You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July, 2008.
It’s been a tumultuous, but exciting two weeks. In the last 17 days I took the kids to Michigan for a week and then flew by myself to LA for a long weekend.
Taking the kids to Michigan seemed like a good idea at the time. SJ is busy with work, so I decided to take the kids to visit my parents. They’re too young to make the 10-hour drive with only one adult – Bennett still requires a lot of hands-on supervision – so I opted to fly home.
The flights went remarkably well, but things went downhill fast once we got to my parents’ house. Read the rest of this entry »
My laptop hard drive died this weekend. It’s physically not spinning, so it was probably damaged when it was dropped, bumped, or smacked.
There were plenty of opportunities for its senseless murder. Bennett watched several unsupervised episodes of Dora the Explorer on it, and frankly, the kid’s a bit shifty. You’ve got to keep your eye on him, especially since one of his favorite games is “fun with gravity;” he loves to throw and drop things just to see what happens. Read the rest of this entry »
Although I normally avoid controversy on my blog, I’m going to take a stand: I am firmly opposed to pleated pants, both for men and women.
For women, they were never really flattering, and they went out of style around 1985. Women’s pleats are designed to camouflage a chubby stomach while sucking in the waist. In practice, they actually made bellies pooch out and bottoms appear three times bigger their actual size. Ladies soon tired of the resulting onion-shaped silhouette.
For men the trend lasted longer, but they’ve now joined sweater vests and turtlenecks as being a fashion “don’t” for the under-sixty crowd (don’t worry, Dad, you still look fabulous). They look outdated, and they make men’s legs look shorter.
I’ve tried to enlist my husband, SJ, in my war on pleats, but I’ve had little success. At first I made subtle comments and suggestions, like “I bet you’d look great in some flat-fronted pants,” and “look how nice that guy’s abdomen looks in his plain front pants!”
That last one backfired a little.
My friend Riley sent me a link to Christian Lander’s satirical blog, “Stuff White People Like.” According to Lander, liberal whites are very similar in their preferences and habits.
What I found alternately humorous and disturbing is how much I fit the bill.
With the exceptions of liking Asian girls (in that way) and hating my parents, it would appear that I could be the poster child for this demographic.
I’ve taken up Bikram yoga on a trial basis. My friend, Julia, tried it and said she’d lost weight and felt more energized, so I figured it was worth a try.
Bikram Yoga is named after Bikram Choudury, who packaged and copyrighted a sequence of 26 traditional yoga poses and two breathing exercises. Bikram studios must be licensed franchises; Bikram aggressively and litigiously guards his copyrights. There are nine studios in the DC area.
Minimum temperature in a Bikram yoga room is 105 degrees and 40% humidity.
Love is in the air in our family. Both of my sisters, Melissa and Kaye, are getting married. Both of them found great guys who will make great husbands and, more importantly, great brothers-in-law.
Preparations have begun. Dates have been chosen, venues selected,dresses ordered, and attendants invited. I’m honored to be a bridesmaid in both weddings, Melissa’s in October in Los Angeles and Kaye’s next May in Northern Virginia.
Weddings always make a woman think of her own wedding, whether she’s a girl dreaming of the future or a matron thinking back to her own big day. My sisters’ preparations bring up all kinds of wedding-related memories for me: the flowers, the guests, the dress, the ceremony, the handsome husband.
I’ve been reflecting on what succeeded brilliantly (walking down the aisle behind a bagpiper was pretty sweet) and what failed miserably (here’s some advice: don’t let your stupid drunk-ass friends slosh red wine near your ivory silk-satin dress).
I’ve discovered with surprise that some of the opinions that I held strongly as a bride have now completely changed. Read the rest of this entry »
My minivan is clean today. It’s actually been clean since yesterday, which is a record. OK, I haven’t driven it yet today, which makes it easier to prolong my streak, but it’s still a landmark accomplishment.
My car is generally a disaster. I can’t have the doors open on both sides because I’m worried about what will go flying away when the wind blows. My kids assume that getting to their seats involves stepping through a precarious obstacle course of clutter. In a clean car they would probably still march gingerly with knees high to their seats, because that’s how they’ve always done it.
It’s not that I don’t clean my car. I do that all the time. My hands are full — with children, art projects, cell phone, etc. — every time I leave the car. But the verb here is easier than the elusive adjective; the fact that I clean doesn’t make my car clean.
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