A Charm of Finches

Our Weekend

2012-01-22T21:51:00.001-08:00

This weekend my sister and baby Seamus came for a visit. We ate Chicago style pizza, went to the science museum, the aquarium, played yahteez, scrabble, clue, and laughed our faces off. This entire blog post would be plastered with photos of Michelle and Seamus if it were not for her intense privacy demands. I included one pic where you cannot see Shamey's face.

I love my sister!

Birthday wish list

2012-01-17T07:33:00.000-08:00

Preppy penny loafers from ninewest:

A new laptop to replace my broken one:

Jcrew bright chunky sweaters

Pretty dress from piperlime:

Charm of finches poster:

Like Mother Like Son

2012-01-13T14:09:00.000-08:00

A few days ago Andrew had an assignment to write about something that happened over Christmas break. I overheard him and Aaron talking about it in the living room while I was doing flashcards with Amelia.

"Write about going to Mexico." Aaron told Andrew.

I didn't think much about it until the following morning when I was packing up the kid's lunches and came across the essay he had written sitting on the Kitchen table. I read all two pages and couldn't believe it. It was pure comedy.

He opened up the essay by stating that we had visited his grandpa in Mexico whose girlfriend was thirty years younger than him. He proceeded to mention that his grandpa had a woman who lived in his house who was homeless and pregnant. She was going to give her baby to Grandpa and his girlfriend. Next he talked about how there were twelve pit-bull puppies in their yard. To add even more flavor he brought up all the dangerous fireworks Grandpa had bought him to play with.

I am expecting CPS any minute now.

Despite the embarrassing content, I have to say the story was highly entertaining. My boy can write.

The Mess That is Me

2012-01-11T09:02:00.000-08:00

I bought red jeans and I am wearing them right now. They are totally ridiculous. I’m in love with them. Also, I bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday. I know I am terrible mother. This will not become a habit. I will only have one a day in the afternoon when my house is dead silent and only the dog is home to see what I am up to. I will never buy a pack ever again. Promise. I feel intensely stressed out over silly things like the fact that I can’t seem to do anything right. I am a mess.

Conundrum

2012-01-11T08:53:00.000-08:00

I am working on an article right now that is based on the controversial lifestyle choice of a couple of friends of mine. It’s killing me. I keep rewriting the intro over and over and over again. I get about 1,000 or so words into it and then delete the whole damn thing. I am so afraid of offending people and losing friends over this piece that it has become a huge headache. I know that once I finish it will be great but I am just wondering if it’s worth it. I am trying to find the balance of writing an excellent story while at the same time being a good friend. Arghh. I don’t know if I can do it.

Happy 2012

2012-01-04T21:29:00.000-08:00

Things that happened in 2011:

Saw a dead guy at Lake Murray

Learned how to properly tweeze my eyebrows

Witnessed my son get attacked by a swarm of bees

Went to Chicago for my mom’s 60th Birthday

Went to Mexico lots, and lots of times

Spent three amazing days with my childhood best friend

Got paid to write

Spent lots of girly-girly time with Amelia

Saw two whales

Enjoyed the sight of wild parrots in my backyard

Joyfully witnessed Andrew become more mature

Learned how to Skype

Finally joined the digital age when I received a cell phone for Christmas

Carted Jake to and from his guitar lessons

Was trapped in a Laundromat while undercover agents pointed their guns at two criminals

Met the girl my brother-in-law is going to marry and actually like her

Made of couple of great new friends

Have a kid that is experiencing puberty (not fun)

Dyed my hair blonde--again

Fractured my wrist when I fell off a chair because I am a delicate old lady

Locked my keys in my car twice

Became a homeowner

Realized that I suck at gardening

Bought a king sized bed

Lost 20 pounds gained 10 back.

Appreciated Aaron even more due to his Zen like patience of my shenanigans

Discovered the awesomeness that is Cosmo’s, my local coffee shop

Thanks to Amelia, Started watching the sunset on occasional evenings while
sitting on a blanket on top of my truck with the kids.

Started really bonding with my dog by taking super long leisurely walks
through my neigborhood with her.

My new favorite shoes

2012-01-03T14:47:00.001-08:00

When I was in preschool my friend Christine had ruby red shoes. I coveted them to the extreme. I got some for Christmas. The five year old me is giddy.

La Jolla

2012-01-01T22:13:00.001-08:00

Having an out of town guest was a perfect excuse to spend three days exploring San Diego.

Whale Watching in San Diego

2011-12-31T23:00:00.000-08:00

My childhood BFF came out from Chicago for a visit this week. On Thursday we went whale watching. Our boat was surrounded by a pod of dolphins. It was possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We were also able to see two whales swimming side by side. It's moments like those when I really love my city.

Love

2011-12-30T22:24:00.001-08:00

I adore him.

Mexico take 2

2011-12-29T07:21:00.001-08:00

Christmas in Mexico

2011-12-26T12:16:00.000-08:00

Christmas Baja Style

Google It

2011-12-23T08:01:00.000-08:00

Here are my favorite phrases that people have googled in order to stumble across my blog:

1. How do snakes pee and poo?
2. Meg Ryan Hot photos
3. Why should I get plastic surgery?
4. Sheep stuffed animals
5. NHL Wrestling masks

Random.

Best Christmas Present Ever

2011-12-22T16:34:00.000-08:00

My kids have lice. Not all three of them, basically just Amelia. However I did find eggs in Jake and Andrew's hair. So gross. We received an e-mail from our principal a few days ago stating that lice was circulating around the school. I didn't freak out. I should've.

Today I spotted a big one crawling around in Amelia's hair. I immediately set out for the drug store to buy some lice shampoo. I have spent the day shampooing the kid’s hair, combing out little eggs from their scalps, washing sheets, pillows, sofa covers, and vacuuming and shampooing the holy shit out of our carpets.

While I was combing the little nits out of Amelia's hair she was screaming her head off as if I were attempting to murder her. That girl has a severe bug phobia. I don’t blame her. It's disgusting.

It's just one thing after another around here.

When Bees Attack

2011-12-22T07:12:00.000-08:00

Last year, my friend Nicole and I came up with the genius idea of taking each others family Chirstmas photos. We got all dressed up and went to the train park in Poway. Our pictures turned out amazing. This year we decided to do the same. I suggested Mission Trails. It didn't go so well.

It all started innocently enough—Andrew in an itchy sweater, Amelia in something frilly, and Jake in blue to highlight his eyes. The three of them suffered through a round of fake smiles and awkward poses in an effort to take the perfect family photo. In the end we rewarded them by allowing them to climb under a bridge in Mission Trails to run wild through the tall grass. Things ended badly.

Within minutes we heard a shriek. Andrew and Amelia emerged from under the bridge followed by a swarm of irate bees. Andrew had stepped on a hive. I have never seen him in such a state of terror. As Andrew and Amelia sprinted towards us, I could see bees ping-ponging off their heads.

The bees chased Andrew all the way across the bridge, down the trail, and to our truck. It was kind of like being in a really intense Indiana Jones scene. It was surreal. There we were, in a beautiful setting all dressed up and being attacked by insects. I feel like if we had a recorded the events it would have been YouTube gold.

Afterward, Aaron and I spent a good thirty minutes picking stingers out of Andrew’s chin, neck, back, and scalp. He had dozens of bee stings. It took a couple of hours for him to relax because he was so shaken up. After some Motrin and Benadryl he was fine. Somehow Amelia and Jake escaped without a single sting.

In the end Andrew has a really awesome cautionary tale to one day share with his own children. I have a feeling that next year, the mere mention of family photos will send him into a panic attack!

Last year (way better)

This year

When I Can't Sleep, I Write Lists

2011-12-21T01:20:00.000-08:00

It is 1am and I absolutely cannot fall asleep. So here is a list of pointless info.

1. Tonight I submitted an article to my editor that I am afraid he will hate
2. I told him in the e-mail that I sent him that I was afraid he would hate it.
3. I shouldn't have said that.
4. I tend to say lots of stuff I regret later.
5. I don't know how to follow the rule of little said = little mended.
6. We are spending Christmas in Mexico this year.
7. We are going to the church in Rosarito that was just built using the windows that were the originals in our house when we moved in.
8. I think it's pretty cool that our old windows got put to use.
9. My father-in-law and his kind of, sort of, wife are adopting a baby that is to be born any day now.
10. They are going to name her Esther.
11. My father-in-law annoys me every time I see him, mostly when he is eating because he has really bad table manners.
12. I am trying to be a nicer a person.
13. Tonight the kids and I served and ate dinner with homeless people at the El Cajon rec center. One of the homeless guys kept calling Andrew a gentle giant. Maybe because he was wearing green?
14. My best friend is flying in from Chicago in 6 days.
15. This year my mother-in-law sent me a gift addressed to Shiobhan. I am wondering if that means she hates me.

New Year's Eve

2011-12-20T08:45:00.000-08:00

Aaron and I have yet to land any amazing invites to posh New Year's Eve parties but it will happen. I refuse to sit home and listen to aaron snore at 10pm sharp. I'm going to buy an amazing dress and we WILL do something fun. If worse comes to worse I will force people to get dressed up and come to my house. Here's what I have in mind dress wise:

Us

2011-12-18T15:10:00.000-08:00

The Other Man

2011-12-18T10:54:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, I met my friend’s brother for dinner at Claim Jumpers to go over an article I’m writing about him. Afterward we shared a cigarette in the parking lot (Just to clarify, I am merely a social smoker). I was leaning against his car and he was standing next to me. He was in the middle of telling me a story about how he injured his lip playing football with some other Marines when one of the moms from Jake’s Boy Scout pack walked past us. I locked eyes with her for a second. I almost waved but she gave me a funny look. For a minute I thought it was because I was smoking but then I realized it was the cigarette coupled with the idea that it appeared as if I were sharing a romantic moment with a man other than my husband. How embarrassing.

I didn’t say a word. She got in her car and drove away.

“You just made me look like a whore.” I told my friend.

I have a feeling that the moms at Jake’s next pack meeting will be feeling very sorry for my poor husband. Oh well.

I told Aaron when I got home to which he responded, "I think I should milk this and act very depressed at the next scouting event."

Wonderful.

Reader Christmas Party

2011-12-17T09:37:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday night I went to the San Diego Reader Christmas party. It was pretty amazing to be surrounded by such creative and talented people.

The Least Expected Turn of Events

2011-12-16T08:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I saw a dead person at Lake Murray. Eighteen days ago I was trapped in a Laundromat while police pointed their guns at two scary looking criminals. Now this. Who knew that moving to La Mesa would be filled with so much drama?

I met my friend Kaley at 10am for a walk around Lake Murray. We were on our way back down the trail when it happened. Kaley had just finished telling me about an argument her and her husband had gotten into over her negative attitude towards their new puppy. We were both laughing hard the moment I saw him.

He was lying face down on the ground; a woman was attempting to roll him over onto his back. I grabbed Kaley's arm. She was still laughing. She hadn't seen him yet. "Stop," I whispered. I motioned towards the man. The two of us paused for a second, unsure of what to do. We walked towards them. There was blood coming out of his head. A thick pool of it ran down the path and puddled into the grass. His face was bloody too.

A petite gray haired woman with a white button-down shirt was attempting to resuscitate him. She was rhythmically pushing on his chest the way they do in movies. Every now and then a loud frightening gargling sound would come from his throat.

"Is he alive?" she kept asking. I was afraid to get too close. There was so much blood. A woman in a track suit stepped in it. She left a bloody shoe print. I couldn;t stop starring at it.

"I can't get a pulse. Can anyone feel a pulse?" She asked calmly. Another woman took his pulse "I think he's dead." she said. The gray hair lady kept pushing. "Hello, are you there." she kept saying to the man as if she were speaking into a telephone with a bad connection.

There were other people with us, maybe 5 or 6 standing around trying to be helpful.

He had dead eyes. His skin was blue. Definitely dead.

"He was walking in front of us and just stumbled. He fell down hard straight on his face, just like that." A woman told a man in spandex that had stopped to help.

Kaley and I called 911. The operator told me to calm down and give her the facts. I didn't really know the facts, and I thought I was being calm.

It took the paramedics 15 minutes to get there. He was long dead at that point. The petite woman in the white shirt never stopped thumping on his chest. Her dedication at attempting to save him was eerily beautiful.

Afterward Kaley and I walked in silence back to our cars. After about 5 minutes she started to giggle. I did too. We were cracking up--doubled over laughing.

"I don't think it's funny, none if this is funny." she said choking back a chuckle.

"Me either. It is so sad and terrible. I'm an inappropriate laugher. I can't help it" I laughed

"I feel so weird and uncomfortable that laughing is my only coping mechanism." her laughter was loud and nervous sounding.

"There is something wrong with us." I said.

"I know." She agreed

We pulled it together and managed to act civilized. People kept stopping us to ask what was going on. Why were there so many police cars and ambulances, they wanted to know. We had to tell the story over and over until Kaley decided to just start saying: "There is a dead guy over there." That answer was oddly the easiest to give and required the less information and retelling of the events. "You have zero bedside manners." I told her. She went into a giggle fit again and apologized for being such a mess. "I have never seen a dead body before." she said.

We decided that next time we will meet for coffee and avoid hiking trails.

Kaley has decided that she will never go to Lake Murray again because according to her, if she fell she would die because the paramedics are far too slow to respond. I don't know about me. I think I'll be back, eventually.

Meanwhile, I can't stop thinking about the dead guy. What was his name, I wonder. How did his family take the news? I wonder if he had been sick or if his death was a freak accident. I am saddened that their Christmas will be filled with tragedy. I have been saying prayers for his family all day long.

Balancing out the Hate Mail

2011-12-13T11:47:00.000-08:00

Someone sent in a nice letter to the editor about my recent SD Reader cover. It was published a few weeks ago in the letters section. I'm wondering if it is an aunt or friend of mine using a fake name. Is Caren Jaeger a real person? Who knows but lets hope so.

Here's what they had to say:

Heading For A Book

Re Siobhan Braun. Who is this writer? She is insightful and expresses herself in a most hilarious style (“For My Birthday, My Husband Bought Me a House,” Cover Story, November 17). Keep writing, Siobhan, there is a book in you! (And I’d like to be advised of the publication date ASAP!!)

Caren Jaeger
via email

The Unexpected

2011-12-13T09:58:00.000-08:00

On November 30th I planned to go to mass at 12pm. I didn't want my day to pass without recognizing that three years ago my dad passed away. I thought attending a Catholic service would be a good way of honoring him. Life got in the way of my plan.

My washing machine broke the week before. I had been ignoring the piles of laundry that had accumulated in our closets. A part to fix it, a small black hose, was supposed to be delivered by the end of the week. I was going to wait it out and deal with the laundry when the part arrived. However, the kids rooms, especially Jake's, started to smell like stinky boy B.O. My mom was flying in that night from Chicago to celebrate Jake's birthday. I felt like I had to do laundry or else mom would think I was a slob. I figured if I went early enough to the Laundromat I would still have time for mass. I was wrong but I think my excuse for missing it was valid.

I trekked up to superlaundry in La Mesa. I had three full baskets to do. After dumping them in the machines and feeding my quarters in the dispenser I heard persistent barking from outside. I peered out and saw two men with tattoos holding German shepherds. I was confused. Were the dogs fighting? Had there been a dog attack on the sidewalk in front of the Laundromat? What was going on?

That's when I saw the guns. The men with the dogs were cops. Nearby there were five, maybe six, police officers with their weapons pulled. It seemed pretend. Maybe there were camera crews and a TV show was being filmed. The weapons looked like my boys B.B guns. I couldn't imagine they had capability of blowing heads off.

A woman stood next to me holding a dirty pillow case to her chest as she watched the scene outside. The young twenty-something employee of the Laundromat stopped what he was doing. We all instinctively walked towards the window to get a closer look.

"Look at the parking lot!" the Laundromat worker said. "It's crawling with cops!"

Outside, which seemed so quiet a minute ago, was lined with police cars and undercover cops. Men in bullet proof vests and others in suits and ties stood, looking very official, outside.

"Where did they all come from?" the woman asked

An officer was taping off the area with that yellow crime scene tape. We were inside the tape.

A man with a mustache and a tie came inside

"Get away from the windows" he yelled.

The three of us stepped back. The Laundromat worker jumped on top of one of the bigger machines to get a bird’s eye view. The woman with the pillow case stood next to me. She nervously grabbed onto my wrist.

Meanwhile the laundry employee was taking pictures with his iPhone. He started giving us a play by play:

"The guns are pointed at a parked car. There are two guys in the car. Wait, no, one of them is a woman. They're just sitting there. They're not getting out. Wait... there are kids in the car too, three of them, I see a baby."

The suit and tie officer comes in again, "Stay in here," he warns, "Don't leave."

After some time the two people get out of their car. The officers put their guns down. The two are handcuffed.

"Geez--look at him," the woman whose hand is still on my wrist says, "He even looks like a criminal! Will you look at those pants! Those are the kind of pants criminals always wear."

His jeans were baggy and their waist low. I want to say something condescending to the woman but I don't.

We watch as police officers remove the children from the car. A cop picks up an infant carrier with a baby inside.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks the officer next to him. Shrug. He places the infant in its seat down on the sidewalk. The two other kids are escorted inside the Laundromat where there is a plastic play structure.

"Is it okay for them to be here?" the officer asks the employee.

"Sure." he says

The boys are left unsupervised to run wild in the Laundromat. My first instinct is to hug them. I expect them to be terrified or crying but they aren't. They run towards the plastic play structure. The oldest one is laughing. The little one follows him.

"Let's play!" he tells the other one. “Climb up the slide!"

"I guess they're used to this kind of thing." The wrist grabber says to me while making a sour looking face at the boys.

I'm annoyed by her. I ask the boys if they would like to pick out something from the vending machine. They do. They run over to me.

The boys pick out mini Oreos. They do not say thank you. They ask me for more money. I expect them to be thanking me while at the same time crying. My expectations are ridiculous I realize. I am being silly. Kids are kids, they just want to play and eat snacks and look for the good in a terrible situation. They appear completely unphased that their parents just had guns pulled on them.

A pillow explodes in a nearby drier, the wrist grabber opens up the door and fluffy white feathers shoot up into the air. It looks beautiful. It makes everything seem even more surreal, the guns,the kids, the feathers, the police, all of it seems like a dream. Mozart should be playing. Is this my father's way of saying hello, I wondered?

I place two quarters in a video game machine. I play it with one of the little boys who tells me he is ten. When I say "really!" in disbelief, he says, "Okay, I am 8." I'm still not buying it. "Okay I'm really seven." he admits.

"Were those your parents in the car?" I ask.

He shrugs. I don't know if that means yes or no.

"Are you okay," I ask. "Are you scared?" He doesn't answer.

A police officer outside has finally picked up the baby from its infant seat out on the sidewalk. He walks into the Laundromat.

"Is this your sister? Where is her diaper bag?" He addresses the seven year old.

"We don't have one," the boy says.

"Well how are we supposed to change her diaper? Don't you think you should have a diaper bag for her." his tone is gruff.

The little boy looks down.

The officer walks out with the baby. I want to take the infant from him. I want to take all three kids to my house and make them lunch and let them sleep in Jake's bunk beds.

Soon the parking lot that was once thick with law enforcement is empty. the yellow crime tape is gone. As quickly as the cops appeared they have disappeared. But the kids are still there. My laundry is finished. I can't bring myself to leave.

"Is someone coming for them?" I ask the guy that works there. The Laundromat guy points outside. There is a car parked where the other car with the criminals had been.

"That lady in the car is with them." he says

I wait until she comes in before I get ready to leave.

While standing in the laudromat doorway, she asks the younger boy who might be four, "Why are you playing video games!?"

He is holding two quarter in his tiny fist. He points to me. She grabs the change from his hand.

"Get out to the car now!" she shrieks at the boys. They follow her outside and get in the car.

I go back to my laundry. I neatly place my clothes in their baskets. Before walking out I see a man on the other side of the Laundromat. He is with a skinny older woman that has bleach blonde hair. She is tan and wrinkly. A red scrunchy is holding up her stringy hair in a thick ponytail.

The man has a scar running the length of his skull. It starts on the left side under his earlobe and runs up his scalp. He is bald. I stare at him. He stares back. It looks like the scar my dad had after his first surgery. I suddenly picture my dad in the pink chair in the living room of my childhood house. It's right after he has come home from the hospital after having surgery to remove his tumor. He is watching wheel of fortune. His face is puffy and his scar is still new to me. I hate looking at it. It makes me angry. It makes me wish that I had the scar instead of him. I'm nineteen and convinced that I am terrible person deserving of brain tumors. I wish my dad would wear a hat. I am ashamed that I feel that way.

My eyes are glued on the bald man in the Laundromat. Where did he come from, I wonder? Was the man with the scar in the Laundromat the entire time? Was he there during the guns and the arrest? Again I feel like I am dreaming. The leathery lady with him looks at me. She looks tired. She is used to him being gawked at. I wonder if she wishes he would wear a hat. I have an urge to sit with them and help them fold their laundry. Instead, I leave.

I walk past the car with the kids whose parents have just been arrested. The woman in charge of them is on her cell phone. She looks haggard. I wave at the boys. They wave back

When I get to my car I can't help wonder if all of the strange situations in the Laundromat meant something and if so what? Was I supposed to learn something? Was my dad talking to me in some odd symbolic language or was I just looking for it to mean something? Was the man with the scar an odd coincidence?

I drove home without going to mass because it was already 1:13pm. Once again November 30th wasn't what I expected but it was much like years past where I had expected it to go one way but instead turned out so completely different and oddly perfect. In the end I think I did honor my dad.

Birthday Letter Number Eleven

2011-12-01T17:18:00.000-08:00

Jake,

Today you are 11. Last night before you went to bed I gave you a hug and told you that I wished you would just stay ten. You smiled up at me in that cute dimpled face way of yours.

I meant it. I think that there should be a pill that mothers can use on their children so their kids can stay one age for a very long time. I wanted you to be ten for at least another decade. It's too late now because you woke up this morning as an eleven-year-old.

I am worried that you are going to start losing your sweetness. Some of it is wearing off already. You have started taking a grumpy teenaged tone with me. You get frustrated easily and sign loudly. It's part of growing up. I know it won't last forever. You are figuring out who you are and when your done I am certain you are going to be an amazing man.

For now I'm happy that you still wake up in a good mood. The rest of us are horrendous in the a.m. You make our thirty minute drive to school each moring a little more tolerable.

This year you are a 5th grader. After three consecutive years of being the only boy in your class, finally you have another male student. Micah moved here over the summer from Alaska. Unfortunatley the two of you have a love/hate realtionship. We are hoping with time you and Micah will grow to appreciate each other more.

In the beginning of the school year, you were moved up to 6th grade math because you are a math whiz. You are a sponge. Everything facinates you. Your brain is filled with obscure information. I envy that in you. You have inheriated that trait from your dad.

You have started taking guitar lessons. Every Tuesday for a half in hour you learn white Stripes and Nirvana songs. This last month you've gotten pretty good.

Your doing boy scouts with our neighbor kid. You love all the fun adventures from that and have made lots of new friends.

This year you have also developed your first serious crush on our 14-year-old-neighbor. You and her take walks down to sprouts to buy candy and bake cookies togetether. she makes you play Just Dance with her which is pretty funny to witness. Basically you will do anything she tells you to do. She adores you and loves the undivided attention you give her. It's pretty adorable.

I love you so very much.

Mom

Holiday Photo Sneak Peak

2011-11-28T13:09:00.000-08:00

We have a crazy story to go along with this years holiday pictures.
More to come once I get my Holiday cards in the mail and have more time.

Holiday Hair

2011-11-27T22:31:00.000-08:00

1. Use a large-barrel curling iron to create loose curls all around your head, from the ears down.
2. Part your hair in the middle, and use your fingers to loosen and separate the curls.
3. Starting halfway down the part, begin spritzing your roots with hairspray. Continue to the crown.
4. To create height and volume, tease the sprayed hair with a fine-tooth comb.
5. Use a brush to gently smooth the teased hair, and gather the sides up into a half ponytail.
6. Secure the sides with pins, then use your fingers to gently shape the curls into place.
7. End with shine spray. Try John Frieda Frizz-Ease 100% Shine Glossing Mist, at drugstores.
8. Voila! A hairdo worthy of Brigitte Bardot

Snagged from here: http://www.triplemaxtons.com/2010/12/easy-holiday-hair.html

Amelia in November

2011-11-27T19:18:00.000-08:00

Giving Thanks

2011-11-24T23:37:00.000-08:00

Things that happened during this year's Thanksgiving:

1. Jesse, my brother-in-law, informed us that he will be getting married to his new girlfriend, the one we all thought was a rebound fling. The wedding will take place in Korea this summer. I am excited to take an exotic vacation.

2. I forgot to make cranberries which are mine and Andrew's favorite side dish; also I neglected to make my Grandmother's apple pie.

3. Today, my father-in-law gifted Jacob with a case of Mexican Coca-Cola for his 11th birthday which is on next Friday. He always buys people food products for their birthdays. I think it is strange. Jacob was super into it though.

4. Before our meal I forced people to hula hoop. There is nothing more hysterical than watching grown people attempt to hula hoop.

5. The best thing I ate today was stuffing. I love stuffing. If I were stuck on an island I would be okay with only eating stuffing for the rest of my life.

6. At 10pm this evening Aaron got up from the coach, walked two feet and fell right on his face. This happens to him from time to time because his legs fall asleep and buckle when he attempts to walk. I laughed for ten consecutive minutes. So did my friend Nicole and her brother Danny.

7. This year I made Thanksgiving jars for everyone that came over for dinner. We wrote down our favorite things about each guest and placed them in the jar. We read them during dinner. It was fun. I think I will make it a tradition.

8. It is currently 11:24 and we are watching a film about a drug addicted writer played by Bradley Copper. It's not so good.

Thankful jars

I wish I had this

2011-11-22T10:08:00.000-08:00

I have become increasingly addicted to pinterest. My friend/hairdresser turned me on to it a few weeks ago. I found this amazing poster there the other day. I am love with it and want it for my entryway:

Thank You Rebecca Kiperts

2011-11-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

I was starting to feel out of sorts when my Reader article didn’t accumulate any hate mail. Luckily, someone wrote a scathing letter to the editor. It is in this week’s letter section of the San Diego Reader. This is what they had to say:

Career Counselor

I believe Siobhan Braun needs a reality check (“For My Birthday, My Husband Bought Me a House,” Cover Story, November 17). You should be on your knees every night thanking God for a husband who loves you and three healthy (I assume, since you hardly mentioned them) children, as well as your house. If you got off your tush and got a job, you might realize how hard it is to earn a dollar these days, rather than whining that employers only want to look at your body. Go take a couple of classes at a community college so you can use their counseling office to see what you might be interested in learning to become good at: something besides housework and picking up dog poop. I’m not belittling those activities, they can be very rewarding and a blessing to your family, but once kids are in school, they don’t need you quite as much. Marriage is a partnership, and your husband is asking for your help (in a sort of roundabout, male way) — renegotiate! Have you saved for your retirement? Your children’s college education? Made a living trust in case, God forbid, he gets hit by a truck? Do you have enough life insurance? All these things cost money, just like those windows he researched so carefully, so as not to waste money. Sure, it’s easy to criticize when you’re not earning those dollars.

You write quite well; perhaps you could be an editor — maybe the Reader could use your skills — be a school bus driver — they’ll teach you how to discipline all kinds of kids — be a nurse (although you sound a bit too selfish for that), be a dog trainer (who doesn’t like golden retrievers?), just do something! It will be a good example to your kids that Mom worked hard to find a job. And your husband will be so grateful he might pick up his socks or learn to do laundry himself — do your kids do chores? Their future spouses will be grateful if they have skills as well!

Rebecca Kiperts
Mission Village

I read it to Aaron and he got a big huge chuckle. I think I will print it out and affix it to the fridge, that way any time I am feeling too pleased with myself I can read it and be reminded that I am seen as a poop picker-upper and as an individual far too selfish for nursing. Love it!

Growing Up

2011-11-20T20:40:00.000-08:00

Last night Andrew went to his first girl/boy party. When he got back I asked him if he kissed a girl. He was not amused. Not at all.

Pictures from his recent etiquette dinner at school:

Wishlist for my Kids

2011-11-20T16:20:00.000-08:00

Coat-Anthropologie kids, Shirt-Crew cuts, Other shirt-Etsy

All I want for Christmas

2011-11-19T08:36:00.000-08:00

Dress-modcloth, boots-Anthropologie, art-etsy, Bubble necklace-Jcrew, Bike-Urban Outiftters.

Uncomfort

2011-11-16T12:32:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in Cosmo’s, my favorite coffee shop. I come here in the afternoons often to work on my novel. Yes, I am writing a novel, and yes I am aware how ridiculous that is. I almost always sit on the black leather coach that faces the window because I like to watch the people walking by and those sitting on the patio out front. Currently there is a woman with cropped red spikey hair sitting out there. She is wearing fingerless gloves, Madonna style, and drinking an ice tea. Across from her is a two-toned blonde smoking a cigarette. I am equally fascinated by both them. Everyone fascinates me.

The man sitting on one of stools to my left is thumbing through a San Diego Reader. I am on the cover of this week’s Reader. I wonder if he will notice. I hope he will not. A handful of people have picked them up while I have been here. It mortifies me for two reasons, the first being that I look like an idiot. My hands look crippled and my face chubby. The second reason—I think the story is ridiculous.

I always feel this way the moment the Reader publishes something of mine. Before it comes out in print I am okay with it but afterwards the very idea that something I have written is being read by other people makes me feel silly and exposed. I wish I could be more normal about it. I think I really need to branch out and stop writing about myself.

Dreams

2011-11-15T11:18:00.000-08:00

I had a dream last night that I was swimming in the Western Springs Community Pool. The WS pool is a place where I spent countless summer days as a child. Dad was the one who always took me there. I don’t recall my mom every going with us. He would pretend to be a dolphin and I would ride on his back.

Dad was visibly missing from my dream last night. While I was dreaming, I was looking for him. It was one of those dreams where I was fully aware that everything was make-believe. Does that happen to other people, I wonder? Do other people know they are dreaming while they are dreaming? This happens to me often. It sucks the the thrill out a really good dream.

I couldn’t get passed the idea that I was dreaming of the Western Springs pool and dad wasn’t there. It annoyed me. Where is he, I kept thinking. Oddly my pastor was in the dream. He was my fake dad. Only he was doing things that my dad would never do, like swimming in the deep end where his feet couldn't touch and jumping off the divingboard. It was like he was trying to be a fill in, but doing a really bad job at it. Didn't he know that my dad had a fear of deep water? I kept calling him dad. It was peculiar.

When I woke up I could hear the water running—Aaron was in the shower. Maybe that’s where the dream came from? I haven’t been able to get the dream out of my mind. All morning I have been obsessing over it. I think my pastor represented my dad because he just learned he has a tumor growing behind his eye. He has lost nearly all of his vision in his right eye. He has been told that his loss of sight has nothing to do with the tumor. His doctors are baffled. I am concerned because I remember all the confusion when my dad first became ill. My mom sought out the best docotors and got numerous opinions. Because of this, years were tacked on to dad's life. Whenever I see my pastor I worry about him. I feel like I need to urgently persuade him to get the opinions of the very best doctors but I don’t want to be alarmist. I say nothing. Instead I am dreaming that my pastor is my father. Weird.

How to Curl your Hair using a Curling Iron

2011-11-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

My friend Heather always has perfectly curled hair. It gives me a severe case of hair envy. She uses hot rollers. Hot rollers make me look stupid and old.I found a good alternative--the curling iron. Here is a link to a great tutorial from refinery 29 on how to get perfect curling iron curls. I'm going to try it today. http://www.refinery29.com/curling-iron-curls-how-to-video

Jacob the Grump

2011-11-15T10:03:00.000-08:00

Jacob is becoming mean. I knew this would happen. I should’ve been prepared. Andrew was the same way right around 11. It’s how boys get.

Jacob is grumpy and difficult; He rolls his eyes at me and talks back constantly. He wants to know “why do I have to!!” anytime I ask him to do anything. He is constantly sighing.

Jacob has always been my sweet kid. Since he was a baby he has been sensitive and considerate. I have never met another boy that smiled more than he did. It’s hard for me to get used to the grumpy version of him. I know that it will pass. He is growing up,learning, and developing. He has a lot going on in his world.

At 12, nearly 13, Andrew has almost outgrown his grump phase. He is like the 5 foot 2 version of a grown man. I am certain that I will not have to suffer through Jacob’s meanness for that much longer. It’s just kind of a bummer. I miss my kid. It really is true that kids grow up far too quickly.

Jacob and Andrew messing around with their friends at school

Jacob meeting a camel on a recent field trip.

Midweek Adventure

2011-11-12T15:10:00.000-08:00

Last Tuesday a friend of mine invited me to a film opening in LA. At first I declined the invitation. It was a school night and I would need to secure a babysitter for the kids because Aaron was out of town. It seemed like too much work to make it happen. But then she told me that she was actually in the film and would be part of a Q and A afterward.

"It's a documentary and kind of controversial. I'm wearing a wig in it to hide my identity. If you don't come I'll never tell you what it's about it."

By nature I am nosey, so I made it happen. It was a fun midweek adventure. We stayed later than we should and had drinks with the producers and a few other documentary film makers. It was fun chatting with a group of highly creative minds. It was the most interesting Tuesday night I have had in a really long time. I'm glad I went.

I was going to attach the trailer for the film but I think a few of my regular blog readers would recognize my friend. So I won't. In case you're wondering it had nothing to do with porn. It's not really controversial as much as an oxymoron if that makes sense.

Favorite Places

2011-11-12T08:08:00.000-08:00

Slowly but surely our house is starting to come together. We still have a few major projects left (a new fence, new garage doors, exterior paint, and wood floors). It's starting to feel more and more like us everyday.

I love our house. Each time I drive down the tree lined streets leading to home, I smile because I am so glad that we waited as long as we did to find the perfect home for us. I love that we have set down our roots. Our home is where we will stay into old age. It will be the place that our children have the fondest memories in and where they will return with their own children.

Here are a few of my favorite spots in our house:

In our upstairs hallway we have a really cool vintage dresser that holds our linens. On top of it is one of my most beloved material possessions, my typewriter. I found it at an antique fair in La Mesa a few months after we moved here. Another woman was haggling with the seller over the price and angrily stomped off when she didn't get her way. I swooped in and purchased it. It makes me happy.

Above the typewriter are last years family portraits. A friend and I took photos together. She took ours and I took theirs. We plan to do the same this year. So soon those photos will be replaced with our new ones soon.

I have been struggling with how to decorate this area in our living room since moving in. I am finally happy with the results. The chalkboard doesn't photograph well but it looks cool in real life. It's a pottery barn piece that I scored at the thrift store for $3.99! I change the quote weekly. Currently it has 1 Peter 4:8 on it : Above all Love each other deeply because love covers over a multitude of sin.

We have numerous bookshelves in our home. They are everywhere. I decided to get those hand bookends so we could feature our favorite books. More importantly it is where we keep our library books so we don't have to search everywhere when it is time to return them. We are obsessed with the library so it comes in handy to have a special spot for these books.

My two other favorite items are the vintage San Francisco trolley music box and the volcano rock. Both represent our annual family trip where we drive up the 101 stopping in San Fran to visit my brother. I look forward to the trip every year and believe that Northern California is the closest place to heaven i have ever seen. It is shockingly beautiful.

Poofed or Pooped

2011-11-06T19:45:00.000-08:00

Before Amelia goes to bed we take turns making up stories. Here is one she made up last night:

Why Do I Torture Myself

2011-11-06T16:03:00.000-08:00

I really think that Trader Joe's should add horns to their shopping carts. Every time I set foot in that place I suffer from severe shopping cart rage. I am shocked that I have yet to scream, "Move Bitch." like I do while in my car. People are perpetually in my way whenever I shop there. I don't know why I continually punish myself by buying my groceries there. It's just not worth it.

My friend Shannon once told me that if Jesus were alive he would shop at Trader Joe's. I disagree. It is too small and too packed and it makes people grumpy. I saw a middle aged woman tell off an elderly man for lingering in the overcrowded produce department. I'm going to have to buy my flat bread, Mediterranean hummus, persimmons, and my granola somewhere else! I am breaking up with Trader Joe's!

Disney Fanatics

2011-11-06T12:50:00.000-08:00

I never thought I would be one of those people that is all, “OMG I love Disneyland! It is awesome! I want to go their all the time, blah blah, blah.” But I am that person.

Years ago, my parents treated the boys, Aaron, and I with a mini Disney vacation for Andrew’s 5th birthday. Jacob was in tears the entire time. He thought all the characters dressed up as Mickey, Goofy, and Pooh Bear intended to kill him. The rides terrified him because they were dark and had fluorescent things popping out at him. He wanted to go home. He spent the day in constant fear for his life while I spent my time trying to calm him down. When we left I had no interest in ever going back.

Nearly 8 years later we decided to give it another try for the sake of Amelia, who is in the only kid in her class that has yet to spend the day at Disneyland. The boys stayed with friends because they thought the idea of sleepover at someone else’s house sounded like more fun.

It was just Aaron, Amelia, and I. For thirty six hours Amelia had a constant grin on her face (except when we went in the haunted hotel which terrified her). We went on Space Mountain five times, we had breakfast with the Disney Princesses, we slept at the Disneyland hotel, we rode the monorail, the teacups, we toured the homes of Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and we watched the parade in the evening, and saw the World of Colors show. It was fantastic. I am officially a Disneyland fanatic.

Amelia paraded around Disneyland first in a Snow White costume, and the next day in and Ariel one. We gave her a map and she circled all the places she wanted to go to. She enthusiastically led us around the prak. It was one of the best 36 hours of my life. I want to go back like right now! Here are some pictures:

Our weekend in pictures

2011-10-30T21:16:00.000-07:00

Andrew on the far right in the front row and Jake holding the football

This weekend was the busiest we've had in awhile. Friday night was the school Halloween party, Saturday was a football game for the kids, a neighborhood pumpkin carving party, and an adult halloween party. Sunday was the mud run in which Andrew and Amelia both refused to take part in because "Mud is gross!" who are they!?

Decided

2011-10-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

Since I have a bizarre aversion to birds, I have decided to celebrate that fact by being a bird attack victim for Halloween. While googling photos for my costume I came across one of the greatest photos I have ever seen:

In the presence of winged creatures, I am totally this lady.

Our Cub

2011-10-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

The people that live behind us are scouting fanatics. The dad is a pack leader and the mom is a den leader. Their son is a cub scout and their daughter is a girl scout. Their lives are consumed with pack activities. Sometimes I wonder if they poop girl scout cookies.

Since moving in to our new house Aaron has decided that our boys should become scouts. I wasn't a fan of the idea. I was a girl scout from age 10-12. The uniforms were itchy, they would force us to clean up parks on the weekends, and our leader freaked out when my friend Jessica and I played light as a feather stiff as a board. If I remember correctly, she called us demon worshipers.

Andrew out right refused to become a boy scout. At 12, he realizes that becoming a scout may put an end to any sort of social life he's got going on. He was spared, which is a good thing because scouts are far too optimistic for my cynical little Andrew.

Jake however, is still young enough that he will not be labeled as a freak for being a cub scout. He joined the neighbor's pack and loves it. I find the events excruciating. There is too much pep involved in every thing and everyone is smiling--all the time! They expect the parents to sing cheesy songs and preform skits and know the boy scout salute. I suffer through it gladly because it makes Jake super happy. It's a small price to pay.

I Thought I Would Share

2011-10-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

Last year I stumbled upon a really great San Diego Reader article. When I set out to write something publishable I often find myself rereading this article. It is well written and touching while at the same time holds intimate pieces of knowledge. Even though I never met Judith Moore I feel like, through the reading of this cover story, I have been mentored by her which is pretty cool. She Hated Adverbs

Math vs. Reading

2011-10-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

Today Amelia told me that math is better than reading. I almost rang the neighbor’s door and asked if they wanted an adorable 7 year old. That is how upset I was.

Amelia has become obsessed with Dr. Seuss books. As a kid, I wasn’t a fan because I believed Dr. Seuss lacked substance. He wasn’t really telling a story with a plot. He was rhyming and that bugged me.

For the last two weeks Amelia has read fox in Sox and One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish a million times. She is fixated on becoming a perfect reader. She gets this way a lot. When the kids in her kindergarten class started hula hooping she begged me to buy her one. She started practicing every day until she was able to get to the point where she could run laps around her schools playground while balancing a hula hoop on her hips. I am not exaggerating, she really did this. It was the same with the piano. Amelia is in a combined classroom of 1st and 2nd graders. The kindergarten teacher in our school provides piano lessons for kids in grades 2-8. Amelia is not old enough. Some of the kids in her class are. She has figured out what they are learning on the piano and has demanded that Aaron teach her. She has perfected the few songs she knows that the 2nd graders can play. I don’t get it. I have always been fine with being mediocre. Amelia, on the other hand, is not.

Back to English vs. math. I am afraid Amelia is taking a mathematical approach to reading which kills me. I don’t believe she is really listening to the story being told. Instead, she sees reading as a puzzle to decipher and perfect. That part she loves. I am alarmed by this. But, I am hoping with age this will change. I am going to continue to do our nightly bedtime stories in the hopes that she will cherish books.

old

2011-10-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I look at my facebook friend's photos and I think--oh my god, they are old! And then I realize that we are the same age. I am also old and wrinkled.

Aging freaks me out. It has since childhood. I realize how ridiculous that is. Sometimes when I see elderly people at the grocery store, it makes me panic. Soon I will be geriatric too and I will move slowly while carrying handkerchiefs wearing decade old jeans. People will roll their eyes at me while I take my sweet ass time to get going when the light turns green.

I have been thinking about my age because I am planning my birthday party. I realize this is odd for two reasons, the first being that my birthday is way off in the future--January, and also because normally other people plan birthday parties for the birthday party person. That is not how I do things. I like to plan my own parties because I have expectations and if they are not met I will be grumpy.

I am thinking about my party now becasue the way time has been flying by, three months is more like three weeks. In case you are curious, I am having either a roaring twenties party or a Clue themed bash. Everyone will be forced to dress up and it will be awesome. That is for sure!

The Theme Party

2011-10-17T14:30:00.000-07:00

Last night Aaron and I went to a MadMen inspired theme party for our friend Drew's Birthday. I am one of those people that would be thrilled if every party had a theme. I played the part of a disgruntled housewife in a pale blue dress coupled with perfectly hot-rolled hair.

When we arrived, we easily spotted the party thanks to the dozens of minivans parked out front. It's a clear sign that we are lame when all of our friends drive grocery-getters.

Drew makes Aaron feel uncomfortable because he is toucher. Neither of them like one another very much but force politeness in each other's company. As soon as we walked in the door Drew hugged Aaron. I was inwardly cracking up as Aaron squirmed and Drew fake smiled.

Tipsy people make me feel uncomfortable. I never realized this before last night. Their farnk honesty freaks me out. My friend Heather poured Aaron a hefty amount of whiskey as soon as we entered the party. That left me with the responsibility of remaining stone-cold sober all evening. It's alarming how quickly people's inhibitions go as soon as they drink one stiff cocktail.

Against Aaron's better judgment he drank two large glasses of whiskey and started talking in what he believed to be a normal tone but was actually at an extremely high pitch. When Aaron started talking politics I decided it was time for us to go.

"Am I embarassing you?" he wanted tto know.

"No, but you may cause me ot lose partial hearing in my left ear." I told him.

I let Aaron sneak out without saying bye to Drew so that he would not have to suffer through another hug.

I dropped our babysitter at home by ten o'clock. I am becoming old and sensible. Sigh.

Boo

2011-10-12T20:52:00.000-07:00

Last night our house was booed.

It was around 8pm when we heard a loud thud at the door. It startled us. I thought it sounded like the thud of a Jehovahs Witness attempting to spread their good news. Aaron believed it might be a needy knock coming from someone that was bleeding out on our doorstep desperately searching for a ride to the hospital. We tend to jump to conclusions.

When Aaron opened the door we were relieved to find a large basket filled with Halloween candy and crafts on our welcome matt. Buried inside were instructions on how to continue the boo cycle. We were to place a sign on our door stating that we had already been booed. Within the following two days we had to boo two other families.

Tonight we set out to boo the neighbors. Jacob had a Grim Reaper mask on as a spooky disguise. Amelia wore her fastest tennis shoes. Andrew, of course, stayed home because booing is beneath him. I told him he was boring. He shrugged his shoulders while retrieving a popsicle from the freezer before heading back downstairs to his man cave to finish reading What is the What for the 2nd time.

We hit Brielle and Alexander’s house first. Jacob pounded on the door and we all took off running. Amelia tripped over her own feet and laughed so hard that she peed her pants. wehad to make a pit stop at home so she could change. Next we hit up Anna and Olivia’s house. Our cover was blown when we ran across the street back home and the kids slammed the door loudly behind us.

A few hours later we heard the sound of laughter and running legs outside. Some neighbor kids stopped at our door saw our sign and continued on to Anna’s. I could hear Olivia shout out “Mom! We got booed AGAIN!” followed by the screeching tires of a minivan fleeing the scene.

And that is why I absolutely adore our neighborhood!

You can download this boo sign here in case you want to start it up in your hood:

Seven

2011-10-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

Amelia,

Today you are seven years old. You are still super tiny so most people confuse you for a five year old. This gives me the false illusion that you are still little, but the truth is you are growing up. You have lots of solid opinions on things like what you want to wear, listen to on the radio, and what is cute and what is not (for instance black dresses are cute while pink one are not!). I can no longer force you into wearing peasant shirts and stripped tights!

This year you have begun to show some serious interest in music. Thankfully you are not a Beiber fan. In the morning on the way to school you demand that I,“turn the music up louder!” You sing loudly and out of tune. You love to have dance parties. Brielle, our neighbor, often joins us during our dance parties but only if we close and lock the door so the boys won’t see her. You, on the other hand have no shame. You will dance anywhere, and at any time even at the grocery store if a particularly good tune is being played. You’re partial to really horrible Kate Perry and Lady GaGa songs or anything with lots of bass.

Dad bought you a piano for your birthday which I told him was insane “God help the man that marries your daughter.” I told him. Clearly you are going to have some serious expectations.

You are obsessed with playing the piano. You play in the morning first thing, before going to bed and as soon as you come home from school. I thought you would get sick of it but you haven’t yet.

While you are growing up quickly, you still do completely adorable little kid things, like saying Vampowers instead of vampires, calling restaurants, resturnants, sneaking into our bedroom in the middle of the night when you’re scared, and calling the song eye of the tiger, I love tigers.

On your Birthday I let you stay home from school so the two of us could spend the day at SeaWorld. I told your teacher you were suffering from the birthday flu. She wasn’t amused. We had a great day together. A polar bear put his nose against the glass right were your face was. We went on a ride that soaked our clothes and watched walrus eating fish, and got splashed by killer whales. It’s so rare for me to get time with just you so I loved every second. On the car ride home you were all smiles and questions. You wanted to know if bees drank water and if my red was the same color as your red. I like that you are thinking about these kinds of things. I wonder what your 7th year will have in store for you.

Love,

Mom

Useless Information

2011-09-23T16:55:00.000-07:00

1. I am currently reading Lolita and I find it highly disturbing, mostly because I am a firm believer that all fiction is based on some piece of the author's true self.

2. Nabokov was a synesthete. I wish I were one too.

3. Aaron claims that he is a synesthete too because he can see sounds. "Kind of like being on acid." he told me. I don't believe it mostly becasue I am jealous.

4. Ciao Bella's Key lime ice cream sandwiches are the best thing in the world.

5. I would very much so like to own a pair of kelly green jeans. I might be too old to pull something like that off but I do not care.

6. I almost died today when my car fish tailed due to the rain. It nearly skidded off a cliff on the 163 on ramp. While it was happening all I could think about was that my floral bra clashed with my tie dyed underwear. Stupid.

7. The parrots that once hung out in my neighborhood have come back. Despite the fact that I hate birds I thoroughly enjoy seeing them.

8. I want a pug for my Birthday. feel free to purchase one for me.

9. I am in charge of the school newspaper at the kids school. It is so much fun!

10. When I walk into our neighborhood library, I get goosebumps. It's kind of feels like being in love. A few days ago I checked out The Complete Fairytales of Oscar Wilde for Amelia and a kids short story book for the boys that featured Johnathan Safran Foer. It's the little things in life that make me happy.

11. I am, yet again, attempting to become a vegetarian. Today I ate two ice cream sandwiches and some chips. I am not proud of my choices. I need to eat more veggies!

12. I am writing a novel based on my life as a teenager. I know that sounds ridiculous. It might be, yet, everyday I force myself to work on it for at least one hour. If it ends up being a waste of time at least it was a fun waste of time.

13. I love the Zooey Deschanel has a sitcom.

14. I have replaced my crush on the Mentalist's Simon Baker with Dax Shepard from Parenthood. I have a thing for blue-eyed blonds. I am married to one.

Summer Sales

2011-08-31T00:15:00.000-07:00

The ony good thing about the end of summer is the sales.

Here are my recent scores:

J.crew dress that I have been eyeballing for months I maanged to score it on clearance with an additional 40% off. It makes me irrationally giddy. I adore a well made dress

I saw these cute little shorts in the Anthropologie catalog back in April for $49! I became obssessed with trying to find something simailar at a cheaper price. Luckily for me I scored them on the clearance rack. The best feature are the cute wooden buttons near each leg opening.

I lost a decent amount of stomach weight this summer. I owe my weight lose entirely on the ten minuite hula hoop excercise on Wii fit. I'm not kidding, I'm lazy enough to resort to using a video game to get in shape. In my search for a flattering bikini that would mask my problem areas I found this Kenneth Cole one at Macy's. The skirted bottom draws attention away from the stomach and it has great mom butt coverage. At it's sale price for $21.99 for the top and additional $21.99 for the bottom I had to pass on it until I saw marked down to nearly nothing a month later ($9 for top and bottom). Mine is Teal and I will need to do a lot more than wii fit to look as good in it as the model does.

Home Again Home Again Clickety Clack

2011-08-30T23:50:00.000-07:00

Every time I get on an airplane there is always a moment during the flight where I become convinced that I will die. I don’t panic. I accept my fate calmly. However, I do search the plane for someone to clutch on to that will have their shit together when our plane crashes.
When I flew back home from Chicago on Sunday I decided that the pint sized Japanese kid in the dirty Asics next to me would not be the person to rely on during a crash. He looked like a crier. Instead, I decided that the man two seats over with the tattoo sleeves might be a good option, only he was traveling with his wife. I moved on to the lady who looked like a mean grandma down the aisle from me. She would probably yell and scream and tell me to stop acting like an infant if I attempted to panic during a plane crash. I was certain she was the type of woman that would convince me everything would be fine right before our plane inevitably nose dove into the ocean. These are the inflight thoughts I always have. Sometimes it is overwhelming to be me.

I flew home to Chicago to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday. My sister, brother, and I did the same thing for my dad 6 years ago. My aunt Claudia set it up so that we would meet at her house and randomly show up, one by one, to surprise her. I was the last to arrive. When I came in my mom was upstairs in the bathroom. She came back down, sat next to my brother, and proceeded to chat with Claudia who I was sitting next to. She looked great. Her red hair has greyed and faded into a pretty blonde. She looked so petite and stylish. It took her a couple of minutes to realize that I was there. It was hysterical. Apparently my mom is not one to scrutinize her surroundings.

There is sadness involved in returning home. I thought it would be easier this time because it has been three years since my dad passed but his absence is so palpable. He was such a calming presence that without him the dynamic of our family has shifted. I missed him so much that my 4 day trip became a bit of an emotional drain. It made me feel out of sorts and little bit grumpy. I’m glad I went home because I love spending time with my mom. I got to really know my nephews,Seamus and Anthony, and spend lots of time with my sister and friends and brother. I am thankful for that.

When I miss my dad I can remember what his shoulders felt like. I had a habit of leaning my head on them. It doesn’t really make sense but the whole time I was home it felt like my head was resting on his shoulder. I could even imagine the feel of his soft gray sweater that he wore often. When I walked through Midway airport on the way to my flight home, I remembered taking the same escalator with the small steel bird sculptor hanging overhead with my parents and the kids. It was years ago when Andrew, Jacob, and Amelia were a handful to manage. I remember mom and dad walking me to the security check and hugging us all goodbye. The memory was so vivid that I could feel their hugs. It made me unbelievably sad. I wonder when I will learn to stop missing my dad so much.

The best way to explain my visit back to Chicago is to compare it to entering your neighborhood grocery store after it’s been remodeled. You’re excited to check it out only to find out that it’s the same but foreign and completely frustrating. It's going to take some getting used to.

August so far

2011-08-20T22:16:00.000-07:00

In August

Amelia lost her two front teeth. She is growing up so very, very fast

Jacob joined cub scouts

who said cub scouts was for dorks--not these two!

The boys graduated from their second year of Junior lifeguards

Andrew grew like a foot and half. He has decided to be all angsty and moody 24/7. It cracks me up because I remember being exactly the same way at 13. Hello puberty!

Julian, Ca

2011-07-31T18:59:00.000-07:00

On Saturday night we hung out up in Julain with some old friends that we have known since the boys were in diapers. There is nothing better than old friends!

Camping with the in-laws

2011-07-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

I haven't written a real blog post in ages. I don't even know where to begin!? So many different events have occurred this summer that I am unsure where to start.   I guess I could begin with our camping trip up to Mexico in early July, the one that I didn't pack for until the day of because I thought that maybe, just maybe if I avoided any sort of preparation for it Aaron would call the trip off. Hilariously he was hoping the exact same thing from me.  So we ended up doing lots of last minute running around coupled with bickering while we packed the car for our three day trip.

It took us a little over an hour to cross the border and drive down numerous pebbled roads to get to Conrad's house. When we got there they weren't even home. The only one around was an employee of Conrad's, an ex-pat that got deported for smuggling illegals across the border.  Over an hour later they arrived, Conrad first on motorcycle followed by Eunice and the kids in their mini van.

They had not packed either but not for the same reasons we hadn't. That's just how they roll. Conrad calls it "living on Mexican time."  For the next few hours we watched them frantically stuff camping supplies in their car while their four dogs jumped all over us. For a cooler they used a white plastic trash can sans ice that they filled with slabs of packaged clearance meat Conrad had bought during his last trip the U.S.

Finally we hit the road. We followed Conrad who was on his motorcycle with Brian on the back. Have I mentioned Brian yet? He is Conrad and Eunice's adopted son. I use the word adopted lightly because it's not official yet. He is 13. When I meet him in April he did not speak English.  He is pretty much fluent now. He speaks far better than Eunice or any of the other children. He is a pretty amazing little person and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know him. Him and Jacob hit it off extremely well.

Anyway our mistake was following Conrad who thinks it's cool to drive really fast. I'm surprised he didn't kick it up a notch and do wheelies. We lost him and after listening to Aaron have a total freak out festival for nearly 30 minutes magically we arrived at Las Canitas.

Las Canitas is surrounded by total poverty. In the mountains and dusty valleys that are it's backdrop are countless shacks. It was like nothing I had ever seen. When you drive into the resort everything is vivid green, there are old fashioned looking log cabins in the midst of zip lines , upscale swimming pools with Disneyland style water slides. the grass we set our tents up on was so bright that it was like camping on a golf course. Everything seemed so garishly out of place and absurd. I felt weird about it.

That night Conrad unpacked his meat cooler aka garbage can onto the picnic table that we were supposed to eat our meals on. It kind of looked like a horror film. Next he started placing an obscene amount of meat on the grill and in pots to cook reminding me that, "Whoever cooks doesn't need to clean up."   Aaron I both agreed that it would be best to stay away from the mystery meat. Our family ate grilled cheeses instead which made us feel like we were at Mexican Grateful Dead show. "My dad is just like one of those old creepy hippies that you'd see lurking around the parking lot." For the rest of the night we only listened to the dead on Andrew's ipod.

The remainder of our weekend consisted of fishing, paddle boat rides and lots of swimming.   It wasn't really the way we normally camp but the kids thoroughly enjoyed it. It was nice getting to know Eunice's children better. Her youngest David, spent most of the weekend following me around, which was pretty adorable. Alonso, Eunice's 7 year-old kind of got lost in the shuffle. Brian has such a big personality and David is so tiny and cute that sometimes the other kids didn't spend as much time with Alonso. Next time we visit, which will be the first week of September, I will be sure to make a better effort at getting to know him.

When all is said and done, I'm really happy that my father in law has found someone to love and be loved by.

David who is cute as can be

Brian Fishing with Conrad and the kids on the paddle boat in the distance

Mexican playground equipment is awesome!

Amelia and David enjoying the pool

Redlands, Ca

2011-07-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

At the Pocket, Ocean Beach: California

2011-07-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

I took the kids to the beach yesterday for what to me felt like thirty minutes. After dusting the sand off their feet and piling all our ocean going gear into the back of my truck I noticed that my clock read 2pm. We were there for three hours! That’s what ocean Beach does to people—distorts time.

Pocket beach is my favorite local beach because it’s beautiful but more importantly it’s always empty. However, the few people we do share the beach with are always unique. For instance there was a woman frolicking in the water that appeared to be wearing an adult diaper inside her bikini bottom. Behind where our beach towel was laid out, a man in moon boots had a hoodie zipped over his face and was sound asleep. Also I may or may not have witnessed a teenage drug exchange. But hey, that’s the price we have to pay for the luxury of hanging out at a nearly deserted, beautiful beach.

Dress Lust

2011-07-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

I have a little obsession with online window shopping. I am in love with these dresses:

The first one is from Anthropologie, the second two are J.Crew, the shirt is from Urban Outfitters, and the last dress is Free People

Zorillo

2011-07-04T11:54:00.000-07:00

This weekend, for the first time I was able to visit Zorillo, the little village in Mexico that Eunice, my Father-in-Laws soon to be wife used to live. I don't know if I can accurately describe what it was like. I don't think photos do Zorillo justice. You have to see it for yourself.

The only way I can describe it is to say that it was like being in a Steinbeck novel, think Grapes of Wrath or Cannery Row, where everything is dusty and run down and homes are built with whatever is available. The poverty is so thick in Zorillo that I felt shame over all the material items we own. There are stray dogs everywhere and weather worn storefronts. Down a dirt road just past Eunice's mom's home there was the half eaten carcass of a goat lying in the sun.

Eunice standing in front of the home she built.

Neighbor kids watching our kids shoot off fireworks. The homes in the background with triangular roofs are one room houses built by Christian missionaries.

He's Back

2011-06-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

After nearly three weeks with grandma, my boy is home!

The Banner is courtesy of Amelia and our neighbor girls. Tomorrow we are off to Mexico for the 4th July weekend because we are patriotic like that!

DIY Mustache

2011-06-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you pass out at my house:

I sick Andrew on you.

If my Father-in-law hadn't of passed out on our dog bed with a houseful of neighbor kids over this wouldn't have happened to his face. Bwahaha!

Sweet, Sweet, Summer

2011-06-28T19:09:00.000-07:00

Bela, our little old lady, happy as can be at Mission trails

Nick, our neighbor, and Andrew, aka Tom and Huck

Our new rope swing that it is getting a ton of use by our family and all the kids in the neighborhood.

Andrew being Andrew

Amelia adores Andrew and he loves her right back

I Wish

2011-06-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

That my kitchen looked like this

that my entry way resembled this

That my kids had a cool reading nook like this

this were my yard

I had these hanging in my kitchen windows

It's just a mug

2011-06-26T21:37:00.000-07:00

The other day when I was rushing around to get myself and the family ready to leave for a graduation party I managed to break my favorite mug. It wasn't just any mug, it was the mug I gave to my dad on one of my last visits to Chicago when he was still fairly healthy, the mug I handed to him when he was sitting at the old wooden farmhouse dining table in my parent's kitchen. He was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table with a thick slice of bread on a paper towel waiting to greet us upon our arrival. I took Amelia with me on that trip. I have so many great memories of her and my dad on that visit. He adored her. They would sit at the table and play cards with one another or giggle about silly things over breakfast. My dad even hop scotched with her out on the driveway despite his balance being a bit off.
The broken mug was a Starbucks one featuring the San Diego skyline. It was a last minute impulse buy purchased at Lindberg Field. I bought it for him because he was such a tea fanatic. After he died I took it out of my mom's kitchen cupboard and brought it home with me. It's been my preferred mug ever since.

I was so pissed off at myself over breaking it. I tried not to cry about it. Afterall it's just a mug. Despite myself I cried a little. When Aaron asked what was wrong and I explained what had happened it made me cry more. From the backseat of our car Amelia piped in, "Mom, look at my watch." She held up her slender pink wrist and pointed at her ladybug watch. "Remember how Grandpa always wore a watch? We still have his watch. Before I go bed I hang my watch on grandpa's picture in my room."

I have seen her watch on his picture but I never realized that she hung it there because her watch made her think of him. That was all I needed to hear to feel better. I don't need a mug to remember my dad. It's amazing how my daughter has such wisdom at age 6. She reminds so much of my Dad. She is a mini Seamus.

Stuff

2011-06-25T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm going to ease myself back into blogging with a meme

1. Today I managed to get a patchy sunburn on my legs
2. It's amazing how having one child out of the house (Jake is visiting his grandma for a few weeks) makes such a drastic change in the atmosphere of our home. It feels like everything is out of whack. At the beach the other day I kept forgetting he wasn't with me and would momentarily believe he had been swallowed up by a wave or had wandered off.
3. My dog has gotten so old that sometimes I have to lift her up our stairs because she can't make it on her own.
4. She barks at the wall all the time. I'm pretty sure she is losing her mind.
5. When I am having a bad day I go to the animal shelter.
6. While some people get baby fever I go through bouts of puppy fever.
7. I am always disappointed in people that don't like dogs but I shouldn't judge because I hate cats.
8.  I really love my new house.
9. My father in law came over a few nights ago to pick up a weight lifting set that he has been storing in our garage. I was immediately startled by his choice of clothing--skater shoes, baggy shorts and a frat boy tee. He used to dress like a hippie. I'm not sure what brought about his wardrobe change.  His new look reminds me of the guy that worked at the gas station near my parents house used to sell my friends and I cigarettes when we were 15. He used to wear raver clothes which seemed so wildly inappropriate for his much older age.
10. Embarrassing Confession: I have been watching the Secret Life of an American Teenager on Netflix for the last couple of months and am totally hooked. I don't watch it when Aaron is around because I would rather not listen to him mock me
11. I am the kind of person that gets very attached to one friend. I have a hard time hanging out with multiple people. I am really trying hard to get over that. This summer I have been attempting to hang out with an assortment of different people. It's out of my comfort zone but I'm learning to spice things up.  I am attempting to behave like a normal person.
12. Aaron was gone all week and I missed him alot. Normally I don't miss him. That sounds terrible but in my defense he travels a lot so I am used to his absence.  I think that maybe with age I am becoming a little less of a jerk. Perhaps that is why I have been missing him more lately.
13.  I'm pretty sure that most of our neighbors think Andrew and Jacob are totally wild and crazy boys. They are. I am okay with that because they are really sweet and happy little guys that for the most part make good choices.
14. My hair is blonde for the summer. I kind of love it.
15. Aaron and I went out tonight and our neighbor girl watched Amelia for us (Andrew is having a sleep over).   She baked a cake for us and cleaned our house. Best. Babysitter. ever.

Wannabe Mormons

2011-06-22T22:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight Andrew had his bud Jackson spend the night. While playing ping pong the boys lobbed a ball over our neighbor's fence. It didn't appear to be a big deal. We have a zillion more. Apparently they thought it was a bigger deal than I did.

A few minutes later Andrew came inside wanting to know if we had a Mormon bible. Despite the fact that we are not Mormon, randomly, we do. A short time later Amelia and Jackson came down the stairs dressed like this:

After nearly dying of laughter I got them to explain why they looked like Mormon missionaries. Apparently they hatched an elaborate scheme to distract our neighbor by knocking on his door and pretending to be Mormon missionaries. Meanwhile Andrew would sneak into their backyard and retrieve the ping pong ball.

I suggested that it may be easier if they just asked for it back

"That wouldn't be as fun."

In case anyone is wondering, I didn't let them go through with it.

The Littlest One

2011-06-22T21:09:00.000-07:00

So far my summer has been consumed by all things Amelia. Jacob is visiting Grandma in Chicago for a few weeks and Andrew has a new best friend that lives next door, so Amelia and I have been spending lots of time together.

Everyday Amelia comes up with creative things to do. She has a very imaginative little mind. We have had countless tea parties, stuffed animal picnics, dress up play, treasure hunts, and lots, and lots of arts and crafts days.

A few weeks ago Amelia drew portraits of everyone in our family. They are hilarious. I'm the one with the messy hair on the top right. We cut them out and pasted them onto black construction paper. She drew one of Bela as well but it tore a few days ago.

After a visit to Costco today Amelia constructed her own TV from the cardboard box our groceries were placed in. She made herself into a human TV and is now insisting that we save her creation for Halloween. I'm not sure how I feel about my child being a TV for Halloween but I have plenty of time to change her mind.

Home tour part 1: The living room

2011-06-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

The family room:

Our new place is a work in progress. It's been fun making it our own. The last three photos were taken in the perspective of Amelia who took about 50 pictures of random things today.

Last days of school

2011-06-07T19:15:00.000-07:00

After moving to La Mesa, Aaron and I thought about enrolling the kids in our local school but after much thought we couldn't do it. We love their school.

I love that I know the name of every single kid I see on the playground. I love that the 5th grade girls have the tendency to braid Amelia's hair and tell me who their crushes are. I love that Jacob was allowed to get half way through the 5th grade math book when his teacher realized that the 4th grade one was too easy and that Andrew's teacher gave his grade lots of projects to do this year because he realized that is where their strength is, and that Amelia woke up everyday excited to go to school. I like that if I don't feel like driving all the way back home to La Mesa after dropping the kids off at school I can stop by our principals house to have a midday margarita with his wife who is the most hilarious and inappropriate woman I have ever met.

My kids school is like a little bubble--a fifties time warp of good manners, morals, and old fashion community love. Last weekend was the 8th grade graduation ceremony and I actually cried because I will miss those kids and I have loved seeing them mature and grow. My favorite 8th grader whose is moving to Arizona, stopped Andrew and Jacob when we were leaving a graduation party to give them a hug and to tell them how much he was going to miss them. It's moments like those where I realize how lucky we are to have them in such a tiny school. As much as I complain about having to pay tution and the traffic we sit in to get there, in the end I know that it is worth it and I know that they will look back on there elementary school days with some pretty awesome memories.

P.S. My camera got wet during the end of school water ballon toss. That is why the pics are hazy.

The WT on the street

2011-06-07T18:42:00.000-07:00

My neighbors may or may not think we are trash balls.

It all started when Aaron took some hedge trimmers to the vivid green, wildly growing bushes that once lined our driveway. He took it a step too far and trimmed them to death. When the kids and I arrived home from a weekend trip up north we were greeted by their bareness.

The following weekend he trimmed more off and currently all that is left is the lonely carcasses of what were once bushes. To add insult to injury he lined our front yard with weed killer and now everything is brown. In his defense it was basically all overgrown weeds. At some point in the very near future we plan to do some great landscaping. For now our neighbors have an unsightly looking home on their block. It will get there. At some point our hosue will be pretty.

Family

2011-04-15T00:30:00.001-07:00

Last weekend the kids and I headed to Santa Rosa to spend four days with my sister, her hubby, their adorable little baby Seamus, and my big bro. My sister planned the trip months ago and arranged it around my kid’s spring break. I consulted the kid’s school website on the dates they'd be out of school in April. Michelle promptly bought her tickets and arranged lodging, only to find out a week before the trip was scheduled that the website hadn’t been updated in a year and the dates listed were for the kids spring break from last year. If there is a way to screw something up I always find a way. I remedied the problem by pulling my kids out of school for two days.

It was the first time I drove all the way up the California coast without Aaron. It was relaxing. I had full control of where we stopped, what we listened to, and the route I took. It was liberating.

In my opinion there is nothing better than a road trip. They are intoxicating. I like to think that my kids have gypsy or maybe tinker blood in them what with the way they take to travel. They settle back and watch the rows of crops whoosh past while enjoying the mountain backdrops. they even note the amount of cows or a bird with red on the tips of its wing. They are fantastic travelers. The ride was harmonious with the exception of Amelia’s need to constantly sing which annoyed the boys to no end.

Michelle rented a house up on a hill on the grounds of a vineyard. It looked like a postcard. I felt like we were on a movie set and that at any moment Jude Law would emerge from the flowery hill next to our cottage with a bottle of deep red wine. We filled our days exploring wine country and walking around the grounds of the vineyard. Roger, my bro, who lives 40 minutes from the cottage, was a no show the whole time until the night before our scheduled departure.

The kids adore him so they kept asking "when is he coming! When!" He is moving away from San Francisco for good in a few weeks. His life is crammed packed with loose ends, work, and saving for his upcoming move to Chicago. Still, despite all the worries in his life right now, I had a tiny feeling in the back of my mind that he didn’t care to spend time with us at all. It appeared that to him seeing us was more of a chore than anything else. I felt all those old childhood feelings bubbling up again. I have always had a deep admiration for my brother but at the same time I have never felt completely loved by him. There is a small part of me that always feels like I need to prove myself worthy of his love. I find myself behaving like a child trying my hardest to impress him. I don’t know where that comes from or if my feelings are warranted but nonetheless they are there every time I see him. I think this is the first time I fully recognized the way he makes me feel.

On Sunday when the kids and I pulled out of the winery driveway in my dusty pickup truck to head all the way back to San Diego I wished more than anything that I lived closer to my family. The biggest adjustment I had to overcome when I first moved to San Diego was being so far away from them. I am used to it now but every now and then I feel an intense homesickness for my family. A weekend with them just isn’t long enough. Next time I’ll have to stay longer.

Studs

2011-04-14T21:19:00.000-07:00

I wrote this week's San Diego Reader cover. This story was the bane of my existence for nearly two months because I got so caught up in trying to make it perfect. I awkwardly interviewed numerous western world enthusiasts and pretended to be professional. I loved/hated every minute of it. I am super proud of this article because it was way out of my comfort zone. It was the most challenging article I have ever written. I learned so much. The best part--I got paid to do something I enjoy.

Giddy up

12

2011-03-01T23:38:00.000-08:00

Andrew gets BO and is developing arm pit hair. He rolls his eyes at me and is almost always embarrassed by my presence.

That's what it's like to be 12.

He says mom, with the m drawn out a way to make it clear that I am humiliating him. His moods are extreme and his room is always messy. It is clear that things will be rocky from here on out.

The silver lining? He still spills it all. He tells me stuff that most kids don't tell their mothers. Last week he told me that he almost always feels like his friends just don't get him. He also told me that he might want to someday marry the girl in his class who has nearly as many freckles as him.

This year he wanted grown up things for his Birthday--an iPod and iTunes gift cards, He has an affection for NOFX, the Eagles (tragically), and Kayne West, which may be the most bizarre music combination of all time. Also, he detests the Beastie Boys and anything sounding remotely similar to them.

Andrew wants to be a writer when he grows up which makes me irrationally giddy. He keeps stories in a green folder in his closet. He wrote a story about a lizard king that was pretty darn good. He inhales books the way I wish I had at his age.

I see an astounding amount of potential in him that I cannot wait to watch take shape. I am eagerly anticipating all the little adventures his life is going to take him on.

Happy Birthday to my sweet little man.

Stuff

2011-02-23T20:54:00.000-08:00

While Aaron has been researching fridges, window installation, and drills for our new home, I have been drooling over color schemes, mid-century furniture, and inspirational and low cost design ideas.

I have purchased the following frugal items for our new place mostly from Etsy:

For mine and Aaron's bedroom

For the livingroom, in a cute yellow frame

Two throw pillows for Amelia's room

For Andrew's big kid room, a map chalkboard decal from Urban Outfitters

Jacob's Pottery Barn Teen surfboard shelves. I saved big time by using craigslist. His are white and sea green

American Pickers

2011-02-18T17:39:00.000-08:00

I think I have mentioned on here before that instant Netflix is the greatest invention EVER! It makes my world a million times brighter.
Currently I have fallen in love with the show American pickers. The show is phenomenal.
It follows around two dudes who have been friends since childhood while they attempt to score cool stuff. They go into the backwoods of America to find really cool vintage treasures to resell. It combines everything I love--vintage stuff, quirky people, and road trips. It's amazing!

check it!

2011-02-16T17:30:00.000-08:00

I wrote this week's San Diego Reader cover. You can check it out here: http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2011/feb/16/cover-dui/

The Dreary months

2011-02-05T19:57:00.000-08:00

The kids plus the dog during winter:

wants

2011-02-04T23:22:00.000-08:00

Something New

2011-01-31T23:57:00.000-08:00

This year, for my Birthday, my husband bought me a house, which makes us sound like the type of people that have a maid or take exotic vacations to Argentina. In reality finding out we would be homeowners on my Birthday was a happy little coincidence.

We are currently in escrow with a move in date sometime at the end of February. I have some serious packing ahead of me.

I love the house. It is a beautiful and the home I can see us in for the rest of our lives.

It reminds me of my childhood. The streets are tree lined and curvy. There is a downtown area within walking distance that resembles a Norman Rockwell painting. It is filled with antique stores and small cafes and even a British export shop where I can purchase my favorite items for a traditional irish breakfast. It even hosts an old time car show once a month and an elaborate Oktober festival in the fall.

Our new home reminds me of the beginning of my relationship with Aaron when everything was fresh and new and I still took a polite tone with him even when I was grumpy, when I tried really hard to keep the house clean and when I cried any time I made parental mistakes like the time I accidently scratched Andrew’s tiny perfect little infant nose and it bleed.

It reminds me of being six and hiding behind the dining room curtains of my childhood home whenever my dad came home from work giggling and thinking he would fail to see my scuffed tennis shoes peeking out from behind the thick white fabric. Our new house smells like memories—new and old.

When we first moved to San Diego we lived less than a mile away. We used to drive down the hilly streets of our soon to be neighborhood and imagine what it would be like to live in one of the houses on the hills and now one of them will be the place where we sleep every night.

It’s a foreclosure and very rough around it’s edges. It’s a fixer and not much to look at. With time we will spruce it up. There is a tree in the backyard that is meant for a tree house also there is a small barn back there that is absolutely adorable. On top of that the kids that live directly behind us have a pirate ship fort that looks like it belongs on the set of a Disney kid’s movie. It even has a working sink and mini fridge. It’s pretty darn amazing. The kids that own the fort are 6 and 9—Amelia and Jake aged. Our next door neighbors have an 11 year-old son for Andrew to hang out with and across the way is a 6 year old girl. I think—rather I hope-- our kids will be happy there. I have a feeling that I will be.

I still can’t believe it and won’t allow myself to get carried away with excitement until we have the keys and our furniture is neatly arranged in every room.

My flight to Charleston

2011-01-19T19:47:00.000-08:00

Before leaving for Lindbergh field I stop at Target for one of those pay-by-minute cellphones. I have misplaced my old one—I can never keep track of a phone. Everyone I know can attest to this. Sometimes I wonder if I lose them on purpose so that people will not have the advantage of being able to contact me on a whim. Apart from the phone I also buy minty gum that promises to eradicate bad breath and a toddler sized suit from the clearance rack with a corduroy jacket, flat front khakis and a tie featuring tiny adorable bears. It is for baby Seamus and I can already envision the picture my sister will send of him wearing it.

My mom is waiting in the car. She rummages through my plastic bags immediately and removes the phone from its package, diligently reading the directions. She proficiently rearranges the contents of my bag and neatly tucks the tiny 12 months sized suit in my carry-on bag. She is being helpful but still, she is getting on my nerves, not on purpose and not because her behavior is annoying but because I am on edge. I can hear myself taking on the tone I used at 16 when speaking to her.

My bags are too full and I have agreed to bring along a wooden boldly painted cane my father in law purchased for my mom in Mexico two weekends ago and a thick chenille sweater. My mom will be flying to Charleston in a few days and this will lighten her load. I want to do this for her because I know she has a hard time getting around due to her arthritis but my idiosyncrasies are causing me to act a little neurotic about it.

I like to travel light. I always check my bags. I am against carry-on luggage. My mom reminds me that Continental charges a fee for checked items. Truthfully I would rather shell out the 25 bones to not have to deal with the overhead bins on the plane and the line of impatient people behind me waiting for me to get a move on so they get to their destination. But that is not my mom’s style and oddly, I don’t want to disappoint her or look like someone who spends money frivolously merely for comfort even though she probably wouldn’t care. It’s funny how at my age I still attempt to be a dutiful daughter.

When it comes to flying I can be a bit crazy. I love window seats more than anything else. I love the aerial view of plots of lands; the way cities light up like LiteBrite toys, vast bodies of blue-green water, and the clouds that look like fluffy patches of mountains. Yet, despite myself, I opt for aisle seat nearly every time. I do this because I can’t bear awkwardly annoying the person seated next to me when I have to get up to use the bathroom. Also, I rarely agree to an inflight beverage from the flight attendants. The idea of spilling it on someone is too much stress for me to handle. Also my soda is never finished when they come around to pick up the trash—which annoys the flight attendants. I am left wondering what to do with my empty cup. I just want things to be simple. The easier the better. I want to read quietly or carry on intrusive conversations with the person seated next to me.

At the san Diego airport, when I get to the security checkpoint line I have forgotten about the new airport screening. I am taken aback when I am ushered into a strange rectangular box. Before entering an airport employee asks me if I am able to stand on my own, unassisted. I am confused by his question and look at him quizzically. “Can your knees bare your weight?” he asks. I remember the cane--they think I am handicapped. “Yep.” I answer, not bothering to explain that the cane is not mine.

A woman with black eyeliner tells me to stand with my hands on my head. I appear to be doing jazz hands—or like I am attempting to mock a reindeer. I look like clown. I laugh inwardly over the stupidity of my pose. The woman assisting me demands politely that I remove my belt unless I want to be frisked. “I do not want to be frisked.” I laugh. She doesn’t find her question comical in the least and instead lets a small annoyed sigh escape her lips. I wonder who is viewing my full body scan. Is it a man a woman? I imagine a group of male employees hovering over the screen making lewd comments about my mom butt.

When I am lead out of the box I sweep the area to figure out who is studying the images. I am uncertain but think perhaps it is a round young woman who is smacking on gum. She looks bored and unimpressed. I wonder what implants look like in x-rays?

The man sitting next to me on my flight to Houston is diligent. He has checked ahead and is aware that the seat between us is vacant. When I get situated I notice that he has already utilized the middle seat tray table and has placed his items on the seat between us. This annoys me just a little bit and I conclude that he is a man used to getting his way.

His wife is across the aisle. She looks artistic with her polka dot spotted sweater and artesian jewelry. I offer to switch seats so they can sit side by side. They both shrug.

“No thanks.” She says.

“I get it!” I tell them, “I would want my husband across the aisle as well.”

She smiles knowingly. She tells me to feel free to pester him as much as I want. He does not appear to be the type of man that would tolerate any sort of pestering.

To my disappointment he doesn’t make idle chit chat. He puts on head phones and proceeds to fall asleep.

I read two articles form the New Yorker, an Atlantic piece on Duke Universities famous Karen Owens—which breaks my heart into tiny sad pieces over the inescapable label that will forever follow her, and two short stories by Dave Eggars . Lastly I review my notes from the previous days interview with An El Capitan Association member. I highlight and write paragraph ideas in the margins of my notebook. I read the thick pamphlet she gifted me with from the Lakeside 46th rodeo and my heart is broken once again when I read what the animals endure during a rodeo. I highlight the names of people I would like to follow up with.

At the Houston airport it appears that everyone notices the cane I am carrying. It is hard to miss with its vivid coloring. Without fail many eyes land on it and a bizarre quizzically expression covers their face. They must think I have cancer or maybe they believe a car accident has left me with a severe limp. I feel gimpish. The think I am a tragic young lady that needs a cane. I wonder if I should somehow take advantage of my odd circumstance.

When I find my gate I sit near a couple each of whom are wearing tank tops. They are traveling with a toddler who has a buzz cut. The dad is wearing a snug wife beater and has a tattoo that looks homemade.

When their toddler starts to scream loudly I am surprised by the sweetness the dad handles his son. He puts his scrawny arm on the kids head and rubs his hair looking at him lovingly. I wonder if I judge too quickly.

When I board the plane for the final leg of my trip, I am surprised over the miniature size of the aircraft. A man in front of me bumps his bald head on the ceiling. I mention that our plane appears to have been built for tiny elfin people. He gives me a polite forced smile that says “I am in no mood to talk to odd women carrying techno colored canes” In return I hope we are not sitting next to one another and let my face show it.

My seat is the very last one in the way back. No one sits near me. Again my hope for idle chit chat is dashed. Instead I am writing this while at the same time wondering what my nephew will look like.

I have seen photos, loving shots taken of him in his Christmas outfit or studio portraits with my sister bending over to kiss his sweet little cheek but photos aren’t the same. I want to see him for myself, to study his round little face and memorize every inch of his soft skin. I am eagerly waiting to witness my big sister as a mother. Most of all I want to see if in person he resembles his namesake—my dad. I think he will.

Waiting

2010-12-27T17:57:00.000-08:00

Right now I am at The San Diego Children's Hospital waiting for Andrew to get out of surgery. He is getting an ear tumor removed. The medical name for the growth is long and contains a g or maybe a c and is hard to pronounce. However, the technical name sounds far less dismal than tumor.

It's benign and essentially no big deal other than the idea that it is getting in the way of his hearing. So here we are on a cloudy Monday afternoon waiting for the news that the little guy is okay.

In the waiting room, four seats down a man is holding a copy of the Reader story I wrote about TJ. IT makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I have never been in the presence of a stranger reading from a magazine with my face on it. My photo is plastered just underneath his left thumb. I can't help staring at him wondering what he thinks and if he is reading my article or the help wanted ads?

A couple of hours ago Andrew and I were in a small room, he was reading a thick novel I just bought him for Christmas and I was watching the Rachel Zoe project. The anesthesiologist came in to discuss the procedure with us. He had a mole on his left eyelid. It made him look gentle like a guy with make-up on or someone unashamed to wear a kilt. While he explained what would happen during the surgery I stared at his small round freckle.

Ten minutes later a nurse in zebra print clogs walked Andrew down a long hallway. Half of his back was exposed from the hospital pajamas he was wearing that featured sleeping tigers. Andrew looked back and waved quickly before disappearing down the corridor.

Now I wait, anxious to see him. No matter how routine the surgery is I am still worried and won’t feel comfortable until I see his face.

Family Photos

2010-12-27T08:32:00.000-08:00

I am vehemently against studio portraits. I think they’re dripping with cheesiness. However, that very well maybe due to the fact that my parents had a framed photo of the three of us kids (Michelle, Roger, and I) hanging in their bedroom. At first glance it was adorable. My sister and I are both wearing puffy dresses and Roger was sporting a nice stripped polo. On further inspection you will notice that my hand is planted firmly inside my diaper. The photo was source of perpetual embarrassment. Oddly I never mentioned how offensive I found it until was in my late teens at which point my mom explained that I had a diaper rash or bladder infection or some similar aliment. “Every shot they took, your hand was inside your diaper. Other than the placement of your hand the photo was cute.” I would disagree with that statement.

This year instead of opting for a JcPenny Picture Studio photo with a blue or forest themed backdrop my friend Nicole and I took turns taking pictures of each other’s families. I am really happy with the results.

Shoot em Up

2010-12-08T09:18:00.000-08:00

When the boys were toddlers I had a strict anti-gun toy rule in my home. They were not allowed in my house ever! Aaron’s brothers have never believed in this rule and without fail always ended up buying them some wildly inappropriate plastic toy gun for birthdays or as Christmas gifts. I would always throw them away.

Andrew and Jacob used to chew their sandwiches into the shapes of guns and run around pretending to shoot each other. They would fashion just about anything into a gun. It appeared my ban on toy guns was futile.

When Andrew was 5 we moved to a new home. There were so many kids in our neighborhood that it was like a 24 hour amusement park. Many of the kids had toy guns. I eventually gave in about the guns. Now I don’t care so much, also they are old enough that the allure of playing with such things is pretty much gone.

Last Sunday we had Conrad and Jesse over to celebrate Jake’s birthday. We ate cake, and sang Happy Birthday, and then Jake opened his gifts. Conrad bought him Call of Duty, a game in which you shoot people. Jesse bought him a bb gun.

Can you believe that!?

Forget about my toy gun rule now my kid has a real one!

Aaron tried to pull the same stunt with Andrew on his tenth birthday. He called me from the store to alert me that he was purchasing our kid a bb gun. I told him that if he came home with such a thing he might as well get used to the idea of sleeping on the couch for the rest of his life. He didn’t buy it. However the following year he did. Andrew opened up his gift and looked at in with a mixture of fear and sheer panic.

“Bring it back,” He told Aaron “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

It was returned the following day. Aaron told me that I was a brainwasher. I’m okay with that.

Jake didn’t have the same reaction. He was so excited and an outing to shot bottles in the wilderness has already been scheduled. I told Jesse that when and if one of my children loses an eyeball from a bb I will kill him. He didn’t seem to care.

The Brauns are annoying.

It's not a Braun Thanksgiving Unless you Blow Something Up

2010-11-29T21:58:00.000-08:00

We spent Thanksgiving in Mexico this year.

The highlight of the trip was the day after Thanksgiving. Aaron and his dad came up with the genius idea of blowing up the leftover turkey carcass with fireworks on the beach.

It’s never dull when you hang out with Brauns. Here are some photos:

Change is good

2010-11-24T23:46:00.000-08:00

I am over my blonde hair. I'm thinking of going brownish red or a strawberry color. Here are few shades I'm thinking of. Feel free to weigh in.

Bela the Great

2010-11-24T21:58:00.000-08:00

It’s 5pm on a Tuesday evening and I am trapped in a 9ft by 10ft office lacking windows with my dog’s veterinarian. Amelia is balancing on my lap while holding a pink plush stuffed animal nearly half her size. Jake is sitting Indian style on the floor, our dog’s head resting in his lap. My dog smells funny. She is emulating a scent of wrank breath and farts. It’s not pleasant. Everything the vet says is in a whisper as if she thinks the volume of her voice will not reach my children’s ears, even though they are sitting just as close to her as I am.

She thinks my dog will die, I can tell. She doesn’t say it. I think mostly for the sake of the kids, but it is implied by her demeanor and the way she solemnly pats Bela on the head, and places a handwritten phone number to a 24 hour vet clinic in my hand saying, “Just in case” before ushering us out.

That night I cannot sleep. I go downstairs and cuddle up next to Bela who is more annoyed by my presence than anything else. She still isn’t eating.

In less than a week the two year anniversary of my dad’s death will be upon me. It seems too familiar—the shallowness of Bela’s breathing, the lack of eating, the knowing fear that I will wake up and she will be gone.

Over the phone earlier that day I told Aaron that I didn’t think there was an ounce of fairness in the idea I could lose my dog so close to the anniversary of my dad’s death. He doesn’t know what to say, he never does. He has work to do, he tells me, so he hangs up.

Aaron bought Bela for me the first Christmas we spent together. I was just nineteen at the time. I was pregnant with Andrew. Bela was our “pretend baby”. She has been the quiet and not so quiet, presence in our lives for all the big things—the births of our kids, the blossoming of mine and Aaron’s relationship, the fights, the tears, the moments of pure and utter happiness, our cross country move to San Diego.

After my dad died I felt like Aaron was too emotionally distant to be there for me. He tried in his own fumbling way but I resented him for his lack of sensitivity. In fact, I felt like there wasn’t a single person apart from my mom and my sister who understood how sad I was. Bela was the only one I cried in front of. It was Bela who would quietly sit by me when I was at my saddest. It was almost as if she knew how heartbroken I was. She would make her way towards me and reast her head in my lap--the dog version of offering a tissue. It’s odd to say but I felt more bonded to my dog then anyone else in those days.

Now Bela is sick and it breaks my heart.

This morning I made Aaron go down stairs before me to check on her, just in case. I didn’t want to be the one to find her. “She’s okay” he shouted up to me.

She was. Despite the very dismal report from our vet, today she appears to be doing much better. She was even drinking from her water bowl and polished off a little bit of her food. After dropping the kids off at school she barked letting me know it was time for her walk, something she hasn’t had the effort to do in three days. I’m thinking she might make a full recovery.

Right now I am thinking that I hate my vet for putting me through some serious emotional terrorism. More than anything I am just thankful that my dog is going ot be okay.

Our Mini Britney

2010-11-23T21:26:00.000-08:00

The flu has wreaked havoc on our house this week. I was the first to come down with it. Mine set in on Saturday. It rained all day and the kids were cooped up inside half of the weekend. We promised them that we would go bowling as a family to make up for a craptastic weekend. Against my better judgment I joined them despite my 101 temperature. I am an easily agitated person. When I am sick my tendency towards rage is elevated to a degree that is frightening.

Since Aaron is a government employee we have the awesome perk of being able to go on the local military base. We can use their awesome bowling alley complete with a free arcade and free movie theatre.

Due to the rain every single military family in San Diego was at the bowling alley that day. After about a half an hour I wanted to roll up into a ball and hide underneath a table. Instead I found a cozy corner near the door away from the numerous sticky faced screaming children.

While my kids played video games with Aaron, I watched Coyote Ugly via closed captioning, since it was too loud in there to hear much of anything. At the table next to me was a thickly accented family that said things like ya’ll and dog-on. They appeared to be eating every single fried item on the bowling alley menu. I was already nauseous and feverish—they didn’t help matters. They all lacked basic table manners. It was kind of like watching a group of coyotes on the nature channel. I half expected to hear a narrator explain the events. I couldn’t help but stare at them with a mixture of disgust and wonder. Their toddler was sucking on the remnants of someone else’s chewed up Buffalo wings while slurping on a soda. It was appalling.

Normally I am a lovely person but when I am battling the flu and surrounded by people who are eating with their mouths opened I get highly disgruntled.

Finally after an hour and a half of waiting we finally secured a bowling lane. My boys either love or hate each other. With them there is rarely a middle ground. Bowling tends to bring out the worst in them. They are highly competitive and it kills them when the other is bowling better. I was certain they were on the brink of a fist fight. Luckily Amelia saved the day by distracting them.

Amelia has an affinity for really terrible pop music. The bowling alley was blasting it. At first Amelia was merely bobbing her head along to the music. When Katie Perry’s California girls Came on she started rolling around on the bowling alley floor. Her dance moves resembled a Madonna video from the 80’s. One of the ones where she is rolling around with a microphone and pearls in a highly sensual yet creepy way.

Half way into the song Amelia really got into it and started throwing her hands up in the air along with the rolling. The boys took one look at Amelia and died laughing. They couldn’t stop. Aaron looked on horrified. I wondered if the family of fried food enthusiasts was judging us for our mini Britney Spears kinda of like I judged their soda loving toddler.

“She is so going to be that girl at the party!” I told Aaron. He was not amused.

Lesson for the day: Don't judge people for their nasty eating habits because they may judge you for allowing your daughter to act like a music video extra.

Cover Story

2010-11-23T14:16:00.000-08:00

My cover story is out over at the San Diego Reader for this week. It's not my favorite. In fact, I don't think it's very good. I just read it over again and I found it a little cringe worthy. That being said, I got a paycheck for it so I should stop being critical of myself. Next time I will do better.

On a sidenote, my arms look super fat in that picture. Also, it stresses me out that my face will be on Reader's all over San Diego.

Here is the link : Your Dad has Lost his Mind

I am waiting for the scathing comments to start rolling in.

The Best Quotes Ever

2010-11-16T21:13:00.000-08:00

I really need to start writing down the funny stuff my kids say. I'm going to attempt to write a weekly blog post entirely on funny kid quotes

Andrew:

Tonight while helping Andrew prepare for a History test I asked him "What did the Inca emperor expect out of his citizens?" To which Andrew replied "That they all get circumcised?"

Wow! I'm afraid to ask where he came up with that answer. Luckily for the Incas they were not all expected to be circumcised.

Amelia:

"Mommy, if you ever are having a dream you don't like you can just control it. That's what I do. If my dreams are boring or scary I change them to whatever I want."

It must be nice to wield that much power

Jacob:

"Mom can you buy those butt wipe things that aren't for babies. I think they're for old people. It's like old people toilet paper. They're awesome. You can even flush them.

Spoken like a true Braun.

My Mom has a Facebook Page

2010-11-10T20:58:00.000-08:00

My mom has a facebook page. In the beginning this concept didn't bode well with me. Even at my age I still worry that my behavior will somehow offend my mother. I'm sure it does however, I have gotten over it and have long given up on censoring what I say for her benefit. Also, I like the photos she posts. Here are some old ones that I stole from her facebook page.

This is a photo of my mom and my aunt Anna. Everyone insists that my sister looks just like my mom and that I carry, prodominately, the Feely gene. I think this is photographic proof that my mom and I have nearly identical features. I do, in fact, have more than just the Mahon temper in me. Can you guess which one my mom is?

This is a photo of my dad's family. My dad is the only blonde in the group. He's the little guy in all white. Can you believe how many siblings he had? My mom came from a big clan as well. There were seven kids in her family. Gotta love those Catholics. I think it would be fun to have that many siblings around. I love how this photo appears to have been taken hundreds of year ago instead of in the 50's. I think the Irish were vastly behind the times.

One of my uncles, pictured in this photo, I had no idea he even existed until I was in my late teens. This photo was framed on a corner table in my childhood home. I waked past it on a daily basis. It never occured to me that there was an extra person in the photo. I never askd who the mysterious 8th kid was. My mystery uncle is the older kid in the back with the white shirt on and black blazer. There is much secrecy surrounding him. He doesn't speak to anyone in the family and I have yet to recieve a suitable answer as to way that is. My mom swears this sort of thing is normal Irish behavior. Maybe. I guess the Irish are an avoidant bunch. It's a goal of mine to one day meet him. I wonder what he's like? No one has a clue where he is. My grandmother tried ot find him before she died but had no luck. Supposedly he's in England somewhere.

This is my Uncle Arthur and his wife Ruth. Arthur was my Grandmother Feely's brother. I spent many a spring Break visiting them in Florida. When Arthur was working as a prision guard he guarded Al Capone's cell. Cool, huh?

They're Growing Up

2010-11-09T19:20:00.000-08:00

I just want to watch shitty TV and eat bon bons.

2010-11-08T20:05:00.000-08:00

I am having a hard time keeping up with everything. My house is a total tornado. Well, I admit it, it always is but lately it's really bad. I should be cleaning it right now but I'm not because I don't even know where to start.

School is starting to stress me out. I'm doing decent. As of right now I have straight B's. They should be A's. If I worked just a little bit harder I would be doing better. On top of that I am sucking it over at Zelda lily. My articles have been half assed and just plain lazily written.

Work has finally started up at BK and I'm feeling pressure to live up to their expectations. This week I've been working on some of their advertising and marketing stuff which has been a really great learning experience. This website is their dream and I want to do my very best. I'm so prone to typos that I am nervous wreck. I am spending an insane amount of time combing through everything I submit to make sure it's error free. I'm going to end up with an ulcer.

Most importantly, lately, I feel like I am becoming a really terrible mother. I don't have the same amount of time to spend with my kids that I once had. It feels like I am always yelling and frantic. I don't want to be that person. My goal is try my very hardest to get all of my stuff done before they get home. I need to pretend like I have office hours. That way I can relax and enjoy the amazing little people that make my world such a happy place to live in. I don't want to look back and regret anything.

I think I need to give something up. I have way too much on my plate. It's obvious what that needs to be. I'm a little sad about it.

Halloween

2010-11-03T19:32:00.000-07:00

Halloween is one of my very favorite days of the year. Here are this year's photos:

Peter Popper Pan

2010-11-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to come up with something great for my next publishable article. I'm in love with the idea of basing a story around a local San Diego eccentric. I like the idea of writing about someone with a unique view of life.

I've always enjoyed the obscure. I love local characters and anything kitschy. When I was a kid we had only a few neighborhood eccentrics that stuck out amongst the everday station wagon driving citizens. We had Phil beep-beep, which was by far the most insensitive name that the kids of my small town taunted him with. Phil suffered, I think, from brain damage after being hit by a car, at least that was the rumor. He was in his 40's and lived with his parents in an old Victorian home near the train tracks. He cruised around town on a vintage bike and always wore tattered suits. Sometimes the meanest kids would scream Beep Beep at him. He would lose it completely and almost always fly into a rage. He nearly kicked the ass of an 8-year-old boy one day.

We also had Julie, a chain smoking older woman who always wore a scarf over her cropped curly brown hair. She attended my family’s catholic church. She always arrived to mass late reeking like a pack of cigarettes. I prayed each Sunday that she wouldn't sit next to me. Her unpredictability and wide range of emotions plus her habit of talking to herself scared the shit out of me. To my utter terror sometimes she would squeeze into our pew. She was prone to inappropriate outbursts and would occasionally grab onto the hand of whoever sat near her. She once scratched me with her unusually sharp finger nails.

Lastly, we had Valerie boom boom. She lived across the street from my junior high school best friend. She was in her mid-twenties and would wear stilettoes and bikinis to water her plants, and mow the grass. She had brassy blonde hair and enormous boobs. She was unlike the local moms that always wore knee length skirts, buns, and pearls. She was married to an older man--in his late 50's or early 60's. We taunted her mercilessly. Anytime she came outside we would scream boom boom. We were assholes. I wish i could teleport back in time to apologize to Valerie Boom Boom who I am certain was not only taunted by the kids but by the moms as well.

San Diego has a few eccentrics. When we lived in El Cajon there were tons of unique individuals. Tierrasanta is limited. There is an elderly man that walks his poodle around our neighborhood dressed in Jimmy Stewart style clothing, and another guy that walks around town with a belly length beard. He wears suspenders. Boring. I know. My community is lacking a soul. Maybe it has something to do with the cookie cutter quality of our homes?

However, near my kid’s school I frequently come across a car that is completely covered in miniature angels. Atop the car sits elaborate castles and Christmas lights. Behind it, is towed a wooden boat purely for decorative purposes. I have been dying to meet the owner of this car. A mom at school told me that he lives across the street from a nearby park. Nearly everyday for a week I drove down that street in hopes of running into him. No luck.

Two days ago I stopped at CVS to use a gift card I received. Lo and behold there was the van in all its glory. I pulled up next to it and waited. Within the time span of ten minutes 4 people had either posed in front of it for a photo, or gotten out of their cars to get a closer look.

Finally across the parking lot I spotted the owner. I knew beyond a doubt that it was him. He was pushing a shopping cart that a large green parrot was perched upon. To make the story even better, he was dressed in pirate garb. I just about passed out from excitement.

When he got closer I noticed that his long hair was unkempt and that his clothes were covered in dirt and bird poop. Also he was speaking to his parrot as if it were a person. I wasn't sure if I should approach him. I did anyway.

I'm glad I did because Jerry, or as he likes to be called, Peter Popper Pan, is pretty amazing. He is an optimist which is rare to find ina man living out of his car. I'm certain that his story is worth telling and I cannot wait to get started!

Viva La Mexico

2010-10-22T23:31:00.000-07:00

Bright and early Wednesday morning I picked up Howie for our Mexico adventure. Both of us had listened to the NPR story that had ran on the radio early that morning about the murder of a jet skiing American tourist in a Texas/Mexico border city. We agreed not to see it as an omen. I was far more apprehensive over the idea that I had left it up to Conrad to fetch us at a McDonalds in T.J to worry about a murdered tourist. Howie was blissfully oblivious to the risks involved when dealing with my father-in-law.

David, Eunice's youngest son

Luckily the pick-up went smoothly. The idea was to head into San Antonio, where Conrad lives, to capture photos. Conrad had other plans. He took us into the heart of T.J so that Eunice could do some shopping. We ended up in a fabric store for over an hour. Afterward, Eunice drove us through T.J, driving past Zona Norte, where young prostitutes lined the streets. Some were in provocative outfits, others dressed up like school girls in pleated skirts and knee socks, and others dressed casually in jeans and sweaters. The most striking thing about each of these women is that all of them carried themselves in the same sorrowful defeated way, each with the same look of desperation. It made me feel powerless and angry all at once.

We drove past Eunice's old place of employment. She beckoned an old friend out of the store and I was suprised to see a tall transgendered lady introduced to us as Christy walk over to the car. Eunice excitedly introduced Howie, telling Christy that he was here to take pictures for an American magazine. Shortly after we stopped at a tortilla market, and next a key cutter so that Conrad could have a new house key made.

Eunice

Nearly 2 1/2 hours after our arrival, we finally made it to Conrad's home. The photos that Howie was there to take were snapped. Eunice gave Howie a tour, showing him all her sewing projects, the machines, fabric, and completed projects that filled the garage. She showed us drawings of elegant dresses she had created on her computer and the digital photos of gowns she had handmade. By this time it was well past noon. I politely mentioned to Conrad that maybe it was time for us to leave. Apparently we had one last adventure to go on.

The process

Before dropping us off at the border, we headed into Rosarito so that Stephanie, Eunice's oldest daughter, could be dropped off at school. From the freeway I viewed uxorious high-rises in which no one lived, half built roads left abandoned materials and all, a trash filled field in which two horses roamed free in, and shacks, upon shacks. We drove past the bridge that two headless bodies were hung from a week earlier (rumored to have been murdered by members of T.J’s drug cartel).

Cute shoeless kid in Rosarito

By the time we made it to the border it was nearly 3 o'clock and the line going into the U.S stretched for blocks and blocks. The great thing about Howie is that he is bursting with interesting stories. While we waited I heard about past Reader cover photo shoots, the story of how he ended up in San Diego, his plans for the following day that involved a weather balloon, a camera, and fishing wire, and the time he stayed on a strawberry farm. Howie is the kind of person that you don't mind waiting in a long line with. He is anything but boring. He's the kind of guy you want at dinner party.

My Mexico adventure has made me eager to write something else, something better. I'm not sure what just yet. Meeting Howie and hearing all the terrific stories and adventures his job takes him on has motivated me to push myself to do more of what I love.

Humble Pie

2010-10-19T17:02:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been really lucky to have scored a number of freelance writing gigs. I think it started to go to my head a little. I started wondering if I really needed to suffer through all of those pointless classes I have been taking lately. I began stupidly thinking that maybe I could give up the whole school thing and find work without having to get a silly piece of paper to prove my credentials.

Last night I had dinner at the home of my new employers. The whole staff from BK was there. When things deviated past work, Rafael, the videographer asked me where I went to college.

I am certain my face turned the shade of a stop sign. The fact that I do not have a college degree has always been a profound source of shame for me. I blurted out “I don’t have a degree.” and didn’t bother to mention that I’m working on it. I just wanted to get the attention off of me.

I started out the night super confident in my abilities as writer for the project they have hired me for but the end of the night I sort of felt like white trash.

This morning in my e-mail inbox I received a description of a San Marcos college winter intercession creative writing workshop for my old journalism Professor. It proved the point once again that I need to get all this silly general ed stuff behind me and continue on with the hopes of soon enrolling at San Marcos.

I like the idea that when I start getting overly confident something mortifying happens to ground me. I think humbleness is a quality I will never grow tired of even if at times I am humbly shamed.

Amelia Birthday Letter #6

2010-10-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Amelia,

I hate to admit this but at 6-years-old you are a far superior child then I was at your age.

Things you excel at:

1. Hula hooping- I have always wanted the ability to walk and hula hoop at the same time. I am 31 and still haven’t perfected the fine art of the hoop. However, you have. You can walk, talk, and perhaps even run all while balancing your fluorescent pink hula hoop effortless on your hips. It never ceases to amaze me.

2. Your bike riding skills- you learned how to ride at two-wheeler at the tender age four. The difference between the childhood me and you is that you are persistent. The day we taught you how to ride your bike was a day full of angry bursts of emotion and lots of tears but you insisted on learning and would not give up. This is embarrassing but I might as well admit it now, I did not learn how to ride a bike until I was seven; seven stinking years old. As you may have realized by now I am not a fan of exerting too much effort into things. Needless to say I really envy your ambitious spirit!

3. You love to learn. You want to know about everything. You are constantly asking me questions about the stars, the moon, clouds, why it rains, where the coldest place in the world is, and on and on. Lots of times I don't know the answer to these questions. When that happens you insist that I find out. I love that about it.

4. You like everyone. If someone is mean to you at school you insist that they were having a bad day and that tomorrow will be different. I find this aspect of your personality deeply wonderful.

For your Birthday we went Apple picking in Julian. We had big plans to take you to Disneyland. Grandma was going to fly in from Florida for the occasion but then Great Grandpa died. Despite plans being changed you didn’t complain once. You were so mature about the whole thing. I’m proud of you for that.

Our Julian Apple picking day was so much fun because as always you were so very excited about the adventure. You loved having your own little white baggie to fill up and the overabundance of apples to choose from. You skipped up and down the tidy rows of apples looking for the best looking pieces of fruit.

Unfortunately at the end of our visit Grandpa Braun had the genius idea of shoving a wasp riden apple in your face. I am still unclear of the reasoning behind this but as always your Grandpa remains a mystery. You were stung right in the middle of the forehead. You left the orchard in tears but made a quick recovery once someone mentioned that we would stop for some apple pie on the way home.

Things in your little world have changed a lot this year. You have moved on to the ever so grown up world of having a full day at school. You love it. You adore the idea of having homework and the round table you share with four other kids, you like the way the crayons are arranged according to color and the way Mrs. Krug allows you to be class leader once a month. When I told you that I spend a large chunk of my day missing you, in a very matter fact tone you told me “I don’t miss you while I’m at school.” This broke my heart a tiny bit and you must have noticed because you explained “Just because I don’t miss you doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” You are an old soul.

Sometimes I forget how little you are. You remind me with the cute things you do. For instance, while at the beach you often tell me how much you love “sea enemies,” when you mean sea anemones, or when you open the car door and shout “open Stephanie!” as opposed to open sesame, or my favorite, they way you still say crapping instead of clapping.

Little Miss Amelia, I am proud to be your mom and have loved watching you grow and evolve in to the little lady that I look forward to seeing every morning. I adore you more than you could ever fathom!

Love,

Your Mom

A Day Spent with "The Rad"

2010-10-14T09:38:00.000-07:00

My Reader photo shoot with Conrad was on Tuesday. They requested he wear a Hawaiian shirt and he refused stating that they are "too middle aged for him." Also he was 30 minutes late. I arrived five minutes before twelve. I called Conrad to find out about his whereabouts. He was at a mall 15 minutes away looking for his keys that he had misplaced somewhere, he wasn’t sure where. I kind of wanted to kill him.

Luckily his tardiness ended up being a good thing because I was able to get to know Howie, the photographer and Reader operations director, better. He is a pretty cool guy. Although he did ask me a million and one questions, which always makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. When asked about the origins of my name I explained that it was Gaelic and that as a result kids in school called me the gay licker. There was a long drawn out awkward pause after that. Perhaps I overshared? I was trying too hard to win him over with my personality, kind of like the kids in high school who tried to wow the other students into voting for them for something silly like student council or homecoming court. Let’s face it I’m a bit of an awkward person.

When I told Howie that Conrad has not yet read the story, it was suggested that I don't allow it until after we finish taking all the photos for the article. I guess maybe it is a bit brutal. Now I am paranoid that I am a mean heartless jerk.

When Conrad finally showed up the photographer was overjoyed by the fact that, although he had not worn a hawaiian shirt, Conrad had managed to sport a necklace with a pendent the size of an infant.

I took Conrad out to lunch afterwards because I was starting to feel like a shitty daughter-in-law. We went to this ridiculously overpriced Italian restaurant and sat way too close to two overdressed women. So close in fact that if I extended my elbow a little it would graze against their table. They kept giving Conrad the evil eye every time he would laugh loudly or exhibit his terrible table manners. He finished his meal in about a minute flat and when I had leftovers asked if he could have them. It was pretty comical.

It was nice to spend the afternoon with Conrad. I don’t think the two of us have ever hung out alone before. I am going to make an effort to spend more time with the old guy. After my dad passed away I had a hard time being around Conrad. He had this expectation that with my dad gone he was supposed to act as my fatherly figure. While it was sweet that he tried to step into my dad’s role, I hated it. I had this idea that my dad was a far better human being than Conrad and that he could never come close to being the kind of person my dad was. Isn’t that a terrible thing to think? The truth is that the two of them are just very different. They are both remarkable men. For a long time I had some serious misdirected anger aimed toward Conrad. It was silliness and I’m over it now.

A few hours after I got home from our lunch Conrad called. He didn't even say hello, all he said when I answered the phone was "How are your bowels, mine aren’t doing so good?" He always keeps it classy. Apparently the Italian food did him wrong.

On Tuesday I will be going to Mexico with Howie to capture photos of Conrad, Eunice, and the kids for the article. I’m super excited. I think it’s going to be a really fun little adventure. It’s not every day that I get to Mexico in the middle of the week. Maybe I’ll buy a poncho.

Our family picture from our last Mexico Visit.