Crazybusy

Work. More work. Doctor's appointments. Kids. Homework. Orthodontist. Gymnastics. Tennis. Theater. Music. Groceries. Cleaning. Laundry. Cooking. Dishes. Bills. Checks. Checks. Dog. And writing more checks. Birthday this weekend.

Get the picture? It will end, but not this week, probably not next. Surgery has been scheduled - a common procedure, should be relatively uncomplicated. But it's surgery, none the less, so I am cautiously optimistic. Gotta take care of the husband and daddy.

More when I have caught my breath.

As if I needed this stress

I have lovely, responsible daughters. The two elder ones are capable of babysitting; they are quite good with young children.

But, as always, there is a catch: They are very good with other people's young children - their own sibling is not included.

Tonight was open house at the middle school, so Gary and I thought we would both attend, leaving Alison and Maddie home with the Sylvia. Took the elder two to the orthodontist, ran to the grocery store, where I picked up a quick dinner along with the other groceries, then got home, dropped off the older girls with instructions that we would be home in 90 minutes or so. We left in plenty of time for 6.30 open house.

Ooops! First mistake: It started at 6. I had Maddie tell me what the note said, but I did not actually read it myself. Last night's open house was at 6.30, hence the confusion. By the time we got there (thinking we were early?) they were just finishing second period. On the bright side, the first two periods for Maddie are PE and advisory. In other words, we didn't miss much.

After an hour of meeting teachers, hearing the law of the classroom, we headed home. Alison had already left for Tae Kwon Do, having cleared this with us ahead of time. We walked in, chatted with Maddie, then asked if Sylvia was done with her homework.

Bombshell: Maddie answers, Um, I actually don't know where Sylvia is.

????

Apparently Sylvia had cleared it with Alison to go across the street to her friend's house, but Maddie never got the message. Then Alison left. Major communication breakdown.

We found Sylvia (there were really only two alternatives as to where she might have been). And when she came home at 8.15, she asked if we would help with her homework. Yet another problem - why was she at a friend's when she had homework to finish?

All in all, not a successful evening. We had a looong talk with the other two about how we handle evenings when the parents are not at home. No visiting friends; communicate. Homework first.

And we've done some thinking. Maybe we can't both attend open house without the kids. Which works when Gary is home, but leaves me right back in the same boat next week when it's Alison's open house night and he is out of town.

Oh well, two bright spots on the horizon. One, Gary went to the doctor today to sort out why he hasn't been feeling good, and he may not be traveling next week after all - he may be getting ready for surgery.

And two, I figure this is not the last bad night I'll have as a parent - not by a long shot.

See? It always pays to look for the silver lining, such as it is. Good thing I'm an optimist, huh?

School Daze

It's back in full swing. School. We are down and dirty: Homework. Projects. Fundraisers.

Tonight was "curriculum night" (read: Open House) at the grade school. We wasted ... er, met for a few minutes in the cafeteria to be addressed by the principal, meet all the large group teachers, be reminded that our children need to wear tennis shoes on PE days. They then dismissed us third-grade parents to retreat to the "cottages" (read: trailers, or portable classrooms). There we met with Sylvia's teacher, a delightful woman. Sylvia is smitten - rightly so. And she knows how to make a parent feel good: When we introduced ourselves, she practically gushed, "I love Sylvia! She is so wonderful to have in class!" Words that make a parent proud.

Maddie is hitting us all up for her school's magazine sales fundraiser. There are few things I hate more than selling things, but having my kids sell things is certainly one of them. And boy do I resent fundraisers for schools as wealthy as ours.

Unless, of course, it's writing checks. So much for education provided for our students - I will be writing plenty of checks in the next few weeks, to supplement the checks I have already written. Chief among them, checks for Alison to participate in the school play (costume fee) and for her to attend the thespian convention.

If it's not one thing, it's another.

Perhaps fortuitously, I have been offered more work this week - two more short pieces for a local magazine. Part of me is exhausted, having done three pieces last week. The other part of me - the part that is speaking louder - is telling me to do it, strike while the iron is hot. Earn a little cash to pay for my children's educational extras. Which is what I intend to do; I can relax next week.

I'm counting the days.

Recuperating

I say that we are in recovery, but it really isn't true. A night with six seventh-grade girls was not a big deal - they were very well behaved, very low-key. They swam (until it rained), ate pizza, painted fingernails. Didn't cause any problems, didn't torture anyone.

Of course we were down two daughters - one spent the night with a friend, the other was babysitting.

They even went to bed on time - one of the girls had to get up early today, so they went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Today was mostly relaxing. This morning I cleaned the guest bath, scrubbed the kitchen sink. A bit of a problem, since I am paying a cleaner to take care of these tasks. It's under discussion, believe me. Grrr. I hate to be one of those women who is constantly complaining that things are not done up to her standards. But ignoring the guest bath is a problem.

I also took today to excavate the depths of our refrigerator. Not one of my favorite household tasks; it ranks right down there with, well, with everything, really - cleaning house is not among my favorite pastimes. I found items that were so old ... well, let's just say they weren't recent acquisitions. Some of this I can blame on me and my lack of enthusiasm for cleaning. Some of it I can blame on the girls and their assistance - when they put the groceries away for me, or when they get things for me, they do not look to see if we have an older package of cheese, for example, that is already open.

The problem is solved - for today, anyway. The refrigerator is tidy and sparkling. If only it would stay that way ....

Spent much of the afternoon in the pool - perfect. The day was sunny and warm, and my book entertaining enough.

Mostly, my brain is on vacation today. After a week full of deadlines, I deserve a day off. The grind begins again on Monday.

Just a day

On the first day of school, the high school bus was a no-show.

On the second day of school, the middle schooler told me their bus was on driver No. 3. On day two?

And on the third day of school, the third-grader came home on a different bus. The original bus, with our familiar driver, pulled over and let the waiting parents know that the buses were crowded and some changes were being worked out. No contact from the school, however. So for two days, their bus numbers were changed on their transportation stickers. By the end of the week, we were back on the regular bus.

Unfortunately, the message didn't get to one little Kindergartner, who was sent home on the wrong bus. Her older sister, on the correct bus, warned the driver, but it was too late - the other bus had left. The mother was able to find her, but no one from the school had ever gotten involved in looking for this missing little girl.

Our schools are too big, too crowded. Sigh - what to do.

So, today I drove up to the Woodlands to finish updating our wills. It's a 45-minute drive, and my GPS took me some funky back way, down rural roads, past churches that look like barns, houses that were built way back in the '60s when this must have been way out in the woods.

I am questioning my choice of attorneys. I know them, sort of, but didn't get one of the couple I know, but one of their associates. It cost a small fortune to prepare what amounts to a boiler-plate will - nothing special, no particular bequests or wording. Really, a good legal assistant could have typed our names in the blanks, and we paid a lot. A lot. For very little service - she made a ton of errors that had to be corrected. More than once. And you get better service at a house closing - no offer of beverages (even though we were there at lunch time), no nice pens, no nothing.

Still, it's done, and that's what matters. I'm just wondering why we had to pay so much when we already had wills and just wanted them updated. I'll think twice and check prices before doing this again.

Even after all that, driving home was pleasant. I'm wearing a particularly cute outfit today, the sun was shining, and there was good music on the radio. And if all my radio stations failed me, I had a couple of good CDs in the car. How can life be bad when there's good music?

Tomorrow night we are hosting a birthday party .... I'm working up my endurance tonight by going to bed early. I'll be ready to face a passel of giggling middle-school-age girls. I think.

Wish me luck!

Tap your foot once for yes ...

I'll admit, I found the whole Larry Craig controversy a little funny. At first.

Craig, as you undoubtedly know by now, is the Idaho soon-to-be former senator, who pleaded guilty to a charge of indecent behavior after his arrest in a Minneapolis bathroom in an undercover sex sting. He contends that he most decidedly is not, and never has been, gay, and pleaded guilty simply to spare himself and others the hassles of a trial. The married Craig insists that this is all a misunderstanding, and he is out to clear his good name.

(And, apparently, in updates today, re-claim his senate seat; using the word "intends" before "resign" may give him legal leeway. The outlook on whether or not he can overturn the guilty plea is somewhat less certain.)

First things first: I think Craig most likely is gay. I suspect that undercover cop knew exactly what he was looking for, and Craig's claims that he has a "wide stance" sound a little suspect. I find it hard to believe that bathroom propositions are so ambiguous that an innocent bystander could really be that misunderstood. I suspect that Craig has been living closeted his entire life. He truly does not consider himself gay - he thinks he is straight, and sometimes engages in a little clandestine "recreation" on the side.

Secondly: I don't think Craig should have had to resign. OK, so Craig came onto some guy in a bathroom. Why he is being singled out for bad behavior? When David Vitter - yet another "pro-family" senator, this one from Louisiana - was outed for being the client of a well-known Washington DC prostitute, he wasn't pressured to resign. He said his mea culpas and spent some time in seclusion, ostensibly to have some "quality time" with his wife. (And who isn't slightly curious to hear those conversations?)

Is it because Craig is gay? We can tolerate a certain amount of bad behavior from the straight guys because, well, boys will be boys. The Kennedys and Cinton got away with it - we can all turn our heads because, from time to time, even the best men will stray. But a gay affair? Now that's tawdry? Personally, I think it smacks of homophobia. I'm not defending sexual deviants, but I think a consensual affair is not the same thing as what Mark Foley did - sexually harassing minors is never funny.

I also think these bathroom stings are counterproductive. Men are being arrested for asking other men for sex - is this illegal? Are we going to shut down every bar in the country, every place where men try to pick up women - or vice versa? Or is the goal - once again - to go after only the gay pick-up places?

I'm not suggesting that all men's public restrooms be allowed to turn into wild pick-up joints. But I do know that there is a secret culture of bathroom rendezvous, and it is very subtle. Every university in the country has its spots, well-known to those who are interested. It is so covert that those who weren't looking would never guess. The signals are known, and most men who wish not to participate are blissfully ignorant.

Before we castigate Larry Craig, I think we need to examine a little closer the motives. If he is being forced out of Congress for behavior we won't tolerate from anyone, then that's one thing. But if we are creating two sets of standards - a separate set of rules and morals for those who are gay - then we might need to rethink how we are treating this particular group of Americans. We no longer condone discrimination on the basis of race or sex; sexual orientation is the next logical step.

I don't necessarily want my U.S. senators propositioning men in public restrooms. Nor do I want them picking up prostitutes, taking illegal kick-backs, or using undue influence for improper gains. What I do want is for the rules to be consistent. If Larry Craig really should go, then there are plenty of others who should join him. If this were to keep up, we could have one empty Senate chamber by October.

Rules without reason

"You can wear black to a wedding, capris to work, and flip-flops to dinner, but white after Labor Day?"

It's a burning fashion question, and thanks to the Houston Chronicle, I have an answer I can live with.

Last year, in fact, I wrote to this writer at the Chronicle for a little clarity on that very question. Since then, she has done some research. As it turns out, there is no "real" rule about white after Labor Day. Its origins lie in antiquated rules bound in - what else? - class; some experts say it was insituted in the 1950s to differentiate the upper echelons from those with less breeding.

Artificial etiquette - gotta love it.

Today, most experts agree, there are no such hard and fast rules. In climates with defined seasons, these guidelines are more practical. But in places like Houston, where summer temps can linger well into December, these notions are much more flexible. While it might be best to put away the eyelet and skimpy tops of summer come September, many of summer's pieces can be worn well into the fall.

I've put away my white sandals, my eyelet skirt, and my linen. But I have a white skirt and white pants that I have every intention of wearing, certainly for the rest of this month. While I'm running air conditioning in my house, I figure I can wear white.

I'm all for rules, when they have a purpose. But fashion has a whole lot of leeway, and I refuse to be bound by rules arbitrarily invented by fashion designers hoping to make a fast buck, or artificially invented rules that are made to separate the haves from the have-nots.

And there was a time when I adamantly adhered to the Memorial to Labor Rule on white. However, I also wore white hose with dark shoes and dresses - a fashion I'd prefer to forget that I saw over and over in lots of early-80s Princess Diana footage. Luckily we've all evolved - I prefer not to wear any hose if at all possible. And with the weather here, I am in luck. (Plus, it seems oddly patriarchal to encase my legs in flesh-colored nylon. Ick.)

I refuse to change my purse daily in order to match my shoes. I wear a jean jacket with virtually any outfit for a casual look; I wear mini skirts that some may consider out of my age group. I've been known to mix gold and silver, wear heels with cropped pants or long shorts, and wear skirts longer than my coat. I love denim overalls on the weekend. I have a shiny top that I wear during the day, and I have items in my closet that date back more than 10 years. Or 12. Or 15 ...

Call me a renegade. I'm not trying to reinvent the wheel, or even make a big statement. The biggest fashion rule should be: Be yourself. Be comfortable. That's my aim - and to look good doing it.

Summer farewell

How do you bid farewell to summer when you know that the 90-degree temps will linger for another month?

The answer, it seems, is that you bid a formal adieu, but go back to business as usual, starting tomorrow. The public pools will remain open on weekends through the month, and our backyard pool will not close (we keep it open all year long - we can use the hot tub all through the winter). Wardrobes don't change - capri pants can be worn virtually all year long - and the AC won't go off til sometime in October.

So Labor Day is merely symbolic - even though everyone is back in school, back to the fall routine, the summer temps will remain.

We ventured over to Austin for Bat Fest 07. Austin is home to largest urban bat colony in North America; nearly 1.5 million bats take flight every evening from the Ann Richards Congress Street Bridge, and it is a sight to behold. The girls and I went last year, and the sight of all those bats taking flight at dusk is phenomenol. Bat Fest, however, turned out to be a bat dud - the bats, for whatever reason, were a no-show. The bats are there - living in good health beneath the bridge - but despite the pleas of the Bat Signal, which graced the side of a hotel near the bridge, the bats did not appear. Disappointing for us, but especially for Gary, who was not with us last time and was looking forward to the spectacle. Maybe next year ...

Today I got in a couple hours in the pool early, before we were hit by rain. Did some reading, some laundry, Some holiday, huh? But it feels like a holiday, with all the kids at home and no school, no work.

Tomorrow, it's back to business. School, work, the normal drill. But today, we're still pretending it's a holiday. We'll just celebrate again when, or if, summer ends for real.

End of summer

It's been a busy week here at Chez Gerlach-Mueller. Lots of scrambling about, what with school being back in session, learning how to get up earlier and, more importantly, go to bed earlier. Packing lunches, laying clothes out the night before (well, this hasn't been so tough, what with all the new, back-to-school clothes), staying on task, getting the homework done.

Yet we've made it through the week.

I finished most of my article - a review that I do not feel totally qualified to do - but am still waiting on confirmation on a potential profile. It feels more like PR than actual journalism, but it brings in a paycheck, so I'm not going to grumble too loud. I wonder if I should pursue more freelance work. Or if I should work on some other projects. Or consider other job options.

Or just worry.

One daughter has blisters from new shoes; another has been cast in the school play. Yet another needs to write birthday thank-you notes.

We're sending Alison away for the weekend. Then who knows what lies in store. Watching some of our accumulating Netflix, swimming, making fajitas. Tidying up a bit, reading, taking it easy. Planning a birthday party. Or two.

Here's to a three-day weekend.

Another day ...

... another list of tasks to complete. A never-ending list, a list that never reaches completion.

My neighbor's house is picture-perfect. All the time. And, she told me, she does not hire help.

I am stunned. I mean, I have help, and I still can't get my house to look like that. I would love to have everything in order, all the time. And I do ... when I am expecting guests. But today, for example? My desk is covered with papers I need to put away. And the pile of mail. And the magazines are starting to take over. Again.

Yet somehow, when I have a free moment, I just can't do it. I pick up a book instead.

For the record, our house isn't overly messy. There are just some things that need to be put away. But I also need to call the eye doctor about my new contacts (they're terrible - I've switched back to the old ones). I need to work on an article that's due soon, but my source has not been confirmed. Stuff for the kids, shopping. And I need to watch my TiVo'd Princess Diana specials (this week is lousy with them!).

Yesterday I got my hair done. And washed (and dried) a load of towels. Unloaded, reloaded the dishwasher. Cooked dinner. Bought more school supplies (and what is up with Target - empty shelves - grrrr ...). Went to Alison's Tae Kwon Do testing. Ran errands. I was nothing if not efficient. Yet, I'm never done.

Thus I was pleased to run across this article: Eight Things No One Tells You About Being a Mom.

My question: Are there really only eight?!?

Good day, all.

Back to school

The big day finally arrived: It's the first day of the school year.

At our house, we have a sophomore. A seventh-grader. And a third-grader.

And for all three, it has been all about the outfit.

The back-to-school outfit is all-important. If I tried hard enough, I could probably think back and tell you exactly what I wore on the first day of school K through 12. I remember what I wore on my first day of class in college; I remember what I wore when I interviewed for my first job, and for the first actual day of work. I recall what I wore when I made a big Keats presentation in grad school; I remember the dress I bought for my thesis defense. I remember what I had on when I taught composition for the first time, what I wore when I went back to work at the newspaper. And I remember those interview outfits, too.

I know how critical the first-day outfit is.

Maddie and Sylvia made their choices weeks ago, and they've been laid out in their rooms since last week. Alison did not have hers all laid out, but she certainly knew what she would have on today. Thus it seemed our first day would go off without a hitch.

But it wasn't to be.

Maddie and Alison both went outside before 10 til 7; they catch their buses at 6.52 and 6.56 a.m., respectively. I got Sylvia up, and at 7.10 Alison pops in and informs me that her bus never came.

Grrr. I can take you, I said, but you'll have to wait until I get Sylvia on the bus. Around 7.20 Alison was getting antsy - couldn't we just ssend Sylvia next door? No, no - it's her first day of school, and I want to take her to the bus at least. Plus Sylvia won't hear of it - she wants me to wave to her as the bus pulls away. And I can do that much, can't I, for my smallest daughter?

Alison is becoming increasingly agitated; I tell her to remain calm. It's the first day - it's not a big deal, and she will not be in trouble or counted tardy. Especially since the bus didn't show up. I know her first day is important, but Sylvia's is, too. Asking me to choose which one is more important is akin to asking me which child is my favorite. And as you know, I have no answer for that question.

I took Sylvia out early, thinking that maybe, maybe she would be OK waiting with one of her friends. Alison sticks her head out the door periodically, letting me know that SHE IS READY. After a few minutes, one of Sylvia's friends does indeed show up, with her mother. So she acquiesces.

Alison is very upset with me - yelling at me as we drive. But I remained calm, telling her that everything will be fine. Sure enough, we get there, and the info desk woman does not even bat an eyelash when I tell her what has happened. No problem, just go here, get your schedule. No worries. And when I tell her the bus didn't show up, she looks sympathetic, but does not write down which bus or even seem to really be all that interested.

So, in the end, all is well: Everyone is at school, with lunch, with supplies.

When they came home, all three girls reported SUCCESS. Maddie's bus coming home didn't show up, so she called to let me know she was waiting in the gym, but was home about 15 minutes later. Sylvia likes a new girl in her class and loves her teachers. And Alison? No problem - two of her friends are in her lunch, everything was fine. (Apology accepted, by the way ...)

Tomorrow should be smoother. I know the outfits are planned through the end of the week, anyway.

Happy 250th Post!

Lucky me ... I have a blog site that counts how many times I've posted.

And apparently, I've hit #250. Yippee!

So it's time to turn anti-climactic: I don't really have anything of note to share.

Except for these random observations:

• School starts Monday. I think I've mentioned this.
• The cast album for Spring Awakening (which I've seen - live) is incredible. Listen closely, and you can hear me singing along.
• I had a margarita at the Girl Scout planning meeting tonight.
• One was enough.
• We ate at Balthazar in NYC. I knew I'd heard of it - see Will & Grace season 1.11. I knew it was a totally cool place to eat, with the cute waiters and the oysters I love ...
• I hesitate to mention how many clothes we tossed from Sylvia's closet today. Sigh.
• Two more closets await.
• If I added up how much $$ we had spent on all those clothes, I think I would be ill.
• Two new Showtime shows have caught my attention: Weeds (not really new) and Californication.
• This is why I have cable.
• Even I can only ramble aimlessly for so long.

Bye!

Countdown

One more day.

One more day of summer vacation. I'm not counting the weekend; we'd be home anyway. Tomorrow the girls will be home, but Sunday night, it's to bed early. Monday morning, the girls will be on that school bus, leaving the house in peace and quiet.

This week has, thus, been all about back-to-school preparatons. Today was spent getting haircuts and at the Goodson Grizzlly Express. Loosely translated, it was a day of waiting in line. First we got the schedule, then bought the academic planner. Then I foolishly stood and watched while Maddie decorated her locker.

Foollishly because I should have been standing in line for her textbooks. I did not know we had changed the procedure and had to stand in a l-o-n-g queue in order to collect textbooks. Somone took your schedule, you waited, and then, in the midst of the din, your name was called to collect your books. If you didn't hear, they would take your books back in. It was loud and chaotic. I was tired, cranky, and totally frustrated.

(What was wrong with how we did it last year? When the teachers handed out books on the first day? What else are they doing on the first day? Do they not have an extra five minutes to distribute books?)

But even with 30 minutes of hellish waiting, the day had its entertainment. I got to see a collection of my favorite moms. And I got to see the tween girls. They all look the same: Same hair. Same clothes. Same shoes. (I'm sure we were the same, too, though we did have the punk/prep dialectic going on.)

Tomorrow is Meet the Teacher at the grade school. I already spent a grueling day at the high school, so after making nice with Sylvia's teacher in the portable classroom, then we're good to go.

Monday will come quickly. We will have a sophomore, a seventh-grader, and a third-grader. Life is changing. But that's nothing new, is it?

She is 9

One of Sylvia's classmates was incredulous when she said she was born in Germany.

"No way," he said. "Prove it."

Prove it? I told her to send him to me.

I'll tell him about making appointments with my OB auf Deutsch. Thank goodness for body language. I'll describe how every appointment - EVERY ONE - involved a non-stress test, an internal exam, an ultra-sound.

I'll share about how your doctor doesn't necessarily deliver: Oh, no, in a big city like Kiel you are either a prenatal doctor or a delivery doctor - maybe in a small town you would do both, but not here. About how you get a midwife for delivery unless there is a problem. And about how if the shift should happen to change while you're in labor, then you get a new midwife right in the middle.

I could tell about how the shower is not in your hospital room, but down the hall. Howver, you do get a bidet, and I think the trade-off is worth it. About how you need to bring your own towel. And your own bar of soap. And you have to purchase a card to use the phone in the room.

And there was the night I sat for what felt like hours trying to decide what to say when I buzzed to send the baby back after nursing - my German was so limited that I didn't even know how to say I was done. ("Wir sind fertig" or "Das Baby hat gegessen" or "Kommen Sie?" or "Das Baby schlaft" or ...) Seems so easy. Now.

I could also share that it was the best of my three childbirth experiences. Very low-key, just Gary, the midwife, and me in the room. I should also mention that the entire birth experience lasted, let's see ... about 45 minutes. We arrived after midnight, and little Sylvia entered the world at 12.55 a.m. Without drugs.

She was a wonder baby. And she grew up into a wonder child. Every day of my life, I am glad we have her.

Though I hope we never have another evening with seven of her little friends up until midnight on a weeknight. I am exhausted.

Happy Birthday, Sylvia!

Anxiety

It's been an anxious sort of day.

It started when I woke up this morning; it was around 4 a.m. I lay awake, worrying. Worrying about two bills that need to go in the mail. Worrying about a product rebate that needs to be posted. Worrying about some paperwork I need to return, about a deadline looming.

None of these tasks is insurmountable, really. None is undoable - once awake, none of these was even slightly stress-inducing. The bills went in the mail, item on deadline was sent off by noon, and the paperwork request was answered. So I lay awake, tossing and turning, for nothing it seems.

The psyche does strange things.

Having a lengthy to-do list is nothing new - when you're rearing three children, working - even part-time, even from home - own a house, have volunteer responsibiities, then you always have several items that aren't done. Always. I've been keeping a list of tasks since college. It's not something that ordinarily causes me to panic. Why last night was different, I don't know.

So today actually felt pretty good. I worked in the office all morning, got my project finished and sent off well before my deadline.

What is there to worry about, really? It all gets done, one way or another, on time, or a day late. And in the grand scheme of things, does it matter?

Little stuff. I'll save the worrying for bigger issues. I wonder who's on Stephen Colbert tonight .... that is worth worrying about.

Sunday

Today was about:

- Sitting for three hours in Starbucks, getting tons of work done. Tons.
- Feeling sick in the Starbucks - the coffee smell was getting to me.
– May have to rethink this strategy for being productive.
- And it felt so promising.
- Watching the second half of Godfather II. One more movie and I can watch the bonus DVD.
- Getting good bagels in the city. Mmmmm.
- One more week til school starts. Which means one more week for the girls to have some fun, get their rooms in order, and sleep late.
- One more week for me to sleep in.
- One more week for me to procrastinate. After this week, no excuses! Real life begins in earnest.
- News tells me the hurricane will likely pass us by.
- My neighbor says add Trip To The Liqour Store to our hurricane to-do-list.
- Done!
- Taking a presidential survey. Go Kucinich!
- Does anyone around here even know who he is?

Naturally, after this level of activity, I am exhausted! After a chapter in my book, I'll be bidding this productive day farewell. Tomorrow, after all, is another day.

An offer I couldn't refuse

It's a classic. Perhaps the best movie ever made. Quotes that have become ubiquitous. The film is No. 2 on the American Film Institute's Top 100 films, and the line, "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse," is No. 2 on the list of 100 best movie quotes of all time.

And I'd never seen it.

Until last night. And to say I hadn't seen it is not completely true; I"d seen bits and pieces - I'd slept through it on my sofa at least once. But last night I decided it was high time to add The Godfather to my film resume.

I was inspired, for one thing, by seeing You've Got Mail and its constant Godfather references. Leave the gun, take the cannoli. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday. Go to the mattresses - I knew several lines of dialogue just from pop culture. Thus I was moved to join the discourse - Pete and Gary analyzed and dissected the film on and off throughout our weekend in NYC.

It's high time I got on board.

So, warning: SPOILERS ahead.

Watching a film of this notoriety 30 years later is an interesting undertaking. First of all, you kind of know the story. And nothing is a total surprise. I saw the horse's head coming - it probably shocked audiences when the film came out, but since I had heard all about it, some of the shock-value was lacking.

I tend to find these stories complicated and hard to follow - just like The Sopranos. I can't tell the characters apart - it's a bunch of Italian guys with Italian last names wearing suits and hats doing dark deals with the threat of death looming. The details are murky.

But more noteworthy, perhaps, is that I had a preconceived notion of what the film is about. And to me, The Godfather in the title wasn't really Don Corleone, but about Michael Corleone. The story, to me, was less about Vito's fall from power and more about Michael and his initial reluctance, followed by his ultimate acquiesence to power.

I liked it for the same reason I always found The Sopranos fascinating: the family dynamic. Who knows? How much? How do these men live with themselves? Whom can you trust? (Apparently, no one.) How can you live with the possibility of death or betrayal at every step? What do the wives know? Their husbands lie to them, but surely they don't believe all those stories - either they're idiots or they choose not to believe. How do you deal with the kids? The neighbors?

And the church - they baptize their children, and the priest must know who they are, what they do. And he can just turn his head. Remarkable.

Quite a cast of notables - but I had some trouble with the 70s hair and ties. Come on - they could have done better in recreating the look if they'd wanted to. But my biggest problem with the plot? How could that director have slept through someone putting a horse's head in his bed? How heavily does he sleep? Would he not have felt something in the night? He was covered in blood - you'd have to notice. Or one would think.

No matter - all in all, still a great film. Great enough, anyway, that we're cueing up Godfather II here momentarily.

It's not personal, after all - it's business.

Drowning

I am drowning. And I'm not just talking about the rain. In a sea of paper.

The mail comes daily. Some days, I deal with all of it in a timely manner.

And there are those other days. You know the type - the kind of day when you toss the mail onto the desk, plan to look at it later.

Some days, I just don't know how others cope. Along with the mail (which today totalled four - ! - magazines, catalogs, bills, credit card offers - no day complete without those, an insurance statement, my thrice-weekly invitation to purchase opera season tickets, and the promise of better mobile phone service if I just! switch! now!), I have receipts from the eye doctor, forms to be turned into school next week, errant phone messages, a list of restaurant recommendations that I would like to hold onto, a health history form for next month's orthodontist appointment, and a letter promising me a pizza coupon to thank me for volunteering (why didn't they just send me the coupon? Because it would have been buried on my desk, that's why - they know me).*

I see others' houses, and they show no sign of such paper. Either I am a) incompetent, b) merely inefficient.\, or c) woefully understaffed. More likely it's just d) unmotivated.

But today is tidying day, so I am getting a grip on the filing. A temporary grip, but for the weekend we'll be all caught up.

Because this weekend we have better things to do. Tonight we have ditched .... well, let's say all three girls have been invited out. Two are watching High School Musical and one is at a different sort of party. But she set theTiVo ... So Gary and I plan to watch a movie. And it won't be on the Disney Channel.

Tomorrow we must take advantage of tax-free weekend and finish the school shopping. And, just to make things exciting, it's time to prepare for our first Texas hurricane: Dean is on the way. I think we're far enough away that we won't really feel the effects of the worst of the weather, but we will experience the residual rainfall - we had heavy rains and flooding yesterday already from Erin. So tomorrow we'll be sure to get right into the shopping frenzy, making sure we have groceries and gas (though I just shopped yesterday ... still, good to be prepared).

I doubt our lives will be disrupted much. We are 90 miles from Galveston, and with Rita, this area didn't even lose power (though many people evacuated, just to be safe). We'll just stay home and enjoy some rainy afternoons; I suspect we will carry on as usual.

Though maybe, just maybe, the mail won't be delivered. Which is fine by me - give me chance to stay caught up.

*List is not comprehensive

More of the mundane

My toe is numb.

This happened to me once before, a few years ago, after I went ice skating. My second toe felt numb - no idea if it came from the rental skates or what. I kept watching to see if it would turn black, but no such drama. Eventually it just returned to normal.

So it has happened again. Only this time, it's my left foot. I am watching, and no, it's not black. Just feels weird, as if it isn't touching the toe next to it. It's a strange sensation, as if a foreign object is attached to the end of my foot.

Ick.

I took the girls to do some school shopping. I am a big fan of the school now offering the school supplies in pre-assembled packets - I don't care if it costs more, as it saves me from tramping up and down the aisles of Target searching for 100-count packages of paper, or 50-count notecards, or 1 1/2" binders - items that are not in stock or the store doesn't carry or has never even heard of. But one of my darling daughters did not care to purchase the school's supplies; she did not like the binder choices last year. So, she and I accumulated the needed items. With the exception of graph paper (they were out) and wide-rule paper (very pricey - the bargain-priced stuff was gone). Thus tomorrow we must visit Office Depot. Or Office Max, whichever one is in the strip mall up the road. I tend to use those two store names interchangeably.

Tomorrow, eye doctor. Then much work to do. And then? Who knows. But I like the possibilities.

New York

Day one: Thursday

Slow day. Boring day. Probably because most of said day was spent sitting in the terminal at the Houston airport. Delays. Endless delays. Coupled with endless phone calls. I find those people who yak on their mobile phones tiresome ... suddenly, I am that person. And for the record, airport pretzels are a no-do. The smoothie guy, however, was entertaining; we even tipped him for counter service (a trend I find disturbing, by the way - why am I tipping you for making me stand at the counter to buy an overpriced soft drink? I don't think so). We were to take off at 1.30 p.m.; finally, at 5.30 p.m. we boarded. Arrived at LaGuardia, got a cab, arrived at Hudson Hotel, West 58th St. between 7th and 8th, near Columbus Circle (just to orient you). It is past 11 (time difference). Dinner reservations have been canceled. Sad. Greeted by exuberant THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of VERY LOUD DISCO in hotel lobby. Stupid Midwesterners that we are, we inquire: Is there a party going on? No, no - just the club. Greeted by equally exuberant Peter, whom I have not seen in years. Son of a bitch: He looks exactly the same. Apparently, he can pass for 29 ... but gladly admits to 34. We check out the very lovely bar in the hotel atrium (very chic) and enjoy $20 cocktails til they kick us out at the midnight closing time. Check out the loud disco - apparently we can all still dance, even to the endless dance remixes. We were there for, say 20? 30? minutes? Not sure the song ever changed. Checked out the library bar - also loud. So, if we can't hear, then we'll go back and dance more. But no - suddenly the elite disco can no longer accommodate Pete's footwear. Somehow they were acceptable a mere 30 minutes earlier ... their standards are suddenly higher. Maybe they just saw our dancing and have decided not to encourage our participation on the dance floor. Oh well - it's late. The bed beckons.

Grade: A. I know, flight delays. But we're here!

Day two: Friday

So much for summer - it is 58 and rainy today. Which I could not tell from the view out my window, though we do have a window. The hotel room is nice, albeit small. 105 sf, I believe, including the roomy, one-person bathroom. However, what it lacks in space, it makes up for in ultra-modern style. And the noise does not follow us (except in the elevator, which BOOM-BOOMS at night - no escaping the Lionel Richie); the room is quiet. We decide to pass on the $8 bottles of water and go down for breakfast. After seeing the rain, we decide to try the hotel restaurant. Ummm ... NYC bagels! Love it. Wearing the wrinkled khakis that I fortuitously threw in, we head out to MoMa (Museum of Modern Art). It's rainy. And chilly. And apparently everyone in New York is at MoMA - the wait, they tell us, is an hour. Oh, well, what else are we going to do? So we wait ... and it is not an hour, maybe 20 minutes. Score! Though the staff can ditch the attitude: When we inquire - politely - is the umbrella check this way? the guide (volunteer? paid? who knows) says, Not if you ever want to see it again. If you do, go left. Thank you for the heavy dose of sarcasm - next time I'll study the coat check location before I come. The design section is great. Then Peter takes leave - he isn't feeling good (and our Broadway tickets are tonight! - must feel better!). Gary and I stay and really love MoMA. Sadly, Salvador Dali's Persistence of Memory is on loan, but there is a nice 100-year Picasso anniversary on the Demoiselles d'Avignon. Lots of Edward Hopper, Matisse, Gaugin, Pollack ... well, lots of everything. Plus the best hot chocolate I have ever had in the cafe (though I could have done without the draft from the door ... chilly). What luck - no rain, so we walk back to the hotel in relative comfort. Except for my poor feet - the shoes are not working (didn't count on rain or would have brought the other black shoes, the ones that don't look all that cute until you put them on then - wow! they are soooo comfy). Dinner this evening is at 44 X 10, and Peter is feeling better. It is fantastic - I have the lamb and a lovely Shiraz. The bathrooms are divine. After dinner is the piece de resistance: Spring Awakening. Tony award-winner for Best Musical. Our seats were great - orchestra, row O - and the performance was riveting. Great music, great talent. Loved it. Loved it. Highly recommend. Though the people in front of us left at the intermission ... too much language? Adult content? It's no secret ... there were warnings when I bought the tickets. We loved it. Did I say that already?

Grade: A. Fantastic day. Shoe grade: C-. The Anne Klein black sandals are very cute, low-heeled, but in the rain they do not work well. However, for the evening, my feet were fine, and we took a cab.

Day three: Saturday

Perfect weather - sunny and 70. Beautiful. We choose a small diner for breakfast - I love my NYC diner bagels, but I chose French toast. First we walk to the upper East Side and wander along Fifth Avenue. Destination: Tiffany's. Which we must have walked right by - we are idiots as we realize we have walked blocks out of our way. Pete is on a quest for cufflinks. He finds them - excellent choice - and the service is excellent. I carry them (along with everyone else's crap) in my extra-large purse. Restrooms in Saks are very nice, by the way. I love the Upper East Side - I could so live here. We hop on the subway and spend the afternoon in Greenwich Village. We sit and people watch in Washington Square, then walk around, seeing the sights. But where were Matthew and Sarah Jessica? We see Stonewall, architecture, where Louisa May Alcott lived. I could so live here. Head back to change for dinner - JoAnne and Mitchell are meeting us back near the village for drinks before dinner. After several aborted attempts, we finalize details and get drinks, then head over to Brooklyn. Brooklyn Heights is charming! What a view – right over the river into Manhattan. And apparently a deal - 2,000 sf here will only cost you a mere $1.5 million. I've changed my mind - I must live here! Dinner is at Bamonte's, a quintessential Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. Apparently, the Sopranos was filmed here - you can see it if you walk in. Excellent food – I had only the gnocchi after all the appetizers: mussels, broccoli, pasta, bread. With Chianti. And we dined with the consummate New Yorkers - Mitchell and JoAnne are a hoot. After dinner entertainment could have been either a burlesque show or a jazz club - per Pete's request, we ended up at the Burlesque. It was .... let's just say marginal. Next time, Pete, it's the jazz club. We ended the evening at the bar in the Time Warner building - charming. Loved it. Great day.

Grade: A. Shoe grade: D-. The day shoes were fine (white Land's End sandals, very cute), but the evening shoes, while cute at home, and not undoable, even for walking (tan, Etienne Aignier, bit of a heel) were wretched in New York. Damn blister. But they looked great ... should have gone more casual for dinner, but I like the dress. Just had to walk slow ... next trip I'll do better.

Day four: Sunday

Another beautiful day. Gorgeous. We head out for breakfast, choosing a chic little eatery (called, coincidentally, Eatery) – very trendy. I had the sweet potato pancakes with mango guacamole, scrambled egg whites, and Mimosas – very good. Walked to the Cooper Hewitt on the upper East Side, through the park … but the entrance fee was steep for what seemed to be an uninspiring exhibit, especially with no access to the second floor (which is part of the charm of the Cooper Hewitt, seeing the former Carnegie mansion). So, back through the park to the Upper West Side, in search of You’ve Got Mail locales. Pete, the killjoy, tells me he hates this movie – Que? What is this you say? How can this be? No, he says – it’s stupid. He responds with blank indifference to all the best dialogue bits. I will have to ditch him, for the day, from my life. Finally, he says, with much sarcasm, then let’s go to the Empire State Building if we must. And I have a moment of epiphany: he is thinking of Sleepless in Seattle, which is, in fact, a stupid movie. You’ve Got Mail, however, is charming. He has not seen it – he can still redeem himself. So, off we head to Café Lalo, where Meg Ryan waited with the rose in her copy of Pride and Prejudice. A delightful place where one can buy overpriced cakes and drinks. We get Bellinis and try to order. I select strawberry tart, Gary chooses chocolate pecan torte, Pete orders chocolate-chip cheesecake. No. OK, then, key lime pie. Sorry. Umm, anything chocolate? Not for you, sir … kidding, kidding. Third time’s a charm, and he gets some sort of cake. The place is packed – our party and 75 Asian tourists; the movie must be a hit in Japan. We pass H&H Bagels, Zabors, all from the film. I love the Upper West Side – the side streets are so quiet. This is where I want to live. We see the Dakota, go into Loehmann’s (the TJ Maxx of designer wear), see the Dominican Day celebration. Must stop in Upper West Side drugstore to purchase band-aids; cannot risk incurring wrath of hotel staff, who seem to want your first-born in exchange for a band-aid. I’m too afraid to ask for two. At the hotel, we relax for a bit at the rooftop terrace – amazing. The view, the atmosphere, they are fantastic! Then we head to dinner: Destination, Balthazar in Soho. Our cab driver assures us that he knows where he is going, but we are skeptical – he went wa-a-a-y out of his way, much too far East to get to Soho. We are not idiots. It is the worst cab ride of my life – my god, I am about ready to be sick by the time we arrive, $17 later. I am quite sure we have been taken. And not in the mood for any of the fabulous appetizers. Balthazar is charming, architecturally speaking. My college French (13 hours, thank you; passed the exam for my MA by translating the works of Simone de Beauvoir) is failing me – I recognize haricots verts, but everything else is French to me … Gary orders fois gras for an appetizer, which is fantastic. I recover and get the duck Shepard’s Pie, which I am able to eat. Pete gets steak, Gary orders a different variety of duck. We pass on dessert, ordering port instead. Then – lucky us – our waiter, John, presents us with a box of dessert tarts – five of them. When we thank him, he says no problem, just a little something he is allowed to do for the tables he thinks are cool. Hmmm … we return to the hotel, where we retire to the outside terrace. The waitress is unable to secure cutlery for us – the kitchen won’t give her any - though she won’t squeal that we have food. Gary, however, goes to the kitchen himself. Success: He has procured three knives and forks. Thus the leftover desserts go back to the busboy in the kitchen.

Grade: A. Shoe grade: B-. Chose the same white sandals from yesterday, but after the damage from Saturday night, I walk s-l-o-w-l-y all day.

Day five: Monday

Happy Anniversary! Today we celebrate our ?? year of marriage. OK: 19 years. Fantastic years. We are soooo happy!!!! The day begins by hopping the subway to the Lower East Side. Breakfast is at Katz’s Deli – and it is EMPTY! Not an insignificant detail – there is no line! Bagel for me, pastrami for Gary. It is, hands down, the best pastrami I have ever eaten – we tried it a few years ago and were totally smitten. We are even able to get the Harry and Sally table, having what she had … great place. After eating we trek down to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, which I love (Gary can take it or leave it – he’s been before). It is my third visit - I am totally fascinated by the story of early 20th century immigrants and the culture on the lower East Side. The museum has recreated about six of the tenement apartments, and we find the tour riveting – riveting, I tell you. Watch Godfather II to see a recreation – try to imagine a family of 12 living in 300 square feet, no light, toilet down five flights to the back yard – luxury. Then we walk back the other direction: through Soho, back toward NYU. Walked through the Washington Mews – I could definitely live here. Totally charming. And very quiet. We seek out T-shirts for the girls; we find a shop that has great shirts but, alas, they are not, shall we say, appropriate. Not for any of us. But they are funny. Tee hee. T-shirts are purchased, then we head off to Otto’s to meet Mitchell for the pre-Yankees dinner. It was good; had the waiter not had an attitude, might have been perfect. After dinner we hit the subway and take the F train north, 161st Street, to Yankee Stadium – the house that Ruth built. Home of Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig, Reggie Jackson, A-Rod. Woo hoo – we’re sitting in the bleachers. Apparently the bleacher fans are so rowdy that no alcohol is sold there during the game. Which everyone gets tanked BEFORE they arrive. The players salute the bleachers as they are announced, and the bleacher fans shout out the nicknames. I have to say, Yankees fans have personality – they are funny. Obnoxious, yes (Gary used, ahem, a somewhat different term to describe them). Pete has had enough, but we can’t leave before our host. Looks as if we’re in luck – the Yankees are up by one in the top of the ninth. But no – with one out and a runner on second, the Orioles get a hit, and the Yankee center fielder throws the runner out at home – a stellar play, saving the game and, more importantly for Pete, avoiding extra innings. But we’re not done. The next batter also gets a hit; again, there is a close play at the plate. But this time, Yankees are not the beneficiaries. The game is tied – extra innings, anyone? Pete is cursing. Can the Yanks pull it off? The baseball gods must love the Yankees; with only one out, the Yankees score, winning the game, letting us leave to the strains of Frank Sinatra – Liza Minnelli serenades the Yankees when they lose. It’s a sound no one wants to hear. Back to the crowded subway, back to Columbus Circle, back to the skyline bar. Ended our day with our very first celebrity sighting (unless you count fake Paris Hilton or skinny Al Sharpton) – Carrottop! It was definitely him. He is one weird-looking dude.

Grade: A. I know – they’ve all been A’s. It’s New York. Shoe grade: B+/A-. Wore the very comfy brown sandals. Looked great, and I could speed walk.

All in all, a perfect trip. I love New York, I love traveling with Gary, and I loved seeing Peter. Meeting his friends JoAnne and Mitchell was fun. The city is full of energy, of excitement. It’s my favorite city in the world.

Grrrrr

Going on vacation?

Tons of fun.

Coming home to stupid everyday tasks?

Not so much.

Today has been filled with the mundane. Laundry. Mail. E-mail. Tidying up. Finishing up some work details. Took Alison to orientation, which took f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Stood in the line for pictures. To get books. Obviously staffed by volunteers. Ill-prepared volunteers. I know, shouldn't criticize people who are giving of their time. Particularly when I am not. But come on - they either need faster people or a better system; five people should not be fetching books for a line of 100.

However, I enjoyed chatting with the woman in line with me. She's from the Bronx and overheard me showing Alison photos.

After scheduling my afternoon get-together, the girls reminded me of Sylvia's gymnastics. Ooops. So, contacted my friend N and arranged to meet later.

However, the afternoon at the high school dragged on endlessly. It became apparent that we would not make it to gymnastics. Called and rescheduled that class; turns out I could have made it to the wine bar after all. But I ended up with a free hour - which I am using to throw more clothes in the washer, and maybe even to get some real work done (deadline looming ... Monday ...)

All in all, a tedious day. Can I leave again?

Relaxing

Sitting in a cafe at LaGuardia, sipping my tea. We got up waaay too early, totally over-estimating the am traffic. Better than the reverse scenario, I suppose. We should have made Peter haul his lazy ... self out of bed for breakfast.

It's much too complicated to write much with a hand-held device. Suffice for the moment to say, much was done, much was seen. Perfect weather, lovely weekend. Details will be shared.

Later. I am sleepy. Must rest. Must re-enter the real world.

Sigh ...

NYC is fantastic

But no free Internet in the hotel is a drag. And blogging a/the iPhone is not so easy. We are at the Yankees game - home tomorrow. More then - I love this city!

Start spreading the news ...

We're leaving today. Or the today that starts after I get some sleep.

It's 12.30 a.m. I've been to the honky tonk - pretty fun. I've been to the eye doctor today, to get my nails done (fabulous) and sat throught gymnastics. I've addressed birthday invitations, hung with my parents.

But - oh no! - I have yet to pack. Our flight doesn't leave til 1.30; I have plenty of time.

I am excited about New York. The restaurants are chosen. Theater tickets purchased. Yankees tickets reserved. Weather ordered. Friends contacted (hi, Pete!)

And I am good to go. Soon as the suitcase is packed, iPod synched. New York, New York, what a wonderful town ...

Post-birthday bash

Birthdays are magical, special.

And fleeting. Maddie got one day this year - one magnificent, spectacular day. But it had to end.

So how did we spend the post-birthday? Why, at the mall!

I love to shop - I really do. When I was in college, I hated it. I guess I had more interesting things to do. These days, I would agree - there are definitely more interesting - not to mention more important - things to do. Life is busy with three daughters, work, commitments. So I don't get to go out shopping (other than for groceries) all that often. When I do, I really enjoy it.

In fact, I got to the mall this weekend, in preparation for our trip to New York this weekend. I did great - found several absolutely non-essential items that will add that little something to my look for the weekend.

So I"m not anti-shopping. But I do not enjoy taking my daughters to the mall. I find the stores they like unbearable - loud, crowded, inexperienced sales staff (dressed in very little, by the way) who push their new fragances on me.

However, today I put all my reservations aside. This was about Maddie and her birthday money. Plus Sylvia needed to buy a gift for Maddie. I managed to suck it up and look at Webkinz, abercrombie (which is NOT Abercrombie & Fitch, Mom), Old Navy (a store I can actually relate to, by the way), and even - ugh - Claire's.

It's the worst offender of all - loud and cluttery, filled with the most obnoxious cheap crap. Naturally, my kids love it. (And I went there in high school - I suspect if you dug deep enough in my jewlery box you might find a pair of Claire's earrings hidden back there.) Gary heard a report that some of their jewelry, made in China, may contain lead. As if the hideous quality were not enough of a deterrent.

No jewelry was purchased today - only cell phone bling. When you have a new phone, you have to flaunt it. Right?

Tomorrow, we're back to normal. Or whatever qualifies as normal in this household. Last visit to the eye doctor, packing, trip to the nail salon, birthday invitations from Target, greet the care providers (ie, Grandma and Grandpa), then a night out on the town at Blancos, the ultimate Houston honky tonk (according to Redneckhouston.com, anyway). The kids will be staying at home - this is a night for the old folks. Meaning my parents. I'll just be going along as a designated driver.

With all that on the agenda, I think my bed is calling. Night!

Happy 13th Birthday, Maddie!

On August 6, 1994, I was pregnant. And overdue.

Lucky for me, the end was in sight.

When I woke up that morning, very early, I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I was up by about 4, figuring I may as well start my day. I showered, fixed my hair, did some laundry. By 6 a.m, we were both dressed and sitting in the living room reading the newspaper.

Amd we waited. We got Alison up. And waited. Went for a walk. Waited more. Gary finally decided to mow the lawn. I popped in to movie Guys and Dolls. And waited. Took a nap. A friend called to check in. Finally, finally, we realized it was time to go the hospital.

We were there by 1 p.m. At 4.11 p.m., Madeleine Claire entered the world. I was thrilled to have a second little girl, giving Alison a sister. I felt so lucky to have yet another healthy baby.

But mostly I've been privileged to have Maddie as part of our lives. She grew from a peaceful baby into a strong-willed toddler - like the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead: When she was good she was very, very good; but when she was bad, she was horrid.

She has always been very sure of herself and unafraid to speak her mind. But at the same time, she is very sincere. When she was little, she was the only one of my three girls to tell me she hated me, that she never wanted to see me again. But within minutes, she would reappear, completey remorseful, and burst into tears, full of apologies.

Maddie is generous, too, with her friends and her sisters, her family. She spends a lot of time making sure her friends have small gifts for all occasions. She loves to organize parties, to prepare the placecards, to arrange the menu and the decor. She attends to such tasks with unbridled enthusiasm, always willing to do more than her share.

She is an excellent big sister to her younger sibling, Sylvia. They are very close; Maddie is always willing to spend time with Sylvia, planning games, craft projects, or even small amounts of mischief. She has been a wonderful teacher, and Sylvia has benefited from her elder sister's wisdom on many occasions.

Mostly, of course, we all look to Madeleine as our resident fashionista. She loves quantity as well as quality - shoes, jewelry, purses, clothing - she loves it all, unequivocally. And when she needs to up her game, she enters my room and helps me plan outfits or pack for trips. (My outfit today is courtesy of Maddie and her fashion advice.)

She is bright, talented, and a sweet girl. She has challenged us in a way or two; Maddie is the kind of girl who will keep you on her toes. But mostly she is delight, this very special daughter of mine.

Happy Birthday, Maddie. I am so glad you're part of our lives.

Excess

This month's Redbook has an article about how much is too much to buy your kids. It addresses my concerns about buying them too much designer clothing, expensive iPods, mobile phones, shoes, gameboys, and on and on and on.

This is what I struggle with every day of my life. What should the limits be? I grew up with plenty. Plenty. Sure, there were kids who had more, and some who had less. But I had more than I needed.

My kids have even more. Some of it they have bought themselves - Alison saved her money and bought her own iPod; Maddie worked and bought that expensive purse (very expensive - egads). I'm putting them on a budget for school clothes - more than a set amount, and they can pay the difference. If they choose to buy one or two expensive things rather than lower-priced items, then it will be their choice. I think they understand; Maddie already said Sylvia will have more clothes because she will likely shop at Old Navy while Maddie prefers Abercrombie.

OK then. Lesson learned.

Tomorrow is Maddie's birthday. No. 13 - wow. Where did the time go? She has been telling me for months she wants one thing: a cell phone. But what does a seventh-grader need with a cell phone? As my mother-in-law asked her, Who would you call on a cell phone that you can't call on your home phone? Excellent question. Her reponse? All her friends have them. You can text your friends.

Not exactly winning arguments to my ears. And I can name several reasons why she does not need one: Expense. Extended contract. Too much privilege. Safety (ie, kids on their mobile phones late at night unbeknownst to parents). And on and on.

Naturally, we made the right decision. Meaning, we (I) totally caved and got her one.

Somehow, in this negotiating and getting Maddie a phone ... well, how do I put this ... I ended up with an iPhone.

An iPhone! Can you believe it?

But back up a second. What was all this earlier talk about excess, about teaching my children proper values?

I know, I know, I know ... but an iPhone!

(Let me just pause here to interject that it is probably THE coolest gadget ever. Ever. And I do mean EVER. It is so not overrated - it is, in fact, better than what the reviews have said.)

OK, so I am nothing if not a living, breathing mass of contradictions. I am not infallible - not that I ever said I was - and I know I make mistakes. I do try hard to be a good parent, to set a good example for my girls. And I struggle, a lot, with what we are teaching them. How do we talk about caring for the environment, being earth-friendly, when we are cooling 4100 sf of living space? And running a pool? Do the 80 pairs of shoes in my closet set a good example? My trips to the hair salon for color, to the spa for manis and pedis teach my children about vanity?

And yet we do teach them to have a social conscience - it was with unmanicured nails that I took Alison to demonstrate in Washington. I wash my Ziploc bags, take my own bags to the supermarket. We read to the girls, encourage excellence in school, take them on educational vacations, encourage them to be themselves, to speak up for what they believe in. We want them to be strong young women, ready to take on the world.

I would also like them to have some humility, to understand the value of a dollar and about hard work. Their father works very hard - 11-hour days are typical, not to mention all the travel - so everything we have is the result of his labor. I have always worked, part time, in order to set a good example. We try to live an existence that stresses the real importance in life, to spurn materialism.

So maybe we're not passing that one with flying colors exactly. But come on - an iPhone! Could you say no?

Apparently I couldn't.

Maddie's phone will be her only gift - when she is getting a mobile phone, you hate to overdo it. We're going shopping, then to the movies (Hairspray), then out to dinner at Joe's Crab Shack. But I'm baking her cake. She wanted ice cream cake, but she'll be having one when she has her party.

Because really, two ice cream cakes? That would be over the top now, wouldn't it?

A day of possibilities

Before me lies a weekend rife with possibilities. Wide open.

We have no particular plans, no responsibilties. What to do ...

Yesterday was not such a day. I had to go to the eye doctor, which felt like a comedy of errors (couldn't see post-dilation, couldn't get my contacts back in, lost one, had to have the nice eye doctor put my contact in for me, trés embarrassing ....), went to Maddie's summer band concert, and so on. Came home and felt useless: I could not see and, consequently, could not do anything. Everything I could think of that I needed to accomplish, every task, required reading.

And my nice new eye doctor (I quite liked him, by the way) told me that when I'm 65, my life will feel like that every day. Good to know ...

At Maddie's concert they played a medly called Superhero Themes. It included the themes from Superman, James Bond, Batman, and Austin Powers.

Excuse me? When did James Bond and Austin Powers become classified as superheroes?

We topped that off with her band cookout lunch: hotdogs. I don't eat hot dogs. I settled for potato chips, a coke, and a piece of cake. And my friend sitting next to me commented, it's probably healthier than the hot dog. Scary ...

Sylvia was invited to a friend's house to spend the night. The parents, also good friends of ours, invited us over for dinner. So Gary and I spent the evening with pizza, wine, and engaging conversation. They are wonderful people - we are so lucky to have ended up as neighbors.

So, today? Alison is at driving school this morning. And after that, who knows? Swimming, for sure. Tidy up a bit, OK. Some shopping? Get ready for New York; I need something stunning to wear when we go out for dinner, or when we go to the theater. I should weed through the magazines that have accumulated, donate them somewhere. Take the sleeping bags to the laundramat (they won't fit in our washer and specifiy "wash only in commercial front-loader.") But where do I find a launderette around here? Or two free hours?

Or the desire to go there?

By this point you've likely stopped envying my fast-paced, fun-filled suburban existence. As you should. I think it's time to start this day of opportunity and see what I can accomplish. I have the power to make this day what I will.

Maybe I'll just aim for oridinary. Some days, a little ordinary is not such a bad thing. Have a great Saturday, all!

Runners' world

Nothing like an early morning run to get you in the mood to start the day.

I know, I know - not something you thought you'd ever hear me say. But it's true: I've been out running for a while now. Even on vacation I went out - and that spells dedication.

I can't say that I love it. Or even like it. Fact is, I have reached a certain age. The one where the body is somewhat less forgiving.

When I look back at my earlier life, I cringe at my eating habits. You would not believe my calorie intake. Or my idea of lunch. And I remained stick thin all through my twenties. Even after having two children, I looked exactly the same as I always had.

But now life is different. I am way past my 30s, and I have to work a bit harder at staying in shape. (A bit harder? Considering that I did practically nothing for years, I have to work a LOT harder.)

I don't look that bad; when I read these weight-loss stories in magazines and see their before/after photos and weights, I weigh now what some people consider their goal weight. And there are times when I am still the thinnest woman in the room.

But not always. And besides, it's not about other people. It's about me and how I want to look and feel.

I knew I had to motivate myself. Which meant cute running gear. Check - I look nothing if not amazingly stylish as I jog. But I think I need better shoes - I got a blister the other day, which put me back on the elliptical for a couple days.

Today was my furthest run yet. I cannot imagine how people can stand to run marathons for hours, or how people say they do this for fun. I do it out of necessity, for my health. I've read the reports about how phsyical activity can extend your life. And I've seen my parents, who got serious about exercise when they retired. They look 10 years younger than they are.

I'll hit the road again in the morning, decked out in my chic running gear, iPod in hand. I'll be running, and I'll be feeling better about myself when I'm done.

Just don't expect me to be smiling about it.

Control

A dead armadillo lies on the corner of Spring Cypress and Rockhill Grove.

I know this because my daughter pointed it out as we drove to Tae Kwon Do last nght.

I say "we drove," though to be more accurate, it was she, not I, who was behind the wheel. I sat in the passenger seat, my knuckles white as I clutched the door handle, my foot pressing the imaginary brake on the floor. I was gripped with fear.

This fear has lessened over the past week, though not to the point of disappearing entirely. Like all things new or uncomfortable, it shall pass. But in the meantime, I am trying to decide how best to handle the terror that has befallen me as I travel, the passenger of an unlicensed, permit-holding, unskilled, inexperienced 15-year-old on the streets of Houston - even suburban Houston.

Tonight she wanted to drive home from Tae Kwon Do, show her friends how she had mastered the minivan.

But I wasn't quite up for it. Luckily, a friend's dad backed me up. "I'll be on those roads, either in front of, or behind you," he said with a chuckle. "I'd be a whole lot more comfortable with your mom behind the wheel."

My dear friend Helen called me today, and she and I discussed these, as well as many other, thoughts related to parenting. I'd like to say she and I solved them all. Alas, we have a few loose ends remaining.

We discussed my desire to return to work, in a real work setting, not the pseudo-work environment of my home office, where I create fascinating journalistic masterpieces on life with children, or upscale life in Galveston.

It's about getting out of the house, dressing up for work. And being in control.

"And about people having to listen to you," Helen offered. "Or if they don't, you have the power of retribution."

Exactly. Does this woman know me or what? No wonder she and I are friends.

Control over my children. I still retain some; I get to veto the late-night popcorn or movie watching when it's not deemed appropriate. I maintain the right to withhold privileges or money when the behavior does not warrant such luxuries.

But try as I might, I can't keep them from driving. Because that would be cruel and unusual. I may be a lot of things, but cruel is not one of them.

Well, at least, not yet.

Tonight, a buzzard-looking creature had landed next to the dead armadillo. Wonder how to deal with that ....

Time flies

I am home with the kids, still putting away stuff from being gone. Gary is gone (what else is new?).

And I have no time. None. It is nearly 11, I need to go to bed, and I am on the computer taking care of stuff that I would have liked to do earlier.

Such is life. (Though I did manage to carve out an hour to be in the pool - I was watching the girls, so it doesn't *really* count as R&R time. Just so we're clear.)

One daughter has band camp this week. One wants to play with friends. The oldest? She is learning to drive. TO DRIVE. Not sure I'll survive this part of my life.

Oh god - just dawned on me that she is only one of three. Help me.

Eye doctor visits, birthday preparations, work (much work) to be doing, and we're going away next week. The executive we - no kids. Thank goodness.

This is dull. Enough! May my brain fully engage tomorrow.

The Two Kings

Post-Graceland, we are still a little hyped on Elvis. And I'm not really that into him - truly, the whole phenomenon is just sort of trippy. And you have to sort of love Elvis now don't you? It's all part of being American.

So, with apologies to the Utne Reader, where I first read this many years ago, here are my favorite similarities between Elvis and Jesus:

Jesus said: "Love thy neighbor." (Matthew 22:39)
Elvis said: "Don't be cruel." (RCA, 1956)

Jesus is the Lord's shepherd.
Elvis dated Cybill Shepherd.

Jesus was part of the Trinity.
Elvis' first band was a trio.

Jesus walked on water. (Matthew 14:25)
Elvis surfed. (Blue Hawaii, Paramount, 1965)

Jesus' entourage, the Apostles, had 12 members
Elvis' entourage, the Memphis Mafia, had 12 members.

Jesus was resurrected.
Elvis had the famous 1968 "comeback" TV special.

Jesus said, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink." (John 7:37)
Elvis said, "Drinks on me!" (Jailhouse Rock, MGM, 1957)

Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights.
Elvis had irregular eating habits. (e.g. 5 banana splits for breakfast)

Jesus is a Capricorn. (December 25)
Elvis is a Capricorn. (January 8)

Matthew was one of Jesus' many biographers. (The Gospel According to Matthew)
Neil Matthews was one of Elvis' many biographers. (Elvis: A Golden Tribute)

"[Jesus] countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow."(Matthew 28:3)
Elvis wore snow-white jumpsuits with lightning bolts.

Jesus lived in state of grace in a Near Eastern land.
Elvis lived in Graceland in a nearly eastern state.

Mary, an important woman in Jesus' life, had an Immaculate Conception.
Priscilla, an important woman in Elvis' life, went to Immaculate Conception High School.

Jesus was first and foremost the Son of God.
Elvis first recorded with Sun Studios, which today are still considered to be his foremost recordings.

Jesus was the lamb of God.
Elvis had mutton chop sideburns.

Jesus' Father is everywhere.
Elvis' father was a drifter, and moved around quite a bit.

Jesus was a carpenter.
Elvis' favorite high school class was wood shop.

Jesus wore a crown of thorns.
Elvis wore Royal Crown hair styler.

Jesus H. Christ has 12 letters.
Elvis Presley has 12 letters.

No one knows what the "H" in "Jesus H. Christ" stood for.
No one was really sure if Elvis' middle name was "Aron" or "Aaron".

Jesus is often depicted in pictures with a halo that looks like a gold plate.
Elvis' face is often depicted on a plate with gold trim and sold through TV.

Jesus said: "Man shall not live by bread alone."
Elvis liked his sandwiches with peanut butter and bananas.

*Peace*

Catch up

Wow. Coming home is tough. I still have not made it to the grocery store (because this is one of my least favorite tasks in the world - ick). We brought home a bunch of fruit with us, ordered a pizza, found stuff in the freezer, so we have not been starving. I must go today.

But I'm nearly done with my mountain of laundry. My washer is leaking - do I fix the 17-year-old washer or spring for a pricey new one? Such a dilemma .... laundry I don't actually mind, in the grand scheme of housework. It's bearable. I've almost folded everything - even the sheets. Though I hate folding fitted sheets. Mine usually look half folded; what's the diff, I figure, as they're either going into the linen closet or back onto a bed. Do wrinkles matter?

I fold my own sheets. For some reason, I do not care to delegate sheets and bed-making to the cleaner. I am more than happy to let her take care of all the rest, but I like my bed done a certain way, so I do that myself. I read recently that Mrs. Mitt Romney folds her own sheets, too. It may be the only thing the two of us have in common.

Much to do this week: Work stuff, eye doctor, getting ready for school, playdates for the girls, a movie day with friends ... and so on.

So, I've covered laundry, groceries, Mitt Romney, plans for the week. Evidently, I lead a very full and balanced life, rife with metaphysical questions. Or so I keep telling myself anyway ....

Home

Ah, to be home. Two weeks away is a looooong time. Fun, yes, but alas, so long.

But it was wonderful. Saw my parents, my brothers, my niece, my brother's girlfriend. Hung out with my family, visited a friend from high school.

Then - and this was fun - spent a week on Lake Murray in southern Oklahoma at a UU camp. Unitarian Universalist. Not the church for everyone, but for us, it is so right. A week of solid community. Fabulous guest speakers (addressing the need for a resurgence of the religious left), workshops (on social justice, nonviolence), music, and friends. We had such fun - it feels so good to spend time with like-minded people. The kids love it, too. It just feels so good to start up a conversation with just any random person. To see a game of Mah Jongg getting started and say hey, mind if I join you? To look at someone at the karaoke party and say, I need someone to sing with. Let's do this together. It's that kind of community.

And now we're home again. It feels good to come home to a tidy house. But now there's laundry to do, mail to sort, an inbox full of e-mails to delete. Must grocery shop. Get organized.

In time, in time.

And ooooohhh, I finished The Book. But that's all I'll say. For now.

Vacation mid-point

First things first:

Visiting family does not equal vacation.

I see it as more of an obligation than a vacation. Vacation, to me, is going someplace really exciting (New York! Hawaii! Graceland in Memphis!) or somewhere lovely and relaxing (the beach) or someplace just fun (skiiing). Yet every year, we must make the trek to visit Gary's family in Missouri. This we do because ... well, because it is what one must do. Family harmony and all that.

So we did. And I am here to say we survived. But I am getting ahead of myself. First things first: We toured Graceland! I should clarify: I am not that big an Elvis fan. I mean, who doesn't find the '68 Comeback Special Elvis hot? (In that black leather get up? Exactly.) And you have to love his early stuff: That's All Right. Heartbreak Hotel. He's Elvis, right? So Graceland was just fun. (Though you see neither the television he shot at nor the toilet where he, um, expired. Too bad ...

And to make the day even more meaningful, we also visited the National Civil Rights Museum, which is housed in the actual Lorraine Hotel, site of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Very moving - I am so glad we took the girls. They saw the footage of fire hoses being turned on school-age children in the south, a replica of the Woolworth's lunch counter (saw the original in the Smithsonian), buses that told the story of Rosa Parks and that were firebombed when the Freedom Riders used them.

Wow. And Sylvia's response? "That's just mean."

Insightful comments from my 8-year-old. Funny that some adults don't see that.

Then came family time. Three days in DeSoto, MO, with Gary's family. The girls enjoyed seeing their grandparents, two great-grandmothers. It was nice to see them, and the girls enjoyed going out on the boat. One of Gary's cousins has a 17-month-old daughter, and the girls had fun with her. (Though the parenting skills I saw displayed were disturbing, to say the least - I'm not big on deception, as in: Eat your dinner or we'll get rid of the fish in the aquarium. Also not big on the need to "use my hand" on a 17-month-old. Nor on describing a not-quite 2-year-old as "horrible." She's just a little girl. Sigh.)

Three days with the Muellers didn't feel like enough punishment: We topped that with three days of Gerlachs, meeting my parents and brothers et al in St. Louis. For me, that actually is fun; my brothers are pretty entertaining to be with. John and Barb are actually quite fun to just hang out and play games with - Yahtzee, Taboo, Scrabble. We got to indoctrinate Andy, Jim and Emily into the competitive fray (my parents did not seem to have the stomach for it ...)

I could try to describe our somewhat unique way of playing Yahtzee. The party that was Shankfest 2007. Norm the Beer Gnome. But I'm pretty sure you had to be there.

To paraphrase a friend, every family has its own level of disfunction; those who say their family doesn't is just lying. It is so true - I saw every bit of it firsthand over the past week. But it's what you deal with. And in the case of my family, it just adds to the ... well, we'll just say "character" or "color" of the group.

Never the less, I'm glad we all got together. They're the people who understand us the best. That's the important thing.

Just don't confuse it with my vacation.

Ten hours in the car

Can make you want to kill your children.

We were up at the crack of dawn - after being up til midnight - and the girls' rooms were disasters. I thought I had made it clear that rooms were to be clean before we left. Who knows - maybe I hear those words in my head and don't articulate the thoughts. I was stunned at the amount of disorder upstairs. So we left an hour later than planned, but the rooms are in better shape. (Something has to change in the coming months ... but that's another post.)

We'd been on the road less than two hours before we heard complaints: I'm hungry. Can we watch a movie? At 11 we gave in, let them watch a movie. Stopped for lunch, then were back in the car.

And the fighting started. Keep in mind that we are driving in pouring torrential rain, and all I hear from the backseat is: She moved my seat up! But she moved it back. But I don't have any leg room. But I can't close the cooler.

Andonandonandon. Good golly. One of these two has the ENTIRE back seat of the van - three seats - to herself. And they are fighting over one lousy inch.

I finally told them I had had enough. Enough! One daughter was mad enough at me for laying down the law that she refused to speak to me til we hit the hotel. I can live with that - hey, it was quieter.

This reminds me of my own family vacations, where we fought in the back seat (in a car that was a whole lot smaller and less comfortable than ours - good grief, our van has every option under the sun) and my dad threatened to pull the car over. He never actually did, but the sight of that arm coming over the front seat was enough to scare us straight. We had no radio (those AM jobs didn't pick up much on the highway), and I'm not sure if we always had AC. (Though we did have the stench of my dad's cigarettes ...)

Just outside Memphis we hit some sort of accident and the Interstate was closed. So, after waiting awhile, assessing the situation, we (the administrative we, that is) riskily maneuvered the car around and headed back the way we came. This is where the Navigation system pays for itself, as it re-routed us and - at last! - we are settled into the Homewood Suites, complete with complimentary Internet access. (The last hotel where I stayed was in Europe, where nothing is free, and the Internet costs a pretty pfennig.)

Our room sort of smells funny. But it's OK. Because tomorrow we see Graceland. The Mississippi delta is shining like a national guitar. For reasons I can't explain, there's some part of me that wants to see Graceland. We all will be received in Graceland

Countdown

I want to write about my moveon.org meetup, about blogging, about people who bug me.

But alas, no time. We leave bright and early tomorrow for a two-week vacation, and I need to get stuff together. Plus, we're meeting friends to see Harry Potter, so I really need to get this stuff done.

Pay bills, stop the mail, the paper, send a package. Tidy the house (hate to come home to a mess). Dog details. And so on.

The laundry is mostly done. Got Maddie to her friend's house. Downstairs is done. But I must pack, check on kids' rooms.

We're heading to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee. We're going to Graceland. The it's to DeSoto, Missouri, to see my in-laws. Then a few days in St. Louis with my entire family: parents, three brothers, one girlfriend, one niece. And us - first time in more than ten years. Wow.

Then we're spending a week on Lake Murray in Oklahoma. It's a Unitarian Universalist family camp - doesn't sound like much, but it's pretty fun. An entire week with like-minded people - wow. We had a great time last year.

But I've blocked my afternoons, no classes: I'm going to read Harry Potter before someone ruins it for me. We won't have media access, so it should work out just fine.

So, much to do. I'll be back, though, at the end of July. Maybe sooner, depending on Internet availability.

Royalty

When eating dinner in the presence of Her Majesty at Balmoral, one must remain until the Queen's pipers have played. To leave before the monarch would be in bad taste. Oh - and this happens every night.

You probably didn't know that.

You might not know, either, that Prince Charles, before strolling the grounds at Balmoral, phones the Queen's private secretary to make sure it's OK - Her Majesty might prefer the grounds to herself.

Or that Prince Philip must contact the Queen's secretary to see if she is free for luncheon. And that some evenings the Queen prefers to eat dinner alone on a TV tray while watching her favorite programs, apparently worn out from a week of people kissing up to her.

And how do I know these fascinating tidbits? It's all in The Diana Chronicles, Tina Brown's retelling of the Diana years.

It is a fascinating read. Well, perhaps not for everyone, but for me, definitely.

I confess, I have not always had this proclivity toward all things royal. Before Diana, the House of Windsor was decidedly dull. This is the woman, the queen, who, upon returning from a lengthy overseas trip, shook her 5-year-old son's hand. The dogs, the horses, the tramps through the bogs in Wellingtons - not exciting stuff. With the exception of Princess Margaret - who early on decided to tow the royal line - they were a rather tiresome group.

But the post-separation Diana made things fun. They needed someone to shake things up. To wear clothing designed after 1955.

In 1976-77, we lived in England, in a tiny hamlet called Repton. It was the year of the Queen's Silver Jubilee. Our village, like all of them throughout Britain, had massive Jubilee celebrations on the green. It was a carnival atmostphere, with games and prizes. All students were presented with Jubilee Crowns (coins) and spoons to commemorate the occasion. And I got a coffee mug for my birthday - it sits in my china cabinet to this day, holding my crown and spoon.

Four years later, in 1980-81, my father was on sabbatical in Northern Ireland. This was the year of the royal marriage, and he brought home some of the many millions of items emblazoned with best wishes for the happy couple - I have a tea towel (a popular British souvenir, for those who don't know) and a T-shirt. He also bought a book called Not the Royal Wedding, a wickedly funny spoof of the nuptials, including a photo of Prince Philip talking to Princess Anne, who looks remarkably like a horse ...

I got up early to watch the weddings of Princess Anne, of Charles and Diana, and of Andrew and Sarah. His occurred just before I went to spend a semester in London, in 1986. This must have been at the height of the Wales' marriage difficulties. She seemed pretty but rather vapid. We heard rumors - I heard that they were adulterous, that if Diana had been off the front pages of the papers for a few days, that she would wear something particularly outrageous.

I didn't believe any of it. Silly me.

I think it was all true. If you've read any of these books - and I confess, I have - from Paul Burrell to Andrew Morton to Simone what's-her-name - they all paint the same picture: a Diana who was sooo young, so unprepared, and left on her own to deal with a very rigid, very strange, and very isolating existence, one where infidelity by one's husband was simply accepted and never discussed, where one simply does as one is told.

Diana, it appears, did not always deal with it in a mature fashion. She threw fits, she was petty and manipulative. She was not that bright, not well educated, not an intellectual by any means. But she did grow into a savvy woman, one who figured out her role and knew how to get what she wanted by using the press.

She could be mean and vindictive. It was she, apparently, who anonymously blew the whistle on others' behavior, hoping to detract from her own exploits. She cut off her friends for minor transgressions, after expecting them to answer her every beck and call, every whim. After the Andrew Morton book, when she told certain of her friend sto cooperate, she later cut off these same friends for betraying her. Her ladies-in-waiting were sent out at all hours to get her whatever she wanted. And if they displeased her, she quit speaking to them and could be cruel.

Yet knowing all this, knowing how spoiled she was, I still have a soft spot for her. She used. She was young - only 19 - and there is no way she was prepared for the role being thrust upon her. She was not sophisticated enough to handle the job nor the stress, and she and Prince Charles had nothing in common. She was duped into thinking this could ever work.

Sure, she was petty and did not behave well. But she used her talents, such as they were, to bring relief to others. You can't argue with her charity work. Maybe her reasons weren't as altruistic as she might have had you think. But she lent her name and credibility to causes when they needed them most - touching AIDS patients, showing the world that they were still human.

And let's face it - she looked fantastic. Not early on, but by the 90s, she was a knockout.

Absolutely fabulous.

Like her or not, the book is amazing. It's the same story, but told in a completely captivating way by Brown, former editor of Vanity Fair and The New Yorker. The details are smoking - more than you ever wanted to know about Charles and his bedroom predilections - and while parts of it are making me uncomfortable, it's hard to put down.

Diana may not have really given us much. But she gave us a story so good that no fiction writer could have come up with it. They wouldn't have dared.

Summer Learning

The rain won't stop.

It has rained here, off and on, for the past several weeks. Those of you who don't live in Texas have, no doubt, heard about the deluge, the flooding. Thankfully - well, for us - we don't live in the part of the state that has been hardest hit - that would be the area northwest of Austin. Here in Houston, it's just daily thunderstorms and showers. We sneak in a dip in the pool when we can.

And I didn't exactly panic about a fire hazard as we shot off fireworks on the fourth - nothing here is going to ignite. We were lucky to find a brief respite from the rain to start the grill, light a few sparklers.

Yet the children must be entertained. As a parent, it is my duty to enlighten them, engage their minds on issues of relevance. History, for example.

Last week we concentrated on mid-century history. Namely, we watched some Elvis Presley movies.

This week? We've turned the clock forward a bit and watched some classic television.

I've already introduced the girls to much-loved television like That Girl, Bewitched, Leave it to Beaver, and Andy Griffith. But it's time now to move to the next decade. Our show of choice?

The Partridge Family.

The girls love it. We discuss the fashions (which don't look as dated as you might think). The music and the way two adults and four talent-free kids sound like a chorus of 15. Even without rehearsal. We take note of the guest stars and who was on before they were famous: Farrah Fawcett, Jaclyn Smith, Vic Tayback, Pat Harrington. Or big stars, like Ray Bolger, Morey Amsterdam, Dick Clark, Johnny Cash.

(And it's a little scary how many of the songs I can sing along to ... I mean really, who can't sing "I
Think I Love You"? or that early one, "Together ... having a ball ..." or "I woke up in love this morning." Now those are some lyrics.)

Clearly education is a value we hold dearly in our family.

Well, that, and a penchant for kitschy television. I can hardly wait to do Get Smart.

Isn't parenting fun?

Summer Weekend

My days have changed, and for the better. No more summer school - Alison finished her three-week PE course, finished her driving school session, so we are free. Free! No more shuttling kids.

Which doesn't mean my days are wide open - there is still plenty to do. Work, kids, house, planning. But my time is more flexible - I am not boxed in by pick-up times.

Gary was gone last week, returned Friday from Moscow. I was there in 1986, when it was the Soviet Union, and it was interesting to compare. The hotel where we stayed - Hotel Rossia - was an Intourist Hotel where they tried to put all foreign guests, in order to contain them. Gary stayed at the Marriott, only blocks away, but he saw the hotel where we stayed. Lenin's tomb was not open, so he didn't see that. But his general impression was that Moscow was much like any other European city, bustling with busy outdoor cafes, the streets full of billboards and western shops. The exact opposite of what I remember as a drab, colorless city, devoid of activity.

But that was 20 years ago. Things have changed.

And I digress. Thursday night we celebrated Alison's end of school by going out to eat and running to Academy sporting goods. New swimsuits for the girls, new workout clothes for me - now I have to exercise more ... Alison and I stayed up and watched Steve Martin's Shopgirl which was ... not the best movie I've ever seen. Sort of a downer. Friday morning was Alison's first day free of PE class. So? She and I got up and went for a run. (The new Nike gear is great, by the way :))

Came home and swam - have to jump in when the skies are clear these days, as we're getting more than our share of rain - cleaned up, puttered around, then took the girls bowling. After three years of league bowling, I've bowled exactly once since moving to Houston. And it showed - all three girls were beating me through the fifth frame. At about frame six I managed to get my act together, and my final score was 114 - bad considering what my average was, but impressive when you consider my score in the fifth.

Saturday was mostly a day of taking care of little details: Spray-painted a shelf for the kitchen to hold cookbooks, put up a new shelf in Alison's bathroom, cleared some clothes from the closet (including all of Gary's ugliest clothes), de-cluttered my kitchen desk. Not tasks of monumental importance, but essential, none the less. Swam late in the day.

And watched O Brother, Where Art Thou? with the girls. They quite liked it. Though if I'd remembered how much language there was, I might have reconsidered. No f-bombs, but GD this, that, and the other. Perfect parent I'm not, but I do try to set a good example.

Today was baseball: The Astros played the Rockies. I'm big on historic preservation, old architecture. Which includes old ball parks. But I have to say, I really like some of these new ball parks. Minute Maid is no exception. They are all designed so well - there are no bad seats, unlike old stadiums like the old Busch, where every seat was a bad one. I'm also not big on watching baseball indoors - it feels unnatural. But Minute Maid has a wall of windows, and the dome opens when the weather is right. And let's face it, Houston is awfully hot. Plus today was raining - it's nice to know there are no rain delays or cancellations.

We got the cheap seats and had a great time - saw two home runs, lots of great plays. But no Craig Biggio - he was off today. Houston beat the Rockies 10-0. And we got lots of good people watching in - my personal fave was the woman wearing a purple floral smock - it looked like something our cafeteria workers would have worn. Hmmm ... the blue heels with the capris made for a nice look.

So the weekend comes to an end. And this week is July 4 - fireworks. Let's hope there's no rain ...