Le Show

It could be construed as nightmarish...Kung Fu FIghting blares over the DJ's speakers, renegade fluffs of cotton candy waft through the air, attempting to thwart my attempts to my items clean, making cheerful smalltalk with strangers who may truely like my items, or might just be trying to steal my ideas, no bathroom breaks for hours...yes, folks, I am at a craft fair. Well, actually, that's generous. I am at an elementary school's spring festival fundraiser. And while the turn out is impressive, people aren't really here to buy crafts.

I don't know why I always get so wildly optimistic about these things...I spent the better part of the prep time before making a crapload (30) hooded towels. It's an elementary school, I think. They'll be clamoring for them! I could sell out! They're so awesome! Turns out, the only clamoring is over more tickets for the damned cotton candy machine.

But still, it's ok. A friend texted me to see how it was going and I responded with "slow, but (ultimately) not surprising". As optimistic as I get before these things begin, I am too soon reminded of the reality of them. People look at my booth (if I'm lucky) and say "OH! How cute! Everything is so CUTE!" followed by "too bad my kids are too old for any of it!" Oh yeah? What about coffee cozies? What about tote bags? Or fabric gift bags? Or re-useable lunch bags? Your kids are too old to LOVE THE EARTH, motherfucker? Ahem. And don't even get me started on how I'm sure you never have a freaking baby shower to go to. No, no, it's fine. But I smile, and say something friendly about taking my card, if they'd like, in case any baby showers come up. Sometimes they take one and move on and that is how the day goes. Today I got dissed by a 7 year old whose dad asked- hey honey, wouldn't you like an apron for when you are cooking with mom? She wrinkled her nose and said disdainfully "I don't need an apron!". Ok then.

Texting back my friend, I said what is true- It could be worse. I am sitting in the shade, in a comfy chair on a beautiful day, knitting...the music isn't terrible (even Kung Fu Fighting meant I didn't have to listen to the insipid DJ), the world smells of BBQ and Cotton Candy, and who knows, someone may buy something sometime.

It's funny, I've never not made back a vendor fee. I usually do better than the folks around me...it's the swarming that rarely happens except in my pre-show fantasies. But today, the chick in the booth to my left, whose business name is "Ugly, probably lead infested crap from China", is buzzin' while my booth is dead. My vendor fee is recovered, the 2 bucks Michael had to promise to Magnolia's bff to get him to loan us the 20 bucks I needed for change is recovered, the money I've given to my kids for snocones and gameplay was recovered, and there is still an hour left.

I ended the day with a dent in the fundraising campaign for new kids' dressers, and at least one potention scrapbook quilt custom order. Now I remember why I do these. :)

Lust and Sloth

It was parent conference week for the kids. I used to hate parent conference week when I was teaching. First, dealing with report cards was never fun, then the whole week the kids' schedules were off, and add to that meeting with 20 sets of parents, many of whom I would have to basically chase down, and well, I was happy it only came twice a year. As a parent, it has been a bit of a pain as well, as it means that Magnolia gets out early every day (1:40) but Max gets out at the same time (2:30) so my day is chopped up something awful. It being a busy week anyway, between prepping for a show tomorrow (and realizing only a week ago how small my inventory had gotten) and having a huge translation project due for a client, never mind my usual mom stuff, my usual work stuff, and the fact that taxes are still hanging over my head, and the week wasn't looking pretty.

So I manage to remember to show up for Max's conference, and overall, he's doing fine. Academically, fine. He's ready for kindergarten. No surprise there, as many of our conversations lately go something like this:

Max: Where is my camera?

Me: I don't know, where did you last have it?

Max: C-C-C-C-C camera!

Me: Uh huh

Max: Camera begins with a C!

Me: yep.

But the teacher does have a concern. Evidentally, he has a very hard time facing forward on the rug. He insists on sitting sideways, and even when corrected, will eventually swivel back to being sideways. Huh. Really? This is the big problem? I mean, I volunteer in this class and there are kids running around, and hitting, and my kid sitting sideways is the big concern? Ok. Whatever. It's preschool for goodness sake, I am not going to be too worried about it. Then the teacher leans in, somewhat conspiratorially and says, sotto voce, "you know he's in love with Nearaiah, right?". Actually, yes, yes, I do...because he has been talking, dreaming, and scheming about her since October. He says he loves her, he wants to marry her, when you mention school, he mentions Nearaiah. At their birthday party last week, all he cared about was her coming, and the minute she did, he took her to his room and they got into his bed. Nothing happened there, they just went up and hung out for a bit, before heading to the jumper...but seriously, this girl hung the moon, as far as Max is concerned. So, guess where her assigned place on the rug is? Yep. To his side, but not directly next to her...so in order to see her, he has to swivel. Heh. It seems to me an easy solution would be to re-assign her spot on the rug to be in front of him, if his swiveling is such a concern, but I guess I am not the teacher. I tell her I will talk to him about it.

Cut to the next day, and it is time for Magnolia's conference. She is working above grade level, she has the highest grade you can get in all of the language arts areas and in math. She is likely highly gifted, she is well behaved, and the teacher loves her. Great! Yeah, except for one thing. She's lazy as all get out and her homework is minimalistic and sloppy, and there are days where her work in school is too. So, we need to find ways to motivate her and make sure she works up to her potential. Oh, and also she happened to be a part of a clan of first grade girls who stole shoes from a group of second grade boys (why were their shoes off?) and hid them at recess the day before. I see.

Going home, I called Michael, and went over everything that had gone down in the meeting. He sort of sighed...none of this is news to us. He bemoaned the fact that fixing these issues weren't easy...why couldn't there be easier issues- like, having trouble with addition? No, our kids are bright, that is for sure, and with the brightness comes a different level of challenges, strategies that need more than just flashcards. And once again, I harken back to the conversation I had with a good friend of mine, the mother of Magnolia's best friend since birth, when the kids were about 20 months old, and Magnolia had pulled off some kind of sneaky feat...after hearing about what Mags had done, my friend sighed and said with not a bit of faceciousness "Man, I'm glad my kid is just average." Sing it, sister.

What's Right

When I was 19, I took on a personal challenge to live a noble life. While this sounds a little heady for a 19 year old, the bonus was that I got to define said noble life all on my own. Now, reading back on my journals in those days, I am actually super impressed that 19 year old Ariella actually had a clue, and for the most part, I completely agree with what she was talking about. One part of a noble life, she (I) concluded, was to live a life respectful of mama Earth, and to do everything reasonable to make sure her (my) footprint (modern term) was as small as possible. I am proud that before it became hip to do so, I was concerned with the environment...and it is something that continues to be important to me today.



I am in the middle of preparing for the kids' birthday party. I tried to talk them out of it. I did...I tried both bribery and coersion, and when neither worked, I resigned myself to pull off another party. Thankfully, my regular cast and crew was all for it, and so I have tons of help. Unfortunately, our parties tend to be a little over the top (making dinosaur/sports themed aprons for each kid in attendance, having a head cut out photo op with the ocean/mermaid/ ocean theme, homemade lollipops, cakes inspired by Duff...you get the picture) and this year, money is tight, so I am trying to be reasonable, and to lower my own bar. It's amazing how Little Miss Frugal goes a little nuts when trying to make my kids happy on their birthday...but I am a birthday freak. So we planned the party for 2pm, thus making it so that a "meal" wasn't mandated, made out own goody bags, our own decorations, our own activities, ,all with the goal of spending as little as possible. Nicole and her husband chipped in so that a moonbounce was ordered and Colleen's brother had a drunken fit of generosity that resulted in the ability to rent a cotton candy machine, so all in all, we were on our way to an affordable and awesome celebration.

Then I start running errands. And I see more things that can go into goody bags, more decorations which would match the themes, colored plates, cups, napkins...and I want to buy all of them. And while money is an issue, a bigger issue (and the one that ultimately stops me) is the environment. None of the guests need more plastic crap from china. The goody bags have snacks, new crayons, a ring pop, some bubbles, and some balloons. They're fine. We don't use plastic/disposable cups or plates here, we have enough where people can use the real thing, and I live with washing all of it for the sake of the Earth. And it's a lot easier to stop myself when I am reminded of the real reason why it isn't necessary to have those things. I am sure the party will be a hit. Even if my plates don't have rocket ships on them.

Sometimes I wonder, if it is so hard for ME to not get swept off in a sea of consumerism...me who is frugal and eco-conscious and cares so much about those things...it is no wonder we're (collectively) in the state we're in.

Maxisms

They're nothing like Marxism...

This morning:
Max (watching A Bug's Life): Mama, can we build a bird?
Me (dusting): Pardon?
Max: A bbbbiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrd. Like they're doing! (points at tv).
Me: Hmmm. I don't actually know how to do that.
Max: Ok, then can we build a rocket ship?


This morning he was helping me focus on my to-do list. 3 items began with his name, so he was thrilled. When we got to Max-haircut, he said- "Mom, can I have it allllll smmmoooooooth? With no curls? Just like with a swoosh?"

Heh.

In other news, the bad puppy may have killed a full grown chicken today.

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

I debated about writing about today...it's the one year anniversary of my aunt's passing and we had a mass said for her this morning at our neighborhood church. It's been a rollercoaster of a day, and this whole writing thing is very therapeutic, so I fell on the side of the fence that has me journaling my thoughts with you present.

So, while technically her time of death was on March 16th, 2008, it felt much more like it happened the day before, as it was just a few hours past midnight, and the Rocky Horror-ite in me still feels like it isn't a new day until I've slept, which I hadn't. Because of this, my personal memorial began yesterday, when I started packing to sleep over at my parent's.

I didn't want to have to wake the kids up to cross the dreaded 405 in time for an 8:15 mass, so I thought I should just go spend the night there. As I collected up my things, a wave of recollection hit me. When my aunt was sick last year, for the 48 days in between diagnosis and when she passed, I spent every moment I could at her condo. Towards the end, I slept there too, and I always packed projects and my clothes in the same bag I was now using to pack for the overnight at my moms. The familiarity of it washed over me and I started to cry. Accustomed to crying while being productive, I didn't let it stop my packing, and managed to get mine and the kids' stuff, plus the foldy mat, into the van. Michael had to work, so he was going to meet us in the morning, not being bothered about early wake up times when he's having another all nighter anyway, so it was just me and the kids who headed over to Brentwood as early dusk began. The problem with this is that the gentle tears falling uncontrolled from my eyes were periodically replaced with horrid, racking sobs which made it difficult to see and dangerous to drive, especially on the freeway. The kids were a bit concerned, but once they made sure they were not the cause of my crying, they let me go at it without more questions. I wondered what people were thinking as they pulled up next to me, but not enough to actually look at them or attempt to pull over or, you know, stop crying, as if that were an option.

The thing is, I cry because I miss her all the time, but really, this crying was different. The hours between 7pm and 3am last year were without question the worst 8 hours of my life. The process of packing and preparing for this evening had brought those memories back in force. Cancer is a terrible disease, and it is common opinion that pancreatic cancer is the most awful of all of them...I have no arguement against that. Details aside, the awfulness all came back to me.

I drove down Sunset Boulevard, past the place where I would have turned left to get to my aunt's condo. Magically, the crying stopped, and about a mile later, I turn into my parent's driveway, somber, but sob-free. The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful, I played online, listed items in a new Etsy store for my mom, and watched some of the Celestine Prophecy movie, in between looks with my grandma, who was in and out of tears herself. I stayed up way too late chatting with a good friend online, and was particularly bummed when Magnolia came into the room at 4am, complaining of nightmares. I move over and let her into my brother's twin bed with me, which of course then means I can't fall back asleep. Perched on the edge of the mattress, all I can think about it how am I going to make it through Monday with only 3 hours of sleep? Eventually, I hear my dad leave for the office around 5am, then the mini dogs begin their reveille around 6. Once Max woke up and got into bed with us too, I resigned myself to not falling back asleep.

Coffee, packing, dressing, loading the van back up and I get a phone call from Michael, he cannot find his keys and since he is still on the wrong side of the Sepulveda pass and we're 30 minutes from the service, he isn't going to make it. A bit annoyed am I, although the annoyance turns to embarassment when I discover his keys are for some reason in my purse (oops) and we're on our way to church, 2 blocks away. My bff meets us, and we head in. My cousin and his wife arrive about 20 minutes later, and since mass only lasts about 40 minutes, they've missed most of it. This seems odd to me, until after the service where he informs me that I told him 8:30. I don't know why I would have done that, we've gone to the weekday services before, they are always at 8:15, they've never been at 8:30, but I know that sometimes I say things wrong so I feel terribly guilty and apologize (even though I was supposed to give up guilt for Lent). Breakfast at Norms follows, per my grandma's request. She explains that she remembers coming here when the 5 of us lived together and we were seriously poor.

After all of this, I felt quite wiped, so I excused myself and took Magnolia to school, headed home, took care of some last minute work stuff for Michael, and took Max to school. Some well deserved "me" time followed, and I felt refreshed and rejuvinated again to face the world. For now.

Incidentally, I looked up the email I sent everyone with the information about the mass. It said 8:15. Boo-yah.

I am a Snob

Seriously. I mean, I know being raised by an uber classist mom means that some of that is necessary, but my history in the theater and my liberal arts education tried very hard to ground me to the roots of the people...I try so hard to not be any kind of "ist" but today I failed.

I belong to my neighborhood YMCA, a different Y then where I volunteer and go to camp...my local Y is where I work out, as it is only 4 blocks from my house and is very convenient. It is also very ghetto. It's funny, because the senior directors are by in large very obviously from comfortable backgrounds (hi Suz), once you make your way into an exercise class or the workout room, the socio-economic level presents itself handily. Even getting most of the front desk staff to smile (they tend to look like extras in some angry musician's video, you see...) is more impossible than getting through the Sadist's step class without breaking a sweat. And usually, I like it. I like working out next to people who I don't ordinarily spend time with. It's also one of the things about Magnolia's school that I particularly appreciate, the very real diversity of the students and families there don't let me take anything for granted. It isn't without its challenges, it isn't always ideal, but I do appreciate it. So at the Y, I sweat next to people with whom I have practically nothing in common, and I like it. Usually.

Listen, I went to college because it was expected. I didn't go where I wanted, I didn't study what I wanted, I did what I thought I should do, because my parents (both immigrants) and their parents had higher education, and therefore not doing it wasn't even an option. Where I was going was barely an option. It certainly doesn't make me a better person. The best thing UCLA gave me was Michael (even though I graduated before we met). But I have lots and lots of friends who didn't go to college for a myriad of reasons, and many of those people are brilliant. I know plenty of people who went to college who are none too bright, so when I talk about my particular form of classism, it isn't so much about upper education...it's more about a state of mind.

So I take this cardio class called Zumba. It's a latin/salsa/hip hop dance class that is super fun. It is easily the most popular class at the Y, upwards of 50 people ranging in age from 11-90 typically take the Thursday night class. I've been going for around a year, although I often miss the night classes due to my Musical Theater class...but I am there a lot, and the teacher often has me lead songs on my own or come up next to her to help her teach the dances. This, to me, is super comic. But, I am a ham and never really mind the spotlight, even if it makes me (me!) an aerobics instructor. Today, I came in late and was towards the back, so I stayed in my place throughout the class. At one point, the teacher had us partner up and freestyle salsa dance with our partner. This used to be a staple in the class, but has seemed to not happen as much lately. My partner's name was Claudia...I had never seen her in class before, but she was closest to me...so partner we did.

The music is loud, and all we are required to do is shake our booties, but I always feel compelled to introduce myself, and make a little small talk, at least as we begin. I size up the partner and decide to start in Spanish...which I do, by asking her name. That part goes clunkily, as first she thinks I am asking something else...and then proceeds to ask me if this is my first night in the class. I say no, and ask if it is hers, she says no, she's been 6 times. A little judgmentally she says she's never seen ME there before. I smile, say we must have different schedules, and try for names again. This time, I get Claudia, but she doesn't ask for my name back, so I give it. Of course the combination of the loud salsa music blaring, the booty shaking, and the fact that I have a weird ass name makes this relatively unsuccessful. Continue the booty shaking. I notice 2 little girls dancing on their own on the patio outside and comment on how cute they are. She asks if they are mine, and I say no. We continue to have a conversation about whether we have children and how many, sexes, etc, and I get this OVERWHELMING feeling of "I'm better than you.". And it rocks me, cause honestly, I have no reason to feel this way. The only reason I do is because I am an elitist. I try not to be, but it comes out, bubbles over, and I would never ever make it apparent to the outside world, but everything in my body was looking at Claudia shaking her tush and thinking that she was kind of a peasant, in the words of my mother.

And that made me feel guilty, which is unfortunate, because for Lent, I gave up guilt. Maybe I should have given up being a snob.

One Week

It's been a slow week in comparison to the tree crashing, chicken slaughtering weeks of old...but upon reflection, this slow little week has come and gone with all kinds of twists and turns.

Last Sunday, March 1st, was my late aunt's birthday. She would have been 58. She also would have killed me for publicizing that...without any work she didn't look a day over 36 and having a 31 year old son was her only giveaway. We didn't celebrate. We didn't really even acknowledge. I called my mom a few times and passed along love to my grandma, who wouldn't even come to the phone. I called my cousin and left a voice mail to make sure he was doing ok, a text message response told me he appreciated me checking on him. I cried off and on during the day, but kept myself busy with a visitor...Caren got in the night before to spend 5 wonderful days with me and I was enjoying every minute possible with her, which meant not a lot of crying.

Caren came with me to my class on Tuesday, and I got to perform for her. She hadn't seen me on stage since forever...and it was nice to be able to then gossip about all the folks in my class to her. I performed my song, and I think I did fine, but I continue to think it may be time to move on. Several of my buddies are no longer in the class, and I am feeling that I may need to take the next step into real stage time. *gulp*

Magnolia turned 7 on Friday, which of course meant a lot of non working time was spent cleaning the house, buying presents, and prepping for a family dinner Friday night. Oh, and I also agreed to organize and run the pizza sale at the school from 4:30-5:30 that night. Cause I am crazy. Mags decided she didn't want cupcakes at school, she wanted root beer floats...which added a little extra effort on my part, but birthdays are important to me, so it was fine. She wanted them for dinner that night too, so no baking for me. It was relatively uneventful, an acceptable number of Littlest Pet Shop crap was acquired, so everyone was happy. And now I am the mother of a 7 year old, which is bizarre. I've said it before and I'll say it again...if it weren't for the children growing older, I am sure I would still be in my 20's. I feel no different. Kinda.

The week was bookended by Sunday, my grandma's 90th birthday. No celebrations again, she has felt this whole year anniversary of the 48 days my aunt was sick is a time of more intense mourning, and I can't say I blame her. She refused all offers by my mom and my cousin to go out or get together, but agreed to me coming over to visit. I didn't even wish her a happy birthday, just went over and we cried a little, laughed a little, and she eventually decided just running out for some pizza wouldn't be that bad after all...as long as I kept it a secret. Good thing none of them read my blog. :) I let her have pepperoni even with her bad blood pressure, because I know if I ever turn 90, if someone so much as looks at me thinking the words "that's not good for your diabetes" I will kill them handily. I wish I could have stayed longer, but duty called, and I had to head home to let Michael go back to work.

Next week will be the one year anniversary of my aunt's passing. I can't believe a year has already gone by. But for now, another week came and went, and it will continue to be a wonder to me that the earth keeps moving along, no matter what we do about it.