Leaving In a Minivan

I'm about to hit the road for a much-anticipated vacation. The bad news is that I probably won't have much to say here for the next week or so. (So what's new?) The good news is that many of the people who read this blog live along my projected path, so I'll actually see you in person instead, which is way better than reading blog posts. Right? Right. Carry on.

I just blue myself

I hope it wasn't for nothing.

Arrested Development movie in the works

(Title to this post was shamelessly stolen, but it was too good not to swipe. That's one of my favorite AD quotes.)

Two Years Later

We still miss you, Puck.

George Carlin, Rest in Peace

(Explicit content, in case I actually need to say that about a George Carlin bit.)

In Which Sophia Teaches Me to Get a Backbone

Yesterday was another in the string of lovely days we've been having lately, sunny and not too hot. The girls and I decided a trip to the nearly park was in order.

Honestly, I've been avoiding parks in favor of the beach. The problem is two-fold:

First, poor, sensitive little Evelyn is deeply distressed by every insect, every spider web, and every bit of unidentified debris that crosses her path. And there are a lot of all of those things at the park. (Why she has this reaction at the park but not at the beach, I couldn't tell you.) In addition to her fear of just about everything natural, Evelyn is terrified of most of the playground equipment. The little baby slide and toddler swings are acceptable in small quantities, but everything else is far too scary for her to consider. Instead, she wants to spend her time at the park grasping and clinging and refusing to have any fun at all.

And second, Sophia, who is at least part monkey, has no fear of anything whatsoever. Not even, say, scaling three stories of slippery ladders with no safety-net system in order to conquer the tallest, fastest, longest slide in the park. What's that? Mommy's off dealing with sad Evelyn and her fear of harmless fluff? No problem. Sophia can handle this enormous, dangerous, death-trap ladder all on her own while Mommy is distracted.

Now, I know I can be a bit of a worrywart. I do my best to insulate the girls from dangerous situations -- with good reason, given their condition. I don't think I'm overreacting when finding Sophia halfway up the tallest tower scares the spit out of me.

So you can see why we don't go to the park very often. Evelyn has no fun, and Sophia has far too much fun.

But yesterday's trip presented a whole new hazard, one I haven't encountered before: obnoxious, ill-mannered, poorly supervised little boys. These brats, upon arriving at the park with their tuned-out mothers, first decided it would be fun to shoot pretend guns at the twins. "Blam blam blam! Let's shoot these girls!"

I stood dumbfounded. What horrible, nasty little brats! I thought. What will their mothers do to curb this behavior? Nothing, of course. Mom #1 and Mom #2 sat on their bench not ten feet away and never even glanced in our direction.

I stared at the gun-slinging boys in shock and confusion while Evelyn's lower lip began to quiver. We were both of us stunned, and a little upset, and totally unable to form a response.

But not Sophia. She saw what was going on from halfway up Big Scary Tower. (Dammit! She's up there again!) At once, she reversed her course and started yelling at the brats, "You stop it! You stop that game!"

And, amazingly, the boys ran off, probably to annoy someone else for a while.

Holy cow! How did Sophia learn to stand up for others like that? Certainly not from me, her invertebrate mother who stood there slack-jawed.

I was still processing this when the nasty boys struck again. While Sophia climbed all over everything she could scale, Evelyn decided it would be fun to push an empty swing for a while. Unfortunately, the nasty boys also thought that would be fun, and they stood beside Evelyn, thrashing their swings around and calling Evelyn a baby. (Mind you, these kids were maybe four. Just old enough to think themselves worlds older and more sophisticated than a mere three-year-old baby.) Once again, Evelyn's face began to crumble, and this time I immediately intervened. (I knew by then that the absentee moms weren't going to.) I tried to calmly and quietly tell the boys that it wasn't very nice to call Evelyn a baby, and pointed out that they wouldn't like it if someone called them babies. What did I get in response? "We're big boys! She's a baby! She's a bad baby!"

Again, shock paralyzed me for a moment as I tried to work out what on earth to do. And again, Sophia came to the rescue. She swooped in from across the playground yelling, "That isn't nice! That isn't nice!" And I believe she blew a raspberry or two. And once again, the boys fled before her wrath.

It was time to leave the playground, despite earnest, tearful protestations from the girls. (Apparently, Evelyn wasn't finished being scared of the ladybugs, and Sophia wasn't finished scaring me or those wretched boys.) Lunchtime called, and I needed some time to process the morning's events.

I'm thrilled that Sophia isn't afraid to stand up for herself and others. I don't know where she learned that skill, but I'm glad she has it. I'm a little saddened to see that Evelyn hasn't yet developed the same skill, but it comforts me to know that she'll have Sophia looking out for her.

But what was my role in this scenario? A) Just how much do I get to scold these kids who aren't mine, whose parents are sitting right there doing nothing? And B) How do I want the girls to see me handle this situation? What do I want them to learn from me about handling conflict?

So far, I don't have any answers. What do you all think?

Withdrawal

No. More. Battlestar. Galactica. Until. 1Q 2009. Cannot. Go. On.

Do they make country-sized dunce caps?

Friends, I just watched Rick Shenkman on The Daily Show say that only two out of five Americans know that we have three branches of government and can name them. Please, please tell me that's not true. I can't bear to think Americans are really that stupid.

(Also, he says only one in seven can find Iraq on a map. Do we need to revisit the geography pop quiz?)

Birthday

Today is the twins' third birthday. We had a huge party with tons of friends, a pony birthday cake (Sophie) and a monster birthday cake (Evie), and presents upon presents. It was fun and amazing and overwhelming and exhausting. Mostly, it was fun.

In all the hullabaloo, it's easy to forget about the day we're celebrating, the day three years ago when my tiny, tiny girls came into the world twelve weeks before they should have. They've gone from less than three pounds each to nearly thirty pounds each, from needing help with everything from breathing to maintaining body temperature to doing everything BY MYSELF. It's an amazing metamorphosis. I'm glad to have been along for the ride.

Evie and Sophie, then:


Now:

Status Report, June 1

So when last we spoke, I vowed to actually commit myself to the creative projects I've been dreaming about but neglecting. Thanks to all of your for your support and kind words, and don't mistake me -- I have no regrets about how I've spent the last ten years, what with the awesome marriage and amazing kids, etc. And I'm sure that if I were to hold steady for the next ten years, I'd be equally content, seeing as I'd still have the awesome marriage and the amazing kids, and throw in that mind-bogglingly successful business to boot. Life is good.

But that doesn't change the fact that I want to do something more. I have creative muscles that have been atrophying for too many years. I need to stretch. I need to challenge myself. If nothing comes of it, fine. If I half-write seven novels that are all abysmally bad, that's better than not writing anything at all. I need to at least get myself into the habit of thinking creatively.

Another reason this is important to me: I want the girls to embrace creativity in their lives. I don't know why this is so important to me, but it is. And I firmly believe that kids learn from what we do, not from what we say. I can tell them to embrace creativity until I'm blue in the face. But if they see me striving to bring creativity into our lives, that's what they'll really remember and learn from. (Ditto for things like eating well, exercising regularly, treating others with kindness and respect, and, perhaps the hardest one for me, being a good driver. I am such a bad driver. I don't want them to learn that from me. But that's another post.)

So here's how I'm doing so far:

Words written: about 1,500 on two different story ideas.
Workouts: two
Rows knitted: none (Silas is never getting that blanket at this rate. Sorry, kid.)
Arias sung: none

Could be worse. But could be a lot better. I have some work to do.

Unstuck

I feel like I've been in a creative rut for months. Every project I start languishes half-done or barely begun. Most of the projects I dream up are never even started. I'm bursting with plans for things I want to accomplish, from finishing that baby blanket I started months ago to brushing up a few of my favorite arias to writing that novel I've been dreaming of (see previous post). And nothing gets done.

Friends, I vow to you, that is about to change. I'm not going to live a half-finished life, and I'm not going to look back in ten years and say, "What on Earth have I done for the last decade other than read blogs and watch TV?" That will not be me. I won't have it. And I won't let the obvious excuses (kids, work, general laziness) hold me back.

I make this resolution to you, Blogland. I will write that novel. I will sing. I will finish that baby blanket. And while I'm doing that, I will make time to go to the gym. It might take some organization and a stronger work ethic than I've ever in my entire life exhibited, but I will do it, so help me.