Sunday, April 29, 2007


I was outed last night. At an evening out at a wine bar with some other moms, it was revealed that I have a blog. This one, as a matter of fact. It's all a bit hazy, thanks to the 'squeaky clean citrus' of the Rebholz, the 'Merlot that is not a Bordeaux', and the Madeira that I mispronounced as 'Ma-dee-era'.

Yes, it was a good night.

My friend Laura had a confession to make--she'd never heard of blogs. It came up at the party she was at before, when she said she had to leave to meet me and someone said they read my blog. (Or maybe it didn't start with me, but hey, it's my blog and EVERYTHING is about me!) And that's when it came out--a San Franciscan (native, no less) married to a man who has an entire room devoted to all things computer-related, doesn't know what a blog is.

Well, Laura, this is what a blog is! A way to make fun of your friends online!


Tuesday, April 17, 2007

The Marital Bed

Kevin and I got a new bed. It's a big deal for us, because we have been sleeping on the compromise bed for quite a while, and it's everything a compromise promises to be--reasonable, but ultimately irritating to both of us. Bed-wise, Kevin wants a brick and I want a marshmallow, so this compromise bed was somewhat firm, with two, count them, two pillow-tops.

So we started out bed search a while ago. We tried the Sleep Number beds, which really just made us laugh. Their whole selling point is based on the experience of laying on an uncomfortable bed that gets comfortable. Seriously--no one is expected to adjust their bed all the time, are they? I know the thing has a remote, but unless you mistake it for the TV remote, I doubt anyone fiddles with it much. (Except your kids, of course.) Anyway, so the salesperson determined which kind of bed you wanted, then set the bed to the opposite and let you enjoy feeling it firm up or soften. It's a great tactic, I'll admit, and one of the few beds that would actually accommodate our diametrically opposite preferences, but it just made us laugh as Kevin's side of the bed raised up and I sank down low to rest amid the crackle of air baffles. His sleep number? 83. Mine? 22.

Another option (whose brand I can't remember) consisted of two Lego-like piles of different kinds of foam. If we took all the 'firm' Lego's and put them on Kevin's side, and then put all the soft ones on my side, it worked. This configuration, however, wasn't recommended. Why? Because one side will be lower than the other!

So we ended up at the ergonomic/organic/NPR-supporting/locally-manufactured bed store. And we picked one out. And waited for it to be delivered. And it sucked--for me, anyway, but Kevin loved it. And I didn't handle it very well, either. See, the bed HURT me. I woke up and could barely walk my hips were so sore, but Kevin got up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which really pissed me off. How could he love a bed that was obviously out to get me? I HATE this bed, I told him, and I REFUSE to sleep on it. Unfortunately, Kevin didn't understand the depths of my hatred for this bed, and he was rather surprised that I slept on Conor's bunk bed for over a week. Even Conor got tired of me taking over his bed!

I called the store to take them up on their 'comfort guarantee'. The saleswoman I spoke to suggested that I switch the bed to a softer model--but not tell Kevin. She said she did that to an ex-boyfriend and he didn't notice! I refrained from pointing out that I'd like to have both a husband and a comfortable bed, and said we'd come back in to try out the other models. And we picked another one, waited for it to be delivered, and I swear their business plan is to wear you down with the waiting and the switching so that you'll just take whatever bed they send over the second time. Conor and Lucy love this bed--they said my side would soften over time, so I'm working on accelerating that process by having them jump on the bed fairly frequently.


Thursday, April 12, 2007

Pagan Easter

The morning was spent with The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Usually the egg hunt starts late, but this year they must not have been hampered by hangovers because it started EARLY! We have spent way to much time in previous years milling around trying to keep the kids from going nuts, so we showed up respectably late and missed it. But we did get to play some games and see the band.

The afternoon at a Big Wheel race down Lombard Street. Kevin caught a bejeweled wheel, so I think we've discovered a new Easter tradition!

And then on our way home from school Monday we saw a very tall man (with a very short woman, naturally) with a big sign that said "This 6 foot 7 inch Jew Will Breakdance for You". Unfortunately, we were crossing the street and couldn't take him up on the offer.


Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Tim Goodman and His Cranky Pants!

"...there's a lot of parental hand-wringing over a Kaiser Family Foundation study that said kids 2 to 7, 8 to 12 (tweeners) and 13 to 17 see a horde of food ads every day and that this less-than-subliminal bombardment sometimes features junk food and that, in turn, may, apparently, make your kid fat. We don't really care what your teenagers are eating. As long as they aren't eating their own misguided angst and regurgitating it back at you, then you should be happy. If you have a tweener, there's really no help for you. That's the group that is apparently seeing the most food advertising. We advise teaching them to use the TiVo to skip through ads, and, if they stop, punishing them somehow (like, say, taking away their ability to watch Sanjaya). If, however, you have a kid age 2 to 7 who's seeing any kind of food advertising, then you're watching the wrong channel. First off, if your DVR or VCR isn't in use, you're just a bad parent. Second, it's easy to avoid almost all commercials, product placement and even PBS-approved ads (yes, they're ads) by carefully choosing what they watch. This couldn't be easier because most of what PBS, Disney (the Playhouse block) and Nickelodeon/Noggin offer is commercial free."

Amen, brother.


Say What?

Conor had a playdate with a friend recently, and they were outside with Lucy. All of a sudden they start yelling for me, and when I get outside Conor's friend informs me that Lucy said fuck.

Uh, what?

Lucy said fuck, he repeats. Conor is smirking. I look at Lucy, and she's struggling to pull her shoes off, so it's possible that's what she said. I've been trying to be good (for six years now), but I may occasionally be indulging in profanity while Conor's at school and I'm home alone with her. But I seriously doubt that's what she said--but still, what am I supposed to say to this kid? I'm gobstopped!

So I pull it together, stop gaping at this kid, and tell him I'll take care of it and take Lucy inside. I can hear this kid repeating to Conor, "Your sister said 'fuck'!"


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