I Was Looking For Kids Discover Magazine On Amazon

and stumbled upon this--
Why would you do that to a child? If you look closely, the boy looks skeptical, the girl looks happy and the poor dog is looking up at the horsemen of the apocalypse in horror. What's it all mean?

My Pictures Keep Disappearing And This Is Taking Way Too Much Time So . . .

I'm just making a list. These are in no particular order and you can look them up on your own time if you want. I got rid of anyone who'd been attacked by mad scientist plastic surgeons.)

The Official Sexy Women Over 45 List

Susan Sarandon (Please look at this picture!)

Geena Davis (Very hard to find pictures of her with clothes on.)

Julianne Moore (Ditto)

Helen Mirren (She makes wrinkles totally sexy.)

Sigourney Weaver (If not bald and sweaty with a drooling alien next to her, she can be attractive.)

Joan Baez (No one wears wooden beads better.)

Sophia Loren (She will die sexy. I think she's done some collagen though.)

Sela Ward (She looks great esp. when not dressed in black leather doing Sprint commercials.)

Daryl Hannah (Still pretty despite lack of career.)

Iman (Married to David Bowie and kissed Michael Jackson in Remember the Time video. Enough said.)

Michelle Pheiffer (What can I say?)

Judy Dench (Because cool is sexy and she is beautiful.)

Sharon Stone (Did you know she has a 150 IQ? So glad she puts it to good use.)

Michelle Yeoh (Cheating a bit here b/c she's only 44 but she's on the list because she's beautiful AND she could kill you with one punch.)

Annie Lennox (She can make ANYTHING sound good . . . except for Hurting Time on the Bare album--that sucked.)

Meryl Streep (Does anybody else think she has a rather ominous laugh?)

Lauren Bacall (It's her man voice that does it.)

Barbara Steisand (Just kidding.)

Patricia Clarkson (Very classy and never looks like she's trying too hard.)

Mary Steenburgen (Because I said so.)

Jane Seymour (Not a personal favorite simply because I felt bombarded by her and her twins plastered on every baby food advertisement on the planet, but I hear some people like her.)

Catherine Keener (sexy AND adorable all at the same time)

Rita Wilson (LOVE HER!)

Audrey Hepburn (always gorgeous)

Kim Basinger (Should her collagen lips disqualify her?)

NOW I know Who Evie Looks Like

Dorothy Hamill all the way.

Ben thinks it's more like--

I went over to Neena's and she helped to get her hair a little more uniform and I must admit she's looking pretty cute. I felt a little better when Neena declared, "She's looking good with this small hair. She's looking more healthy this way." Yep, just a healthy trim.

What Are My Children Trying To Do To Me?

First Moira tries to get run over by a car and now Evie does this--

Previously Evie had hair like this--
I could put it into braids and pig tails and all sorts of cute things. But now seven inches later she has a self inflicted mullet. I did my best to try to make things even but this kid is not going to be able to go outside without barrettes for a long time. The pictures don't quite show the damage.

Moira did the same thing when she was little only it was much worse because she had help. She and her little friend got my container of scissors and permanent markers off the counter. All the adults were in another room and the kids walked in with black marker all over their faces and Moira had the haircut from hell. This is her when she woke up the next morning.

Is that not the scariest picture ever? It's even worse now because we don't have a scanner so it's a picture of a picture and now her teeth look black.

Needless to say, after the experience with Moira, Evie's hair doesn't seem that bad. But I'm still sad about how long it will take to grow out, and when I look at her I keep getting flashbacks from that movie About A Boy--Does that haircut look vaguely familiar?

Okay, Now I Want To Do A Post On Sexy Older Women

I need recommendations esp. from men. I don't think many men read this blog (okay, not many people in general read this blog) so, women, ask your husbands, boyfriends, male friends, the mailman, etc. So far I have Susan Sarandon from Brad and I'm nominating Patricia Clarkson. I need more. Do you think Audrey Hepburn counts? What do you think the age limit should be?

The Spanglish Quote That Made Me Feel Better

"You have a right to worry about this. This is the job, these are the decisions. Worrying about your children is sanity. And being that sane . . . can drive you nuts."

Saw Spanglish last night and I'm going to say it--Awwwwww. Such a sweet movie. Me gusta mucho esta pelicula. I love that Paz Vega, the actress that plays Flor, really doesn't speak English and needed a translator the whole time during the making of the movie. I love that Adam Sandler is becoming a romantic comedy guy. (But I still can't help hearing his ukulele song from Mixed Nuts.) But I most enjoyed Tea Leoni's neurotically hyper character. But I was a little disturbed by Ben's comment at the end-- "It reminds me of talking to you sometimes." (He received a beating for that.)

And while I'm on the subject of movies that everyone has already seen, why don't I talk about the Station Agent? This is such a me movie. It has all the elements I love plus a midget, sorry, dwarf. It has people that wake up to friendship after shutting themselves off to the world, it has Patricia Clarkson (I love her!), it has quiet scenes that are just about life not plot, it has cafe con leche, it has sad parts and happy parts and a lot of laugh out loud parts . . . I'm trying not to ruin it if by some chance someone hasn't seen it.

A byproduct of watching this movie, however, was a way too long conversation afterwards about midget sex. (I know Ben will say that I was the one who gave the subject too much thought and drew the conversation out beyond what normal people should . . . but I will deny that.) We also had a long discussion about Patricia Clarkson and whether she's sexy or not. I came down on sexy, but Ben said merely attractive for an older woman. Why can't older women be sexy?!? Why is it that men can be sexy even when they're old, but women stop being sexy as soon as they look older than forty? Madonna is still considered sexy in her late 40s but that's because she doesn't look like she's in her late 40s. But men like Sean Connery (who also figured into our conversation that night) can actually get better with age and still get women who are young enough to be their daughters/granddaughters.


Do you ever see that happen in the reverse? (There's Elizabeth Taylor who is NOT attractive anymore but does have a crap load of money so that doesn't count.) If Audrey Hepburn, who was beautiful even in her sixties, took up with somebody in their twenties, I think most people would be grossed out.
Why is this? Is it something biological? Older women can no longer bear children so they lose some essential beauty element while men can live their whole lives without shooting blanks so their attractiveness can last a little longer? I'm wondering if it's a breast issue too. That's a big thing for men and gravity does take a toll after a while. I'm also wondering if men are just jerks. After attractive women have children and they're not in their original perfect shape they're labeled as "all tore up." Yeah, a lot of men are jerks.

And is there a difference between attractive and sexy? I guess so. I think women are much better at seeing someone as sexy who might not necessarily be attractive in the most traditional sense--take The Station Agent and midgets for example. Sexy midgets?
This post started with a nice quote and it ends with sexy midgets? I gotta get outta here.

Found This And Had To Share

I'm in the process of helping Moira update her blog (yes, my 8 yr. old has a blog) and while searching for pictures to add to her albums I found this one of my grandma swinging.

She turned 80 this year. When does dignity set in anyway? With my family, I'm thinking never.

A Night Of Firsts

Yesterday around seven o'clock we were outside like we are every night supervising the entire neighborhood child population. Being one of the few parents that actually watches their children, the following firsts of my parenting career were quite a surprise.

1. The first time my child was almost hit by a car.

2. The first time my child has been grounded.

3. The first time I cursed in front of my child as in "She almost got hit by a fucking car!"

The little street (more like a long driveway) in front of our apartments branches into a bunch of parking lots. One of those parking lots is up a hill and the kids like to ride their bikes up and fly back down and into the parking lot directly across. Usually this makes me very nervous and I become the adult supervisor that says stop if a car is coming. And since I was there watching, my kids started joining in this activity as well. After a while the job got a little too stressful for me and I quit. We told Moira not to ride down that hill anymore because they can't see if a car is coming until the very bottom of the hill and there would be no time to stop.

She forgot.

I was at the other end of the street with Evie when I heard a horrible screech. I turn to see my kid, MY KID, flash in front of a car. (You can see the skid marks on the road.) I left Evie in Anita's care and after the inevitable screaming and grounding, I came back outside because Evie had pathetically said, "I have to go inside? But I listened, mama. I was good." Leandra, the girl that had been right behind Moira on the hill, was there to greet me with a smile and a nice "She should be dead" comment. To which I calmly replied, "Leandra, shut your mouth!" (At least I didn't swear at her.) Neighbors started coming out and asking if Moira was okay. Billie's son Nick had happened to see her coming down the hill and had yelled for her to stop but it was too late. When Billie came out and asked if she was okay, I burst into tears. So once again I left Evie with Anita so I could go inside and get control of myself. I was shaking uncontrollably and felt like I was going to throw up.

When I came outside (we had moved everyone off the street to play with chalk) Anita turned to me and said, "Listen to me one thing first. Don't tell parents you'll watch all these children. It's too many. You just watch your children." And then I had to laugh because other than Anita I've never told a parent I'd watch their child. These kids just roam the neighborhood on their own, I have nothing to do with it. Which makes the situation with Moira all the more frustrating--I'm the responsible parent. I'm the one who never lets my kids go outside without me. I'm the one who makes them wear bike helmets. I'm the one who watches for cars. And it's my kid who almost gets hit!

I can't even tell you how many times I've seen the other kids ride their bikes around never looking for cars, never wearing helmets. Leandra is seven and her sister Mary is five. If they're not at the babysitters, they're outside. They never have any supervision, they're always filthy with dirt all over their faces, they talk to strangers . . . They're the kids that have to fend for themselves so they've become complete opportunists--they're always knocking and asking for any snack you happen to have when answering the door, they want to use your bathroom and drink your water, etc. etc. It's weird because they're not poor by any means. They have nice clothes, shoes, new bikes and they're always hauling around snacks from home so they're not hungry. They just aren't supervised. And I find myself having less and less sympathy for them.

Then there's Arju who leaves her door open and Saima, who's not yet 2, is at the far end of the parking lot by herself. And even when Arju is outside I feel like I'm the one watching her kids. I'm looking after Evie and her child is in the middle of the parking lot with a car trying to come and park and Arju only runs half way and yells for Saima to get out of the way. It's like I'm expected to get her kid. But I had Evie so I just took her and walked away. The car saw Saima and was waiting--Arju can get her own kid. That's a horrible attitude, but I'm not the savior of the world. I am not the parent and the more I act like it, the more responsibility people heap onto me. There was another time when we were standing in the grass and a car came into the parking lot. Saima started to suicidally run into the parking lot and toward the car. I was standing there with Arju and her sister-in-law. They didn't move. It was ME who ran and got her. What is going on?!? Once I was running and yelling they seemed to wake up to the situation, but what if I wasn't there?

And there's tiny Karthik who is five and rides his bike and plays wherever he wants without a parent keeping track of him. Last night Anita was asking me where his mother was. How the hell do I know? And right after she said that bit about not promising parents to watch their kids, Leandra comes running up to me saying, "Mary's crying, you'd better go get her." "Well, go get your mom! I am not your parent!" I explained to Anita that I did not watch these kids, I'd given up on that. I decided I had to watch my kids and give up keeping track of the rest. It's not my responsibility and it's too big of a job anyway. And she wisely said, "You're right, you don't do that. You just say 'Watch out for cars. Ariful, don't go up that hill. Leandra, are you alright? Karthik, come over here.' You're right, you don't watch all the kids."

So she's right. I have one eye on Evie and one eye on everyone else. I trusted Moira to be responsible and she didn't listen and almost got hit by a car. So, in the end, who's the bad mother? If Moira had been hit, it would be me. The one who tries to keep everyone safe. It wouldn't be all the other parents who never come outside.

Then Ben brought up the fabulous idea of people suing me. Could I be sued if someone else's kid got hurt while I was outside with everyone? Even if I wasn't technically babysitting, even if I hadn't promised to keep an eye on them, could I be held responsible just because I'm an adult and I was there?

I'm tired. I'm sick of bikes. I'm sick of cars. I'm sick of irresponsible parents. I want my kids to be able to play and have fun, but . . .

Brushed The Dog Again Today

Isn't summer great?

I Am In Globe Trekker Heaven

Ben and I have discussed our Globe Trekker addiction before and now due to the wonders of our high speed internet (hearing me talk, you'd think this was a new invention or something) we can watch episodes on our computer by going here. Yay!

Not having a tv, we're forced to get dvds from the library and sometimes that just doesn't work out. I would really like to know how people manage to scratch up the dvds like they do. They really have to be getting creative to do that much damage. Do they run over them with their cars? Use them to play fetch with the dog? Use them as door stoppers? I understand when I see the kid dvds--they just hand them over to their little angels to use as they see fit. I know you're not paying for these, but do you really think it's okay to let your kid put spit and grimy fingerprints all over the dvd and then gouge pieces out of it with their Hot Wheels? I wish librarians would look at the cds and dvds after each use. Then when someone turns in a cd rom that is literally cracked in half (the user of Jumpstart pre-school in Columbus, you suck!) they would have to pay for it. Instead I get my kids videos and cd roms that can't be used and I have to look at their sad little faces when they can't finish Families of Sweden when the dad just started to make moose shish kababs. It's not fair.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Globe Trekkers! Well, we can watch them and they don't skip. Exciting, no? Okay, maybe not for a normal family, but for us, yes.

I know we could just get a tv, but it all seems too depressing. I literally get depressed when I watch most tv. When I was pregnant with Moira and had to go in for all these non stress tests that took half an hour each, I chose to look at the wall rather than have the nurses turn on Regis and Kathy Lee. (Of course, I'm sure a lot of people would do the same when it comes to that show.) But I do get really excited about all the educational tv and last week after watching a National Geographic dvd about King Tut I was actually tempted to get tv, to get cable, to get whatever we could. It's dangerous. If we had Animal Planet, life in our house would grind to a halt. The same for the Discovery Channel or National Geographic or any of that stuff. We'd be watching Dr. Zahi Hawass open previously undiscovered tombs and we'd forget to eat. They'd find our overeducated emaciated selves slumped in front of the tv. It'd be a tv tragedy and they'd turn our lives into an after school special.

Oh, and about Zahi Hawass--I am so OFF Mr. Egypt with the Indiana Jones hat. He's a little hyper about the whole antiquities thing which is to be expected, but on this dvd he advocated the death penalty for anyone stealing Egyptian artifacts--because when you kill someone you're killing one person, but when you steal an artifact you're stealing a people's history. Talk about wacked out priorities. Jerk.

I'm going to stop rambling and go watch some Globe Trekker tv. If I stop posting here, could someone please stop by our place to make sure we're eating?

Self Inflicted ADD

High speed internet. Oooooo! I'm having so much fun zipping around. This is going to completely spoil me forever, I know it. It's going to ruin my character and make me shallow. It's going to make me unappreciative of all the little things in life that should make me happy but are no longer fast enough to entertain me. Hummingbirds will be the only wildlife I can stand. I'm going to become a Nascar fan. I'm going to become a speed addict. (The drug, that is. Does speed still exist? I'm not up on the drug culture anymore--no more 21 Jump Street or Miami Vice to educate me.)

Oh well, I'm bored of this conversation. Gotta keep moving!

Did You Know . . .

. . . that once upon a time when my mom was working at Mansfield General Hospital she took a bunch of fish from her dad's pond and put them in the main fountain one night. The next morning it was the psychiatric patients who were the first to notice . . . but no one believed them.

Well, now you know.

It's 2 AM

I've been lying in bed for an hour with all these random thoughts racing through my brain. We just watched Crash. Did anybody notice that the Muslim guy's wife was Marina Sirtis--and if you know that name right away, you just might be a loser like me. Actually Ben spotted her first so who's the bigger loser? Yes, Counselor Troi of Star Trek The Next Generation. I actually saw her once at a . . . at a . . . at a convention.

I'm going to bare my soul here and confess that in high school I went with a friend to a Star Trek convention. Thank God I was a little freaked out and my life was not spoiled by Trekkie fandom. There was a guy dressed up as a Borg with all the black rubber clothes and tubes but he hadn't shaved properly and his white make-up was all spotty and stuck to his stubble. Very disturbing. Then there was the lady that sat next to us with the large original starship Enterprise earrings. She told us a story of how she had gone to a Trek house party or something and the house was packed out and she sat next to Chekov . . . on the bed. She made it seem like there was some sexual tension or something to that moment and I wanted to scream, "Lady, number one--you're weird, you have stupid earrings and number two--you're old and you're ugly and if there was some tension between you and whatever his name is then it was probably the tension of him wanting to run far, far away from you!" My friend and I had a lot of eye rolling experiences during that day. But really, who were we to judge, we were there too. Did you know they have Star Trek comic book porn? Well, if you'd like some, they sell it at conventions.

The high point of the day was Marina Sirtis. She's actually very funny and told all sorts of stories that maybe only Star Trek fans would enjoy but we definitely thought were funny. The only one I remember now was about Brent Spiner (Data) and Michael Dorn (Worf) torturing her dog. She had some tiny little dog and she would come back to her trailer to find them holding him like a football and shouting "Go long!" or trying to stuff him into the microwave. Yep, that's all I can remember other than her short little skirt. I think Marina likes to wear as little as possible. When I googled images for her I was impressed by the number of slutty poses she can strike. Yes, Marina honey, we know you have cleavage. The world congratulates you.

More on Crash. I was thinking about race and who I stereotype and dislike. And I remembered how much Indians pissed me off a few years ago. They hated my dog. That pisses me off. I can understand if you're not used to big dogs, a lot of people aren't, but when you give me dirty looks and cross over to the other side of the street clutching your children, that irritates me. I'm pushing a stroller with two small children, do you really think my dog is vicious? Do you really think I would endanger my children's lives with a dog that you clearly think is capable of ripping out your throat and tearing you limb from limb? And come on, she's on a leash and she's cute! I eventually stopped taking her to the park and gave up on walking her during peak Indian stroll hours. We went during the afternoon or at night instead.

But what's strange is that I was willing to stereotype and be irritated by a whole class of people over my dog. Then I became friends with our Indian neighbors at our old apartment complex. (They loved Stella.) They were always inviting Moira and Evie into their apartment to get some sweets and that's when we found out that Evie, at two years old, was able to do this pose--

That story is for another day.

Then I was thinking about Anita's party. We completely weirded out the neighborhood. It was supposed to be a surprise party and we were all supposed to show up at 7:30. Easy enough. So I bring my bowl of raita over to her house and she's coming out the door . . . alone. Hmm, where are the other party goers? I asked if she was going somewhere, she said yes, and I panicked that the party was really supposed to be somewhere else. So I said see you later and started to run away. But she kept asking about what was in the bowl. "Oh, just something for you to taste to see if it's good. Gotta go!" After a phone call I found out that it was indeed supposed to be at Anita's but Neena was running late and they were going to knock at our door when they arrived. But Neena had told Anita that she was picking her up to take her somewhere for a puja ceremony (to ensure that she was dressed up) and Anita decided to wait for her outside. So we couldn't just walk up to her door, knock and shout "Surprise!" Things were getting complicated. So it's decided that we would come from the back. So you have fifteen people running around like those migrating birds. Do you ever wonder how they flock like that with no leader. Well, now I know. We're going over here, no wait--where are they going?, follow them, oh, now we're going this way, no back, back! Meanwhile Jenti and her husband had arrived, like me, panicking when they saw no other guests. But since they came by car they had to think of a really clever excuse to stop by. "Oh, we just came to see Diksha." Good one.

Eventually we surprised her and we got to quit the spy game and just go inside and eat. My raita was great and no one guessed the white girl made it. Later when they found out they couldn't believe it. But my biggest compliment was from Neena who does not mess around when it comes to compliments--she always says exactly what she thinks. "Your raita is really good. Really good." Yes! Neena approval! I was on cloud nine.

Okay, those were my random thoughts and now I'm going to go to bed.

"You Made The Raita? Really?"

Oh yeah! White girls CAN cook!

Raita=Terror

A bunch of friends are getting together tonight to throw Anita a surprise birthday party. First thought--fun. It's a potluck and Neena called to ask me to bring the raita. Next thought--sure, piece of cake. But the second I hung up the phone--absolute panic.

Raita's easy to make--yogurt with various veggie things, some peanuts, a little sugar, salt and red chile powder. I make it for myself all the time but I've never made it for a whole bunch of Indians with discerning taste buds. What if I screw it up? Neena obviously has confidence in me but what if it's misplaced? I imagine everyone tasting it and saying to themselves--Oh, you can certainly tell the white girl made this.

This morning I woke up (way too early) and just as I opened my eyes I remembered what day this was. My stomach instantly cramped up and I felt like I had a dozen instant ulcers. My mind was racing--Who can I call to help me? I've never put cabbage in my raita and they're going to want cabbage. How much cabbage? I can't remember how fine to chop it. Do I still have Rita's number? What if she's too busy to help?

Then I went on to create more anxieties for myself. Do you think anyone invited Billie? No, Neena wouldn't think of her, but I know Anita would want her to come. Should I invite her on my own? I can't ask Anita what I should do. What am I supposed to wear? Is everyone going to be in saris? Who will help me put on my sari? No, they'll probably be in jeans. Jeans? No, maybe not. Should I do jeans or nice clothes?

It's all very stupid, but I spent the better part of the morning whipping myself into a frenzied state of anxiety. My terror kept me pinned to the bed in and out of consciousness. I tried to tell myself to get some rest, get eight hours of sleep and all will be well. But I couldn't relax enough to have good sleep so I had weird bits of stressful dreams. Eventually Evie woke up and came to our room. I then woke up to her teasing my hair and trying to shove it into a hair tie to make a pony tail. I sat up and had the biggest hair ever--looking in the mirror was like an 80s time warp. What if she'd decided to use scissors?

I feel a little better now since a) my hair is still intact and b) I've had some coffee. And raita suddenly doesn't seem like it's that big of a deal. I can manage this. I'm fine. It's aaaaaaall going to be fiiiiiiiiine. Deep breaths.

You Just Can't Shelter Them

I've tried to shield my children from monsters, ghosts and the generally freakish. My childhood was filled with such things and I was nightly tormented by the evil beings above and beneath my bed whose sole purpose was to get me. This is why I slept under a quilt even in the sweltering summer heat. Because, as all children know, if your limbs are under a blanket they are safe from being eaten off by monsters. Blankets are impervious to monsters.

My mother didn't help all this. She would sit with me and watch Tales From The Darkside--I was like five. That's just not something a responsible parent should do. It took me years to recover from one particular episode. There was a mad scientist who experimented on his own little girl and turned her into this whitish evil creature who lurked under the bed waiting to kill the girl who was renting out a room in the house. Eventually she got her--jumped on her back and dragged her into this little room she lived in. Terrifying.

So I tried to keep my children from that. I wanted them to be free from all the unnecessary terror. But it seems children just aren't children unless they're scared at night. And they will substitute normal things if they are denied the convenience of monsters. Moira was reminiscing at breakfast about things she used to be scared of. "Was I scared of the dark, Mom? I think I was. All kids are scared of the dark when they're little." She recalled how she had looked up at her ceiling in our old house, a ceiling we had cheerfully painted with non-ominous puffy white clouds, and imagined one of the clouds was a scary alligator. "A round poofy white alligator?" "Yep." Then she remembered the other nightly terrors--squirrels. Yes, when you don't have monsters to scare you, you will turn to squirrels. She imagined there were squirrels sitting on her chair at night. There was also a penguin that would stand in front of the closet and freak her out. I remember her coming into our room at night telling us her scary visions of harmless wildlife and we would go in and find whatever object or shadow was creating them. She also had nightmares involving lions and bears.

So what are you going to do with that? There's no protecting a child. They just have to deal with it even if the scary things are completely ordinary animals. But I do understand how those ordinary things can be as scary as monsters, because just as Moira was talking about this a house centipede started running across the floor. I took one look at that thing and screamed . . . well, like a girl. Then I yelled to the kids, "Lift up your feet! Lift up your feet!" Then Moira saw it and screamed and Evie was whimpering, "Why lift up our feet, Mommy? Why lift up our feet?" And Ben came running down the stairs thinking the end of the world had arrived and I yelled, "Put on you shoes and squish that bug!" Which he promptly did and then proceeded to mock me.

Real life is scary, people.

So Little, So Cute . . . I Think I'll Drown Them

Evie chose Little Raccoon's Big Question for her free book from the library's summer reading program. The cover looks kind of stupid and I wasn't too optimistic about the book. But it was Evie's choice so what are you going to do. Once I read it though all I could say was, "Awwwww." Every time I turned the page I couldn't help myself--"Awwwww, he's so cute." The story is in the same vein as Guess How Much I Love You with the cozy cuteness of those Sam the bear books. Uber adorable.

It made me think about raccoons . . . and about killing them. Lately we've discovered we have quite a few relatives who are into killing wee animals. Drowning baby raccoons, puppies, squirrels, you name it. Now, I realize that raccoons and squirrels can be pests. When you have a farm, raccoons can be quite a hassle. They kill chickens and wreak havoc, but come on--drowning baby raccoons?!? I am much more into the catch and release thing, but apparently that gets old and it's much more effective to put them in a cage and lower them into the pond and thereby condemn your soul to hell, I'm sure. This particular relative of BEN'S shall remain nameless, but I must say they didn't even have chickens on this "farm".

My grandfather did have chickens on his farm and I shall therefore share my off the subject funny farm story. Chickens are so stupid and defenseless they're basically in danger from everything. Each year when the baby chicks hatched and needed protection my dad and grandpa would put little weights on the farm cats' collars. Nothing too big at first so they could get used to it, but then they would increase it bit by bit. This kept them weighted down and off balance enough that they couldn't get the chicks. Once the chickens were big enough to be off limits to a cat, they would remove the weights and then proceed to laugh their heads off. You see, the cats would eventually start to compensate for the weight and by the time those collars were ready to come off they were pretty much back to their normal cat skills. Take off the collar and the cats were suddenly overcompensating for everything. They'd jump and shoot extra far and crash into things or fly way off the other side of their intended targets.

Oh, farm humor.

But I do remember when my grandpa had a farm dog who had some unwanted puppies and he was ready to drown them. I think eventually we convinced him to take them to the animal shelter, but it was a close call. My other grandpa actually did drown some puppies when my mom was a kid. What is up with that? These otherwise normal, loving grandpa's have it in them to drown cute cuddly puppies?!? Are animal shelters a new thing? Maybe. But you couldn't put an ad in the paper for free puppies? What the heck!

Then while we were in South Carolina Ben's dad was boasting of a plan to kill his squirrels. The man loves birds and with his half a million bird feeders he is ready to declare war on the squirrel population. To our horror, there was much talk of squirrel drowning that night. I don't really think he has it in him. But I guess you never know.

I told all of this to my mom and she was horrified. You might be surprised considering what my mom does for fun--namely shoot things. Every year she puts on her camouflage, walks out to the woods behind the house and gets in her tree stand after marking areas with store bought deer pee. My mom. This year though she got lucky. A small group of deer walked through the yard and, still in her pajamas, she shot one out the bedroom window. (I am not making this up.) But my mom is very much into the "kill them with one shot" philosophy. She does not do animal suffering. I suppose if you're going to kill things that's the way to go. So hearing about drowning things, one of the most agonizing ways to die, she pretty much freaked out.

Add to the mix the fact that we had a pet raccoon growing up. I have no idea who came up with this idea. We bought him as a baby at a raccoon farm where they bred them to be used in hound dog coon hunts--think Where The Red Fern Grows. Gross. Our raccoon was in for quite a different fate. He was vaccinated and fixed, fed dog food and numerous scraps (he was such a sucker for raspberry pop tarts) and allowed in the house until night fall. Then he kind of did his raccoon thing and slept outside. He would literally follow us out to the bus stop each morning and then, in that cute raccoon way, dash into a drainage pipe in the ditch when the school bus came. Weird yet charming. He played with our cat on our little trampoline, going underneath while the cat sat on top, taking turns trying to wap each other. Also weird, yet obviously a lot of fun for them.

So my family is pretty pro-raccoon. My dad even captured an abandoned baby raccoon years later and they kept it until it was old enough to be released. This could be considered strange behavior for a man who still goes up to the farm to shoot nuisance ground hogs. Then he takes pictures to share with us. Thank you, dad.

All in all, I'm still trying to figure out how these two families produced us--big, wimpy, animal loving vegetarians. I'm terrified that this skips a generation. Moira and Evie could be out in the woods someday shooting the wildlife we've taught them to identify from animal loving manuals and wildlife magazines.

Naaaaaaaa . . .

I Have To Do This

My review of Brokeback Mountain.

No, really.

I was expecting to see something that made me cry and feel compassionate towards all the gay cowboys of the world. I heard that in the theaters when the credits rolled you could hear the whole audience sniffling. I was ready to be sad. But, I was not and this is why--

There was no build-up. No significant glances, no gradual progression of relationship just BOOM! One minute you've finally progressed to having half a conversation and the next you're having gay sex. Surprise! That is when I learned my first Brokeback lesson--Sleeping in the same tent can make you gay. So if you're not interested, WATCH OUT when you go camping.

The whole movie seemed like it was all about the sex. It didn't do a good job of showing the relationship. You would think if you're going to carry this thing on for 20 some years, you'd really like each other. But they never showed that. It was mainly just sex and whiny arguments. Jake Gyllenhaal's Jack Twist was a WHINER. Whine, whine, whine. I need sex. Whine, whine, whine. Excuse my while I find a Mexican prostitute. At the end you see Heath Ledger's character with the shirts and the postcard and I felt kind of sad for his crummy life, etc. but it wasn't gut wrenching. I just didn't see the soul connection that was supposedly behind all this. And it was sickening what happened to Jack Twist but the movie didn't succeed in making me like him so I felt really distanced during that scene instead of devastated like I should have felt.

And I'm never a big fan of adultery no matter what gender it's done with. So that really decreased my sympathy for both of them. It is not nice to cheat on your wife no matter how much your kids cry or how irritating your in-laws are. And, while they butchered the gay relationship part, they did do a superb job in making married life seem absolutely wretched. And that's when I learned my second Brokeback lesson: Never marry a woman, it will only make you miserable. This is something I have no problem with personally but I know a lot of men out there will find it difficult to live with.

My favorite part of this whole Brokeback adventure was Ben's response at the end. "Men just aren't attractive. Women are attractive. Men aren't attractive." To which I replied, "So you think all of us heterosexual women are crazy. We should face up to the fact that men just aren't attractive? We should get rid of your gender altogether and just become lesbians and clone ourselves?" And he said, "I'm just saying I get the lesbian thing, but I do NOT get the gay male thing. I just don't get it."

I guess all I'm saying in this insightful and intelligent review is that it could have been done better. I was all prepared to be sympathetic, and I know a lot of the people who saw it were, but for me it just fell flat.

Oh, and Jake Gyllenhaal is ugly with a mustache. So there.

Another Quote?!?

Oddly enough this comes from The Little Princess. I was reading it to the girls this afternoon and this bit really struck me.

"I wonder how many of the attics in this square are like that one, and how many wretched little servant girls sleep on such beds, while I toss on my down pillows, loaded and harassed by wealth . . ."

"My dear fellow," Mr. Carmichael answered cheerily, "the sooner you cease tormenting yourself the better it will be for you. If you possessed all the wealth of all the Indies, you could not set right all the discomforts in the world, and if you began to refurnish all the attics in this square, there would still remain all the attics in all the other squares and streets to put in order. And there you are!"

This is what so many of us think--the problems of the world are immense and the little we can do seems so pathetic in comparison that it's not even worth trying. But if you were a person in need, in terrible need, would you feel like helping just one person, when that person happened to be you, was a waste of time? Sure, global poverty was not solved, but, thanks to a little help, you now have a shot at a future. A waste? Sure, your living conditions are nowhere near those in the States, but you're healthy and content. A waste?

If we as individuals set out in this life to apply our resources--financial, emotional, and spiritual--to radically change just two other lives for the better, what would the world be like? Think exponentially. It would be tremendous.

Let's get to work!

Sometimes Hearing Fluent English Is Like Taking A Hot Bath

So relaxing.

Most of the time I don't realize how much work it is to daily decipher Hinglish or Benglish or try to understand Hindi or Bengali as I eavesdrop. I think my whole body must tense up. I'm listening for clues--I know what that Hindi word means and put together with that English word I can discern that this conversation is about how much dal costs at the Indian Grocery. But by the end I'm exhausted and all I know is that dal is overpriced--no great revelation. Sometimes someone tells me something in English(ish) over and over again and I never figure out what the heck they're trying to tell me. Sometimes it's an accent problem and sometimes it's a vocab problem. Either way it's very frustrating.

But then someone comes along who speaks fluent English and all the tension just washes away. This happened twice this week. First it was Rita, a friend of Anita's who recently moved back to Columbus from Chicago. She lives right across the street and has a daughter the same age as Moira. She's originally from India but she speaks great English. Some of her phrases are a little stilted but I understood everything she said without any effort. I can't even tell you how nice that is. I've spoken to her several times now and I just keep thinking, Ooo, I could get used to this.

Then last night I met Arju's sister-in-law who was visiting from New York. She's from Bangladesh but has been in the States for at least 8 years, maybe more. Usually going over to Arju's in a little like entering the Twilight Zone, but last night was great. We talked about New York and city living. She went on and on about how much "nature" there was around our apartments. She acted like grass and trees were these fascinating new things. She even took off her shoes so she could feel the grass on her bare feet. But when she actually sat down in the grass Arju started freaking out. She calmly translated, saying Arju was "worried about the dog shit."

The only sad thing was that I don't have a clue what her name is. A lot of my friends or acquaintances from the Indian subcontinent have nice Englishy names--Anita, Neena, Serena, Dilip (like Philip) and now Rita. And some have short names or handy nicknames or names that you could put an association with (Sharmi is like Charmin which fits because she's so full of . . . ). But give me a name I've never heard of with more than two syllables and I'm lost. I hate to stand there and ask people, "Say it again. Okay, one more time. Now, how do you spell that? Okay, really, just one more time." So I take the cowards route and ask the kids later. "Hey, what's your Aunty's name? What? Say it again. Like this? No? Okay, say it again." She also told me her daughter's name--same story. And that same night I met Karthik's dad and instantly forgot his name too. Karthik is one of the neighborhood urchins and last night he fell down in his panicked attempt to run away from a small dog. His dad came out to take care of him and I introduced myself. I act like, Yeah, blahblahblahblahblah is a name I hear every day, no problem's there. But I wonder if they can see it in my eyes--"Yep, she couldn't repeat my name if her life depended on it." What would I do if one day someone said, "Now, repeat that back to me"? I'd have to fake a seizure or something.

I realize all this could be cured if I just talked to my American neighbors a little more. But what's the fun in that? And besides, I just forget their names too. I think I'm so focused on stating my own name and doing the hand shaking and making eye contact and saying the Nice To Meet You bits that I just can't process a person's name.

Or maybe I'm just a jerk.

When The Whole World Conspires Against You...

...it makes you want to buy a weapon.

Thanks to our lively neighborhood, last night was one of the worst nights of sleep ever. Sadly, Ben really needed his sleep since he was going to wake up obscenely early to go out with some of the guys to do some manly cabin rehab for a very deserving couple.

It started with Scooter Man at about 11:45. Scooter man has a itty bitty scooter with an engine that sounds like a 747. We hate Scooter Man. Scooter Man likes to ride only at night and he likes to ride up and down our street over and over and over. I must admit I've fantasized about horrible things I could do to Scooter Man and just as I was thinking about him flying through the air after hitting a booby trap, my sweet pacifist husband says, "These are the times I'm glad I don't own a gun."

At about 12:30 the barking dog started. Barking, barking, barking, barking. The thing would not shut up. I couldn't believe a person would allow their dog to do that. After lying there hating them for a while it suddenly occurred to me--Maybe they're old and they've fallen and can't get up. Normally optimistic Ben said, "No, they're just jerks."

There was also a party going on around the corner with people being generally obnoxious and loud. Our neighborhood is normally fairly party free, but these people became the proud owners of a set of tiki torches and now it's party central over there.

Then came our next door neighbor's car full of friends loudly proclaiming, "That was f-ing bleep!" "F-ing bleep bleep!" "F-ing right!" Nice.

We finally managed to get to sleep when, at about 4 in the morning, we were awakened to a bunch of drunk guys in our parking lot loudly searching for their dog. Perhaps the dog who had been barking its head off? "Hendrix! Hendrix, where are you buddy!" "Here boy, here boy!" "Blah, blah, blah!" "Hendrix!"

Hendrix was finally recovered and we settled back in for an hour and a half of sleep before Ben had to get up. I did not have to get up and was planning on ignoring the alarm clock and sleeping in, that is until our other neighbors, people I don't really know, decide to loud mouth it in the parking lot at 6:30. They've done this before at 2:30 so maybe waiting until dawn is an improvement, but I really wasn't in the mood. "Blah, blah, blah!" "Ha, ha, ha!" Life must be pretty darn funny early in the morning.

And then Evie woke up at 6:45.

Sometimes Ben and I Just Sit Around Thinking Deep Thoughts

Or maybe we're just fascinated by the pliability of our chins.

Some Good Quotes (A Ridiculous Undertaking Since My Nails Are Too Long Right Now To Type Properly)

From Beginning The World--A Former Nun's Memoir of Her Painful but Triumphant Journey into Life by Karen Armstrong

"I had to leave the God I knew who dragged around with him the rags of my own past life with all its mistakes and misconceptions before I could really find Him again. I had created this 'God' in my own image and likeness and in the likeness of a mistaken system. Now I had to let Him go so that He could become Himself for me. If I wanted to find Him I had to lose Him first; this is--and I should have known it--a law of the spiritual life. Heaven knows I'd read enough books about it. This was, though I couldn't see it then, a positive step towards myself and towards God at the same time. But the loss was a real one and all I could feel at the time was the pain of the parting and, in a very real sense, a death."

". . . I knew that my basic belief in God was still alive. It could never be the same as it was. I'd had to leave behind the comforts of certainty and dogma. But a belief in the mysterious God [Father] Paul had spoken of persisted stubbornly, underneath all the pain and rubble of things I'd had to forget. At least, I thought it did. As I acknowledged that, I felt a sudden lift of joy and excitement. I had no idea where this new 'faith' was going to lead me, nor what it was exactly. I'd never be able to define it clearly, because God defied definition. But I knew that I'd spend the rest of my life trying to penetrate that thick cloud of unknowing."


And from the introduction to The Challenge of Jesus by N.T. Wright--

"The second reason why I engage in serious historical study of Jesus is out of loyalty to Scripture. This may seem deeply ironic to some on both sides of the old liberal-conservative divide. Many Jesus scholars of the last two centuries have of course thrown Scripture out of the window and reconstructed a Jesus quite different from what we find in the New Testament. But the proper answer to the approach is not simply to reassert that because we believe in the Bible we do not need to ask fresh questions about Jesus. As with God so with the Bible; just because our tradition tells us that the Bible says and means one thing or another, that does not excuse us from the challenging task of studying it afresh in the light of the best knowledge we have about its world and context, to see whether these things are indeed so. For me the dynamic of a commitment to Scripture is not 'we believe the Bible, so there is nothing more to be learned,' but rather 'we believe the Bible, so we had better discover all the things in it to which our traditions, including our "protestant" or "evangelical" traditions, which have supposed themselves to be "biblical" but are sometimes demonstrably not, have made us blind.' And this process of rethinking will include the hard and often threatening question of whether some things that our traditions have taken as 'literal' should be seen as 'metaphorical,' and perhaps also vice versa--and, if so, which ones."

In Our Own Little Worlds

Ben's post got me thinking about how capable we are of alienating ourselves from others because of religion or culture. I don't know if people are scared, lazy or just arrogant, but it seems like most of us like to keep to our own when it comes to religion and culture. Most American's, at least, don't make friends with people of other cultures, they keep them at arms length. I've seen a lot of what I can only call disdain for foreigners. They're different and different means strange and strange means I don't have to respect them and I certainly don't want to try to make friends with them.

I'm not saying it's always easy. It takes a lot of energy sometimes to forge a friendship when language and cultural barriers exist. But a little energy goes a long way and the things you learn are life changing. You can't look at different religions in the same way when you have a friend who worships in that way. There was a time when I thought Ganesha, the Indian god with the elephant head, was absolutely ridiculous. But now that I have Hindu friends, I don't feel that way. In fact, when a Christian friend recently talked about Hinduism and how laughable Ganesha was, I was really taken aback. I didn't say anything because I didn't exactly know what I was feeling. On one hand, I don't believe in Ganesha any more than I believe in Santa. On the other hand, I love him. It's weird. I see fat Ganesha with his elephant head and multiple arms and my heart melts. It's because I know how much my friends love him. He's like their Jesus. He's the remover of obstacles, he's the merciful one you turn to when you need help. When I see Ganesha I see my friends and all their hopes and hurts.

There's a real arrogance to many Christians. It's natural when you believe there's only one way. But you don't get that feeling of arrogance from Jesus or even Paul whose speech to the Athenians on the Unknown God wasn't dripping with the sarcasm and mockery I hear from many Christians when speaking of different religions.

And keeping people of other religions at arms length only makes that arrogance easier. It's a lot harder to mock a religion that your good friend practices. I see Anita praying in front of her altar with incense and offerings and I think, "My God, she's beautiful." I don't think she's an idiot. I think her devotion is beautiful.

Keeping "the others" at arms length also makes it easier to pretend that Christians have the corner on morality and goodness. Ben put up part of his post on the theology forum he's involved with and one of the responses was that a fundamentalist Muslim wouldn't do something like that since theirs is a religion of hate. Obviously, some extremist Muslims are filled with hate and violence. But when you start saying blanket statements about a religion it makes it so easy to make them the "other." And the "other" really means less than human. You can start to believe that they're devoid of the basic things that make us all human. Being a non-Christian doesn't mean you can't be a good person, but I think that's what a lot of Christians have tricked themselves into believing. I've known Wiccans that are a heck of a lot kinder, compassionate and loving than some Christians I know.

And even if you don't openly mock them there is often a nauseating pity complex that I find in some Christian circles. It's often accompanied by a colonial missionary tone--the idea of the poor ignorant idol worshipping heathen. People disguise it to themselves and others with saccharine expressions of supposed compassion, but I don't think you can have true compassion without a certain amount of respect. And the condescending "bless their heart" attitude is certainly not respect.

I think we all need to do a lot more reaching out to "the other," a lot more listening and a lot more introspection into our own lives and our own religions. As soon as we think we know everything it's obvious we don't know a thing. As soon as we think we know everything it's obvious we've lost the ability to see ourselves and the shortcomings in our own lives and religions. That's a really dangerous way to live.

Even More Fantastic Updates From The Big S.C.

I was going to put this up sooner but our modem blew up during one of our many storms. But thanks to Ben K. (woo-hoo!) all is well now and I can proceed to bore you with more of our mediocre exploits.

Getting out of the house became quite the preoccupation while in Greenville and suddenly it seemed like walking down the street playing I Spy was the most fun we'd ever had. But when that got old we sought out charming local venues for our amusement.

We went to the Greenville zoo which was tiny but nicely landscaped and shaded.

Later we went to Aunt Sue's, a country style restaurant that serves mostly sandwiches. (I must say they had more vegetarian options than Wendy's does. Shame on you Wendy's.) One of the main attractions to Aunt Sue's is the old woman who plays the organ on the porch. She takes requests, actually she demands requests, and when it was my turn I froze. Everyone else was requesting old hymns and stuff and literally the only thing I could think of was Purple Haze.

Our final big destination was George Vanderbilt's Biltmore House--built in the late 1800s it's still the biggest house in America. Oh my! And, as was to be expected, it was pretty disgusting. Three people in that family and they needed this monstrosity?


It was still fun to take pictures though. A few were illegal due to my inability to read signs. No pictures in the house--oops! Fortunately I realized it before any employees accosted and embarrassed me. I'll let you in on my forbidden snaps.

Looking up at a three story chandelier.

And the winter garden. Ooooo.

This guy had painted ceilings brought from Italy and reinstalled on his ceilings. He had Cardinal Richelieu's curtains and Napoleon's chess set. It was ridiculous. But at least the servants had it pretty good--rooms with a gorgeous view and indoor flush toilets. Not bad. And I must admit that some of the outside areas and gardens were pretty darn gorgeous.

My favorite was the puking fountain, but there were more cultured views as well.

Unfortunately, as with most gardens, there were lots of flowers which means lots of bees and Evie does not do bees. Heck, Evie doesn't do flying insects of any kind so add a stinger to it and it becomes unspeakably terrifying. And these gardens, while not completely silent, aren't typically the place where you hear a bloodcurdling scream that lasts FOREVER. It was embarrassing but not as embarrassing as when a fly followed her into a bathroom stall on the trip down. She was screaming her head off and I couldn't help her because door was locked. You could hear her all the way into the restaurant.

After exhausting ourselves by walking through the gardens we decided to exhaust ourselves still further by visiting the farm and winery. The farm was disappointing but they had a few horses that I thought the kids might like. Moira checked everything out but Evie just wanted to watch the chickens. She was riveted and I literally couldn't pull her away. Chickens--who knew?

But the winery was F-U-N fun! The tour was boring (we were too early in the season to really see the action) but it was air conditioned and there was a free wine tasting waiting for us at the end--and they didn't expect you to spit it out after each tasting! Yeah! Afterwards we managed to stagger out and buy ourselves a bottle of their Chenin Blanc in the wine shop. (We made sure to hide the bottle when we got back to Gran's.)

As you know, other than those little adventures, the rest of the trip was mainly spent reading books and saying "Mm, hmm." So now you can consider yourselves properly updated.

The Big Update

I know everyone is dying to hear about our trip. I shall indulge you.
We spent the week with Ben's grandmother in Greenville, South Carolina, home to Bob Jones University, invasive kudzu and the ubiquitous roadside boiled peanuts stand. I was also pleased to find a Target which, unlike Wal-Mart, is the true sign of civilization.

Everyone in Ben's family attended Bob Jones except Ben and Brad who somehow escaped but for a few years in elementary school for Ben and into middle school for Brad. Bob Jones made Brad stop playing the bass because he was "dancing" while playing, i.e. he swayed and/or tapped his foot a little too much. Dancing is from the devil. Bob Jones also gave Ben's dad a job writing text books once upon a time but didn't credit him because he was divorced. Divorced people are from the devil. Bob Jones does not allow students to frequent restaurants (within a certain radius of the campus) that serve the dreaded devil's brew. Alcohol is definitely from the devil. Bob Jones has a dress code that includes very long skirts for women, no pants, and certainly no shorts. Women's legs are from the devil. Bob Jones has supervised dating on campus. Dating, though not quite from the devil, is a necessary evil. (I often wonder how extreme fundamentalists handle sex. I just can't imagine people so uptight doing the do. They obviously procreate but how? It also makes me wonder if maybe they're really super depraved. When you do so much suppressing--long skirts, supervised dating, etc. it just makes me think they must have sex on the mind constantly and if they let down their guard just a little these hormonal fundamentalists would be having sex on the sidewalk. A point to ponder.)

So that's the atmosphere Ben was dreading before going down. I was pleasantly surprised by his family at a few points though. They asked what potential schools Ben was looking at and didn't bat an eye at Berkeley or any of the others. (We were anticipating the worst after Ben's uncle and grandmother on his mother's side let out gasps and groans and nearly had simultaneous heart attacks when he mentioned Berkeley.) Some of them were questioning the assumption that America was conceived as a Christian country. And Ben's aunt declared that she went to a Bob Jones book store in pants and one time she even wore SHORTS! Too cute. And when they found out we went to a wine tasting at Biltmore House they only chided us jokingly. (But you should have seen Gran's face when she found out that Ben's dad played the enabler and stayed with the kids in the children's area while we tasted that wine. I guess she expects us to be wicked but finding out her son helped was a shocker.)

But it wasn't all pleasant surprises and there was much to be endured. The best statement of the week came from Gran referring to the Palestinians--"They might have the nuclear bomb, but that doesn't compare to the bomb the Lord Jesus will drop on them." Direct quote. We pretty much buried our noses in books and ignored these comments altogether. Gran is so set in her ways that disagreeing with her only makes the unendurable conversations longer. We just say "Mm, hmm" and go on reading our books. Call us cowards.

(I did get a lot of reading done though. I read: A Map of the World--VERY good, Whale Rider--BEAUTIFUL! Read the book, see the movie, Beginning the World--Interesting, and The Great Train Robbery--Well . . . It's a Michael Crichton book.)

But Gran is very sweet with the girls and the girls love her. They handled the trip pretty well especially when Ben's aunts loaned out the Barbie dolls. We've never allowed our kids to have Barbie dolls but we took pity on them this time. Sure enough by the end of the week Evie was becoming fascinated by Barbie's "big bumps." But hearing her have a discussion with an embarrassed Grandpa about Barbie's underwear was priceless.

Ultimately, I'm glad we were able to go. We were the only ones stressed out by the whole adventure. The girls really enjoyed Gran and, of course, vice versa. They did yard work together, talked, played Barbies and did word puzzles. What made it even better was that we kept it a surprise. She didn't know we were coming along until she opened the door. The whole ride down all the adults were questioning the wisdom of the surprise thing. A 93 year old woman with a bad heart might just be done in by a big surprise. Obviously, she survived and we did too.

I'm still glad we're home though.

WE'RE BACK!!!!!!

We got back yesterday evening and, I must say, never in my life have I been so happy to be home. I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the carpet when we got home. My entire being was singing the Hallelujah Chorus. I wanted to shout--"I love you, apartment!" "I love you, weeds in my two foot flower bed!" "I love you, trash blowing around in my parking lot!" "I love you, living room!" "I love you, bathrooms!" "I love you, bedroom!" "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

Ben and I just kept looking at each other in disbelief. "We're home." It was like we'd just gotten out of Alcatraz or something. Ben picked up our dog who'd been living it up at our friends' house with a big yard and other doggie friends and I got to say, "I love you, Stella!" After that our family was complete and with the kids in bed we cracked open some wine and watched a totally dumb and unsatisfying movie and went to bed. Then we slept until 8:30 and we didn't feel guilty. I walked around in my pajamas with abandon. We ate breakfast at our own table. "I love you, home!" "I love you, breakfast!"

Free at last, Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!

(It was a great trip . . . really.)