Yanni One Liners

Disclosure: I was given free tickets to this concert in exchange for writing about it. Note that the exchange was for writing, not for selling my soul by promising to love the show for two concert tickets plus backstage passes. I can assure you, anything I ever write here will be my straight-from-the-heart opinion.

Last week I was given tickets to Yanni Voices from the One2One Network. I fully admit to not knowing what to expect, but I called my most easy-going friend and headed to LA for a night out.

Probably the best way to understand our experience would be from the priceless little gems my friend kept dropping throughout the night.

Upon entering the PACKED theater: Wow, people love themselves some Yanni, huh?

Upon seeing Yanni himself: Where's the long hair and open shirt? Or is that Raffi? (No, that's Yanni, but the hair has long since been updated, or so a quick Google Images search tells me.)

Upon seeing Nathan Pacheco take the stage: Well, he's throw your panties on the stage cute, isn't he?

After hearing a duet by Ender Thomas and Chloe: I was wrong to be worried that the caramel corn would be the best thing about tonight.

After a particularly intense dueling violins piece: I think this entire theater needs a cigarette. (Seriously. Violins. Who knew?)

Upon hearing the security guard at the meet and greet stop us and say, "We've been waiting for you," and then directing us to the private elevator where we were taken away from the room of two hundred to a room of EIGHT people: What exactly did you have to DO to get these tickets, friend?

We had a chance to meet "The Voices" afterwards and they could not have been nicer or more gracious. We took a picture that I had planned to post and joke about me being the Miley Cyrus look-alike on the left in the Louboutins, but the picture is not one I even wanted to share with my husband, let alone the three people who read this blog the world.

It really was that bad. Due to the flash you could see my belly button through my shirt. Let me be the first to tell you that no one ever tells you the injustices that pregnancy wreaks on that particular part of your anatomy. Also, in a picture with six people, the absolute WORST place to be is in the middle where you're forced to stand facing straight ahead, rather than being on the ends where you can turn and use strategic angles to your advantage.

Picture FAIL aside, it was a great night out. I love live music in all forms and there's something pretty incredible about watching people perform who truly love what they do.

And the caramel corn wasn't bad either.

Blogcentennial

Hey, look at that, I let a post about thinking my husband and dog had been abducted by aliens sit for a week. High quality stuff around here.

I have so much to say, all of it incredibly earth shattering, so stick around.

*Teaching is going well. My students are remarkably well behaved, especially the middle school ones. I'm always shocked every time I say, "Hey, look a TEST!" and they don't say anything but, "Okay," and "Do we need to use a pen or pencil?" and I'm left standing there waiting for the whining that never comes.

*They are also far more mature than I am. Today when talking about the difference between subjects and objects I kept repeating the question, "Is that noun DOING the action or RECEIVING the action?" And no one ever giggled. Not once.

*We leave for New York a week from tomorrow. Flights and hotels are booked, tickets for shows, games and tours purchased, preliminary outfits planned. Nearly every minute of every day is accounted with nearly zero down time and yet, in my mind, the trip seems incredibly relaxing. We're traveling with friends and I'm more excited about this than I am about In the Heights. Which is to say, VERY excited.

*My husband got his job back! Almost. Somehow, after it all shook out, they discovered that they were able to rehire some of the 187 teachers they had let go. And somehow, he ended up back at the same school after hundreds of teachers were reassigned. It's a temporary contract so we could go through all of this again next year, but we'll cross that bridge NEXT YEAR. Can I get a woohoo?!

*This is my 100th post. I've been trying to come up with a list of 100 things for my 100th post but that's much more difficult than it might seem. I accidentally published it a while back so you have seen my list of 32 things about me riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. I've actually held back on posting so that I can keep from hitting 100 posts before I could come up with 100 things, but that's not working out so well for me.

*Six months. 100 posts. Cue fireworks.

Run Wild

This afternoon I woke up from a nap brought on by a stomach ache, brought on by last night's bad food decisions chased by this morning's bad food decisions.

Anyway.

When I fell asleep, the husband was on the couch beside me. When I woke up, he was gone. I called out for him and when I got no answer I rolled myself off the couch. I peeked into the garage and the office. No husband. Into our room, the front and backyard. No husband. Into the closet, under the covers, Bub's bathroom. Still, no husband.

I was running out of places to look and started to get a bit (irrationally) panicky. Had he been kidnapped for ransom? At what point could I call someone? Was it the rapture?

At this point I started to notice an obvious lack of canine following at my heels. A quick sweep of his usual napping places confirmed that the dog was also "missing."

The husband and the dog both missing.

Not the rapture.

A walk.

Catching up, by the bullets

• I started working yesterday. I've taken a summer job due to our lack of employed family members around these parts. I whined and cried a bit about having to take the job, but it wasn't exactly about the working part, per se, but more about the suddenness of the NEED to work and the change in the stay at home lifestyle to which I have grown accustomed.
• I'm teaching a class of 4th graders and a class of 6-8th graders. In case you're wondering, there's a VAST difference between teeny tiny sixth graders who still speak with their three year old voices and pubescent 8th graders who have to shave and pile on the deodorant before coming to school. There are a few academic differences, too.
• I found myself wildly under prepared for my first class and over-prepared for my second. This meant that I was winging it for about 30 minutes on my first day.
• If this makes you worried about the state of education today and want to consider homeschooling to protect your children from teachers like me, you should know that I winged my ass off. Some of my best work, I must say.
• Bub started swimming lessons yesterday. We opted for the, erm, affordable lessons offered through the city held at a local high school pool rather than the Swim Academy for Over Achieving Parents and Future Olympic Hopefuls. There are no less than eight classes being held in the pool at once and the class next to us was the next level up from the parent/child class. At least half of those children were expressing their displeasure at being dumped into the pool and they were expressing it with the loudness.
• Bub's not particularly impressed with the lessons either.
• I discovered that there are two Sonic's close(ish) to my house. Not close enough to go for lunch but close enough that I could, in theory, be in the vicinity of one someday. Yesterday, I discovered that one of them is directly in my path on my way home from work
• Tomorrow? Cherry limeade, here I come.
  

Lucky

I knew from the very beginning he wouldn't be a sideline father. He wouldn't be content to fulfill the expectations laid out by society. He wouldn't be happy unless he was an equal partner.

And he is.

In addition to the Hey, Your Wife's Pregnant book we bought him, he read my books and he continues to read the books on my nightstand, noting stages and milestones, mentally ticking off which ones we've reached, exceeded, and not even thought about.

He knows what to pack in a diaper bag, remembers sunscreen and snacks, keeps a stroller in his trunk. He takes bath and bedtime duty every night and handles naptime on the weekends.

He's thrilled to get a phone call or an update during the day about his boy.

He sits beside me at doctor's appointments, prepared with his own list of questions. He attends gymnastics and story time on days off of work. He does it willingly, voluntarily.

He's a daddy, and the very best kind. He takes the serious things in life seriously and this role most of all.

We're lucky, this kid and I.

Lucky as can be.

Confessions, or, Tuesdays are the new Monday

• I took Bub to Disneyland today for what will be the last time for several months because our passes will black out for the summer. I am HAPPY that we won't be able to go back until August. I've lived within spitting distance of Disneyland for my entire life and I've been there probably hundreds of times. I like it there, but I'm so damn spoiled that I don't jump for joy with every opportunity to go there. And, since school is out nearly everywhere, the place was PACKED at 8:30 this morning.
  

• Bub is a Big Boy and insists on sitting next to me rather than on my lap on the rides. During mildly scary parts, like the dark drop on Pirates of the Caribbean, he grabs for my hands. I love that he needs me for ten seconds out of his day.
  
  
• I spent 45 minutes looking at double strollers online today. I'm not sure what that's about since I'm not pregnant, nor am I making plans to get pregnant. I did decide that, if I were to have another baby, Bub would be to old (Three! or OLDER!) for any of the standard side by side or tandem strollers. We would need more of a sit and stand situation.

• I decided I like this one. In orange, maybe.

• Bub's nap fell apart in a fiery blaze of glory today. We're not nap flexible around here and I get a bit panicky when it appears that there will be no nap. The reasons for this are two-fold. 1) I like a little peace and quiet. Yes, I'm selfish. And yes, this may be on the list of reasons why I won't be needing a double stroller any time soon. 2) The rest of the day is sure to be an outright disaster. Bub fell into a mess of tears when his block tower toppled over. The block tower he built while playing a game he calls, "knock." The name implies that toppling over is kind of the point, but apparently exhaustion blurs the line between reasonable and red-faced teary mess.

• Knowing how the afternoon would go I adopted a persona I like to call Mommy Zen, aka Michelle Duggaresse. I spoke in soft tones, saying things like, "I understand you're upset darling, but we just don't throw our trains at the dog." I sang multiple songs while he thrashed about in his high chair waiting for dinner to be ready, even soldiering through when he sobbed, "NO Twinkle, NO Row, Row, NO SPIDER mama!" The entire time I was thinking, "Hello, someone recognize my awesomeness! Not once have I sighed in exasperation or looked to my husband for backup or said something I'll regret. I'm ready for my PRIZE."

• I have several friends with children both slightly older and younger than Bub who are potty training in earnest. I haven't even started THINKING about this process. After watching one friend take her son to the bathroom nine times in a two hour period while at my house, I'm still not thinking about it.
  

I heart June Gloom

First of all, does anyone outside of southern California even know what June Gloom is? Is this a nationwide phenomenon or is it West coast specific? Really, I want to know.

It appears that some people have some pretty negative thoughts about this weather pattern in which we have overcast days, nights and afternoons. If you are updating your Facebook status about how you need the sun NOW, I'm hiding your updates. It's not summer y'all and I LOVE it.

You must not remember what it was like to have temperatures in the nineties well into November last year. Summer will be here soon enough and, if the last three years are any indication, at some point it will get so hot I will want to crawl into my freezer and cry.

I realize I'm in the minority but I'm embracing these cloudy skies. I refused to whine about the RAIN during my son's birthday party last weekend lest I anger the weather gods and incur the wrath of 90 degrees by 9am.

It may have something to do with the fact that my combination of red hair, blue eyes and fair, freckled skin forces me into SPF 70 and has me searching for the nearest shady spot. (You think I'm joking -I wore SPF 50 on our awaycation a few weeks ago and was pink after an hour in the pool.)

Regardless. I'm sleeping with the windows open, buried in my covers and haven't even considered turning on the air conditioning. I voluntarily take my kid outside before 3pm when the yard is sufficiently shady. Bub is sleeping in his footie pajamas for Pete's sake.

LOVE. IT.

Tied up

Last night I headed out to get ice cream after Bub was in bed. Good luck ice cream if you will. I had to turn around and come home when I was almost there because I had left the house in my slippers. I briefly contemplated just going in my slippers, how many people could be there anyway? Turns our I made the right choice because Baskin Robbins was hoppin'.

My husband has a job interview this morning and I'm not sure which one of us is more nervous. Nope, scratch that, it's me for sure. Last night I was all Did you set the alarm and Do you have another copy of your resume and Is your suit laid out and Are you SURE you set the alarm? I'm a real joy to be around in mildly stressful situations.

Bub did us both the gigantic favor of sleeping in to nearly 7am.

This morning it was Do you have directions and Can I get your cereal for you so you can get on the road so you're not late and Are you SURE you have a copy of your resume?

He smiled, kissed us both goodbye and left. He knows as well as I do that there's so much more tied up in this interview than the details I'm focusing on, the things I can control.

I've got a post about the birthday festivities sitting in my drafts folder but I just can't get it all out. I'm waiting for the phone call with the play by play. Which will likely be devoid of the details I'm dying to hear.

What I Learned This Week: Potty Mouth

I learned that I can now add the word bridge to shirt and fork as words my kid can not say in public without garnering dirty looks due to his inability to pronounce the letter "R."

I've apparently found the toddler swearing trifecta.

For more lessons learned, head on over to Musings of a Housewife.

Two

Dear Bub,

When you were born, I thought there couldn't possibly be anything better than a newborn, with your intoxicating smell, ability to fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything, and the perfect fit of your body to my arms.

And then, you weren't such a baby anymore. You learned to crawl and the smack, smack, smack of your hands on the floor was heartbreakingly cute. Watching you turn corners, understanding that you could now determine the destination, we were convinced it wouldn't get any better than this. How could you possibly get any cuter, be more fun?

Now, well, now. Who could have imagined that it gets better every single day? You are so funny and fun. When did that happen? When did my baby become you? You, with your tendency to begin every sentence with "No!" your obvious preference for your father over me, and your uncanny ability to figure out every childproofed inch of this house.

I know this is going to sound over the top, but sometimes all it takes is you saying, "Mommy's dwiving," in your little voice and I feel like my heart can not contain the love I have for you. (Hey, I warned you.) You are my boy, the one who made me a mother. I can not wrap my head around two, but here we are.

Happy birthday my sweet boy.

And please, please, slow down.

Love,

Mom

By the numbers

In four days, my son turns two.

In three days, there will be a party.

On the day of the party there's a 20% chance of rain.

There's a 100% chance we'll still be having the party, so don't bother calling to ask.

My husband received five Thanks, but no thanks letters today.

In five days I have an interview for a summer job. A job that would take me away from my family 2, 3 or 5 days a week. A job that I hope I get and makes me nauseous just thinking about it all at once.

In seventeen days, my husband will celebrate and mourn the last day of school. He loves teaching. He hates that it has come to this. We all do. We're crossing our fingers for jobs, for the call back. Watching the news, watching the budget cuts rise, cuts into our optimism and increases our frustration.

But.

In four days my son turns two, and this weekend, rain or shine, we'll celebrate.

More

It recently dawned on me that you only know exactly what I write. You don't get the back story if I don't give it to you. No one I know in real life knows that I blog (except my husband and to the best of my knowledge he's not a regular reader,) so no one reading here knows anything more about me than what I choose to disclose.

You: Are you freaking kidding me?

What I'm saying is, when people commented about what an incredible person my dad is, I was momentarily surprised. Because anyone who knows him, or who knows me and him by association, knows this.

Here's one more little story to prove that.

Shortly after graduating from college, my college roommate and best friend went to work for my dad. A few months later, the holidays were upon us and she called to tell me all about her Christmas bonus. I was working a non-profit earning a salary that our auditor first laughed at and then shamed my boss for and was more than a little envious.

I joked to my dad that I would be expecting my own Christmas bonus any day now. And you know what? He laughed and said I was absolutely right.

A few days later I received a check in the mail with a letter.

Dear Daughter,

Here's your Christmas bonus. You've earned it.

Things you've accomplished this year:

1. Graduated from college.
2. Got your first job.
3. Paid all your own bills.
4. Been a great daughter.

Love,

Dad

Party Tricks

I love it when childless people come to visit. And not only because they don't have a 7pm bedtime to race home to.

It's especially nice when those people haven't seen my kid in a while. In case you're wondering, there's wee bit of a difference from 18 months and days away from two. If, at eighteen months he was cute and fun, at almost-two he's a freaking genius in their eyes.

And that's the best part, seeing him through someone else's eyes. The flawed way that he counts to 20 (the numbers six and fifteen make repeated appearances, but he always knows the correct placement of ten and twenty and shouts them with gusto) causes their eyes to widen genuinely. The surprise when they realize he's stopped chatting in his crib and has fallen asleep. On his own! Like a person!

I spend most of my time around other moms, even if I'm alone, I'm in places populated by moms and their kids. They might appreciate Bub's cute curls but not marvel in awe every time he correctly identifies a farm animal. They're living it too and rather than being sensational, it's the norm.

It's nice to be gently reminded that my kid can be both normal and spectacular all in the same moment.