runs the gamut to "You'll Only Incur More Wrath!"  If you don't watch The Simpsons, I cannot even begin to explain why this is funny.  But trust me, it's SOOO funny.  Our speech is also peppered with Mo-isms, Apu-isms and Bart-isms.
• "I'm Fiwsty".  Trouble still can't say her "Th" and "R" sounds consistently.  We just think this is cute.  It is used to indicate thirst. 
• We call the color yellow, Banana.  Trouble took to this at about 18 months old and I get it.  If an orange is the color Orange...then yeah.  Yellow is Banana.  
• I tell the kids that I'm going to Eat them for Dinner.  I am not a cannibal, nor do I like biting.  But sometimes my kids are so cute that I honestly want to dip them in some sauce and eat them.  
• This leads directly to my telling them that I'm going to Squeeze them like a Bunny or sometimes "Easy, Lenny".  Obviously, a reference to Of Mice and Men when Lenny loves the little bunny so much that he squeezes it to death.  The latter is a Friends reference to the book.  
• Which leads me to Chandler-isms.  I LOVE the TV show Friends.  I have seen every episode multiple times.  I would watch it 3 times a day, and though the fashion is dated I still laugh out loud.  Chandler is hilarious...and I quote him regularly.  His delivery has changed my delivery.  I mean, could he BE any more sarcastic?
• The Husband uses ESPN Sports Center catchphrases.  A Lot.  And now the kids use them and I'm pretty sure they both have no idea what they mean but they also dont' know they are quoting from a sports show.  "From Way Downtown, Bang".  Meaning you came a long way to make that point.
• And my most favorite are the things that Trouble comes up with that make no sense but are just funny.  I think deriving from a combo of the Bunny thing and the I'm going to Eat you thing...when we tuck Trouble into bed these days, she tells us Good Night like this: "See you in the Gingerbread, See  you on Vacation, See you in the Bubble Gum.....Chomp!"  The last word is not spoken, it is almost snorted.  It's Circus Dad's version of "eating" the kids.  And I don't know what it means but she says it really fast and it makes me laugh every time.  Almost hard enough to forget that she's surely going to sing for another half an hour, and be awake in about 6 hours.

So, what Language does your family speak?  Do you mix Portuguese and French? Did your grandfather say grace a funny way and you still do it that way?  I think these awesome little things make each family individual and special.  And Crazy.  And I HEART crazy.

Running for the Border

Yesterday, I went to China to go shopping.  I realize how completely insane that must sound to the average  American...but ask anyone who has ever lived in Hong Kong where to get the best bargains and you will unequivocally hear, Shenzhen.  Truth be told...I'm betting that 95% of what most Westerners are buying, wearing, listening to, watching and/or sitting on was manufactured in some form or fashion within about 20 miles of Shenzhen.  Until you experience Shenzhen firsthand you cannot begin to imagine it.

I was slow to discovering Shenzhen, having been in Hong Kong for a full 5 months before I made my first "run for the border"  (means something very different here that it used to back in High School when we raced over to Taco Bell for lunch...or even in College when we'd make road trips from *ahem* certain towns in California to another Country and another Border...with a different kind of exploration to discover).

The closest I can come to describing Shenzhen to the un-indoctrinated is this:  Imagine you are in a busy tourist town in Mexico where the street vendors are chasing you down and trying to sell you Chicklets or Silver jewelry.  Then, take that and imagine yourself inside a dingy mall somewhere in middle America that saw it's heyday sometime in the 1970s.  Empty storefronts and shopsigns attached with duct tape and even glittery gold letters instead of signs on the glass stall doors, peppered with occasional stores full of nice looking goods but taped up with Crime-Scene style tape reading "Closed for Selling Counterfeit Goods".   Strange fluorescent lighting coupled with gilded railings (as only the Chinese do), and skylights letting in the natural light (well, what passes for sunlight in a place where the air is positively taupe with pollution on the sunniest of summer days).  Add to that the olfactory sensation of cheap cigarette smoke, inexpensive textiles, strange exotic food smells and Leather.  Oh, and probably the metallic smell of construction and/or electric work.  Maybe also some dust from cement jackhammering.  And the smell of Money.  Instead of the street vendors shouting at you in Spanish, though, they will talk to you in a strange condescending manner, in broken English.  "Missy!  Missy!  You buy DVD, handbag?"  Don't make eye contact.  Don't look up.  Even if you have no idea where you are going or what you want, DO NOT ask any of the "helpful" little men riding up and down the escalators to help you find any kind of shop.  They are a network of families and friends that have it down to a science how to rip off the Stupid Gweilo (read: White Ghost, literal translation) and they have figured out how to make you *think* they are helping you out.  Until you go with somebody that speaks Chinese and you find out that your starting "bargain" price was 10 times higher than the Chinese Housewife standing next to you inquiring about the same handbag.  Feeling proud for getting an item for 10% of what they started with...I have learned that if the shop owner offers you a "freebie" or is smiling at you asking you to come back...you still paid about 10 times too much.  You're only getting a deal if they are mad at you.  However, my "American" guilt allows me to feel good about getting things for far less than I would pay in the US regardless if I am still paying more than the Chinese lady next to me.  Don't even get me started on how 5 years in Switzerland affected my ability to gage what a reasonable price is (Point of reference: A Happy Meal in Lausanne cost me the equivalent of $10, a Grande Starbucks Latte was $9).

Shenzhen is a fun place to spend a day....or more.  It's exhausting to bargain and rifle through bad knockoffs and garbage and fight off really creepy/annoying sales people who chase you shouting "Missy, Missy!  ManiQue!  MASS-age"  After the 3rd hour of barely pubescent salesgirls asking if they can touch my hair, I'm desperate for a shower and nauseated from the combo of stale cigarette smoke and icky food smells.  But I'm resilient and I always go with an agenda. The agenda looks like this:

First Stop: hit the tailors (copy an item almost exactly for about 10% a non-designer price), complete with a long perusal of the Fabric Market.  Return to the tailor with three times what you went for, but once you saw that they had the adorable sheeting material for the American Girl/Daughter matching pajamas you are having made in FOUR colors, you realized you actually needed FOUR sets of them per child, not just one.   And at US$10 per set, why not?  Next Stop: the home decor shops to peruse the pillows/curtains and price the next home project.  A run to the art village is always a good choice, get a copy of something or some nice Asian style art or have your own collection re-framed for pennies on the dollar.  A perennial favorite are the handbag/wallet/clothing copiers (Everything from mid-level brands to Hermes copies that in some cases would probably fool the Copyright department of the companies in question).  I also generally swing by some Jewelry shops for presents and trinkets...but am happy to walk away if I'm not getting deals.  The later in the day, the more likely I am to bail on a negotiation.  I tend to skip the Electronics stores, Sporting Good shops, Sunglasses, Luggage, and massage rooms.

It's fascinating, in a train wreck/culture shock sort of way.  And I love that every time I go I see no fewer than 3 faces I recognize from either Drama's school or the little Ex-Pat enclave community we live in.  When I see a Facebook Status "Shenzhen tomorrow" I cannot help but ask if I can tag along...because despite the insanity I seem to always "need" something.  I've been twice in the past 2 weeks and I realized today that I really have to go back next week because Drama's birthday party won't be remotely okay if I don't have the painting aprons copied in the pattern to match her decor for the kids' gift bags  (Thanks Clemsongirl for making me feel completely inadequate in my party planning skills, BTW).  It's insane...but the general mentality is "Because I Can".  And like the Helper situation....I really feel like I KNOW I won't get to enjoy this for that long.  Eventually, I will be back to paying $9 for a Starbucks Latte and my shopping options will be H&M or Bon Genie with nothing in between.  So, don't hate me when I head out to Shenzhen too frequently.  And if you decide to come to Hong Kong, feel free to write to ask me for my list of preferred vendors.  I've got them all marked in the "Shopping in Shenzhen" book.  No Lie.

GILF?

This past week I've been faced with too many reminders that I'm getting older.  Please don't take this as a slight if you happen to have been born before me.  I am not focused on the number of years I've had on this planet, per se.  And I'm not saying "I'm Old"....I'm actually totally fine with growing older, from a logical standpoint.  I actually like the current Incarnation of Me a whole lot better than previous releases.  I know that my years and experiences make me more tolerant, thoughtful, empathetic, and wise.  The downside, is, of course, that getting older and wiser internally means the outside tends to errrrm...Patina a bit as well.  And I just haven't quite figured out how I am going to deal with that.

I know I've touched on my alter egos and their struggles.  I've also given you my preliminary take on aging intervention in it's many forms.  You have also heard a bit about how my darling progeny work hard every day to make sure I stay humble.  Today, for the official record, Girl Scout seems to have planted her rather stout bum firmly on the trunk of poor little Barbie Girl and that seems to be keeping her breathless enough that she can't verbalize her criticisms or get too much into my head.  I'm grateful for the assist, because Life keeps reminding me that I am not getting any younger.  

I am in the process of planning Drama's seventh birthday party.  This is a project I love each year and I have to say I seem to be getting better at it with each effort (though the joint 4th birthday party with the Chocolate Fondue and Pinata in the garden overlooking Lake Geneva may be tough to top...Ever).  It occurs to me, though, that while I desperately wanted children....I don't think I thought a lot beyond infancy.  I really thought I was going to bring home a baby who would stay in those tiny little footie pajamas and Size 1 diapers forever.  Each major milestone she has reached has been kind of a shock for me.  This past year has been particularly bittersweet.  It is the first year of her life that I can honestly remember (vividly!!) what it was like to be her age.  I remember the smell of my first grade classroom, the names of all of my classmates in Mrs. Streevey's joint 1st-2nd grade class, and what it felt like to be made fun of because I threw up on Mr. Costello's sneakers in gym class.  The process of her Losing Teeth has made me strangely nostalgic.  I can honestly close my eyes and remember what it felt like to poke my tongue out from between the sharp baby teeth...and exactly the sensation of scraping my tongue across the brand-new ridges of the adult tooth when it came bursting through.  Mostly, though, I remember my 7th birthday party.  And I CANNOT believe that I have a child that is turning Seven.  Seven is no longer a little girl.  Thankfully, Drama still likes lots of "babyish" things.  She cops to them and claims that she doesn't care if they are cool.  I realize that this will change.  Probably soon.  And I'm not ready for her to tell me that she doesn't like Pink anymore, or that Princesses are lame.  I feel this strong sense that the days are speeding up faster and faster and there is nothing I can do about it.  I dont' mean that I'm not looking forward to watching her grow up.  I SO am.  She fascinates me with her heartbreaking mix of sensitivity and creativity.  But I will miss who she is today, as much as I miss who she was at one and two and on and on.  

Add to that emotional crisis that fact that it's getting Warm in Hong Kong.  No, warm weather doesn't make me weepy.  But, when it gets too hot for long sleeves and sweaters, its' time to break out the summer clothes.  Last week I did the big changeover.  The fall and winter items go into storage and the spring and summer things come out.  Easy Enough (particularly with the aid of my Helper...who was there with a labelmaker...not even kind of making fun of my anal retentiveness!).  This year, I had to pull out two different boxes for Trouble, because she'll need some of the Size 3 things from last year for now and the beginning of summer...but she will likely also need most of the Size 4 things, because it won't get cold here again until November or December.   Blah Blah Blah.  So, in the process of bringing out all of these boxes, Trouble got interested.  In fact, she put on a Fashion Show,  because although they were all Drama's clothes first, it's all New to Her.  She was in the playroom pulling out the size 4 treasures while I was going through the 3s and pulling out the winter items to determine what was worth boxing up for next year and making a giant pile of things to give away (Oh how I love giving away old treasures!!).  In marches my little blonde diva: twirling and posing in a sweet pink dress with butterfly appliques and a little flouncy skirt.  And my heart stopped.  It was The Dress that Drama was wearing the day she came to the hospital to meet her baby sister.  How did that happen???I've been able to manage the "boo-hoo" factor of Trouble getting older for the most part because I've been so excited for her to grow out of the baby phases.  No more baby food?  Awesome!  Diapers Gone?  Incredible!  Big girl bed?  Great-I don't have to get up at 5am to get her out of the crib to go potty (anytime she wants to start sleeping like a regular person would be Just Super, but that's clearly a dream).  But in that moment, I was struck by the fact that time is just FLYING by.  My baby is So not a baby.  In fact, she is a little Person.  She is as old (older, actually!!) than Drama was when she was born.  And to me, way back then, Drama was already quite mature and I expected her to behave a certain way.  Trouble still gets away with murder, and we all baby her...something we admit but can't seem to stop doing.  Knowing she is my last baby is fine with me...but I don't want to blink and have it be time for HER seventh birthday party.  Because at this rate...it feels like that is going to happen!

Why, I wonder, does seeing my kids get older make me feel such a bizarre mix of excitement and anxiety?  It's not that I don't love each phase that they are in.  I have a friend who told me once that she never yearns for the baby days at all, and loves each new grown-up phase better than the last.  GVL, you know I'm talking about you.  I wish I felt that way completely.  I do, of course, feel pride and excitement for my kids as they grow and achieve and learn.  I get embarrassingly sentimental at conferences and school performances when teachers say nice things about my kids.  The Husband told me I have to stop crying at conferences when the teacher is complementary.  I can't help it!  I'm SO proud!!  Seriously, I want them to grow up to be wonderful adult people, but I also want to put a concrete block on their heads and keep them little forever.  I also realize that when I had babies, I thought grade-school-aged children were SO OLD.  Like, somehow, I was obviously too young to have one of them.   I remember even looking at toddlers with a kind of pity.  Yet, here I am...with a gap-toothed big girl who can no longer fit into clothes from the little girl department and my baby is about to start big-kid school.  I'm not a "young mom" anymore.

Which brings me to the third piece of the "Face It, Lady, You're Middle-Aged" puzzle.  I wasn't technically EVER a young mom.  I was just shy of thirty when I had my first child.   For our generation, that's not old...but it's also not young.  This week a friend of mine from high school posted on her Facebook page that she is going to be a Grandma.  Um.  What??  If she's old enough to be a Grandma then so am I?  I am familiar with the concept of a Hot Granny.  We've got a Hot Granny in our family...one that looks better than I do in a bikini.  No lie.  But, I'm still working out if I am eligible for MILF status...how on earth can I contemplate being a GILF??  I'm just grateful that my girls are (at least) 10 years away from putting me in that position (at 20 years at the earliest that I'm willing to even ponder).  But somehow...this trifecta: my big girl turning seven, my baby not even kind of being a baby, and realizing that I am of an age that I could be somebody's grandma....has got me a little bit spun up today.   

My dad likes to say that getting older is better than the alternative.  And he's surely right.  But I want to figure out how to actually accept it without kicking and screaming.  Getting older is okay.  Obviously we can't stay young forever.  I've always said I'm going to grow old gracefully because I'm just going to pretend it isn't happening.  I didn't factor in the fact that things like my kids and/or Facebook would crumble that fantasy.  I think for the moment I'm just going to try to be thankful that my biggest source of angst is lost teeth and birthday parties.  And perhaps I should make an extra concerted effort to enjoy my babies exactly as they are today.  Every Day.  Even when I want to sell them to the Gypsies.