Geek. Pirate. Mom

Sunday was my anniversary. Seven years ago, I married a wonderful man. It still seems like yesterday.

Since our trip to Las Vegas (more on that soon, I promise) was for our anniversary, we weren’t really going to go out to dinner or anything big. Instead, we decided to take the kidlets to the beach- something that the Oldest Kidlet has been asking to do more of the summer.

Living in Southern California, we’ve taken the boys to the beach every summer since the Little Kidlet could walk. The first year we took the boys to the beach, the Oldest Kidlet walked up to where the beach began to slope downward to the waterline, and ran right back to me. “It’s too loud,” he said about the waves crashing. The second year, he didn’t even bother to leave our blanket, asking us to bring him water to help build a sandcastle.

There was something different about him yesterday morning. We surprised them with the trip to the beach, just like we surprise them with trips to Disneyland or anywhere else that we’ll have to pack for. From the start, he was determined to go in the water. He told me so all the way to the beach, though it’s not unheard of for him to change his mind at the last minute. We’re so used to this that TheBoy didn’t even put on his swim trunks. The little one prefers his water in a bathtub, so it wasn’t likely he’d want to go in either.

The first attempt began not long after setting up our blanket and chairs. My son walked down to where the sand starts to become damp, turned and ran right back to me. This happened a few more times. Then he convinced his little brother to go (not a hard feat to do- all you have to do is say “Come on Little Kidlet, let’s” and finish it with whatever you want to do). They walked right to the point where the beach slopes to the water, and while the little one ran back to me, he walked straight into the water and turned. He might have been a good 30 feet away, but the look of pure joy on his face was unmistakable.

They came back, and he was breathlessly excited. He told me all about jumping in the waves, and swallowing salt water. He rested on our blanket, wrapped in a towel, but you could see in his eyes that he wanted nothing more to be back in the surf. TheBoy napped while the boys dug holes in the sand, and as soon as the Oldest Kidlet was bored, he woke up his father and dragged him back down to the shore.

The Little Kidlet tried to go down, but mostly refused to walk back to the blanket when he decided not to go to the water. So I’d have to rush towards him, scoop him up and carry him back. We passed the time by building giant mounds of sand, and using what little wet sand I had to make a small sand castle. An hour later, I was able to get TheBoy’s attention and brought he and the Oldest Kidlet back to our blanket. They had no idea it’d been that long.

All the Oldest Kidlet could do was gush about how much fun the beach had been (after the lengthy nap he began in the car, that is). Even as I was herding him upstairs towards bed, I could see it in his eyes. He’d rather be dancing in the surf.

Note: Previous trips to the beach, we were harassed by the people selling beach toys, and had one of their kids refuse to leave our kids alone the last time (he wasn’t a mean kid, just bossy and rude). We expected it this time, but the biggest nuisance came from the Scientologists that were giving our free audits next to the pier. Seriously. I meant to get a picture on the way back to the car, but my arms were full.

(This post is an edit of a piece I’d written for @The3six5 as a backup post Sunday night. They didn’t use it then, but posted it naturally… today. So if you see it again, now you know why)

I am gluten-intolerant. At least my body is. I still remember what breads taste like, and more than occassionally crave what I know will make my life miserable.

This last weekend, TheBoy and I got to take some time away from the kidlets. His mom offered to watch them for the weekend, so we booked a room at a local hotel and left shortly after we got back from Disneyland. Why local? We’d debated going up to Hollywood near where he works, as he knew he’d have to work over the holiday weekend. But we’d only have one car (I left the van at home for my mother-in-law). So there were two factors at play. I know our city. I feel comfortable walking around, which I’d have to do when he was gone. Not only that, I know the restaurants here, and with the gluten-free diet, I knew I’d be able to get food.

We went out to dinner on Friday night, and I was bad. I ate food with gluten in it (though when I’d checked with the restaurant, they said they could accommodate me, I just was weak and really wanted their crabcake appetizer). The meal was lovely, as always, but I learned that yes… even after two months gluten-free, it still affects me. Definitely not making that mistake again.

The next morning, I was sore from walking around Disneyland and still bloaty feeling from having gluten the night before. As we walked up the road (and literally up, the road’s on a hill) towards the diner where I’d planned on having potatoes and eggs for breakfast, we spotted a little cafe that we kept forgetting about. They had menudo, I wasn’t feeling like I could make it the rest of the way, so we stopped in! I ordered an omelette with potatoes and marveled at ordering a meal. TheBoy marveled at how good the menudo was. We walked to his car, ran some errands. Since I was going to be alone that night, we wanted to get me some snack foods so that I could cobble something together in case room service couldn’t accommodate me.

Snack foods obtained (I brainlessly bought myself malt vinegar chips, which I threw out before I glutenized myself again), we went back to the room. And I started writing. TheBoy left, and I just cranked up my music and wore my headphones. Yes, I was alone in my room and wore headphones. But I found myself unable to turn off the Mythbusters marathon that was playing, so the headphones kept the show out of my brain.

I was writing, when I realized that there was a weird beat meshing in with my Pirates soundtrack. I pulled off the headphones and realized that the fire alarm was going off. So I put on my shoes, grabbed my purse, phone and laptop and headed out the door. No sooner than I got out the door, the alarm stopped. Which was good, I had to go to the bathroom. I figured I’d duck back in my room, go, then go downstairs to see what was up. Well, the alarm never came back on. But I heard the all too familiar sounds of someone freaking out in the hallway.

So I took my key and went out to investigate. For those who didn’t know, I worked at Disneyland from 1998 to 2002. Those 4 1/2 years were more than enough to shape the way I handle emergencies. In the hallway was a family- father, mother, daughter (9 ish) and son (7 ish). The daughter was hysterical. As with most hotels, there are doors that block access to the elevators if an alarm goes off. The girl thought they were trapped. I did what most normal people wouldn’t do. I butted into their conversation. I explained why the doors were closed, and showed them where the stairs where locations (yes, Disney people, I used the double finger point too!). I pointed out that if there were really a fire, the alarm would still be going on.

The girl calmed down. The parents thanked me (I was expecting the “who are you” look of death), and I made sure to throw in that I worked at theme park, so I’d seen it all. Then everyone seemed to smile. The doors to the elevators opened again, and it was all over. I went back to my room, and opted not to go down to the front desk and see if they knew what caused it- there were families there with kids. I figured someone must have pulled the alarm.

I went back to writing, and called room service for dinner. I’d had my eye on a couple of options- a salad and a burger. We’d even bought gluten-free buns at the store so that I could simply order the burger without a bun. Which I did! And this is where the hotel earned their thumbs up from me- the guy on the other end of the line immediately suggested that I replace the fries that come with the burger with fresh fruit when I mentioned I had a gluten allergy. I doubt they’d trained their employees on food allergies, but honestly, it’s rare to run into someone who knows what I’m up against. So it made my night. (The burger was great, btw. I wound up eating it without my gluten-free buns, which crumbled as soon as I held them)

The next morning, TheBoy stumbled in from a long shift at work. I knew it was unlikely he’d be up for breakfast when I was hungry, so I went downstairs to have the hotel’s buffet-style brunch. They had plenty of options that worked for me, and I didn’t get glutenized again.

For dinner I walked myself to the same cafe and managed to scrounge something that worked. I went back there with TheBoy for breakfast (I’m now the Mayor of it on Foursquare!) where I had potatoes and bacon.

It was a great weekend. I finished my outline, and started my first draft of my novel. But somewhat more importantly- I managed to survive without my kitchen! I know what happens when I eat gluten, and thanks to some quick thinking, I was able to find something to eat! I wasn’t afraid of dining at a place that I knew was 100% prepared to deal with my food issues. Talk about a great feeling. Though I do think I am going to start asking the smaller eateries I loved if they can accommodate me with something other than a crouton-less salad.

As I’ve said, I am fortunate to live with my in-laws. First, we get along. I’m not making this up simply because they can read this blog. It’s the truth. They welcomed me into their arms when I was their son’s first girlfriend and have never been anything but wonderful.

Anyhow, the advantage of living with my in-laws is that if schedules line up… I have a babysitter available. My mother in law offered to watch the kids on Sunday night, and we jumped at the chance. We decided that we wanted dinner, and I felt like having burgers.

We decided to give Five Guys Burgers a try. It’s relatively new in SoCal, and not exactly somewhere we can take the Little Kidlet (since they serve peanuts in open containers). I’d heard that sometimes the wait can be long, depending on when you get there (since it’s the same way at In-n-Out), but we apparently timed it well. We didn’t have to fight for a table, and our food was ready quickly.

They give it to you in a big greasy paper bag. I’d like to thank my friends who told us split an order of fries- the smaller size was plenty for the two of us. Don’t let the cup they put the fries in fool you, they tend to add plenty extra. We each got the Tiny (single patty) cheeseburgers- okay, I got a bacon cheeseburger, and dug in.

I’m not sure if it was the hype, or what, but it just didn’t live up to what I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great burger, and certainly a million times better than what you can get at McDonalds or Burger King. But I didn’t feel like the beef itself was as flavorful as either In-n-Out or Fatburger (which are my two favorite fast food burgers). We’ll definitely go back- we had a great experience… but boy, this was a prime example of how hype can backfire.

Neat notes- they had a board which mentioned where their potatoes came from, which certainly was a nice reminder that the fries (like In-N-Out) are cut fresh.

Since getting burgers barely took up any time, we were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our night. On the way to Five Guys, we’d passed a miniature golf course and I suggested we play- even though it was probably 55 degrees out. Which we did! And just like that, it went from a night out to a date night.

Back when TheBoy and I had first dated, he’d taken me a miniature golf course. I was unbelievably competitive, and while it was a fun date- I still remember with sadness that I lost. This time, it was probably what that first date should have been. We were simply enjoying the experience.

We were behind a large group of people- 6, to be exact. While this shouldn’t have been too bad, none of them seemed to be remotely good at playing miniature golf. I admit, I’m not so shabby at it. There was a miniature golf course in the town I grew up in, and usually any reward you’d get at school would be a free round of golf. And since I was usually on the honor roll and had perfect attendance, I got a lot of them. Also, other than the roller rink (which I knew the owners of), there really wasn’t much to do in town.

We had plenty of time to chat, hold hands, and do all the things that you don’t get to do after kids come into your lives. Don’t get me wrong, our dinner dates are wonderful- and we talk about everything on them. But this had that magic feeling that those early dates did, coupled with the comfort that you get from knowing someone so well. We had inside jokes to make this time, and there was nothing to prove.

The night ended with hot chocolate. Not a bad way to cap off the night, is it?

I’m not very big on Valentine’s Day. Sure, when I was a kid it meant special treats and Valentine’s from my friends… but as I grew up, I admit I soured on it.

Not because I didn’t have a Valentine (though through high school I never did have one), but because it seemed like forced romance. Let me explain. I grew up with a dad who was a civilian working for the Navy. He worked in a couple different divisions, but all required travel (the first moreso than others). My dad would be somewhere and come back with a small gift for my mom, or sneak off to her favorite boutique and find out from the owner what jewelry she’d been looking at. They were wonderful gestures, and seldom for anything other than to tell her that he loved her. They didn’t need one special day of the year to show off how much they loved each other.

Then you had some of the people I worked with. I met a few women who actually got upset if their SO didn’t send them a giant bouquet and take them out for a fancy lunch- not because they really wanted the flowers, but they wanted to brag. One woman had a boyfriend who took her out to a nice restaurant and gave her flowers there- so she brought them in the next day so that she could parade it around the office. They were so obsessed with having the appearance of the perfect boyfriend/husband, that whatever their husbands did could never be spontaneous or deviate from their explicit wishes. It just seemed so… Stepford.

That said, there is one Valentine’s Day that was especially special to me. It was 2000. TheBoy had already proposed to me, but without a ring other than a little silver ring that I happened to wear on that finger anyways. We’d talked about looking at rings, but between work and school, just hadn’t made it to any jewelry stores to look.

For Valentine’s Day, we decided to go into The Park (aka Disneyland). It was TheBoy, his best friend and his wife and my best friend C. We went on a couple rides, and while in New Orleans Square, stopped off at the Jewel of Orleans (which was an estate jewelry store).

I wanted to show C and Ry’s wife something, too. On another trip to Disneyland, I had seen something unusual. A simple gold band with two small offset diamond rings. I joked that it was a Star Wars fan’s dream, like the twin suns of Tattooine. We laughed. The ring itself was a much larger size than my tiny little ring finger… but I loved the setting. Simple, but unique. I had joked to Ronnie that if it was still there- since it was much less than the rest of the rings (which were usually thousands of dollars)- that it was meant to be. And it was there.

As the girls oohed, he hemmed and hawed and said that he just wasn’t sure if we could. Then we left to go get some clam chowder bowls and enjoy a fun Valentine’s meal. We sat there, and midway through the meal, TheBoy excused himself to go to the restroom. 5 minutes passed, then 10, then more… We joked about him falling in, falling ill… and then C said, “You don’t think he went to get the ring?” I said no, and we sent off Ry (the best friend) to make sure that TheBoy wasn’t ill in the bathroom, and Ry came back shortly. And just sort of smiled and said he was alright. So we all knew that he was buying the ring. When TheBoy came back, he didn’t say anything about the ring, so we didn’t say anything either.

Time passed, and I had assumed that he had just been asking them about buying it and hadn’t gone through with it. Then while I was balancing our bank account, I noticed a charge from Jewel of Orleans. Nowhere near as large as the entire ring, but it was clear that he’d been making payments on the ring and accidentally used the card for our joint account instead of his account. I mentioned it to him, and he finally admitted that he’d bought the ring on Valentine’s Day and had been paying off the balance.

This is my engagement ring w/ my wedding band. Yes, we did have to have a custom band made, since there’s no way a standard band would fit around it.

So there you have it. My favorite Valentine’s Day. A pretty ring, fun with my best friends, and clam chowder- all at the place where I met TheBoy.

I still love love love this ring, by the way. I’ve never seen another setting like it, and while the stones aren’t that big, they fit the scale of my teeny tiny hands- and they’re a pretty good quality. I’ve tried on other people’s rings, and even 1 carat seems giant on my hand. Guess TheBoy lucked out in that respect. Some day I want to get another band (like my wedding band) to put on top of the engagement band, and then get them all sandwiched together with white gold.

So that’s my favorite Valentine’s Day…. what’s yours?

TheBoy offered to take the boys for a walk. I put them in their pants, shoes and jackets and waved goodbye. I started to clean, and then… I got a phone call.

Don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic, I reminded myself as I answered with a drawn out hello.

“I might have bitten off more than I can chew,” he said. “We were walking, but the boys are running out of steam.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Yeah. Someone has something to say to you.” He then handed off the phone to the Oldest Kidlet.

“Mommy, we’re tired. We can’t walk anymore, so you need to come get us.” Then I thought he said something about a doctor. “We’re EXHAUSTED.”

TheBoy took back the phone, and I asked about the doctor comment. “No, he said he’s getting darker out.” We discussed where they were at, whether or not I should bring some water, and off I went to get them.

They weren’t too far from the house, maybe a half a mile. I could see them, as I drove up. Two little boys, sitting on a small fence that bordered a lawn, with their dad standing nearby. And I thought, as I watched them wave and cheer… that not only was I never going to forget this- but I was going to blog about it immediately.

I get migraines. My mom gets them, too.

The night before my wedding? I was curled up in a teeny ball because I had one, and right now I’m stuck in my bed with one. I’m sitting here with low light (a candle) and the brightness on the laptop cranked down.

I just wanted to put it on record that my husband (aka TheBoy) is amazing. I called him, freaking out because naturally, one never knows if these things linger- and there’s a birthday party tomorrow. He reassured me that he’ll make the food if he has to. I told my mother in law, who before shooing me back upstairs told me that they could cancel the party if I wanted. I said no, and she told me that they’d buy a cake to serve and we’d make a little cake out of rice for the little guy to eat, and for us to put a candle in.

Let me explain. I’m sure that sounds harsh and a little cruel to do to a kid on their birthday- but I’ve made all sorts of allergen-free cakes that everyone else deemed wonderful, and he wouldn’t eat. He’s not a fan of baked goods at all. It was just the one thing she could think of that we know he’ll eat that we could stick a candle in.

Now that I’ve shared how awesome my husband and mother in law are, I’m going lie down again. Boy does this bite.

You know, nothing makes me laugh more than comment spam. Seriously! Sometimes it’s the typos, sometimes it’s that it was obviously translated from Russian to some other language and then English. But mostly, it’s that my blog has plenty of posts that these comments might apply to- but not on the post it was submitted on. Case in point, today’s gem:

Thank you for such a fantastic blog. Where else could one get this kind of info written in such an incite full way? I have a presentation that I am just now working on, and I have been looking for such information.

Barring the “incite full” typo… this could be a real comment! Except that this was posted on my post for Oven Fried Chicken. I suppose that someone could be doing a presentation on chicken recipes… but yeah. Not likely.

Yesterday was the 25th Anniversary of Super Mario Brothers (in addition to the birthday of TheBoy). There were plenty of tweets about it, but Wil Wheaton’s made me laugh. Then today, he blogged about a Twitter exchange that made it even better.

Now believe it or not, I started this blogpost to share that my oldest son is in preschool 5 days a week now! When we signed him up for preschool, we had him in for 3 days a week, half days. It boggles the mind that there are full day preschool classes, really.

But on Friday, I was told by his teacher that the preschool director wanted to talk to us. As we waited for her, I worried. Had they lost our check? What was wrong? Ultimately, it was that the teacher felt that Drake wasn’t ready for their pre-K class and they wanted to put him in a regular preschool class. When we were signing him up, I had been told that the pre-K class was for older children. I wasn’t told that essentially it was for the kids who’d already done preschool- so they knew letters, numbers… and could write already. So obviously, I agreed. Had I known that? I never would have put him in it.

He started with his new class yesterday, and seems to be doing well. The teacher seemed surprised he couldn’t use scissors. I explained that he hasn’t used scissors before, since he has a little brother who’s only 2 and both of them tend to do everything together. But she’s going to work with him and I’m going to get him some of those safety scissors that don’t cut anything, so we can practice at home.

Things sure have changed since I went to preschool. I don’t remember anyone expecting that I knew how to do anything, except sit still, play nicely and that I could use the bathroom!

Tomorrow: Summarizing the schedule. What it used to be and what it is now..