the tamarisk tree

When we lived in Germany in the mid 1990s, my family greatly enjoyed the info-mercials on Armed Forces Network television.  Mostly we enjoyed making fun of them.  In particular we always seemed to be able to easily poke fun at the ones about Operations Security.  There would be some kind of ridiculous person walking around a German market with white sneakers, light blue jeans, a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and an American flag hat, sticking out like a sore thumb while a cheesy voice-over man reminded us to always be aware of our surrounding and try to blend in. The caricature was just too often proven real.  There were many times while we were in public that we played ’spot the American’ and loved to try to make ourselves appear as European as possible (the license plates that were the wrong size and shape with the letters USA on it, were no help then, but I digress). The commercials reminded us to vary our route home, not to become too predictable and to keep ourselves alert to our surroundings. Mostly I just wished I could be watching a real commercial, but was still glad that it wasn’t one about fraud, waste and abuse.  Those were officially the worst.  Regardless, I don’t think we learned the lesson.  Or at least it didn’t stick…

OpSec from JudandKim on Vimeo.

This week we learned…

- Gwen Stefani knows how best to a call a baby and teaching Gideon to say it too is awesome.

- Your mouth makes the shape of the letter O when you say the letter O.

- Dressing up like a fireman is something we will be doing every day until we outgrow those boots. So that’s like next week.

- Babies who think they can walk love to scream when they actually cannot walk.

- Piper is so much like her Mama.  She loves cheerios. And club crackers (and I am surmising, all carbohydrates, way too much).

- If you want to get a lollipop, simply suggest going to the bank.

- Mom-mom will put money in your mother’s hand if you tilt your head down, ever so slightly and then declare that you ‘need chick nuggs, french fries and chamburgers.’  Sucka!

- Hiding all evidence of late night milkshake runs is necessary if you do not want to attempt to explain what is in the trash can to a two year old.  His first words about it will always be “uh-oh”. Playing dumb will not get you out of interrogation.

- When you put drops in your ear sometimes it sounds like bubbles.

- Mama wouldn’t trade these days learning together for any amount of money in the world.

Tonight is our church’s annual non-halloween-(but totally halloween)-night. We lovingly call it the Fall Festival and it has been a staple in my life nearly every year I’ve lived in Omaha.

Somehow, I only distinctly remember a few of the costumes I’ve worn to the event.  There was the year I was a punk rocker (technically, this was the year before the Fall Festival entered my life.  It was highly reminiscent of my kindergarten career day outfit when I went to school as Cyndi Lauper (I did not want to be just any punk rocker.  I wanted to be HER.  Genius). And then everything gets foggy until sixth or seventh grade when I was an old lady.  There were about five girls who came as babies.  We had our picture taken together and it is somewhere in the bowels of the church building now.  And then it’s all fuzzy again. And then I stopped wearing costumes.  I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m guessing it had something to do with time and effort.

Last year we threw a costume party (also non-halloween-[but totally halloween]) and I went as Angelina Jolie.  I was pregnant with Piper, had a black dress I could still fit into and a bunch of baby dolls of various ethnicities shoved into the baby sling on my back. If I’d taken a picture of it, I’d show you now, but I was only behind the camera that night.

(Oh, look! Pictures of other people from that night!)

Mac & PC

Gift Card Winners - Mail Lady and Penguin

He was closing a deal. It's what salesmen do. The best salesmen.

The Fall Festival is tonight.  We’ll be hauling the kiddos up for some games and fun.

Gideon will be re-inacting this (but hopefully with more enthusiasm):

Piper will be re-inacting this (but hopefully with less vomiting):

I haven’t even asked Jud if he was planning on dressing up.  He likes to be really different and typically something that nobody else is.  Maybe he’ll be a Husker Fan with hope.  I haven’t seen any of them around lately.

I was hoping to go as a younger, leaner, more sanctified version of myself, but when I woke up this morning, my costume had not yet arrived.  Maybe next year!

Our master bathroom sink asked for it.  I am bringing it.

I noticed a few months ago that it wasn’t draining as fast as it should (you know, like super fast, as in there is nothing blocking this sink’s only purpose, which is to allow water to flow through it and leave my presence immediately). I pulled out the little stopper thing and noticed some calcification from our hard water.  I cleaned it off and, ever so naively, put it back.  I was both pleased with myself, as if I was a plumber, and apprehensive that anything had been solved.

Obviously, it didn’t work. A few weeks later, I was letting the water heat up before I washed my face when I looked down and noticed that the water was backing up pretty quickly. It was hot enough so I got my job done before there was a real problem.  I tossed some kind of statement over to Jud like “we should do something about this sink.” He agreed.  I agreed.  We both promptly left the sink issue right where it had been, which is to say no where.

On cleaning day two weeks ago I decided to pour a bunch of this down the drain:

Once again with the pride and the apprehension.

And once again it did not work.  Not at all.  And it was the GEL kind. Shouldn’t that count for something? It’s fancy!  But, no.  The water was still slowly filling in the sink while I brushed my teeth, while I let it get hot at night, while I washed my face.  Fill. Fill. Fill.

And then, a couple of days ago, it started to stink. It smells funky.  Kind of sulphury.  Kind of stale.  Just the way you’d imagine a clogged drain might smell.  And ever since I got pregnant that very first time, I have had over active olfactory sensors. I can smell all sorts of things that you wish you couldn’t smell.  I can smell people’s breath in crowds.  I can smell when Piper has a dirty diaper before I go into her room when the door is closed.  I can smell you right now.  It’s that crazy.  So now that drain is taunting me.  It’s like it knows that I can smell it while I’m in bed at night.  In fact, I blame it for the nightmare I had last night where the nurse at the pediatricians office was trying to kill me with a sharpened one of these by shoving it up my nose:

Today I poured some bleach and boiling water down the hole and was greeted with a skunky scent. I’m not sure that’s better than the sulphur.  I am positive that the problem is not solved.  But it will be.

Soon.

Right after you tell me what to do.

While sitting in the doctor’s office this morning a really lovely mother walked over to where I was sitting with the two munchkins and started talking to me.  It was crazy.  Crazy nice.  Crazy awesome.  She was just so friendly. Her two little boys were being as pleasant as my two (one of those rare times when Piper was completely content to sit in her car seat and Gideon wanted to read the same book over and over again.  Much MUCH different than the night before behavior that primarily involved each of them screaming at all hours so that I would walk directly from one child’s room to the next without ever getting back into my much loved, heavily blanketed bed). We were mostly chatting about our two babies.

Hers was seven months, born just one week before Pipes. She asked about teeth.  Piper has two…those shiny little jagged bottom ones right in the front.  Her Desmond (you know I wanted to ask if she was a Lost fan but didn’t risk the offense) has none yet, just puddles of drool and anger.  I asked about crawling and he isn’t there yet, just rocking back and forth. Piper readily joined the ranks of the mobile a few weeks back and has recently jumped into the ‘cruiser’ field as well (pulls herself up and walks along furniture as long as she can keep one hand firmly on something stable, she can get anywhere).  The very nice woman was reveling in her sons lack of mobility and me? I was torn.  I love watching my kids hit milestones but the crawling, walking, scaling all things with ledges and slightly available hand holds?  I vacillate.  I’ll get back to you as soon as she figures out how to sit down after pulling herself up.  In the meantime, I’ll be somewhere just behind her waiting for the blood curdling screams for help.

This is trouble.

Hi kids. I’ve been out of commission for a while now doing all sorts of things that involve all sorts of interesting but mostly mundane things.  And if you are even bothering to still come over here to find nothing posted, I assume you are some kind of stalker because the rest of the world gave up on me quite some time ago.  Now that it’s just me and the crazies, we can all finally get down to biznas.

First up is the project management triangle.  You know this one already, right?  Good. Fast. Cheap.  Pick any two but it’s all you get.  It’s easily understood in housing projects (not THE projects of course, just projects around your home…think Renovation Realities). Let’s say you want to redo your bathroom.

Option 1 – Good and Fast: You will pay through your teeth for the best contractor who will send all his men over to get this done pronto.  You’ll be happy.  All your drawers will close properly. The subway tile will just what you ordered. Also, you’ll be poor.

Option 2 – Good and Cheap: You will not pay much, the job will be done with proper measurements and all but it will take approximately elevnty months of heartache and exactly three visits from out of town guests filled with excuses and explanations about why that toilet isn’t level before it’s complete.

Option 3- Fast and Cheap: This is where that TLC show comes and films you while playing pop-up-video for the nation to snark on you as you fumble through a job that you wanted to complete in a weekend for a grand. In the end, it looks worse than when you started.

We were trying to figure out which route to take all summer every time we hung out in our backyard and noted the distinct peeling paint and scars from the old deck.  What to do? What to do?

And then?  Then?  THEN?

Then we broke the triangle.

But how?  Tis a law! Tis time tested!  Mother and father approved even!

I won’t say.  It’s not the point.  And perhaps I’m working on bottling it up and selling it on the open market one of these days and you’ll already have patented it.  Then what?  Yeah, no good. But let me just tell you that our house is painted a nice shade of yellow with white trim.  Lovely. And the triangle, while still very much in play in offices ’round the globe, shattered in our driveway last weekend.  Hope renewed.

Of course that last post was practically a Christmas letter (and you were wondering why I haven’t been writing.  Ha!  These words here on this screen?  This is the answer), and so now I am just out of things to tell you in little surmisable lumps.  Surmisable may not be a word.  It keeps getting underlined in red.  Surmisable. Surmisable. Surmisable.  Yeah.  All red.  Now here we all are and I’m going to tell you a little thing about phone etiquette.  Well, at least my phone etiquette.  Here’s my rules:

1. You can’t under any circumstances call anyone after 10 pm.  Ever.  Unless that person is Ronke, in which case she is probably up.  Go ahead and call  (I love this about her.  I could pick up the phone right now and even if she’d been asleep we could easily chat for like two hours about things that she’d heard or seen or read during the day.  Things that will all be news to me because I am living under the rock of mothering a baby who is semi-attached to my physical being thus insuring I have very very little time to check out the news [cough, cough, read celebrity gossip, cough, cough] or in general know what day of the week it may be).

2. If you’re calling me and want to actually speak to a human, you may be horribly disappointed.  It’s not because I don’t like you. I don’t even have caller id.  I can’t screen you if I wanted to (and maybe I do).  It’s just that making it to the telephone before you hang up is so very unlikely.  Whenever you decide to call me, I will be doing one of a few things.

A. Changing a diaper.  It’s probably one of those blowout kinds requiring a third hand and possibly the bathtub. If I could magically manage to pick up the phone during all of it, I would have had to leave the poo unattended and the child too and my goodness that is not a good combination.

B. Convincing a two year old that playing inside would be nice for a change.  Not as nice as when all of this sticky humid humidity with the moisture in the air and the heat with the heat goes away, but still nice.  He can’t get enough of that dirt under the nice new deck and leaving him alone guarantees he’ll be throwing it into the air or sampling it like we’re at Sam’s club on a Saturday.

C. I’m searching for the phone. If only I could remember where my cell phone is or the house phone (and yes, we do now have three and not the one that had no ability to recharge the battery that died all the time and all it really did was beep) it would make life just that much easier.  So much easier.  I should invent a thing where you put the phone every time it’s not in use and then everyone would always know where it is. I could be so stinking rich.  What?  What’s that?  Crud.

D.  There is no D.  But if there were it would involve something of personal care – things done in a bathroom that proper ladies don’t speak of in public or on the interwebs.  Showers and toilets and nail trimmings and such.

Now you finally know why I didn’t pick up.  But why haven’t I returned your call?  That is a mystery for the ages.  Or Sprint.  Why won’t you give me my messages, Sprint?  Are you hoarding them like those crazy people hoard newspaper and tin foil?  Are you keeping them for winter when I’ll need some summery cheer?  Are you mean?  Are you saving them to be weeded through by the government because of all the crazy talk I do on there?  All are likely, but my goodness! I would like it if you would simply deliver the messages directly.  As for the house line, I’m not sure why the upstairs phone base is now handling the messages instead of the downstairs one.  I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Gideon’s fancy button pushing yesterday and I’m also pretty sure I nearly missed a message from a sweet lady from church who wants me to call her back tomorrow.  Close one.

So, yeah.  Good luck with all that.

Also, can someone please tell me why I am awake and unable to shut down for sleep at 12:34 am?  I’m going to be a complete zombie tomorrow. Yeah zombies!  I wonder what Ronke is doing….

I was about to login here when I realized I couldn’t remember ‘wordpress.com’.  Now you know why I have not been updating you.  I lost my mind.  Officially.

Somehow the last three weeks have month has been so incredibly busy and overwhelming that I couldn’t find time to tell you anything and just now I can’t remember anything to tell you.  Aren’t you so glad you came by?

Let’s see.  Michael Jackson died and then…then I woke up this morning and remembered I used to fancy myself a blogger.  As if that title meant something (yeah, it does, Crazy.  It means you write stuff on a blog that is semi-cohesive and usually kind of funny).  But today and I suppose for a month now, I haven’t got a clue about what you want to know.

Did you want me to tell you about Gideon?  He is growing up very fast, this you already knew, but you would really know if you spent an afternoon with us and heard him chirping away about all sorts of things “Look Mommy!  Tall me!” he exclaimed from on top of one of our chairs this morning.  He sings along to most of the songs he knows from Sunday school.  He still tells the story of the nice new deck but now he’d rather play underneath it in the dirt he discovered with his digger, dozer and dump truck.  The crane is always welcome too.  He’s wearing a size 8 shoe.  He is not potty trained yet.  We tried for a week or so and found out that I am not made of enough grit to do the no pants and $75 method.  I am the problem, not him.  But I am hoping that we will not be purchasing any more size 4s.  I better order that one book…..

And what of that baby?  She is still fantastic.  Easy.  Delightful.  Sunny and sweet.  There has never been an easier baby in my whole world (and lo, my world is small, but I am okay with it.  Tis functional).  Also, she is big.  Like break out the 9 months sleepers big (they are only slightly too big).  Her eyes have turned almost brown now (so Jud wins, since I thought they would be green). She giggles and laughs and has a very funny cough laugh that she is pulling out all the time. She is sleeping well (usually. Not when we have company.  Then she is up every hour and a half.  I suppose she is afraid of missing something and in this she is so much like her mother) and will just nod off in your arms if she gets too tired.  Not much crying.  Plenty of rolling around to get to toys and furniture and to hug the bumper in her crib.  She’s wearing a size 3 diaper and taking names.

And that wonderful man who is so great with the two munchkins?  He is also doing very well, if tired.  He has a website.  He is on this here computin theng even more now.  You should go see what he’s doing. It’s so impressive and wonderful and I’m just happy to have him investing and hobbying in something we both love so much. He took a trip to San Diego for work and came home with a soap allergy rash from the hotel. It wasn’t fun for either of us (him: the itching/scratching cycle that got so bad there was bruising. me: listening to/being awakened by the scratching/moaning about itching).  But now he is better and I am happy that he will never want to use soap go on a business trip again. Er, something like that.

And me? I am surviving. The dizzying pace of life was for sure overwhelming me.  The past two weeks seemed especially difficult and exhausting.  I cannot remember now what was going on then but I’m pretty sure that only speaks to the intensity with which I’d been pushing through them.  When Zanna called last week to say they could come for a visit I was so excited. I was also wondering if I had it in me to live until Saturday when they were going to arrive.  As the weekend approached, I was still tired but so excited to have such great friends coming to stay with us.  I’m so glad they came.  While they were here with us, I felt like myself again.  I think it had been a while since I had shown up to possess this body. The perpetual motion of living had been keeping all of my limbs animated, but my mind and emotions had stopped somewhere in June.  There is nothing quite like spending time with such great friends to revive you and bring you back from the brink. And later this month, Ronke comes for a bit, which guarantees another way back to sanity.

Meanwhile, a bunch of friends have been pushing out babies (or are about to any day now) and I am just loving seeing all of those new little mugs. Congratulations friends!  And congratulations World on all of the great little humans that are now inhabiting you!

While on the way to the grocery store today, Gideon is playing with a toy in the back seat when I hear him say, “Uh oh.  Baby.  Mess.  Ew. Uh oh.  Big mess.”  He was right.