Saturday, December 29, 2007

Real Age Resolutions

My entire life I have been very baby-faced.  I always wished that I looked older than I did.  I felt that perhaps I wouldn't be taken seriously given the young-looking shell I came in.  People always gasped when they found out that I was actually 25, not 18, or 30, not 20ish.  Now, some of this could have been that people were just being kind, but usually I felt it to be authentic.  

I've prepared myself for these comments.  I respond with such things as " It's not in the birthdays you've celebrated, it's the wisdom, and experience that counts."  

But here's the thing:  I haven't really received these once-dreaded compliments lately.  Now it's, "Oh, you're 31.  Mmm-Hmm."  Just as I suspected. 

What happened to the, "Jamie looks so young" comments?

I know that I *am* in fact young.  I savor the time ahead still, I do.  But it's someone else's turn for the baby-face comments.  Maybe parenting has brought me some more lines and wrinkles (which I cherish), but that doesn't take away from the fact that I guess I miss the shock on people's face a little bit.

And here's the real zinger:  I went to a website designed to calculate your age based on lifestyle/nutrition etc.  and damn-it  my actual age is 31.4 years and my "real age" is 32.1, a difference of 7 months.  Older.   

So I guess I need to take my vitamins, have a few less drinks, and maybe even eat more vegetables.  All very timely for the New Year.  

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

I'm Dreaming of an Apple Christmas

Now I know that Christmas is about the kids, but let's face it, I talk about them too much anyways.
Look what I got!  Well, you can't really see it here, but you can see my seven-year-old brother consoling me in my excitement.  I have never cried over a gift before, but here it is, as Oprah calls it, "the ugly crying."  I got a MacBook and I am so stinkin' thrilled.  Yippee!

Thanks to my husband for getting me that which I would have never asked for (especially given our $50 limit).  They must have had a damn good sale at the Apple store!

Friday, December 14, 2007

Watch Us Grow

November 2004

November 2005

November 2006

November 2007
Our babies are growing up.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

The Spirit of Christmas

'Tis the season for...solicitors at your door. Yesterday, a young-ish, African American-ish, charming-ish couple came to our door. Now I *know* how this works. I *know* the canned compliments, the reel-ins, the sympathetic, "How am I doing so far, ma'am?" questions. As this young man is rattling off with these, I hardly listen after he says, "As a young father of a baby girl..." He's a father? He looks about 20, tops. Still, my mind wanders to the crowded room where these folks receive their "training" on door-to-door salesmanship.

Teacher: Okay, Lady of the house answers the door. She has a child on her hip, another wrapped at her leg. Tell her you're a parent, and BINGO! You can't lose. Compliment her home, her hair, her dog, her child's runny nose. Make reference to your deceased Gramma, "Oh my Grammy always told me an oatmeal cookie is an oatmeal cookie." [He really said this. I still don't know what it means.]

So here comes the schpeel. The black book flips open, and a photo of a sweet, chubby-legged baby "accidentally" spills out.

Me: Cute baby. Is that your little daughter?

Him: Oh, no, that's my son ma'am.

Me: [Holy Moly. He has a son, too.] Well, he's very adorable.

The list of magazines I can purchase for myself, my husband, my friends, my church, to promote literacy for "the children in Watts" now comes out. What? Just take my checkbook now. You've got me.

Good manners pull at me to invite them in. Good senses propel me not to. Afterall, a woman at home with her children should not be allowing strangers in. Fortunately, just as it was my cue to run and get the checkbook, my husband came home. He invited them in. This is when my heart really broke.

They (charming man and his assistant in training, who also shows me a picture of her 3 year old daughter) step in. Seriously, I want to just say, "Come have a cup of coffee, juice, water, something. Sit down. Toss the one-liners and tell me about your life. Seriously." Suddenly I just want the cheesy lines to go away and to learn about them. They stand in awe of our home, our home we complain about. I want to cry I'm so ashamed.

Him: Glancing at a photo of the family at the local beach. "Wow, that's a beautiful picture ma'am. Is that the Atlantic Ocean here?" Ouch. We live in San Diego. He breaks my heart.

I just want to know how bad (or good)it really is for them. Do you really have two children? How does it feel to see countless white face after white face answer the door, close the door, say "No, thanks," and you muster on?

I don't know. Maybe I'm a sucker. Maybe they live in a palace on the Pacific Ocean. But why do I feel so bad after they leave? Why do I feel the injustices pouring into my cracks and seams as I send them out (with 1,000 points towards his ... something something award). Do they go back home and just say, "Man, those people have no idea." Or do they say, "Man, those people are such suckers?"

Whatever the answer is, they did their job well. They should go home proud.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Secret Santa

One of my favorite times of the year is Christmas. Duh, right? But not for the obvious reasons. I *do* love family gatherings, big meals, carols, and gift exchanges. Ah...but there is something else that gets me even more giddy.

This time of year reminds me of my days waiting for response on college admissions. Running to the mailbox, hoping for a fat envelope (because everyone knows a fat envelope is a "yes" while a thin one is a "not in a million years.").

Decemeber means running to the mailbox hoping for fat envelopes containing those glorious Christmas Cards! The photos, the Santa suits, the baby in a stocking; the dogs with red hat, matchy-matchy sweaters, and around here: the families in white shirts and jeans on the beach! The joy! I sincerely love receiving these cards, watching families grow over the years. It's a timecapsule in an envelope.

So, no pressure...but could you hurry up with those hundred and fifty ubiquitous messages and send your holly, jolly cards today?

Monday, December 3, 2007



Chase: Mommy, can I be excused from the table?

Me: Yes. You may be excused.

Chase: Buy why maybe, Mommy?