Game on!

We had friends over on Saturday night for a good ole' fashioned game night. We usually do poker, but we decided on a more "recession friendly" affair. I can't believe I only took one picture, but things were pretty crazy since there were oodles of kids, ridiculous amounts of food, and way too much trash talking. I'm thinking I need to schedule Sears portrait setting with my friends so I can get some damn picture with them.

Other than the lack of pictures, I had a fabulous time being with my friends, learning about obscure 90s trivia, and eating half my weight in food. Erin, I need the recipe for those nachos!

I was going to write some snarky blog about how I want Jason Mraz to sing me to sleep tonight. (Watching him perform on SNL right now.)

Despite his light and lovely style, I just can't help but feel the end of SB looming. As much as I love my job, I do not relish the idea of giving up B-filled days. Mmmm. Cuddling in the morning and when he is definitely ready to get up, he sits on my face with his soggy diaper. Chatting about our plans for the day during breakfast. Being (secretly) excited for naptime, but five minutes in to nap I cross my fingers that he might want to get up and play. Random cuddles.

Okay, I have to stop.

How many weeks til summer??

Rockin' the manpris

Next up, pictures of my new polyester culottes.

Independent streak

B is taking the transition to his new "big boy" room very seriously. Sleeping in his crib or pack and play is out of the question, evident by his desire to take his life in his own hands and climb out. Eating yogurt is a one man job and it is not done in his sissy highchair. Strides are being made in the bathroom as well since he likes to stand next to Jeff , exclaiming, "Cool!" as he watches his dad's magic trick. He even likes to help me out with toilet paper on occasion.

It doesn't take much

It's Spring Break and I am finding myself incredibly productive in the most inane activities. I have refurbished two chairs, baked some bread (don't get too excited, it's the kind where you just add beer...um, did I mention it is beer bread? and my kid loves it?), I m-a-d-e a skirt (again, dig the chonies out of your backside, I am way too much of a snot to wear it in public), and I have set a record for the number of times a person can rapid-fire check her blog/Facebook/email/news/Google Reader.

Today I found myself creating errands for myself. First stop, SAS, to dig in the daunting piles of fabric and imagine how I was going to hack at it with some half-assed project. Then I popped by Jeff's work with lunch so people could admire my growing child, who is certainly not getting enough props now that he is a toddler.

As I drove to Jeff's work, a person driving in the opposite direction flashed his lights at me. I took plenty of road-trip vacays as a youngster and I knew that meant two things: "Turn your lights on, dummy!" or "Watch your butt, po-pos ahead." Considering it was 11am, I knew he was indicating the latter. As I searched the side of the road for the fuzz, a warm bloom flooded my chest. That driver cared so much for the well-being of my pocketbook and the points on my driver's license that he took the time to flash his high beams. How thoughtful! What a great moment of compassion...

Guys, get me back to school and in front of a stack of essays pronto. Seriously, I have way too much time on my hands if I am finding warm fuzzies in this moment.


"Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice, and need." Voltaire

Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live. -Twain

We got a bike trailer for our birthdays from Jeff's mom and we love it. Jeff refused to put the trailer on my bike. "You know how you ride," he said when I pouted. True, it takes me like four good tries to get going, I break out in a light sweat when I see a car coming a mile away, and I can only imagine the nightmare of what I look like from behind. B really liked his helmet, until it snapped on...the noise freaked him out or something. The helmet is for a three year old head, but it fits him just fine. That kid has always had a huge head, as a baby he would be in the 20th percentile for height and weight, but 80th for his head. All I can say is thank goodness I had a c-section.

He put the helmet on himself--backwards.

Still backwards.

Not so happy with it the right way.

A bicycle does get you there and more.... And there is always the thin edge of danger to keep you alert and comfortably apprehensive. Dogs become dogs again and snap at your raincoat; potholes become personal. And getting there is all the fun. ~Bill Emerson

I'm an adult I'm an adult I'm an adult

I think I have mentioned this, but my ten-year reunion is coming up in August. Nowadays, reunions seem more of a formality since email, Facebook, Myspace, and blogs make it so easy to stay in touch. I remember right before I graduated a teacher told me that I would only stay in touch with two or three people until my reunion. Thankfully, I am still in touch with dozens of people from high school. I didn’t realize how apprehensive I was about my reunion until today. I was at the mall’s play area with B and I spied a girl (um, excuse me, woman) I went to high school with in the same play area. She was always a pleasant person, but we didn’t run in the same social circles. As Romy, would say, she was in the A group. All of the sudden it was as if I was sucked back to high school, I wanted to say hi, but I hesitated. Would she remember me? Would she even say hi back? Does the top make me look fatter/pregnant/etc? Pretty ridiculous, huh? I mean, we are tax-paying adults with children for crying out loud. As I was leaving I sucked up my insecurities and headed over to say hello. We chatted for a second and she was just as pleasant as I remembered her to be. Why do I feel oddly proud of myself?

Anyway, that incident got me to thinking about other parts of my looming reunion.

Concern #1: Mean People. Despite the fact “A group girl” was lovely then and now, there are other people who I happily bid adieu to a graduation because of the way they treated others, including me. It certainly isn’t fair to continue to hold a grudge—I wouldn’t necessarily want someone judging me for my high school behavior. But am I a big enough person to swallow the past and say hello?

Concern #2: Remembering people. I had a huge class (nearly 1000). What if someone comes up to me and has all these memories and I don’t even remember their name or face? Trust me, this isn’t a hypothetical situation, this has happened to me on Facebook and Myspace. Holy hell, I was so embarrassed and felt like a horrible person.

Concern #3: TMI. I am the first person to admit that I am a blog stalker. How do I stay interested when they are telling me stuff I already know? I’ve read so many people’s blogs from high school and know so much about their lives. (Shout out to my Google Reader that makes this pastime easier.) I am thinking I should make more comments on people’s blogs since I know the quiet joy of logging on and seeing the comments people make on my blog—I suppose that might make the whole saying hello bit at reunion easier.

These concerns presented, I would like to tell anyone who I went to high school with (who openly reads this blog or just stalks it) that I am really interested in who you are nowadays no matter what your jobs is, how many kids you have, what church you go to, or who your friends were/are. After all, ten years after high school makes us adults, not teenagers.

Big Boy Room

It all started with the bedding. Actually it started with someone who needs to move to a bigger bed. Proof:

He doesn't like to sleep the other way. He is very particular.

We found the duvet cover at Target on sale and loved the simple pattern and colors. We swore we would not paint the walls, but then I felt the green REALLY need to be on THAT wall. The head and foot board were not kid appropriate (curly iron thing, not nekid chicks on a beach or anything), so I custom ordered a simple black headboard and a super-duper functional foot board/getintobedhelper/and (my favorite) storage with my favorite woodworker. I made all the pillows, which are pretty much everywhere: bed, floor, chair. Then we painted his boring sliding closet doors with blackboard paint so if he feels the need to draw on the wall, he has the opportunity. Speaking of the closet, my favorite woodworker also designed and created built-ins with more storage (ahhh). I found the chair on Craigslist and thought about recovering it but found the burnt orange velour was far too endearing. We exchanged the bookshelf in the loft with the one that was in the room before, mainly because Ikea provides (ahhh) tailor-made storage.

Anyway, it is missing books on the shelves, toys in storage bins, clothes in the closet, the rug I order ages ago, a small child in the bed, and the typical disarray.

I like it, except for the nagging feeling I am setting my kid up to be some sort of Alex P. Keaton. If you don't get that 80's reference, you probably shouldn't be reading this.

Brighton

I love to be inspired. I just read a post by my friend Meghan who chronicles her oh-so fabulous life in LA. She is modern, witty, and I miss her when I read her writing. She inspired me to write about an important moment of my life that I only talk about briefly now, but changed me in every way.

Growing up in Mesa can be a pretty unremarkable. Pros: consistency, family values, and security. Cons: monotony, lack of culture, and rigidity. I learned growing up in Mesa that if I was really looking for something I needed to be the one to seek it out, because interesting experiences wouldn’t fall in my lap on a daily basis. A very important lesson. Some of my friends left Mesa bitter and bored by their childhood. Others appreciated the placid sameness.

When I was in college, I decided to “break out” and found the perfect opportunity with an overseas student teaching position in Brighton, England, a town directly south of London, less than an hour away by train. I believed that this would be the catalyst for me to leave Arizona: grad school in California, teaching post abroad, or something. A couple months before I left for England I got back in touch with Jeff; we had always been good friends with that awkward tension, but one of us was always in a relationship when the other one was single, so it wasn’t really something we explored. Before I left for England we were both single, potentially problematic, especially when he kissed me, but no one was going to keep me from leaving.

I left for London, few tears and lots of excitement. The flight was ridiculously long, but I was highly entertained by the map showing our progress. Landing in London was horrendous—we flew in during a snowstorm. There is nothing like watching the wings dip and shake. I tried to stay composed, but when I heard, “Holy shit,” from a few rows back, I nearly pissed myself. I traveled with two ginormous bags which I dubbed bloody black and big blue, they were nearly half my size in height and weight (clearly pre-pay-extra-for-massive-luggage times). Due to the snow, half the train lines were down, so I had to take four different trains to my hostel. Europe does not believe in elevators/escalators so I dragged those bastard bags up and down stairs. Only at my last stop, did a man take pity on me and help me with one of my bags. Bless him. After arriving at my hostel, I threw down my belongings and slept for thirteen hours. I woke in the middle of the night and eagerly found the internet café to map my progress to Brighton and check email. I was devastated to see I had two emails. I felt abandoned.

Settling in Brighton, getting started at my host school, and realizing British food sucks was the easy part. I adore my roommates to this day. I have mixed feelings about British schools. I still firmly believe there is something unnatural about a traditional English breakfast. Other stuff was hard. I realized how sheltered I was as an American, not a Mesan, but American. Anyone who has traveled overseas knows what I mean. One realizes just how small and insignificant one is. Also, I came to realize just what people thought about Americans (tennis shoes, guns, loud, and ignorant). When the war started, it got harder. People moved away from me and another American teacher on the train, chastised me for our president, and blamed me for lost British lives.

I became aware of how ignorant I really was. I craved clarity. I needed to know what I believed, what was important to me, and why I did the things I did. Being away from my life in Arizona allowed me the distance and lucidity I think absolutely everyone deserves at some point in life. I realized how important Jeff was to me and that I could not and would not live without him. I appreciated how important my family and some of my friends were to me. I valued the experience of living in a location that had a different set of values and laws. I accepted the desert rat that I am and desperately missed the smell of the desert after rain, the burst of color in a sunset, and the buzz of cicadas.

While living in Brighton I also took the opportunity to travel around England, and to Dublin and Paris. Each new place taught me more than I ever thought possible. I began to realize the intelligence and power that others had praised me for, and as any good member of Generation Y (or am I X?) I chose to pierce my nose as a statement to no one but myself that I had taken every single step of this journey by myself. How many people can say that they have truly overcome or done something alone?

I returned to the States knowing that I would not seek a teaching post overseas. Not because I did not value my time abroad, but because I learned to value my life and experiences no matter where I went. I choose to stay in Mesa and raise my son here because I do not think it necessarily matters where you live that shapes a person, but the experiences that you seek. If Bradley is like some of my friends and students who are disgruntled with their geography, I hope he is motivated enough to explore his world. It is a very big place, filled with wonderful people and incredible opportunities. I hope that one day he decides to go out and face the world. I can’t wait to meet the person he will become after doing so.

I did not take these pictures.

Tucson still sucks

I'm sorry for those of you who like Tucson, but I've never understood the attraction. Everything is so dusty and dirty--basically the things that I don't like about the desert. Some people in the southwest really get in to it with the cacti, dried cow skulls, etc as decor. I hate that crap...unless it is out in the actual desert where it should be. That kind of decor is all over Tucson.

Anywho, on Thursday I went with student council to the state convention in Tucson. It was the first time I had been away from B more than 12 hours at a time and that part suuuucked. Here are some pictures of the insane costumes we wore. Don't ever accuse me of not being a fun teacher. Note- I am not in the first picture, but I was dressed something like that (sans tights). Also note- Hannah, your undying friendship is mine as I did not post your picture driving the bus looking like a clown.

You can't see it, but I have a black tutu on. Jealous?

Matsuri 2009

Around my birthday, Arizona has its Matsuri festival (which is actually Japanese for festival, so a bit redundant...). There is lots of good food, taiko drums, dancing, crafts, stuff to buy, and lots of weird anime kids who think all Japan has to offer are cool cartoons.


Loves it. Such a fun way to celebrate my birthday. B was able to wear his hapi coat from last year and we got him a new one for next year. I got a another Matsuri poster for my wall. And Jeff got his favorite cookies.

B had a fun time eating this and that. One of his favorite things was the cake my dad got. I pointed out it wasn't very Japanese and he said, "Of course it is, they call it 'stlawbelly sholt cake.'" I called him a racist.