clickmom

From the twilight zone aka: Alaska

OK- I am desperately trying to post froma tiny  little store in the middle of nowhere with a giant satellite dish that I can buy some interent time. Every one thinks I am checking my email.

I don't know what day it is, there is no communication with the outside world (barely) all I know is that I am so not as rugged as I thought I was. I have become a luxury princess and this is not a luxury cruise.  I'll give you all the details when I get home, but just know that this morning when I tumbled out of my tiny hard little bunk to use the communal bathroom, my feet went squish and I thought for a second that maybe, just maybe the boat was sinking and I got all excited that I would be able to go back to civilization.  I had decided that I would just leave everything except my CF card from the camera to sink, and replace it all.   It turned out to be an over filled water tank.  Boring. Damn.

On a less negative note, Alaska sure is beautiful, even when it is raining. (90% of our time here so far) I'll show you all the gray landscape photos when I get home. 

There is some hope that the weather is going to turn and maybe, just maybe we can have a day or two of blue skies before the end of our adventure. 

We haven't seen a bear yet, but have enjoyed a few bear poo spottings.  We have seen whales, porpoises, and sea lions.  Also an eagle  who tormented me by bobbing his head around in his nest and not coming out.  I am keeping my eyes open for more.  The vacation will not be complete without a Moose.  I won't leave without seeing a moose.

I'll post again if I can, otherwise we are off the boat on Sunday.

sharing from Alaska

Yay, our first night in Juneau and we have an internet connection because we are not on the boat yet.  So, what do I want to share about our journey so far?

1. There were three steward/stewardesses servicing our plane today.  At first I sat there thinking they were all too blonde and pretty to be for real and wondering if we were going to be some sort of candid camera prank.  Then the big announcement came on introducing them and their names were... Brad, Lacey, and Amy.  Uh, hello day time soaps??

2. Matt, who packed his own backpack for the plane decided that one vital item for this trip would be his personal easy button.  You know the one they sell at staples that says, in a very reassuring tone, "That was easy" every time you press it.  I'm not sure why he thought it would be required during our Alaskan cruise, but he did, and on the way off the plane the button became jostled in Matt's back ppack and repeated "That was easy.  That was easy.  That was easy."  all the way up the jet way.

3. My period began exactly one hour after we disembarked the plane.

4. It hasn't stoppped raining since we landed 6 hours ago. 

5. Josh's new red boots turned his new white socks pink.  Well, spotted pink.

6. Tomorrow we get on the boat.   I am still afraid it will sink.  It will sink and I won't have internet to share with you.

see ya!

I am going to Alaska tomorrow for a little vacation. Everyone knows that when the mom has to clean organize and pack for the whole family that it is actually relaxing right? Oh yeah, not to mention hacking my lungs out, low grade fever, and PMS. I am sure to come back well rested, that is if we make it back. We have to take connecting flights which I figure doubles the chances of us being killed by terrorists. Also, I have a secret fear the boat will sink.

So anyways, I am fairly certain there will be no internet (sobbing over here) on the boat and I won't be able to post. We are bringing the husband's laptop, just in case and for DVD viewing, but the P key is broken so two or three P's appear every time I hit it. If I can post from his laptop, then you'll see what I mean. If by some chance the husband's blackberry works (and for the first time ever I am hoping it works) I might try to email Boops and ask her to post for me. In either case you'll have to excuse the typos.

Well, internet, dear friend, I'll be seeing you.

he can't hardy stand it

When we go to visit my grandma we take her out to lunch at the restaurant closest to her apartment. Near the bathrooms they have a big advertising free postcard display where you can pick up a free post card advertising a NY event. We often pick up post cards and then write them to the kid's friends while we wait for our food. I just came across one that never got sent. It is from Josh to his friend Little Matt. It shows you just a fraction of why Josh is the sweetest most huggable kid.

The post card says:

Dear Little Matt,

I think, a little bit, that there is such a thing called monsters.

I love my mom so much that I can't hardly stand it.

Your friend, Josh

old friends

About a week ago I got an email from an old friend I hadn't heard from in almost 25 years.

When I was 16 I begged my parents not to make me go back to sleep-away camp. My sister and I had been shipped off for the entire summer our entire childhoods and I never liked it and was dreading going back. My parents told me I had to go somewhere and made me go on a teen tour instead. My parents wouldn't let me go on the half camping teen tour I wanted to go on and made me go on an all hotel one. They didn't think I was tough enough to camp. I wasn't enthusiastic for that trip, but at least it wasn't camp. When I met up with the group at the airport I got really scared. Most of the kids were a year younger than me and two years behind me in school. Also, they were the most spoiled group of princesses ever. They were not my "I am a cool kid from the city" style. The summer wasn't starting on a high note.

I spent the first two or three (or 6 or 7) days of the tour shop lifting key chains so that I could get caught and sent home, but it turns out that I am a pretty good shoplifter. I even slipped one into my bag while chatting with the lady behind the counter at one gift shop and didn't get nabbed. I also quickly formed a tight bond with one of the other girls on the trip. She was not a spoiled princess but instead a bit of a Tom Boy from Massachusetts. She and I always managed to room together (there were usually 4 or 5 in a room) and quickly realized that if we stayed up most of the night talking we could spend the 6 or 7 hour bus ride the next day fast asleep. We talked through many nights. We slept through many bus rides. Today I cannot tell you what we talked about, I just know we did.

When we got home after the tour ended we continued our friendship long distance. Things started to get weird when she began talking about giving up her life long dream of going to Harvard so that she could graduate a year early and go off to college with me. I told her she was nuts and didn't understand why she would want to do that. Then we both went to one of the tour princesses Sweet 16 party. At the party my friend got sad, started bawling her eyes out and told me that she didn't understand what was going on and that she loved me like a boyfriend. A HA!! I don't remember what I said, I remember not being able to comfort her because I was appalled at the amount of boogers coming out of her nose, and honestly, the degree that she was upset was more shocking to me than what she was saying. I am pretty sure I never saw her again, and don't remember if we talked.

Well, a couple of weeks ago I get an email from the friend! She remembered what High School I went to and found me through their alumni web site. She sent me a nice letter, telling me that she had thought of me through the years, and always thought about trying to find me when she had passed through NYC for some business. We emailed back and forth and in one of her emails she wrote that she knew she was gay once she read my letter and should probably thank me. OMG. What- did -I -say- to- her?!? Because people, I know that when I was 16 I thought I had it all figured out- and I was so wrong. We exchanged a few emails back and forth, but that is it. We exchanged photos, and she was the girl in the suit with the tie. I imagine she'll call if she is in town. That would be OK with me. She has a bike shop- so we have that in common.

Then a couple of days ago I get another email from another long lost friend. Only this friend was my friend from the time I was 9 until we were about 23. This friend and I went to the spoiled kids sleep-away camp together (you see why I wanted to get away from those kind of kids) and we were in the outsiders group for all those years. We spent the winters of our entire teenage years on the phone with each other (Again- I have no idea what we talked about except we did share an obsession with our weight and what we ate every day.) We kept in touch through college, and then for a while once we were home. It was after college that we went our separate ways.

We fell out of touch when I was first living with the husband. She was breaking up with her boyfriend at the time. We were heading in different directions. I wanted a family more than anything and she wanted a career first and foremost. We didn't understand each other. This week we exchanged a couple of emails and then today we talked on the phone for over an hour. She has a great career and a big circle of friends. I am married with kids (and have great friends too). We'll see if we can get together in the city one day this summer. I am a little worried that after we pour over the old pictures there won't be anything left to say.

Hmmm.. I wonder if she ever considered doing a triathlon.

Since this is starting off as the summer of lost friends I am wondering if any one else out there is going to try to find me. I hope so. I love the internet.

what a girl wants what a dog needs

I have this interesting mix of stressors going on right now. First I am experiencing my standard pre-travel anxiety (translation: bitchiness caused by the fear of dying in an airplane coupled by the belief that there is no place in the world I would rather be than right where I am now. Sorry, but traveling doesn't excite me.) while also enjoying my more homicidal than ever before in my life (I blame the hormones dammit!!) PMS, not to be topped by the thrill of inviting 27 nine year olds over for an outdoor party at my own house when every day of the 5 day forecast leading up to the outdoor party guarantees rain on the evening of the party, even though it doesn't actually rain on the big day, I still got to enjoy there prepubescent company. As if that wasn't enough, let's toss in a good upper respiratory infection that makes me hock up phlegm when horizontal, as in no sleep for mama, but hey who could sleep anyways when I have been binging on all the candy that the kiddies didn't eat at the party!!

Because of the upper respiratory thing my normally sweet voice has been transformed into a deep throaty whiskey drinking vixen voice. and. I . like. it. this. way !!! This new voice, it gives me the courage to actually speak my mind! And to come up with those great lines that normally I don't come up with until a good five minutes later. For example yesterday when I ran into the pet food store to pick up some food for devil dog I was greeted by the perky new boy, summer help, he asked me if there was anything he could get for me. I said yes, I needed the diet version of a particular food, pointing to the brand I give the devil dog. He said "What do you want that for?" Now. normally I would have gotten all flustered and doubted my ability to select the right kind of dog food for my dog, but this time I just stared right into this young man's and unsuspecting eyes and answered "For my fat dog." He hung his head, shuffled away, and asked the boss if there was anymore of the kind I wanted. I had to suppress the laughter until I left the store. I am going to be so sad when my normal voice returns.

Evan has a party

Evan's birthday is in April. Every year starting around January I ask him what kind of birthday he would like because if he wants to have a bowling party, for example, (my personal first choice) because we have to reserve lanes a few months in advance. Evan can never make up his mind, and I just keep asking every now and then, letting him know when we are too late to plan anything in time for his birthday, and eventually the birthday passes us by. Then June rolls around and Evan realizes that if he doesn't get his party in before the end of school he isn't getting one that year.

One issue that contributes to Evan's inability to make a decision is his desire for a unique and exciting party. He doesn't want to have a party like any he has been to before. Last year (on the last of school) we rented a 35 foot blow up slip-in-slide and then it rained on the day of Evan's party making the slip-in-slide even faster- the kids had a ball.

This year Evan (on the last day of school) went with a drive in movie theme. We got a DVD projector and a screen. We gave the kids hot dogs and fries, and when it got dark we put a movie on in the backyard. The kids had blankets and chairs to sit on and I kept them well fed. It turned out to be a great (but very late) evening. Naturally, being myself, I forgot to bring out the pinata, serve the birthday cake and give out the goody bags, but otherwise the evening was a big success and I am not even sure if the kids noticed. Besides I gave them so much food, candy and popped corn, that by the time I did whip out the cake (when Peanut came to pick up her kid and asked what the dessert had been) none of the kids wanted any. The parents all partook, and that was good because otherwise I would have scraped the frosting off the entire thing for myself.

This is going to go down as the summer of the drive-in in my back yard. Now I have to use the projector enough to make it worth it.

whating the WHAT?

Scene: early morning at the kitchen table. My Mom (MM) looks into the back yard and sees we have taken down a large dying maple tree.

MM: Oh, the tree, the tree is ... gone.

Josh: Yup! Now the only thing left is called STUMPING THE HUMP.

pause

blink

gears turning

clickmom: That would be grinding the stump, honey, grinding the stump.

South Beach day 16-or day 2 phase two

Well, Jen (Thank you Jen!) noticed that I kind of overlooked yesterday being Weigh Day. Yeah, I did that on purpose because well, see there was a bag of cashews on the counter all week, and suddenly the fridge was filled with cheese that SOMEBODY had to eat, and then I had that frustrating dinner, and I found my old emotional standby ice cream in the freezer, and well, my total weight loss for week two was, um, 0. Bringing my total weight loss for all 14 days of South Beach hell... still consistant at 5 maybe 6 pounds. The good news is that I see clearly the err of my ways and am now acutely aware of all the high fat snacking I seem to manage and well, I am still eating everything on the diet (And if you should try this diet I advise you to skip the turkey meatloaf on day 2 of phase two. Ick.) well everything on the diet and a little more. Somehow though, I can lose inches without losing a pound, and the jeans I rediscovered last week have a bit more room in them today than they did last week. Weird Huh? I even washed them between wearings so it isn't that they are all stretched out. Must be all the exercise, but eventually, I know the poundage has to go. My pilates instructor guessed that I had lost 20 pounds since I started with her and I had to tell her that I hadn't lost a thing. Weird again.

Eating fruit was wonderful, even better than the ice cream. I just have to get in the right frame of mind again and follow the diet to the letter. I know if I did I would be successful.

sucking Saturday night

A few weeks ago the husband told me that we HAD to go out to dinner with some of his co-workers. It was the politically correct thing to do, and he had not done it last year when the promotions were awarded, so he felt that he couldn't let it slide again this year. With a leaden ball of nausea in the pit of my stomach, I agreed and told him which weekends we could be free. They set the date for last Saturday night. I didn't know any of the details, except the time of the reservation so that I could arrange for a baby sitter.

On Thursday (a full week and a half into South Beach torture) I asked the husband what kind of restaurant we were going to. He said Italian. I flipped. What was I going to eat at an Italian restaurant? Even if I wasn't on SB diet, I can't eat freaking wheat!! This makes Italian a virtual impossibility for me. Suck-suck-suckeroo. He came home on Friday with a menu and I saw that there were a couple of really boring sounding things that I might be able to eat. I wasn't enthusiastic. I mean ... lot's of yummy food I can't eat. WooHoo!! Recipe for fun? I don't think so.

The fact that my husband is a lawyer, and that in our group of 8 people going out to dinner 6 of the participants we would be dining with are lawyers didn't do anything for my enthusiasm either. If I am married to a lawyer, I really think I have paid my dues, and spending a few hours dining with a bunch of other lawyers=not my idea of a good time. Now we have the double whammy situation: food distress and lawyers for company.

To make matters even worse, I had decided to try to stick as close as possible to the diet. I mean, I was on day 12 already! I was going to avoid carbs, order food I had eaten on the diet already, and I wasn't going to indulge in any alcoholic beverages. With this tid bit of knowledge, you now know that I am headed into this rare evening out with the husband with three strikes against me before we even leave town: food distress, lawyers, and no alcohol. I mean, how brave was I for even considering the night?

Saturday the husband tells me we need to catch a 5:30 train to the city. We do just that, actually having to run full speed from the car, meeting the train just as it pulled in to the station. Once on the train I ask the husband where the restaurant is. He tells me it is about 2 miles from the train station and that we can take a cab. We will have a whole hour between getting off the train and our reservation. I am a annoyed that they didn't find a restaurant that is more convenient for us to get to. Also, a reservation time that doesn't make us need to wait so long. (Lets recount: 1. food distress 2. lawyers 3. no alcohol to numb the pain and now 4. geographically inconvenient/long waiting time) It was gonna be a swinging night. I could tell.

I convinced the husband to walk from Penn Station to the restaurant. In an unusual move, the husband agreed. Normally he isn't much of a walker, but I whined about not getting any exercise that day and he gave in. So, we walked. Now at least I could get moving and not have to stand at the restaurant for 40 minutes waiting for the others. The one thing I hadn't thought of was that I was wearing a skirt with no stockings. After about 15 blocks or so I noticed that my chubby thighs were beginning to chafe. What I really noticed was the intense feeling of heat that was being generated by the skin on skin rub with each and every step I took. I was determined to walk the whole distance and told myself that the only thing that was going to stop me from walking was if my inner thighs suddenly burst into flames. Yeah, spontaneous combustion of the inner thighs might even get me out of this dinner. I would deal with the damage on Sunday. Let's add "5. chafing thighs" to the list. I walked on.

Have I mentioned that I was about to dine with LAWYERS? My dining partners were three other couples. The husband works with one member of each couple. The work related diners were a Jewish American Princess (JAP) , the young guy, and the guy who drives the husband crazy. The JAP is married to lawyer, the young guy is married to a lawyer and the guy who drives the husband crazy is married to a create type, no one knows for sure what she does for her job, it is writing related. The creative type spouse was at some point, according to the husband, trying to get pregnant, at least the husband heard the guy who drives him crazy say something about fertility treatment, so I had high hopes that she would be newly pregnant and we could girl-whisper about what she had in store for her. I decided I would bring up some kind of related topic and let her tell me. I sized her up when she walked into the restaurant, and if she was pregnant, she wasn't far along. She definitely wasn't showing. I waited when we sat down to see if she was ordering a non-alcoholic beverage like me, we could initially bond over that, and was crushed when she chose a martini. Dang, no sober conversation partner and no giving of the parental advice. I was batting a 00. 6. drunken table mates

I checked out the menu, and saw that the offerings were only a fraction of what the husband showed me. I had a choice of two things. The host came over and asked us if we had any questions. I was a little embarrassed to tell him that I had a wheat issue and tried not to make a deal about it. He said they would make me a special salad. I just wanted to find out what I could order and choose something. He told me what would be safe, and I made the decision. The others, however, had been distracted by their tasty martinis and all their lawyer talk. By the time they looked at the menu, they saw that there was an option to let the chef prepare the whole table their own 5 course meal, the catch was that every one at the table had to participate. I tried to give the husband the "don't . do . this . to . me" look, but he was so busy playing gregarious host to the lawyers that he didn't notice. Then they did the unthinkable. They ordered the chef's choice for the whole table. In my head I was screaming "NO!!!!!" but no one heard me or even saw the look of terror on my face as I had to discuss my food issues in a loud voice across the table with the waiter. By then they had finished their second rounds of martinis and were about to attack the wine list. Things continued to look down. 7. chef chooses my food

The waiter had an 18th century mad composer look about him. Or maybe it was a mad conductor look. Instead of a comb over he sported a comb forward. This means that he had the hair from the back of his head combed forward onto his forehead. The hair was all secured with lots of product that made it look like little wet squid tentacles reaching down to hug his head. It was kinda creepy, and I would have loved nothing more than to sneak up behind him and snip it right off. He complemented the look by keeping his chin tucked down and glaring at us through his wiry eyebrows. Truly the look of a mad man. It almost drove me to drink, but I was strong.

To make a long story less long, they brought us five tiny courses, I couldn't eat the carb laden risotto or the polenta either. So, my take on the evening was three tiny courses, and no huge bread basket (which the drinkers devoured) and no desert. Somewhere around the third course I noticed how wasted all the drinkers (every one except me) was becoming. The JAP's husband stopped talking, the young guys wife was having trouble focusing, and the creative type, well she was totally loaded. She adopted that lean your body forward and hold your head up to stay awake look. She started slurring and gesturing with broad sweeping gestures. And best of all she started making emphatic comments with the broad sweeping gestures that were completely unintelligible that would trailing off to no where before she appeared to have finished. I wondered if the guy who drives my husband crazy was going to take her home, but he just sat there. She sat there "commenting" on the table's conversation topics with eye rolls, big exaggerated sighs, and other forms of bodily disapproval. She was almost lying on the table. It wasn't pretty.

The fifth and final course was beef tenderloin, they brought it out whole but cooked and I tried to size up the amount that the eight of us were about to receive. Since the meat was about 4 or 5 inches long, well, I wasn't happy. During the tiny teaspoon sized other courses I kept thinking that eventually there would be a "main course" and that when the main course finally came I could EAT. When it came, all I could do was stare. First it was small and thin, as in so small, I put more meat than this on a sandwich.... for Josh. Secondly there was a big raw red circle of cool uncooked meat in the center. I didn't want to eat the raw meat. I looked around, no one else wanted to eat the raw meat, and we all picked up our forks. I ate it. even the raw part, and it didn't do a single thing to satisfy my deep hunger. I was still so hungry. The other people at the table ate around the raw circle and all left little raw circles of completely uncooked meat on their plates. They could do that , they all had eaten bread, and rice, pasta (I got the inedible polenta instead) and had alcohol. They were drunk and satisfied, I was eyeing their raw spots of meat.

Desert came and it was three tiny cake things, all of which had wheat and none of which I was going to eat anyway because of SB, and the husband, who had been one of the major enjoyers of the wine, started making a big fuss about the waiter bringing me something I could eat, which doesn't exist since I was on the first two weeks of SB and there isn't fruit on it, but then my own little drunkard spouse started saying "Bowl of berries, don't you even have a bowl of berries?" While ignoring my whisper-begging pleas for him to just shut the hell up and listen to me tell him I am not eating a bowl of berries. Jeezus. I just gave the husband my deserts. Then the composer did show up with a bowl of berries that I didn't touch and it just made everything worse. I was the big food weirdo who won't even eat a bowl of berries. I was hating being there more than I was hating it 5 minutes earlier.

I sat there with what I hoped was a pleasant look on my face, (not too worried, don't assume any of them were sober enough to notice) counted the seconds until we could leave, and almost four hours, a dozen martinis, about 8 bottles of wine, and for me- 3 tiny unsatisfying courses later I finally leaned my tired of sitting butt over to the husband and whispered in his ear "It is time to leave." We all left and I was hungry and cranky. My butt was asleep and my inner thighs were still cooked.

Husband owes me.

Let's recap: 1. food distress 2. lawyers 3. no alcohol 4. geographically inconvenient restaurant 5. chafing thighs 6. drunken table mates 7. Chef's choice 8. dessert.