Lion and Magic Boy

I haven’t whined much lately so I guess I am due for some. It’s a full moon and I don’t feel like writing and I am tired of searching for WordPress themes (long story) and I should probably just have a drink or something but a bath sounds much much better.

Today was the day all the children got caught up on their immunizations. I wrote about this a little over at Strollerderby, but you should know that Eric is almost four and until today had never received a vaccination of any kind. By the time he was born I was convinced that there was something seriously wrong with some vaccines, and subjecting this tiny frail little person to them seemed wrong. So I hid my head in the sand and did nothing. Frankly, the information out there about vaccinations is difficult to wade through because as I see it, there are biases wherever you look.

However, the idea of social responsibility got to me, and combining that with the fact that the children are going to public school this year and as a result I can no longer claim a “religious-wink-wink” exemption (although I’m an ordained minister – really!) for immunizations, I figured to climb one more rung up the letting-go ladder and just have them vaccinated.

The whole shebang. What the hell. If the kids die from the vaccinations, then I’ll be convinced that immunizations really do contain mercury and formaldehyde and animal organs and human tissue and I can blog about it, and if they don’t die they can just get on the bus next Tuesday with the other kids.

But first we had to know what shots Nathaniel and Serena had received so to know what they still needed, since they both had received some but not all of what is recommended. I enlisted the aid of The Ex to place phone calls (since I avoid the phone like the plague; ironic that there’s no vaccination for that) and obtain medical records. He made calls but got no records, suggesting that perhaps I would be more persuasive. The hell. And I found out yesterday that the county’s free immunization service operates TODAY ONLY, and not again until after school starts, so if they wanted to get on that bus next week it had to be today or not at all. Except, I had none of their medical records, being a rather disorganized sort of person and having moved twice in the past two years.

So we packed snacks into the car for a multi-hour foray involving multiple stops to obtain the records that we needed before eventually showing up at the clinic. I called ahead at stop #1 and they told me that they could not release the records so I slowed my speech way down like I was talking to someone with a fair bit of brain damage and also got the high-pitched whine that causes dogs to cringe out of my voice and pretty soon she told me they could just make a copy of the part I needed (because I didn’t care about the rest of the records) and I told her we’d be there in five minutes; could they be ready then because we had other things to do? There was a lengthy pause and she said she’d do her best so when we got there I was prepared to camp there with three kids in the waiting room and make them so uncomfortable they’d do anything to get us out of there, but when we got there she had the paper waiting.

For the next stop we had to drive through farmland full of peaches and cross a bridge and the river under it. It was a shock to see one of Nathaniel’s 5th grade classmates in the waiting room of this second doctor. I felt obligated to tell them that we weren’t coming back to the Waldorf school this year, but the mom must have missed the word “unofficial” in my explanation, since she proceeded to head straight for the school later and inform Nathaniel’s teacher, much to her great surprise and shock. (Waldorf teachers become quite close to the kids; the idea is to spend 8 years with one class of children, and even after a year it tends to feel like family as opposed to a regular parent-teacher relationship) So we sat uncomfortably in the waiting room for several minutes after the helpful desk teenager told me that they couldn’t release anything today. However I fixed her with my Psychic Evil Eye and they called my name not long afterward and handed me what I needed.

Then we crossed another bridge (same river) and then recrossed it after consulting a map, drove awhile and crossed again and went pretty much straight to our destination even though I don’t know where anything is in this effing state (who ever thought of orienting an entire county to a river! Had not these people heard of a compass?) and haven’t got my bearings yet even after being here 12 years.

So we waited a long time in a sparse waiting room filled with the type of people you’d expect to find in an immunization clinic, people that prompted a question from Nathaniel on the way home that resulted in an impromptu discussion about poverty and the American healthcare and medical insurance system, all of which Nathaniel thinks is terribly unfair.

But we were there well over an hour and Eric’s patience slowly drained out of him and by the time we got in the little room with the nurse and all the needles he was beyond behaving in any normal sort of way, and the little guy got three huge shots with a combined seven doses of all sorts of stuff, and his shock at being duped like that, taken to a little room with a scale and a cabinet and a sink and a trash can, and then HELD DOWN AND HURT NOT ONCE BUT THREE THREE THREE TIMES, was more injustice than he could take.

And doing all of that, holding everyone together (Serena, Queen of Pain, did remarkably well and uttered not a sound during her own ordeal) has exhausted me. And I’m tired. And I wept when we got home and I had a few minutes alone. And I don’t even know why.

[tags]immunizations, vaccinations, public health, ouch[/tags]

Oops. Apparently I’ve left a few things hanging here. Stones left unturned. Or maybe partially turned, I don’t know, because the metaphor doesn’t seem to be working.

At any rate, my apologies to those of you who have been hanging on my every word, not for the actual act of course of hanging on my every word, which is the thing I adore about you the most, but mostly for the fact that I have neglected to close parentheses, to close comments, uh, I mean to bring certain open-ended situations to a close.

Something like that. Yeah.

Anyway. Let’s go back to Vancouver, shall we? No wait, let’s go even farther back to the day when I suddenly had to squint because someone stole the sunglasses right out of my pocket I may have inadvertantly dropped my sunglasses while grocery shopping. Remember that? Well, then fast forward to Vancouver, where I did the exact same thing. Same thing. This after having dropped more than $100 on a replacement. Matthew pointed out that in Vancouver people don’t need sunglasses because it’s just not that bright there, and while I could agree about that I don’t actually live in Vancouver, plus I was still miffed that some Chinese-grocery-store-shopper-person was now enjoying my sunglasses.

I have a new pair now. The other ones were kind of big, anyway. These are much, much better, and I have had them actually welded to my face so I can never never lose them. Ever. Nope. Its a little hard to sleep that way but it’s worth it knowing I will NEVER LOSE THESE.

I was in the grocery store today, was actually in two of them because the kids were coming back today from being at House of Ex for a few days and I figured they’d like something else to eat besides air, which is what I’ve been eating all week. I did two things of especial note and unprecedentd grace in the grocery store:

1. The cheese guy kind of smiled at me so I thought I’d be all cool and all and drag the shopping cart casually behind me when I left the deli counter in case anyone was looking, which was great until I caused a sucking chest wound by ramming the cart into my ankle (don’t ask me how that can cause a sucking chest wound, it just can). And now there is quite the bruise/gash on my ankle. And I may have said the word “fuck”. In the store. Out loud.

2. When I was exiting the store, only limping slightly, there was an extreeeeemlyyy slooooooooww old guy in front of me. Way slow. I became one with the snails for several minutes and tried not to follow too closely. But I rear-ended him anyway, having looked down just for a second, failing to notice that he had braked suddenly for someone else. I’m not sure he was even aware I had hit him, though, because although I apologized profusely from behind him he never turned around, not even to turn me to stone with a withering glance.

OK. Moving on.

Remember my trip to Colorado week before last? Just beforehand, I was worried about the, uh, output of my ass-cork cat. I know this has been keeping you awake at night, so I want to report that evidently he had no problems in my absence.

Whew! Sigh of relief, I know. And you can go get some sleep now. You’re welcome.

And the Wild Hot Tub Orgy in Colorado? Was pretty tame. Sorry. Though I did come out from changing my clothes, clad in my bathing suit and ready to disappear into the hot tub, when someone spotted me and said, “YOU’RE SKINNY!”

Wow, totally made my day. I said something semi-deprecating, and then he said, “NO REALLY, HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH, A HUNDRED?”

“Um, not quite,” smiling a little, feeling like this was getting weird. Or was he joking?

“NO, I MEAN IT, HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?”

I told him. I didn’t have any choice; he was going to keep on until I did.
“REALLY, I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT! YOU’RE SKINNY!”

Dude. You’ve seen me in clothes. Did you think I’d look all that different from that? But dude. I heart you! Can I take you home with me and will you live next to my mirror that’d be just swell thanks.

The trip to Colorado itself was wonderful. Wonderful in a very different way than the previous trip, to Vancouver. Intense, though. And we got quite a bit accomplished. Writing a book, yay! And I got a nice little sunburn (I had forgotten about the sun at 9000 feet.) And, well, that’s another post. But with photos!

Yes! This time tomorrow, I HAD BETTER BE ON A PLANE, and of course I have a gaziliion things to do between now and then, which is why I am wasting precious time blogging them.

1. Remember the ass-cork cat? Well, in honor of the cats’ birthday last Sunday, we decided to get them the food that my hair guy Russell recommended because it’s what HIS cats eat without throwing up. We have this bond, Russell and I, that goes back years now. He entertains me a couple of times a year with tales of his various cats and his trips to Paris while he does stuff to my hair that renders it remarkably like it looked when I walked in. I love Russell.

But the cat. Apparently I can donate the rest of that food to Russell’s cats because mine mews pitifully when he goes to the cat litter box which means his little insides don’t feel good which explains the yuckiness he leaves there and the drips he left on Eric’s brand new bed, thank you. So we’re switching back to the other food. Immediately.

But of course I worry about my kitties in my absence, even though they will be taken care of. But that’s what worries me: it’s bad enough to ask someone to scoop your cat’s shit on a daily basis while you cavort about on vacation, but is it appropriate to ask someone to scoop cat shit that is excessively yucky? Extra yucky? Do you pay this person extra? What if it’s a family member and you’re not paying them at all? Is there some extra obligation incurred here? And what is appropriate recompense?

2. Packing. Naturally I have not begun this, though have thought about it. I am very good at packing and could actually pack for six days in about 15 minutes. So why not leave this until tonight?

NOTE TO SELF: DO NOT FORGET CORDS. CORDS TO IPOD, LAPTOP, CAMERA, ETC. CHARGE IPOD.

ALSO: Glasses, in case you wish to see without contacts. Except Matthew has not seen you in glasses yet. Okay, strike the glasses.

3. Check in for flight. I could do this right here right now but my lazy self still has not hooked up the Airport Extreme that sits on the dining room floor still in its glossy white shrink-wrapped box, taunting me, so I still cannot print from the laptop, though if you want all my passwords and stuff you can come and hang out near my house and get them wirelessly, okay?

4. WORK!! I was going to post ahead for Strollerderby to cover the days I will be internetless, which as far as I know is ALL OF THEM, but something inside me last night decided I should watch “Bride and Prejudice” instead.

However I am channeling by telephone for someone this afternoon which should prove interesting, because I no longer have phone service. Yep, my VOiP company went belly-up, and the new VOiP company couldn’t handle the influx, apparently. Though I just spotted Mr. FedEx truck outside which means my new phone router is here. That won’t help me, though, since they still haven’t assigned me an actual phone number.

However! Skype! And supposedly I can record the session right from Skype (note to self: scoop cat box before session begins, as being tied to the computer that’s six feet from it via headphones will be memorable but less enjoyable if you forget this), though do you think I should test it beforehand? I mean, before five minutes beforehand? You do? Killjoy.

[While I wrote this, Mr. FedEx guy disappeared without leaving me anything but just came back and knocked loudly at the door, getting the cats' attention, so I think I have a package! Yay!]

[Question: when I go out to get the package, should I bring in the big blue trash container that's been sitting out at the curb for two days? Or forget all about it and just leave it there another week? Which? And, OH!! (note to self) Don't forget to unlock the door when you go out! I live in mortal fear of locking myself out of the house, because NO ONE has a key. Well, my daughter Jess has a key, but if I'm locked out I can't call her because I won't have the cell phone and I don't have her number memorized and what does it say about me that I can't remember the phone number of someone who has had it for something like three years? Someone who's related to me? By blood?]

5. Um, errand stuff! I forget now what I actually have to do here. Let’s see…pay attorney something…check. Get a mailing tube to pack the picture I made (because I am a Real Artist according to Serena) for Matthew’s birthday but wasn’t inspired enough to make it ahead of time so now I am going to bring it with me and I would post a photo of it here but it’s still sort of a surprise although he knows about it, but I will post it for you eventually…check. Cat litter? Yes…check. Lots. Buy another bathing suit because I have decided against the one I bought a few weeks ago when I bought the hot SIZE ZERO dress for BlogHer that I didn’t wear because I didn’t go but there was the bathing suit and in the total excited rush of buying a SIZE ZERO dress I decided I could actually be seen in public in a bikini after having had four kids but now I have reconsidered and decided that no, the public is NOT READY TO SEE ME IN A BIKINI AFTER ALL…um, no. No time, unfortunately, sadly. Will have to consume enough wine to make the bikini work after all if we decide to stay for the Group Hot Tub event (that sounds rather kinky but I can assure you it won’t be, at least, if it is, I’M LEAVING IMMEDIATELY).

6. Bike ride, because this is my last chance for at least a week, even though it is ninety-eight zillion degrees outside and effing humid, so much so that yesterday when I went out I could feel how wet my socks were inside my shoes which made my feet slip a little, rather distracting, and my Hot Cycling Gloves were indeed, hot.

So what are you still doing here?? Don’t you know I have things to do?? Shoo! Go home!

[tags]packing, travel, VOiP, Sunrocket sucks, hot tubs, Skype[/tags]

Juggernaut: A massive inexorable force that seems to crush everything in its way.

1638, “huge wagon bearing an image of the god Krishna,” especially that at the town of Puri, drawn annually in procession in which (apocryphally) devotees allowed themselves to be crushed under its wheels in sacrifice.

Yeah, well in this case, the “massive inexorable force” is the incredible sucking airport-inertia that is created when you have a combination of Standby Travel and Canceled Flights. Which equals BlogHer Not.

And I have been crushed under its wheels in sacrifice.

Everything was going so smoothly this morning as I packed and got ready to go, which should have been a tipoff. Alerted last night that I’d have to wear something suitable for potential first-class travel (first! class! which I’ve only ever flown once in a long history of involvement with the airline industry, because I was always the one in the back with all the children and was trained to just be Grateful To Be On The Plane At All), which meant no jeans! No yoga pants! What else do I have??

I made a nice outfit of a short black linen skirt from 1997 and a linen jacket from 2001. With bare legs in white and black-and-blue. Pretty! And new black sandals with heels bought to wear tomorrow night, which I won’t be doing. And that were thankfully and surprisingly comfortable.

Can I say a word about shoes here?

I’m, evidently, not a Shoe Girl. In the winter I wear a pair of shoes I bought in about 2001. And a pair of Ugg’s bought to wear in arctic Finland in 2002. In summer, sandals from about 2004, and now, Crocs. Heels disappeared when the job-need for them did too, though I bought a pair last year for court appearances. I like shoes but they’re just not a priority. It’s all about comfort and whatever works.

So shopping for shoes to go with the dresses I won’t be wearing this week was weird. Who knew there were SO many choices? Each very similar to the next? How does one choose?

After trying on about six different pairs, I chose comfort over sparkly. Probably a good choice, but it would have been nice to have sparkly for once. When I was a kid and pored over the annual Sears Catalog I used to look at all the fancy ruffly dresses, wishing I could have one. But my dresses were always plaid. Or navy. So my current simple choices in clothes aren’t a huge surprise. But sparkly would have been nice.

The weird thing was the shoe size itself. I measure a 7.5, always have. I used to wear a 7.5. But in my search for comfort, my shoe sizes have crept up a bit. I wear probably an 8.5 in my day-to-day shoes. In a running shoe, an astounding 9.5. Ooh! Skis! But in the heeled sandals? Every pair I tried? 7.5. And the expert shoe lady, wearing a pair of flip-flops with her suit from Forever 21, so you KNOW she knows about shoes and comfort and fit and all, swore up and down that I’m a 7.5 and that they fit me better. And you know, they did.

So, there I am in my nice outfit and the shoes and all, having packed my liquids into tiny wee bottles in a clear plastic zip bag, lugging my laptop and my camera and all my cords and paraphernalia, going through security, taking off the shoes and putting them on, and then I get to the gate. Where there is a line of about 20 people waiting to talk to an agent.

I dutifully get in line and wait, because I don’t have a actual seat assignment yet. This is the beauty of non-revenue standby travel: flexibility! surprises! You never know where you’re going, or if!

So I stand in line maybe 15-20 minutes, and then I notice that the flight being displayed at the gate is not my flight. Oops. I could be in the wrong place. Damn. I get out of line and go to the other gates operated by that airline. Can’t find my flight. I look at the monitor: CANCELED.

Great. And the next flight going to Chicago is at the gate with the line. That I left my place in. That has tripled since then.

I get back in line.

After an hour, during which time I have advanced in the line perhaps a total of 8 feet toward the podium, I get out my laptop and balance it on the handle of my bag and check my emails. The other people in line probably wondered at my private chuckling to some of the comments left here, and the email exchange made by the people I am not meeting and not having drinks with right now.

Toward the end of the second hour, they decided to board the flight. People in line were freaking out; one Young Earnest Entitled Couple behind me in line was apparently from my canceled flight and still didn’t have seat assignments, yet someone somewhere promised them that they were “confirmed” and their bags were on the plane. Other people were making phone calls to make alternative arrangements.

The flight continued to board. The gate agent had already announced that it was full, so I knew I had little chance to getting on it, but I at least wanted to know where I stood, what my chances were of getting to Chicago today. So I continued to wait.

Young Earnest Entitled Couple got quite anxious when they started calling “final boarding” for the flight. The gate agent was sweating, typing furiously and printing out yards of paper and then counting things. Second Gate Agent tried to look busy but he clearly was doing absolutely nothing.

People started swarming the podium, bypassing the line protocol. Young Earnest Entitled Couple had words with one man and shamed him into subservience behind them. Five minutes later they were standing in front of me, shouting at the gate agent.

People don’t understand the power of the gate agent. The gate agent is god. The gate agent decides whether you get on a plane or not, it doesn’t matter if you have a TICKET, you insect, because if Gate Agent doesn’t like you, YOU DON’T FLY.

I kind of wanted to see Gate Agent take his anxious wrath out on Young Earnest Entitled Couple, but he didn’t, and they walked down the jet bridge and didn’t return, so either Gate Agent threw them out the door onto the tarmac or they got on the plane.

After they closed the door, which means No One Else Is Getting On This Plane No Matter What, I was finally at the head of the line. At which time Gate Agent looked up in no particular direction and announced testily that he was done. No more. Go somewhere else.

So I sat down with my laptop and something to eat and pondered my possibilities. There was I think one more, maybe two more flights left and they were both full.

And so I decided to go home. Waiting another 3 hours to not get on a flight didn’t sound like fun, and all of a sudden I was very, very tired.

On the bright side: Wi-fi in the airport! And an $8 sandwich!

But being crushed under the wheels of Krishna’s cart has given me quite a headache.

[tags] BlogHer, airports, standby travel, travel[/tags]

Yeah. Well. Can I just say? Try to avoid being in courtrooms.

Actually, most of my day was spent in a waiting room, hoping my name would be called so we could go explain to a judge, a complete and total stranger, the issues that caused me to have to go and explain them. Yeah. Sorry to be so unspecific, but I’m going to have to leave it at that. But I did used to think how unlikely it would be that I’d spend any appreciable time in a courtroom. I’ve proved that one wrong, I guess. Who knew? Being naturally anti-litigious, this still boggles my mind somewhat.

And the experience has sucked most of my brain cells away today.

Some observations:

1. Hey, court people? Could you either clean your wipeable-looking wallpaper or have it replaced? Because it’s nowhere near its original color.

2. Most people who find themselves in family court don’t wear suits. Therefore it’s easy to tell which are the attorneys. Like people wouldn’t know anyway.

3. Conversations are amazingly easy to overhear.

4. When the sign reads, “Turn off cell phones,” they don’t mean it.

5. Neither does the sign, “No standing or waiting in this area” have any meaning.

6. Although practically everyone in family court has kids, the court is not interested in your bringing them there. One Tom Hulce lookalike was apparently unaware of this, but he and his two small boys provided quite a bit of entertainment. Here was a dad who clearly enjoyed being with his kids, and I loved watching them. They even touched the heart of the very butch woman in the sweatshirt with cutoff sleeves, with fabulous hair and a huge butterfly tattoo on her calf, as she found them some books to read somewhere and even cracked a smile when she handed them over.

The children were all quite tired when I got home and everyone went to bed early. Which is what I am going to do now.

WARNING: If you’re bored by talk of cycling, skip on ahead. But these random thoughts keep regaling me with their uproarious tales every time I ride, so unless I download them somewhere they will continue to haunt me.

1. I have a new enemy: The Wind. Either Evil or Blessed depending on what direction I am going, The Wind has caused me some agony and joy. Mostly the former it seems, so it must be changing direction. Hate. Wind.

2. Indecisive cat at the bottom of what should be the Flying Hill of Joy That Comes before The Painful Uphill That’s Almost At The End Of My Ride When My Legs Are Shot. Causes much sudden braking and tooth-gnashing.

3. Geese are smarter than cats, either that or the Lead Goose in charge of the entire village’s brood (much grown, now) and responsible for Safe Crossing of Roads must know a thing or two about bicycles, and wisely avoided much featherous tragedy by keeping everyone to the side until the Great Wheeled God had passed.

4. Weird tan: arms (but only down to the wrist, from gloves); shoulders but only in back; and the tops of thighs only. Attractive!

5. If a fattish kid also on a bike does the head-nod thing to you and you nod back, being the polite cyclist that you are, it may cause you to notice that you’ve forgotten to don your helmet, noticing as you now do the feel of the wind in your hair. Nervousness about cars and really really hard asphalt and what happened to this guy (clearly there are genetic connections, although you don’t pretend to be able to do much of anything he does—100 miles? At one time? HA!—despite having worshipped him for years in a younger-sisterly sort of way) causes you to turn back although you’ve only been out ten minutes.

END OF BIKESTUFF

1. Eric looks remarkably grown up now in a polo short and khakis, especially when he is emptying the pantry in search of something to eat.

2. It’s interesting how fast a cat will run and for how long when it’s gotten its back legs entangled in a plastic grocery bag. (WHY IS THAT DAMN THING FOLLOWING ME???) I estimate a good 40 mph, which went on for a good ten minutes before I could catch up with him and remove the bag. No lasting damage to the cat, but the bag, sadly, was beyond repair. This may curb his penchant for crawling into bags.
[tags]cycling, biking, stupid wind, funny cat stories[/tags]

One of today’s many many highlights was a trip to the grocery store! Land of fluorescent lights and preservative-laden consumables!

But first, I washed my car! Yes, I figured that after owning it since last September, perhaps it was time for its first bath (it’s raining now, how appropriately ironic). The three extra quarters for the extra time I was sure to need for the do-it-yourself spray-thing wash were secured carefully in my pocket as I started. Hey, this car’s a lot bigger than my old one! I’m going to need those quarters for more time to rinse off all this pink soap!

Somehow, though, two quarters magically vanished, so part of the car is still a little pink. But hey, the rain will wash it off, right? So I’m covered.

On to the store. Since I was alone, I brought my tunes to complement in a solitary fashion my experience navigating wide aisles filled with people and carts laden with stuff. In other words, store people? I don’t want to interact with you just now, thank you!

So I grab organic strawberries and onions and milk and eggs and all the things that will sustain us (like we were already starving. right.) over the next week or so. I create a serpentine path through the overly air-conditioned aisles, wending my way through zones of disinterest to the sections I want to be in.

Finally it’s time to pay and I almost make a suggestion to the cashier that she take a little training in customer service; eye contact, a greeting, and some words of politeness would go a long way but instead I inwardly roll my eyes and reach back to my pocket to grab my sunglasses on the way out.

They’re not there.

Could they still be in the car? No, they could not. I remember taking them off when I got inside, but I still go out and check.

I retrace my steps, hoping to find they have dropped on the floor somehow. Nothing.

I ask at the customer service desk, and even rifle through the lost and found bag which contains someone’s car keys, a couple of wallets (don’t these people miss this stuff?) several pairs of sunglasses that aren’t mine, and a single small shoe about Eric’s size. I can guess how that got there.

One of four things has happened:

1. The sunglasses dropped and I missed finding them. They will be found next month when they get around to cleaning the floor.

2. They dropped and someone found them. They haven’t yet brought them to customer service but they will, and I will be contacted for a joyous reunion with my eyewear.

3. They dropped and someone found them. Someone lacking scruples who will keep them.

4. Someone took them from my pocket when I was engrossed in steadfastedly ignoring my surroundings.

Bah.

When we first visited Colorado before moving there, we noticed these unusual shoes that everyone in Boulder seemed to be wearing. Colorful, fun clogs that looked comfortable and cool in the summer heat. When we unexpectedly moved to Colorado two months later (I can make things happen like THAT if I want to!), the first thing the children wanted, the thing that made them feel a part of this new place, was a pair of Crocs.

Serena’s were purple; Nathaniel’s blue. I didn’t get any. Clown shoes, are you nuts? Color? In shoes? Nah. Not me. Plus, I didn’t want to look like we were a Matching Family. You know who I mean, with the matching Christmas sweatshirts? No. I am waaay too cool for that.

The Crocs fit them a second summer, too, and into last fall, but it was clear they’d be way too small for a third year. This weekend, it was time to re-Croc everyone, so we took a trip to The Mall.

If I make a trip to The Mall once a year, it’s too often. That’s why internet shopping was invented! People shouldn’t have to go to malls. Ever.

Still, we went. And I promised them each a smoothie when we were there. And lunch. So off we went to the upscale “cafe” (read: food court).

Me: What do you want?
Serena: I have to look at everything possible and then decide. The process will take at least twenty minutes while we mill around aimlessly through the crowds with the result being that I will never make an actual decision and you will have to decide for me.
Nathaniel: Orange chicken.
Me: Serena, here’s a place. They have sandwiches and soup and fruit and wraps, what do you want?
Serena: A sandwich! Lettuce and tomato and mayonnaise!
Me: They don’t have that.
Me: Nathaniel, what do you want?
Nathaniel: Orange chicken.

We move along.

Me: Here’s pizza, do you want pizza?
Nathaniel: I want orange chicken.
Serena: Pizza!
Me: It’s a huge pizza, that big (pointing to a pizza the size of Cleveland). You can’t eat all that and the line to order is seven miles long. How about a sandwich? See that one? it has eggplant and red peppers and zucchini, does that sound good?
Serena: No. Pizza.
Me: You can’t get pizza.
Me: Nathaniel, see anything you want?
Nathaniel: I want orange chicken.
Eric: (making getting-testy noises)

Me: Serena, Nathaniel wants orange chicken, do you want Chinese too?
Serena: No!
Me: Let’s just look and see what they have.
Nathaniel: I want orange chicken!
Me: They have sesame chicken, teriyaki chicken, sweet and sour chicken, chickenwithmushrooms. No orange chicken.
Nathaniel: No orange chicken?
Me: No. No orange chicken.
Nahaniel: Okay, sesame chicken.
Me: Can I give you money and you can buy it while I get something for Serena and Eric?
Nathaniel: No.

Eric: Food! Now!
Me: Serena? Sure you don’t want Chinese?
Serena: I’ll just have a pretzel. And a smoothie.

We go to the smoothie place and buy $20 worth of fruit in various guises and a pretzel. Eric wants his own straw.

Finally, we are all seated and eating. Eric is NOT a baby anymore and sits in a regular chair and has Nathaniel’s rice and some fruit which I have to spear on to a fork for him and then hand him the fork. Serena gnaws on a pretzel and eats some of Eric’s fruit. Nathaniel is silent, consuming mass quantities of sesame chicken.

We locate the Crocs kiosk, which is milling with people. It’s impossible to tell which, if any, work there. Finally a guy steps up and offers a pair of Crocs to Serena to try on. He doesn’t actually speak, just silently offers the shoes. They don’t fit. Nathaniel is on the other side of the kiosk, seeing what’s there.

Apparently Croc Guy is a mime. Or mute. Either way, he doesn’t speak, just appears to eavesdrop on our conversation and then hand over the appropriate colors/sizes. Pretty soon Serena is wearing a pair of light blue Crocs and Eric has on a pair of lime green ones, at his repeated request. I have rescued him from wandering over to a nearby farm of toddler riding vehicles, the kind that take 2 quarters and vibrate uselessly for two minutes. Back in his stroller, Eric proceeds to drop his new Crocs onto the floor, insisting that they never touch his feet again, and preferably be completely removed from his sight. Naturally, this occurred after Mime Guy removed the tags.

When we found Nathaniel, he had on a pair the size of small boats that were turquoise and yellow. Turquoise I could handle. Or even yellow. But not both. He tried on some other colors. He really wants plain turquoise but they don’t seem to have them.

Mime Guy: I have those upstairs.
Me: You speak?
Mime Guy: (shrug)

Nathaniel’s by the way, are a size larger than the ones that fit me. He’s 11. I’m just pointing that out. I’m a relatively tall woman, and the top of his head comes to the middle of my forehead. He’ll probably grow another foot or so before he’s done.

I toyed with the idea of getting some Crocs for myself.

Me: Serena, what color should I get? Which color says, “Me!”
Serena: How about these? (They are beige. She hands me beige. There are forty other colors hanging there and she thinks beige is me. I vow to get even.)
Mime Guy: (snicker)

Nathaniel wants me to get some blood-red ones, but they aren’t my size, oh darn. Neither are the orange ones. Or any of the other heinous colors there. I settle on mud-brown. At least it’s not beige.

You know how I know this? Because I am now coughing out gazillions of tiny bits of grass after having breathed them in for the past hour. Yay!

Yes indeed, it was time for another bike ride.

Actually, there have been several since the last one, but none were all that noteworthy. Not that today’s was either, except that I am pretty sure I will require oxygen because of it.

So seriously, why must everyone have their grass cut on Tuesdays around here? (And why does everyone here seem to hire people for this? No one can wield a mower themselves anymore?) I awoke this morning being thankful that the grass people here where I live didn’t start at 7 am like they usually do.

But on the bike out in the country, and by “country” I mean a quick and painful 5-minute ride from my door, where suddenly there are horses and geese and silos and hay and grass. Lots of grass. All being mowed. Today.

Cough.

So my ride today turned out much longer than I intended. I turned around looking at an enormous hill stretching up into the clouds in front of me, turned around because I was already tired and I was afraid of that hill, the hill that was there stretching up into infinity and laughing at me, laughing at my paltry winter legs on my frail tiny bike, a hill miles long and miles high.

So I turned around and got to go down the foothill of that enormous hill, which felt very very good until I remembered the hills I had previously been enjoying going down, which apparently I was now going to have to go up.

Ding ding ding ding! Smart, I am.

Hate. Hills.

It dawned on me that I could turn around again, but then I would want to turn around yet again the next time there was a hill and eventually I would end up stuck forever at the bottom right in between two enormous hills, too tired to go up any longer but instead doomed to keep riding back and forth, back and forth, at the bottom.

So I slogged through the hills and hoped to meet the hopelessly slow Bike Riding Couple that I had passed earlier while riding down the hill they were riding up, fantasizing that if I turned around just then I’d be riding slightly faster and slightly less awkwardly than they were.

Instead, I found myself flying, first soaring with the beautiful guitars in this song, and then doubly energized by the empowerment of the lyrics which I seemed to be really hearing for the first time and are quite appropos to certain elements of my life just now.

So things end, and so they begin.

Yesterday I found myself at [cough] Large Chain Discount Store, buying a sleeping bag and other camping-type essentials for Nathaniel’s upcoming class trip to the wilds of Ohio. A necessary evil, I thought. Had there been an REI in the vicinity, I would have gone there instead, even knowing that prices at [cough] Large Chain Discount Store are probably lower. I hear they’ve just lowered prices!

After I took a slight detour into Electronics and located a replacement headset for the one with the cat-chewed cord, in case my two thus far unsuccessful splicing attempts never turn into a third, or fourth, or ever a successful attempt (or if I run out of cord, as it keeps growing shorter and shorter with each attempt), I found myself in another detour, looking at stainless-steel travel cups for coffee.

Mmm, I really want one of these, I thought. I salivated slightly at the thought of plastic-free Driving Coffee. I have a travel cup and have had it for years, but the interior is plastic. Not that I’m completely morally opposed to plastic, after all it houses my iPod and other useful accoutrements, but touch my food? Or anything I might want to ingest? No. Bleh.

But this one was stainless steel on the inside, too. I wrestled with the moral dilemma of buying anything more than absolutely necessary at [cough] Large Chain Discount Store. But stainless steel! The siren call was alluring.

I can always get one later, I decided. I don’t need it now. Who knows when I will need one? I never drive anywhere while wanting coffee anymore. I will conserve resources and save my $6, and feel morally superior while doing so. Yay! I’m morally superior!

This morning I unexpectedly found myself upright and functioning at 6:30 so I could take Nathaniel from The House of Ex (still across the street! so handy!) to a classmate’s so they could drive together to yet-another field trip today (a Greek pentathalon competition with other area Waldorf schools; would love to have seen Nathaniel running and throwing javelins while wearing a toga but alas I could not attend).

Coffee was definitely in the equation. I needed coffee. I wanted coffee. Must. Have. Coffee. But there was no time to drink it at home. It had to go in the car with me.

In that plastic cup.