Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Speak Like a (Dread) Pirate (Roberts) Day
I wish I knew the lines of The Princess Bride well enough that, for one day, I could respond (intelligently, mind you) to people only with lines from the movie.
Murdered by pirates is good.
Murdered by pirates is good.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Baby Bugaloo
I posted it on my Facebook status. I emailed my friends and family. And now I'm posting it on my blog.
Baby Burns #2 due May 15, 2009.
Phone call, you say? What is this, 2003?
Baby Burns #2 due May 15, 2009.
Phone call, you say? What is this, 2003?
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Better Than Flowers
BPD doesn't bring flowers.
Okay, that's not exactly true. He's brought flowers on a few selected occasions that had very little to do with a momentous event, i.e. our anniversary, my birthday or Valentine's Day.
BPD gets a lot of flack for this. Especially when I see the flowers sitting at the reception desk for another co-worker who is celebrating a momentous day, and super especially on Valentine's Day when the receptionist I'm sure feels more like a florist than a receptionist. I can only ogle, and drool, and seethe.
As I get wiser (read: older), and realize that I will soon be married longer than my parents were, and that other friends and family who were married around the same time I was are now divorced, I'm starting to realize the true meaning of flowers: they are beautiful, they are thoughtful, but they are temporary and their meaning doesn't last longer than the last wilted petal.
In our 12 (yeah, you read that right, 12) years together, BPD has done so many things whose impact has lasted WAAAAY longer than the time between when you get a nice set of flowers and you throw them away because you're embarrassed that such decrepit, moldy flora is still on your desk.
So on this, a day that otherwise means nothing whatsoever, I sit to memorialize the 12 things my husband has done that beat flowers hands down (get it, like a dozen?):
1. Moving from Canada to California to take a chance on a girl you hardly knew.
2. Working at that job you hated to put me through law school.
3. That one time, when we were living in that small house in San Diego with the crappy heater, you let me put my cold feet on you. That is when I knew this was real love.
4. That other time, when we were staying in an airport-adjacent hotel the night before flying out, and you drove all the way home to get my makeup that I forgot.
5. That other, other time, when you flew down to San Diego to rescue me from taking care of a 4 month old when I was feverish, sick, and alone. (of course, I had to call the Menlo Park police to wake your ass up since you wouldn't answer your cell phone, but that's a story for another time)
6. That other, other, other time, when you took a taxi to the Ritz to rescue me. You know what I mean.
7. Being the most patient man in the face of pregnancy hormones which, now I see in retrospect, were off the charts.
8. Being a better father than I even thought you would be. And that's saying a lot, because even at 19, I knew you would make a fantastic dad.
9. Being so supportive of my career, even though it is a tough one for married couples, and an even tougher one for families.
10. For getting into a bar fight that one time over my honor. (I know that never happened, but I believe that it would, if the opportunity presented itself. Or maybe I'm just deluding myself with my little fantasy.)
11. For crying with me and holding me when we lost Maddy. And Hector.
12. For sticking it out for 12 years, for growing up with me, for making me know that what we have is better than a relationship where you send me flowers but don't share your entire life with me.
There's a lot more, of course, but most of them consist of "for going to Taco Bell to get me Crunchy Taco Supremes in the middle of the night" (and believe me, there were a lot of those).
But you get the idea.
Okay, that's not exactly true. He's brought flowers on a few selected occasions that had very little to do with a momentous event, i.e. our anniversary, my birthday or Valentine's Day.
BPD gets a lot of flack for this. Especially when I see the flowers sitting at the reception desk for another co-worker who is celebrating a momentous day, and super especially on Valentine's Day when the receptionist I'm sure feels more like a florist than a receptionist. I can only ogle, and drool, and seethe.
As I get wiser (read: older), and realize that I will soon be married longer than my parents were, and that other friends and family who were married around the same time I was are now divorced, I'm starting to realize the true meaning of flowers: they are beautiful, they are thoughtful, but they are temporary and their meaning doesn't last longer than the last wilted petal.
In our 12 (yeah, you read that right, 12) years together, BPD has done so many things whose impact has lasted WAAAAY longer than the time between when you get a nice set of flowers and you throw them away because you're embarrassed that such decrepit, moldy flora is still on your desk.
So on this, a day that otherwise means nothing whatsoever, I sit to memorialize the 12 things my husband has done that beat flowers hands down (get it, like a dozen?):
1. Moving from Canada to California to take a chance on a girl you hardly knew.
2. Working at that job you hated to put me through law school.
3. That one time, when we were living in that small house in San Diego with the crappy heater, you let me put my cold feet on you. That is when I knew this was real love.
4. That other time, when we were staying in an airport-adjacent hotel the night before flying out, and you drove all the way home to get my makeup that I forgot.
5. That other, other time, when you flew down to San Diego to rescue me from taking care of a 4 month old when I was feverish, sick, and alone. (of course, I had to call the Menlo Park police to wake your ass up since you wouldn't answer your cell phone, but that's a story for another time)
6. That other, other, other time, when you took a taxi to the Ritz to rescue me. You know what I mean.
7. Being the most patient man in the face of pregnancy hormones which, now I see in retrospect, were off the charts.
8. Being a better father than I even thought you would be. And that's saying a lot, because even at 19, I knew you would make a fantastic dad.
9. Being so supportive of my career, even though it is a tough one for married couples, and an even tougher one for families.
10. For getting into a bar fight that one time over my honor. (I know that never happened, but I believe that it would, if the opportunity presented itself. Or maybe I'm just deluding myself with my little fantasy.)
11. For crying with me and holding me when we lost Maddy. And Hector.
12. For sticking it out for 12 years, for growing up with me, for making me know that what we have is better than a relationship where you send me flowers but don't share your entire life with me.
There's a lot more, of course, but most of them consist of "for going to Taco Bell to get me Crunchy Taco Supremes in the middle of the night" (and believe me, there were a lot of those).
But you get the idea.
Monday, August 25, 2008
one of the nice things about having a few extra bucks
when you've had a bad day, pounding headache, everyone just wants wants wants from you such that you can't get your work done, computer crashes, you can't have a cocktail during dinner because your toddler spazzes before you even get in the restaurant -- you can drive yourself to the local little market, and buy the GOOD vodka because this is not the day to go cheap.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
the little things that are so stupid
when you click on my profile, and my picture appears, it asks if you want to view it "full size" (wait, why does that sound like an innuendo? but I digress). When you click on the View Full Size link, a new window comes up - with the picture the same size! Duh blogger, "in a new window" does not equal "full size."
Thursday, July 24, 2008
bring on the kool-aid, 'cuz I'll drink it
Feeling pretty impressed about the idea of Facebook Connect, after seeing the keynotes at F8 yesterday. You go out and conquer the world, Facebook...I'll be here to help (on the trademarking, anyway).
Sunday, July 13, 2008
working, argh
Getting very sick of working on the weekends. Life of a lawyer, I know, but I miss the fam.
At least I'm working on something I like -- As of 2 months ago, I (well, my firm actually, but I'll take the credit) am trademark counsel to Facebook. They are a very fun client. And I'm LEGITIMATELY on Facebook like every day.
At least I'm working on something I like -- As of 2 months ago, I (well, my firm actually, but I'll take the credit) am trademark counsel to Facebook. They are a very fun client. And I'm LEGITIMATELY on Facebook like every day.
Friday, July 4, 2008
it's only freaking DAYCARE, but we are snobs nonetheless
The time has come to choose a daycare for Erin. Shawn will be going back to school in September, bringing an end to the full-time stay at home dad era. (Of course, the full-time stay at home mom era ended LAST September when I went back to work, but that's neither here nor there, just a little jealousy on my part ... seriously, I do love my job, but sometimes I am envious of the fact that if a playdate (unlike work) is no longer fun, you can just leave... but I digress).
Even though September is a few months off, the title fight is happening now, as two daycare centers where we've had Erin on the list are offering her a spot and want our answer Monday. Here are the contenders:
In this corner, weighing in at a total of 160 kids, from ages 6 weeks to 4.5 years, is the Children's Preschool Center (CPSC). A veteran player at 24 years old (NAEYC accredited for 17), CPSC has a lot going for it: good curriculum for the pre-school set (3 and up), a large outdoor facility, and the opportunity for on-site extra curricular activities such as piano and dance (also starting at 3 and up). There's also a catered lunch option for you fans (read: parents) who just can't seem to get your act together. CPSC has had some struggles, including a less than sparkling cleanliness, and seemingly little parental involvement.
And, in the other corner, weighing in at a total of 144 kids (but seeming to have a lot less), is the Children's Center of the Stanford Community ("Stanford"). A parent-involved co-op, Stanford has been around since 1969, with the last 19 years accredited by NAEYC. A clean, bright, and cozy facility (even if somewhat small-ish), Stanford's main drawback is that it only has a 4 day a week spot (okay, only a drawback if you are seeking a 3 day a week spot). And there's the fact that the parents have to bring snacks for the whole class, only a drawback if you're one of those parents that can't seem to get your act together (as noted above).
Both contenders have been weighed (read: inspected carefully by an annoying million-question-asking trademarkmama), and after several bouts of discussion, one has emerged triumphant: Stanford.
Why? Because we're snobs.
okay, okay, not just because we're snobs. We like the co-op aspect better (parents there all the time, a huge plus). And we got a better vibe from the place (less institutional and more likely to be customized or flexible to our needs - I likened it to a microbrew versus MGD). And it is on the way from home to work or school, and the other is like a good 3 miles the wrong way.
And even though I liked the pre-school curriculum better at CPSC, and the potential for other activities, we are going to settle on Stanford despite the fact that they only have a 4 day spot.
Because it's Stanford.
For Shawn, he wants to be able to say that his daughter is only 14 months old and goes to Stanford.
For me, I have this irrational idea that since we've had her on the waiting list at Stanford for over a YEAR AND A HALF (as compared to 3 months with CPSC), it MUST be better because it's more exclusive, right??? (yeah, I know, I fall prey to the "if you put a velvet rope outside a club it must be exclusive" line of thinking).
Hey, it's not as if our snobbery is to her detriment - Stanford is a great facility, and I think she'll really love it there. (As an aside, as I see her morph into this very social, very active little busybee, I am much much more comfortable with the decision to put her in daycare in the first place - when we visited both places, she practically wormed her way into the classrooms and playgrounds and could give a smurf whether we were there at all).
But, I'm willing to call it what it is - we're snobs, and so our daughter is going to Stanford come fall.
Can I get one of those t-shirts or bumper stickers that says "My husband AND my daughter and my money go to Stanford?"
Even though September is a few months off, the title fight is happening now, as two daycare centers where we've had Erin on the list are offering her a spot and want our answer Monday. Here are the contenders:
In this corner, weighing in at a total of 160 kids, from ages 6 weeks to 4.5 years, is the Children's Preschool Center (CPSC). A veteran player at 24 years old (NAEYC accredited for 17), CPSC has a lot going for it: good curriculum for the pre-school set (3 and up), a large outdoor facility, and the opportunity for on-site extra curricular activities such as piano and dance (also starting at 3 and up). There's also a catered lunch option for you fans (read: parents) who just can't seem to get your act together. CPSC has had some struggles, including a less than sparkling cleanliness, and seemingly little parental involvement.
And, in the other corner, weighing in at a total of 144 kids (but seeming to have a lot less), is the Children's Center of the Stanford Community ("Stanford"). A parent-involved co-op, Stanford has been around since 1969, with the last 19 years accredited by NAEYC. A clean, bright, and cozy facility (even if somewhat small-ish), Stanford's main drawback is that it only has a 4 day a week spot (okay, only a drawback if you are seeking a 3 day a week spot). And there's the fact that the parents have to bring snacks for the whole class, only a drawback if you're one of those parents that can't seem to get your act together (as noted above).
Both contenders have been weighed (read: inspected carefully by an annoying million-question-asking trademarkmama), and after several bouts of discussion, one has emerged triumphant: Stanford.
Why? Because we're snobs.
okay, okay, not just because we're snobs. We like the co-op aspect better (parents there all the time, a huge plus). And we got a better vibe from the place (less institutional and more likely to be customized or flexible to our needs - I likened it to a microbrew versus MGD). And it is on the way from home to work or school, and the other is like a good 3 miles the wrong way.
And even though I liked the pre-school curriculum better at CPSC, and the potential for other activities, we are going to settle on Stanford despite the fact that they only have a 4 day spot.
Because it's Stanford.
For Shawn, he wants to be able to say that his daughter is only 14 months old and goes to Stanford.
For me, I have this irrational idea that since we've had her on the waiting list at Stanford for over a YEAR AND A HALF (as compared to 3 months with CPSC), it MUST be better because it's more exclusive, right??? (yeah, I know, I fall prey to the "if you put a velvet rope outside a club it must be exclusive" line of thinking).
Hey, it's not as if our snobbery is to her detriment - Stanford is a great facility, and I think she'll really love it there. (As an aside, as I see her morph into this very social, very active little busybee, I am much much more comfortable with the decision to put her in daycare in the first place - when we visited both places, she practically wormed her way into the classrooms and playgrounds and could give a smurf whether we were there at all).
But, I'm willing to call it what it is - we're snobs, and so our daughter is going to Stanford come fall.
Can I get one of those t-shirts or bumper stickers that says "My husband AND my daughter and my money go to Stanford?"
Monday, June 16, 2008
Trademarkmama Embodied, or, my two loves collide
I went to Target on Saturday. For me, no surprise. In fact, on my way there, I mused over writing a blog post about how Target comes in third in places I am at the most (work, and home, being first and second, and sometimes in that order, sometimes not).
There are two Target stores somewhat nearby, and the one we tend to frequent has these huge, red, well, balls out front. I think they're supposed to keep you from driving into the store or something. Everytime we go to this Target, Erin's eyes light up at the huge balls, and she exclaims "ba!" and insists on running between each of them and touching them at least 7 times before we're permitted to enter.
On Saturday, we did not go to the big balls Target. We went to the OTHER Target which, lamentably, is big ball free.
Yet, when we approached the store, Erin exclaimed "ba?"
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?
Did my daughter just demonstrate an understanding of Trade Dress?
For ye of the uninitiated, Trade Dress typically refers to the look and feel of something (a store, restaurant, product packaging, website, etc.) that serves as a source indicator for the company. It's like a trademark, except it is not an actual word or slogan. One of the most famous examples of Trade Dress is the shape of the Coca-Cola bottle. Even if you take the label off the bottle, you still recognize the shape of the bottle as being from Coke.
Anyway, Target has done a great job of associating itself with the color red, thus arguably making the color red part of Target's Trade Dress.
And, I SWEAR, Erin somehow got this. I am convinced that when we approached the non-ball Target store, which is entirely red (like the balled Target store), she recognized the red, and associated it with the other Target that had the balls. And then wondered where the balls are.
balls. balls. balls. (sorry, just had to)
On Saturday, my daughter grasped a concept that even some the junior attorneys that work with me cannot grasp. Freakin' awesome.
There are two Target stores somewhat nearby, and the one we tend to frequent has these huge, red, well, balls out front. I think they're supposed to keep you from driving into the store or something. Everytime we go to this Target, Erin's eyes light up at the huge balls, and she exclaims "ba!" and insists on running between each of them and touching them at least 7 times before we're permitted to enter.
On Saturday, we did not go to the big balls Target. We went to the OTHER Target which, lamentably, is big ball free.
Yet, when we approached the store, Erin exclaimed "ba?"
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?
Did my daughter just demonstrate an understanding of Trade Dress?
For ye of the uninitiated, Trade Dress typically refers to the look and feel of something (a store, restaurant, product packaging, website, etc.) that serves as a source indicator for the company. It's like a trademark, except it is not an actual word or slogan. One of the most famous examples of Trade Dress is the shape of the Coca-Cola bottle. Even if you take the label off the bottle, you still recognize the shape of the bottle as being from Coke.
Anyway, Target has done a great job of associating itself with the color red, thus arguably making the color red part of Target's Trade Dress.
And, I SWEAR, Erin somehow got this. I am convinced that when we approached the non-ball Target store, which is entirely red (like the balled Target store), she recognized the red, and associated it with the other Target that had the balls. And then wondered where the balls are.
balls. balls. balls. (sorry, just had to)
On Saturday, my daughter grasped a concept that even some the junior attorneys that work with me cannot grasp. Freakin' awesome.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Yes, And I Feel Fine
BPD and I were on a plane when it happened. For other pregnant women, I don't know if it happened all at once (like for me), or gradually over the 9 months.
But for me, it was at 7 months. It was when I loved her for the first time.
BPD and I were off to our "babymoon," a few days relaxing at a spa in Laguna Beach, still a few months before I ate so much that I felt a wheelbarrow was in order.
After we reached 10,000 feet (why is that the magic number?), I popped in the buds and turned on the pod.
And on came James Taylor. It was "Something In The Way She Moves," a song which I had always liked and always found romantic.
*****
Something in the way she moves, or looks my way, or calls my name that seems to leave this troubled world behind. And if I'm feeling down and blue or troubled by some foolish game, she always seems to make me change my mind.
And I feel fine anytime she's around me now, she's around me now almost about all the time. And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now. She's been with me now quite a long, long time and I feel fine.
Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning and I find myself careening in places where I should not let me go.
She has the power to go where no one else can find me and to silently remind me of the happiness and the good times that I know, and then I just got to go then.
It isn't what she's got to say but how she thinks and where she's been. To me, the words are nice, the way they sound.
I like to hear them best that way, it doesn't much matter what they mean. She says them mostly just to calm me down.
And I feel fine anytime she's around me now, she's around me now almost about all the time.
And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now. She's been with me now quite a long, long time and I feel fine.
***
As I listened to the words that I knew by heart, it struck me that the words didn't necessarily have to refer to a lover...they could refer to a daughter.
And that's when I knew
she
would
change
everything.
And I burst into tears.
BPD was wondering whether my crazy pregnancy hormones made me hate airplane peanuts. The dude in the window seat was undoubtedly wondering whether I was going into labor.
and I was wondering how I didn't feel this before.
You see, I hadn't yet felt that really strong connection to my baby. Sure, I loved her in the abstract, but this was the moment of the heart faltering, breath wheezing, tear streaming, OH MY GOD SHE'S A PART OF ME.
I heard the song again last night, driving home way too late from work. Same tears, less awkward locale.
But for me, it was at 7 months. It was when I loved her for the first time.
BPD and I were off to our "babymoon," a few days relaxing at a spa in Laguna Beach, still a few months before I ate so much that I felt a wheelbarrow was in order.
After we reached 10,000 feet (why is that the magic number?), I popped in the buds and turned on the pod.
And on came James Taylor. It was "Something In The Way She Moves," a song which I had always liked and always found romantic.
*****
Something in the way she moves, or looks my way, or calls my name that seems to leave this troubled world behind. And if I'm feeling down and blue or troubled by some foolish game, she always seems to make me change my mind.
And I feel fine anytime she's around me now, she's around me now almost about all the time. And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now. She's been with me now quite a long, long time and I feel fine.
Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning and I find myself careening in places where I should not let me go.
She has the power to go where no one else can find me and to silently remind me of the happiness and the good times that I know, and then I just got to go then.
It isn't what she's got to say but how she thinks and where she's been. To me, the words are nice, the way they sound.
I like to hear them best that way, it doesn't much matter what they mean. She says them mostly just to calm me down.
And I feel fine anytime she's around me now, she's around me now almost about all the time.
And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now. She's been with me now quite a long, long time and I feel fine.
***
As I listened to the words that I knew by heart, it struck me that the words didn't necessarily have to refer to a lover...they could refer to a daughter.
And that's when I knew
she
would
change
everything.
And I burst into tears.
BPD was wondering whether my crazy pregnancy hormones made me hate airplane peanuts. The dude in the window seat was undoubtedly wondering whether I was going into labor.
and I was wondering how I didn't feel this before.
You see, I hadn't yet felt that really strong connection to my baby. Sure, I loved her in the abstract, but this was the moment of the heart faltering, breath wheezing, tear streaming, OH MY GOD SHE'S A PART OF ME.
I heard the song again last night, driving home way too late from work. Same tears, less awkward locale.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
I'm so totally going to do it
Had a playdate this late afternoon/early evening with E (Mom) and T (baby) - one of the mommies I met at a parents group that is so rockin' awesome I wish I'd been friends with her for years. (We're both the type of mom that will let our kids eat off the floor, and I love her for that. Our daughters ate blueberries off the floor tonight - it was awesome).
The plan was for the babies to play, and then we'd all have dinner together and part ways. E was going to provide dinner, so I brought two small desserts for after.
As it turns out, the babies needed to be fed earlier, I ate too many chips, so by the time it was necessary to take Erin home, I hadn't yet had dinner.
But I DID take my desserts with me. (At E's insistence - lest you think I am a MONSTER).
So, here it is, 10 pm, and I did not have dinner. But I DO have two desserts.
Oh smurf* it, I'm going to eat them both.
*Author's Note: Given that Erin is now repeating a lot of what we say, I am in the process of cleaning up my sailor mouth to turn me into a semi-respectable mommy. Because I know that I won't be able to delete expletives completely from my vocabulary, I have endeavored to use a variation of "smurf" when another word would normally come flying out of my mouth. Mostly it's to clean up my language - but I can't wait until Erin asks me for her smurfing milk.
The plan was for the babies to play, and then we'd all have dinner together and part ways. E was going to provide dinner, so I brought two small desserts for after.
As it turns out, the babies needed to be fed earlier, I ate too many chips, so by the time it was necessary to take Erin home, I hadn't yet had dinner.
But I DID take my desserts with me. (At E's insistence - lest you think I am a MONSTER).
So, here it is, 10 pm, and I did not have dinner. But I DO have two desserts.
Oh smurf* it, I'm going to eat them both.
*Author's Note: Given that Erin is now repeating a lot of what we say, I am in the process of cleaning up my sailor mouth to turn me into a semi-respectable mommy. Because I know that I won't be able to delete expletives completely from my vocabulary, I have endeavored to use a variation of "smurf" when another word would normally come flying out of my mouth. Mostly it's to clean up my language - but I can't wait until Erin asks me for her smurfing milk.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I'm it?
So, I got tagged. Being new at this blog thing, I'm not sure if it is the equivalent of a chain email, or something else.
But, (also being new at this blog thing), I'm somewhat flattered. So I'll answer, but I don't think I know anyone in the blogging world well enough to tag anyone else, so I'll answer the last question truthfully.
What was I doing 10 years ago?
In May 1998, I was living in San Diego with BPD, going to college full time, working at a bank part time, and wondering with BPD was going to propose to me. (It was like 2 months later, but I'd already booked the ballroom for the wedding, a fact that has BPD still smarting. But you know how hard it is to get into a good event location, right?)
Five Snacks I Enjoy:
1. Salt and Vinegar Chips
2. Dulce De Leche ice cream
3. Jelly Bellys
4. Good 'n' Plentys
5. Oranges
Things I Would Do If I Were a Billionaire:
1. Buy a pied a terre in the Marais in Paris
2. Open my own public interest law firm
3. Pay off my family's debts
4. Have more kids
5. Figure out how to keep those gets from getting spoiled
Five Places I Have Lived:
1. Hilo, Hawaii
2. Fullerton, California
3. Buena Park, California
4. San Diego, California
5. Menlo Park, California
Five People I Want to Get to Know Better (seriously):
1. Walt Disney (I don't care that he's dead)
2. Brad Bird
3. Zach Braff
4. The dude I saw today riding his bike, smoking a pipe
5. Erin
But, (also being new at this blog thing), I'm somewhat flattered. So I'll answer, but I don't think I know anyone in the blogging world well enough to tag anyone else, so I'll answer the last question truthfully.
What was I doing 10 years ago?
In May 1998, I was living in San Diego with BPD, going to college full time, working at a bank part time, and wondering with BPD was going to propose to me. (It was like 2 months later, but I'd already booked the ballroom for the wedding, a fact that has BPD still smarting. But you know how hard it is to get into a good event location, right?)
Five Snacks I Enjoy:
1. Salt and Vinegar Chips
2. Dulce De Leche ice cream
3. Jelly Bellys
4. Good 'n' Plentys
5. Oranges
Things I Would Do If I Were a Billionaire:
1. Buy a pied a terre in the Marais in Paris
2. Open my own public interest law firm
3. Pay off my family's debts
4. Have more kids
5. Figure out how to keep those gets from getting spoiled
Five Places I Have Lived:
1. Hilo, Hawaii
2. Fullerton, California
3. Buena Park, California
4. San Diego, California
5. Menlo Park, California
Five People I Want to Get to Know Better (seriously):
1. Walt Disney (I don't care that he's dead)
2. Brad Bird
3. Zach Braff
4. The dude I saw today riding his bike, smoking a pipe
5. Erin
A shout out to single parents
So, Backpacking dad is out of town this week, so I am solo mommy until Sunday.
Wake up. Bottle. Get me ready. Get her ready. Get her breakfast ready. Get stuff ready for daycare. Drop her off at daycare (with attendant crying). Work all day. Pick up. Bring back to office because everytime she is in the backup daycare, I can't seem to finish what I have to do before it is time to pick her up. Go home. "Make" dinner. Bath. Bottle. Sing songs. Get her to bed. Clean kitchen. Work more. Get me to bed.
Rinse. Repeat.
I have so much respect for single parents, I truly wonder how they do it.
I also wonder when Scott Baio is going to get here.
Wake up. Bottle. Get me ready. Get her ready. Get her breakfast ready. Get stuff ready for daycare. Drop her off at daycare (with attendant crying). Work all day. Pick up. Bring back to office because everytime she is in the backup daycare, I can't seem to finish what I have to do before it is time to pick her up. Go home. "Make" dinner. Bath. Bottle. Sing songs. Get her to bed. Clean kitchen. Work more. Get me to bed.
Rinse. Repeat.
I have so much respect for single parents, I truly wonder how they do it.
I also wonder when Scott Baio is going to get here.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I wish I had been the Attorney of Record
Eighty years ago tomorrow (May 21, 1928), Walt Disney filed an application for the trademark MICKEY MOUSE with the US Patent and Trademark Office.
I'm sure he had no idea what he was starting. Or maybe he did. Whatever people may say about Walt, he was the true meaning of a visionary.
and one of my personal heroes.
I'm sure he had no idea what he was starting. Or maybe he did. Whatever people may say about Walt, he was the true meaning of a visionary.
and one of my personal heroes.
Monday, May 19, 2008
I Saw The Sign - Literally
ok, so weird relation back to my earlier post about Ace of Base (i'd link to it here with some sort of fancy hyperlink thingy, but 1 - if you can't just scroll down, well,... and 2- I don't really know how to do that fancy stuff anyway)
On the way into work this morning, I was thinking about signs - street signs, road signs, advertisements, and about whether I could make them mean anything to me.
Ravenswood Ave - nope.
Menlo Park Library - no ephiphany there.
Starbucks Coffee - nothing monumentous there, other than a reminder to feed my addiction (Emily pulls into the 'bucks parking lot...)
Be Prepared to Stop - WHOA nelly. A sign that would otherwise tell me that there was construction going on ahead made me pause. Be Prepared to Stop WHAT? Working? Stressing? Wiping my boogers under the bed when I'm too lazy to get up and get a tissue? (c'mon, you know you do it)
How am I supposed to Be Prepared to Stop when I don't know what it is? For now, I'll focus on the booger thing. I guess being prepared would mean more tissues in the nightstand.
OK universe, you win this one. Tissues it is.
On the way into work this morning, I was thinking about signs - street signs, road signs, advertisements, and about whether I could make them mean anything to me.
Ravenswood Ave - nope.
Menlo Park Library - no ephiphany there.
Starbucks Coffee - nothing monumentous there, other than a reminder to feed my addiction (Emily pulls into the 'bucks parking lot...)
Be Prepared to Stop - WHOA nelly. A sign that would otherwise tell me that there was construction going on ahead made me pause. Be Prepared to Stop WHAT? Working? Stressing? Wiping my boogers under the bed when I'm too lazy to get up and get a tissue? (c'mon, you know you do it)
How am I supposed to Be Prepared to Stop when I don't know what it is? For now, I'll focus on the booger thing. I guess being prepared would mean more tissues in the nightstand.
OK universe, you win this one. Tissues it is.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
What Could Have Been
Today, Shawn took Erin to GeekFest..or, GeekCon - Geek-a-palooza?
In any event, Wil Wheaton was there, and Erin took a picture with him. This wasn't just a random act of geekness. There is a backstory:
When I was 12, I had a HUGE crush on Wil Wheaton. HUGE. I liked him so much, I wanted to, like, KISS him. (*gasp*).
As I look at this picture, I wonder what would have happened had my 12 year old self had her way.
First of all, there's no way my daughter would have been as cute as she is. I mean, as cute as Wil is (yeah, and he still looks pretty cute 18+ years later), my husband is WAY cuter. No contest.
Secondly, there's no way he could love my child as much as Shawn does. That's because nobody else could - ever.
Lastly, [CENSORED].
************************************************************************************
Oh, and hello to the mommy bloggers that may have made their way over here from Backpacking Dad, and who secretly wonder what kind of chick snagged such a great guy. It's me - my interests include Otter Pops.
Why do I Love Ace of Base?
Last night, "I Saw The Sign" popped up on the iPod. I rolled down the windows. I opened the moonroof. I cranked that volume up to, like, 45. And I screamed along as if I were shooting for worst contestant on American Idol.
I'd like to be able to say that it's because it was 11:15 at night, and I was coming home from work, and I was tired -- both mentally and physically.
I'd LIKE to be able to say that. But it isn't true.
Even today, with decent night's sleep under my belt (I have a toddler, I'll never have a GOOD night's sleep again), with a good breakfast and a cup of coffee, I'd still crank it up.
"Life is demanding, without understanding?" C'mon, it's Swedish gold. (or are they Norwegian?) I mean, it's no "you live for the fight when it's all that you've got" but nobody beats Bon Jovi.
I'd like to be able to say that it's because it was 11:15 at night, and I was coming home from work, and I was tired -- both mentally and physically.
I'd LIKE to be able to say that. But it isn't true.
Even today, with decent night's sleep under my belt (I have a toddler, I'll never have a GOOD night's sleep again), with a good breakfast and a cup of coffee, I'd still crank it up.
"Life is demanding, without understanding?" C'mon, it's Swedish gold. (or are they Norwegian?) I mean, it's no "you live for the fight when it's all that you've got" but nobody beats Bon Jovi.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Emily Works In Mysterous Ways
As the saying goes, "God works in mysterious ways." It's supposed to be a way to get you to see some sort of silver lining or good side of a bad thing that happens to you.
My question is: why does he get to do that? None of the REST of us get to work in mysterious ways.
Just once, when one of my too-many bosses asks me why I made a certain judgment call, I'd like to say: "Be patient. Emily works in mysterious ways."
If I said that, I'd surely be fired. And go to hell. Not sure which one is worse.
My question is: why does he get to do that? None of the REST of us get to work in mysterious ways.
Just once, when one of my too-many bosses asks me why I made a certain judgment call, I'd like to say: "Be patient. Emily works in mysterious ways."
If I said that, I'd surely be fired. And go to hell. Not sure which one is worse.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Fabulousness
As I was watching the preview for the Sex and the City Movie, it occurred to me that I am not fabulous.
I am a lot of things, and most of those things are positive (cute, funny, smart, etc...), but I am not fabulous.
I don't even know how to go about being fabulous. I think it involves large purses.
I am a lot of things, and most of those things are positive (cute, funny, smart, etc...), but I am not fabulous.
I don't even know how to go about being fabulous. I think it involves large purses.
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