Equality Day

Today was Marriage Equality Day. I made Noah come with me and we drove down to Olympia for a rally sponsored by Equal Rights Washington. I was also hoping to meet with my legislators, but we got there a little late and so we didn’t get to do that part. But all in all, it was a good day – the sun was out, I got to spend some time with my teenager, and I felt good expressing my opinion about a cause that really matters to me.

I thought a lot about my friend/”uncle” Donald today. Way back when – gosh, like 20 or 21 years ago, he first exposed me to the world of homos. I remember him coming to visit us in Maryland because he was going to a display of the AIDS quilt and then going to a protest, I think with ACT UP. He and my mom talked about jello molds and he told us that he knew exactly what to bring the day of the protest in case he got arrested. We went to see him at the AIDS quilt, and that was really my first taste of social issues. I really couldn’t understand why people would be discriminated against because they were sick. I worked a couple of AIDS quilts after that. I remember one year, I had a panel in my section that had been covered up by the family of the person named. They were embarrassed and didn’t want people to know their son had been gay and died of AIDS. Sad. Donald has been gone almost 11 years now.

Years later, I still can’t wrap my head around the idea that in 2009, people are still discriminated against because of who they fall in love with or more specifically, what they do in the bedroom. Who cares? Would any of us want to be judged by the same token? I’m guessing no (if so, Bret Michaels is in a world of hurt). It’s so ridiculous. My neighbors down the street have been together as long as my husband and I have been. Is their relationship any less significant than mine, because I have the legal piece of paper and they don’t? No.

If I do nothing else as a parent, it will be to try and teach my kids that skin color doesn’t matter. Religious affiliation doesn’t matter. And sexual orientation doesn’t matter. Everyone deserves respect. We the people means ALL the people, doesn’t it? Our forefather didn’t say – “except those boys who kiss other boys. “

OK, soapbox put away now. :)

Here’s a funny Noah story. Just recently, he has discovered ‘80s music, and thinks it’s really cool. All of a sudden, I’m hip because I have Def Leppard CDs, and I’ve seen Depeche Mode in person and oh my god in heaven, I have a CD with “Jessie’s Girl” on it. We had to play said song all the way home from Olympia today, with Noah singing all the words he knows. This consists of sporadic phrases like “she’s lovin’ him with that body, I just know it” and “I want, I want Jessie’s girl.” Picture complete quiet, except for the song, and then Noah busting out those parts. Whoa.

The magical mathematical mystery

Probably much to the dismay of my dad (an electrical engineer), math has never been my strong suit. I’m not ashamed to admit that I need a calculator to figure out my age (okay, not really, but only because my current age ends in a zero). Usually math works against me - geometry gave me the only D I ever got in my entire high school career (I mean really – who needs to know what a parallelogram is anyway – do you ever see one in real life? When's the last time you had to calculate the linear term of an equation? I rest my case.) Or, like when I step on the scale – those are not friendly numbers.

But today, math gave me a gift. I found out that the distance I thought I was running was really almost double what I originally calculated!! That’s right homies – I thought one lap around my block was 1/8 of a mile, but turns out it’s almost ¼ of a mile! I don’t need a stinkin’ calculator to tell me that for the last four weeks, I’ve actually been walking/running TWICE what I originally thought! So when I was getting discouraged because all I could run consistently was that 1/8th of a mile, I was really running double that. No wonder my poor legs were like “hey bitch, pull over!” This puts me over my initial goal for the end of February and means that I can walk/run over half of the distance I need to do in the triathlon.

Now don’t get me wrong, I still need to work desperately on running a longer, consistent distance. But given that this is the most exercise I’ve done in a good ten years, I have to say, I’m proud of that number. And this comes at a good time. A couple days ago, I had my first serious crisis of faith. My legs just would not run. It’s like they decided to go on strike. I came in that night seriously defeated and I will admit, there were some tears. I had some doubts about whether or not I could do this. But I regrouped. I may be lots of things, but I am not a quitter!

The next night, I went back out. Lucky for me, we were having a windstorm which meant that every time I tried to run down my side of the street, I was blown backwards. The last thing I need is MORE resistance. I’ve got enough natural resistance right now. So I had to settle for running down one side of the street and walking up the other. It’s all good though.

Tonight, Mother Nature has dealt me a cruel joke in the form of daylight savings time. Unless I want to wait until 10:00 to run, I will have to start doing it without my security blanket of darkness. Oh well, I’ll strap on both bras (regular and ass - AKA compression shorts) and hit the road.

This week I also added swimming, and for the last two weeks I’ve been biking. When I get off the bike, I feel like I’ve been riding a horse. I would say my crotch hurts, but my friend Jesse has informed me that the correct terminology is to say my “saddle” hurts. Anyway you say it, it ain’t good. Thank god for padded bike shorts (worn underneath the workout pants). I'm really trying to earn a new, road bike - I have my eye on one that matches my bike helmet.

A side note – as I work on this, I’m listening to the Bret Michaels Rock of Love episode I missed from last week. I think I just heard the best line ever in any TV show in history – “I specifically asked you guys NOT to be slutty or whorry.” That’s awesome. I wonder who I can say that to this coming week. Too bad performance reviews are done at work – that would have been good peer feedback to give someone. AHAHAHAHA – I crack myself up.

But I digress.

Twin story of the week – the other day, Hannah decided to go through her stuffed animals. I asked her what she was doing and she said “Mama, I’m just looking at my toys. They remind me of olden days.” Maybe we'll send some of the discarded animals to cousin Pat and cousin Gabe.

And yes, I do have Noah stories too. I will share next time.

Compton, out!

For Wendie

OK, so my friend Wendie reminded me today that I need to update this blog. She actually said it in a way that did not include "you are wasting your time here" which is a step forward, so in her honor, here I am. I am even giving up watching Bret Michaels Rock of Love to do this, so Wendie, if you are reading, you should feel pretty special indeed.

I actually can't believe that 5 months have passed without this being updated. It unfortunately confirms one of my character flaws, which is to start something with good intentions only to see it fall by the wayside in the midst of all the other things that suck at my time.

And so with this update, I am committing to try and change this habit, and in more than one way.

Last week, I decided to do the Danskin tri-athlon in August.

Those of you who know me, or have just even seen me lately, are probably either laughing, or scratching your head in disbelief, or some combination of the above. Go ahead, because believe me, I've done the same thing.

In all seriousness, I need to do something. I am not the semi-svelte teenager I used to be. I can blame the extra weight on having kids (because truly, that's how it arrived) but I can only blame its ongoing existence on bad habits. And since I'm 40 now, and since no matter how many times I do an "I Dream of Jeannie" blink or wish upon a star, and go to bed hoping that in the morning, all the extra weight will mysteriously and miraculously melt away - none of that is going to happen.

Besides the fact that I am now committed to this event, there are several reasons why I need to lose this weight:

• when I run, things jiggle in the front AND the back. I don't think anyone actually makes an ass-bra, but there is probably a market for it.
• I work at a place where seriously 98% of the population is fit and trim. I'm talking people riding mini Tour de France races at lunchtime, a candy machine where the candy actually expires, and people jogging from building to building for meetings. I sorta stick out like a sore thumb.
• I want cuter clothes. Chubby girl clothes only get more hideous the older you get.
• I want to be proud to post my current picture on Facebook, and not hide behind a head shot or a picture of me at age 4. How come most of the girls from high school look exactly the same? At this point, I'd rather let them look me up in the old yearbook and remember fondly how cute I used to be and how I rocked the pegged jeans in the late '80s.

But honestly, besides the semi-funny reasons above, and the all too serious reasons (like for my health), I want my kids, especially my daughters, to see their mom set a goal and stick to it. I want them to see me cross that finish line, even if I have to drag myself across, crying my eyes out like a big ole baby. WHICH, is a high probability....I'm just sayin'.

Tonight started the Routine. The Routine is my plan of attack to be able to be in fighting shape by August. It's a combo of run/walk, biking and swimming, with set goals and milestones along the way.

The Routine will require that I purchase AND wear a bathing suit. In front of other people. More than once.

The Routine will require that I learn to run the entire time and not walk at all, which will mean I need to work through the shooting pain in my shins and try not to fall on my face.

The Routine means I actually have to get on the bike that up 'til now has just been a holder for my bike helmet.

The Routine will necessitate that I stop breathing through my mouth when I try to run.

The Routine is guaranteed to make me cranky, sore and exhausted. And will probably do the same to my poor family, who will have to live with me.

I started tonight by running/walking the block around my house. I do this under the cover of dark so none of my neighbors can see me run (see bullet point 1 above). Unfortunately my new neighbor did catch me, but was nice enough to cheer me on rather than comment on the sorry state of my less than graceful running. I love my new neighbor.

And who knows, maybe at the end of all this, I'll be able to fit into some kicky kitschy Carol Brady pantsuit. For Halloween of course, not to wear around the house (hee hee, well, not often around the house).

Wish me luck. I will need it.

Finally, for those of you who tune in here solely to read a funny kid story, I'll leave you with this:

This weekend, after being cooped up in our house for what feels like 6 months, we took a little day trip over to Bremerton. We brought along the twins' best friend and his brother, and all the kids had a great time, eating Belgian frites (look it up) and throwing rocks in the water. At one point, Hannah sits down cross legged (AKA Indian style, which is what we called it pre-politically correct) and assumes a yoga position, complete (replete?) with fingers positioned up in the air and eyes closed. She starts "oh"ming - you know, "ohmmmm" "ohmmmm," as all good yoga-ers do. When she realizes that the other kids are not participating, she stops, opens her eyes and says "GUYS! I'm doing my ohms right now, I really need you to be quiet. NOw, if you want to sit down and ohm with me, fine. But I need quiet."

And there you have it. I am now returning to the conclusion of Bret Michaels Rock of Love, so I can see which strip-testant is voted off this week.

Peace out!

Not really a sunshine day

And that’s literal – the famous (infamous) Seattle weather has reared its ugly head today – gray, dark, with a constant misting of rain, which honestly, is more annoying than straight up rain. Do I need the wipers on? Do I need a raincoat? And speaking of which, what is up with people who put their intermittent wipers on the fastest setting? Why not just turn the regular wipers on?

Ugh. As you can see, my mood today matches this gray foul weather.

It started yesterday when I reconnected with my sister in law on Facebook. Yes, I have a Facebook. I’m not ashamed! I found out through her that my brother in law is deploying to Iraq in a couple of weeks. The last time I saw my brother in law, he was six and didn’t want me to give him a kiss. Now he is 20, and going to IRAQ. Scary stuff. Up ‘til now, I didn’t know anyone in Iraq. Sure, the occasional cousin of a friend’s boyfriend or something, but no one in my actual extended family.

Then I find out that my dad, who is visiting my brother in Maryland, has had another “episode.” “Episode” is code for “Bob passes out for no explicable reason, necessitating a trip to the ER for a myriad of tests.” It may or may not be followed by a stay in said hospital. Luckily, last night, it did not include a stay in the hospital and the battery of tests found nothing super serious. My beloved father just does not drink enough water, a trait he has unfortunately passed down to me, but I digress. I don’t know why this bothered me so much yesterday – was it because he was so far away? Because I found out through my aunt’s blog? I don’t know. I got upset at my mom, which I feel really horrible about now, and made my brother promise me not to allow my parents to get back in the car and drive home to California today. There was a lot of crying and well, that just doesn’t help. Or does it? Jury’s out.

To top it all off, I get home to see that my son, who is being homeschooled this year, wasn’t feeling well enough to do schoolwork and go to drama auditions, but did somehow find the inner strength and fortitude to play computer games and check his Myspace page.

When it rains, it pours. And I’m not just saying that because I live in Seattle.

I guess my point is, as much as I would like to have a Brady Bunch life, it’s just not possible. The Bradys never had to deal with crap like this. Mrs. Brady never had more on her plate than kids fighting over who got to live in the attic or where to go on vacation. If things were really serious, it involved a swollen nose or Jan wearing a wig. Come on!

When it comes down to it, I’m not Carol Brady at all. I use swear words sometimes (OK, most times), I don’t have an Alice making my dinners, I work outside the home, I still haven’t lost my baby weight so there is really no hope in wearing a kicky pantsuit (at least not in the near future), the list goes on and on.

This test of faith - in a higher power, in my parenting skills, in my coping skills as a whole, has shaken me today. What to do? I don’t know. This one won’t be wrapped up neatly in 30 minutes, I guess.

But at least Bobby is feeling better and is out of the hospital. For that I am grateful. To my mom and brother, I’m sorry for my "episode" yesterday.

A very lovely lady indeed!

OK, post #2. Now I'll just say - writing this is weird. Partly because I know Jesse is reading it (hi Jesse!) and Wendie is reading it (hi Wendie!) but partly because I'm not entirely comfortable doing it yet. Maybe I can't really write that well, or maybe I'm not very entertaining. ??

Today I got my hair cut. It actually looks a little tiny bit like an updated Carol Brady flip. If only I had a sassy pantsuit to go with.....

Anyway...a trip to get my hair cut is not the easy task it sounds like it should be. It involves a lunchtime trek up to Seattle, then a swing by Dick's Drive in for lunch. Usually it's just my gay work husband George (who will likely become a fixture on this blog) and the aforementioned Wendie. Today we were joined by the fourth person in our group- Lori.

The trip is never boring. Inevitably we are running late, which means George drives like a bat outta hell to get us there. Wendie sits in the back seat with her hands over her face and every once in awhile reminds George to slow down. We weave in and out of traffic and then get to Seattle, which is an adventure as we careen down city streets, avoiding pedestrians, cars backing up and various construction workers. Finally we arrive, they kick me out of the car and go find a parking space.

Luckily, it only takes the lovely Liana about 10 minutes to cut my hair. It's truly amazing but I love it because I hate to get my hair cut. This time I got lucky because I avoided a lecture about the highlights my tipsy cousin gave me back in June. :) All in all, the haircut is good, although she cut my bangs a little short and the first pass at blowdrying made me look like an Emo kid gone wrong. All in all, it's good.

From there we headed to Dick's - an icon in Seattle. To me, it's just okay. I can take or leave it. But what's most entertaining is watching Wendie go to Dick's. It's like watching a person stranded in the desert finally get water. Or a dog get a bone. It's like her mother ship. Today she splurged on TWO Dick's Delites (I think that's what they are called - don't hurt me Wendie for not knowing for sure).

After Dick's we added a special stop to the trip - Trophy Cupcakes. This is what happens when no one's boss is at work. :) Trophy is a super cute little cupcake shop in Wallingford. George and I first went back in the spring and I've been dying to go back since. I hate to say it though - this time I wasn't floored like I was before. They were good, don't get me wrong, but I think mine might be better!

Arriving home after haircut day is always interesting. Half the time no one notices. Today I got a "Mom, your hair looks weird" from Hayley. I'm going to say she thinks it looks weird good and not weird weird. Yeah, let's go with that.

Tomorrow I'm doing the AIDS walk. Wish me luck!

PS - Hayley is mad that Hannah has a hurricane named after her. Damn that NOAA anyway! I had to promise her that before she's 10 there will be a hurricane named Hayley.

Who was busy with three kids of her own....

And away we go.....

I promise that I won't have a Brady Bunch reference in each post. Well, maybe I will - because you can pretty much relate everything in life back to the greatest show that ever was - The Brady Bunch.

This is my first blog post. I'm not sure how it's going to turn out. It might be funny, it might not. It's a little late, so it might just be a rambling mess. Who knows?!

I decided to start this blog for a couple of reasons:

1. My work friend Wendie tells me that I should be keeping a journal. She actually gave me a journal but I've only written in it once. (Sorry Wendie!) She tells me on a regular basis that I should be writing for Saturday Night Live, that I'm wasting my time at my job, etc. All good ego boosts - so in part, this blog is for Wendie. :)
2. If I don't start writing stuff down, I will forget it. I'm hurtling towards 40 and as loathe as I am to admit it, I'm getting old. I have to hold things out a little ways to see them. I have to write things down or I will forget to do them. I creak a little when I stand up.
3. I seem to run into an abnormal amount of weird people and weird situations. I guess I figure that someone somewhere might get a kick out of reading about them.
4. My auntie Judy just started a blog. If she can do it, I can do it.

So there you have it.

Tomorrow, my twins start 2nd grade. Marcia and Jan (not their real names - my husband said no) are heading back to class. They got these nicknames because last year Marcia (Hayley) got a "Terrific Kid" award. This upset Jan (Hannah) because she didn't get one at the same time. "Well, all day long at school I hear how great Marcia is at this or how wonderful Marcia did that! Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!" OK, so that's from the real Marcia and Jan and not my Marcia and Jan, but it still applies in this case. But seriously, 2nd grade. It seems like yesterday I was keeping them from cutting each others' hair and painting on the wall with Desitin, and now they are full fledged readers/writers and arithmeticers. (Yeah, it's not a word.)

If that weren't bad enough, in exactly 8 days my little boy turns THIRTEEN! An official teenager. How in the world am I old enough to have a teenager, when in my head I'm still 17 myself? He's taller than I am now....texts his friends on the cell phone, has a Facebook page and spends more time in the shower than I do.

Welcome to my mid-life crisis!