Clive stayed home to spend it with the family. We started at the beach, which was lovely, and once again we wondered why we don't go there more often. Everyone is relaxed, it's empty, we have fun. I think maybe we don't -- aside from being lazy and afraid of all that sand that will somehow end up in our bed no matter what we do to prevent it -- because I never want to leave there.
We always go to the same general area in the Marina. We park by the alphabet streets and walk on over to the public beaches. It's never really crowded because there are no bathrooms, no food stands, no rides. Just some volleyball nets and life guard stations. And lots of nice condos and homes. And every time we go my heart leaps a bit, as if it's home. I'm home! My heart yelps, and then it sinks a bit, because, no, it's not my home. I don't live in one of these ramshackle beach houses with an old crystal chandelier hanging in an overgrown tree in the front yard. It's not me with the chili pepper lights dangling from a beaten palm. I look into those big windows on the beach front with the mid-mod furniture and built in lighting and just sigh. I watch families reading the NYTimes on their teak deck chairs while sipping coffee while the kids race around the beach, and I think, That's me, right? That should be me? Or that has been me in another life? I imagine sleeping in these homes at night, hearing the waves, batting down the hatches before a storm, soothing freaked out kids, participating in beach clean-ups.
I was talking about this with Clive as we were driving away this morning. Everyone must have these thoughts, right? I asked. Everyone wants to live on the beach. That's why they rent summer homes or whatever. But does everyone? I'm not so sure. I mean, I drive through the canyons or Brentwood and I see all the pretty homes, and windy, tree-lined streets, but I never think, Wow, I belong here. I think, Oh, isn't that pretty, or Wow, Can you imagine? Or, Wouldn't that be nice? But my heart doesn't leap, skip, jump, or jingle like it does when we hit that damn Marina.
And the thing is, it pretty much has to be ON the beach, or on one of those 1 block stretches of side streets to count. Clive asked, what about over there by the canal? And I had to say No. That's not good enough. Beautiful huge I can't imagine how much they cost homes, 2 or 3 blocks from the beach, and I'm like, Nope. Sorry. Those SUCK. They might as well be in Los Feliz, or Kansas or New York City, for all are equally far from where my heart says I live.
So, anyway. We spent the morning there and came home and made Wish Bread while the baby slept. Wish Bread is essentially Monkey Bread, where you roll balls of dough and place it into a bundt pan with some glaze around it. When I was a kid we made it with little bits of Del Monte pineapple in the middle of each ball of dough, but I've lost that recipe. Here, we do it on New Year's, and make a wish for the new year with every ball that goes into the pan. It's simple and yummy and I eat far too much of it. Queen Soledad loves the whole ritual.
Baby woke up, we had lunch, and then we went for a walk down to a new discount shoe store down the street. The store was more of a reason to get us out. The walk was the main activity. But they actually had a bunch of decent shoes so it turned into quite a trip with the baby trying on rainboots over and over and tearing apart the flip-flop display while Clive tried on some much-needed new shoes, and then I tried on some needed trainers, and then QS started flipping out and hitting and we walked out in disgust while Clive paid. Then we all tried to get our tired asses home without killing each other while both kids whined and hung on us.
Then I started to cook dinner, which I had actually begun a few hours earlier to marinade.
The kids continued to meltdown off and on for the rest of the evening, the dinner was pretty much a disaster with no one's bedtime timed right, everyone eating at different times, with at least one kid somewhere else in the room groaning.
It ended on a good note though, with a couple of *rousing* games of Old Maid before Clive and I split up to put the girls to bed. He's still sleeping. I've cleaned the kitchen and tidied up the living room. Ate too much chocolate and wish bread in the process, so now I feel kind of ill, but at least it's quiet.
Happy New Year Everyone. Y'all are a stressful pain in my butt, but I would not trade you for the nicest beach side home there is.
Well, maybe just the one with the teak chairs out front.
Happy
Joy
Silence
Calm
Welcome
These are words my daughter, Queen Soledad, chose to write in her new notebook while we play "Teacher." Aren't they lovely?
Of course that's what she SAYS they are. They come out looking like this:
HiaoBPOMAN
BCAEeiao
HaoMiaics
DYai*heart*
AAMoay
Now, if only she would embody these ideas throughout the day, my life would be bliss. Take what you can get, I suppose. Maybe it's what to come...
OXO Mandoline - or Professional S brand
A real tablecloth, plain, not plaid, thank you.
Matching -- or coordinated -- dessert /salad plates. Not melamine with Disney characters on them, thank you.
Vintage silver napkin rings (I should have bought these in New Orleans before I had kids, when I had the chance.)
Silpat mats or whatever they are called for cookie sheets.
2 more air cookie sheets.
Shoes and boots, lots.
My couch reupholstered.
A king sized bed.
An hour and a half deep tissue massage, with facial and pedicure.New trainers. 1/07A zester. Lame, I know. But when I zest that one or two times a year, dammit, I need one! And the worst thing is, is that I always think I already have one, so I spend some very frustrated moments looking for this little thing that I actually don't have. Sigh. 12/07 (I love my zester! It's one of those planer ones, long and skinny, great for everything. Yay!)
New music that I like conveniently downloaded to my iPod without me having to search or download myself.A decent workout headband -- like the ones at Lululemon. I know I could solve this easily, myself, but for some reason I walk by them every time.1/07A business card book. Lame, again.1/07A California bird guide, butterfly guide, and tree guide so I know what I'm spending my days looking at.Wellies 12/07 (plaid, even!)A fleece jacket that fits and is not so heinous as my husband's or brother's old handmedowns.
12/07 Thank you, Clive!
A popover pan (I've decided I don't actually need this, though it could be fun. Save for housewarming present at my new house.)A replacement black Lululemon headband (At this point in 12/07, I have something like 5 or 6 of these in various stages of "lost." They are the bane of Clive's existence.)
More to come...I will cross them out as I get them. Hmmm.
Are the holidays over yet?
I don't mean to be a Grinch, but man o man I am tired of pound cake. And cookies, royal icing, nonpareils, shopping, receipt-hunting, returning, and ornaments strewn around my apartment (thanks, Spit-Spot).
And yet, as tired as I am of pound cake, I can't stop eating it.
So tonight I tossed the last of it down the kitchen drain to prevent my new clothes from becoming even more uncomfortable.
Clive is going to be pissed. Rule # 507 of Clive's world is Thou Shall Not Throw Out Cake.
Sorry, Clive.
I went to a show last week with Clive and a couple friends. Left the kids at a friend's house, wished them luck, and ran as fast as I could to the car. Walked around a chilly Hollywood for a bit, lost, really, looking for a bar. This gave me eerie flashbacks to being back at college in Boston. Once we found the bar, I had a really strong Jack and Diet along with some lovely, greasy sweet potato fries, before heading over to the Palladium to watch the young kids mosh down by the stage from my safely removed spot in the balcony. I had a really nice time, being out at night and all, but I also felt really quite old.
I used to go to shows pretty regularly in NYC, Boston, and Chicago. But it's been at least 5 years since I've seen anyone that doesn't have a kid's album out. Maybe more.
The babysitting thing worked out okay, though, so maybe I'll get another chance before I go completely gray...
Ok, so I think I've figured out some code names for my family here:
Husband = Clive
5 year old daughter = Queen Soledad
16 month year old daughter = Spit-spot
The only problem I forsee is that both the girls' names, despite being very good fits, seem really long for typing. And if I shorten them, I've got QS and SS. That could get confusing, all those S's. And then I'm not too keen on the Nazi thing hovering over my daughter on the Internet.
Hmmm.
Clive sticks, though. That's a done deal. Clive's perfect.
I am in baby shoe hell.
My 16 mo old has one pair of shoes, Bobux, with holes in the toes. They are otherwise pretty shoddy looking - cracked, faded, and scrunched. Sad booties, basically, but easy to get off and on and they work well for trashing through sand piles. Not so good in puddles, as they only have thin leather soles. These were free, from my mother-on-law. Have served us well. But she needs a pair with good soles that will keep her dry and help her climb things.
She also has a pair of beautiful berry suede Ecco mary-janes with little suede flowers stitched on them. They cost about $60 a couple months ago, and she has begun to fuss about them. Getting small. I didn't want them in the first place, but at the time they were the only pair of shoes I could find that fit her properly.
I saved all of my older daughter's shoes, but somehow I only seem to have one practically brand new Adidas shell top in size 5 1/2. No clue where the other one has gone. I did, however, miraculously manage to save both in a pair of navy blue leather, Stride-Rite mary-janes. She's been wearing them, but they seem a bit big. This was confirmed at the zoo today, when she lost one of them in the Orangutan habitat (it was saved when I fished it out with a long stem of bamboo). It had gotten loose in between two slats in the fence she was trying to scale.
Meanwhile, I've been trying to get her into a sweet pair of See Kai Run trainers. I tried some one a couple months ago, but the 5's were huge, so we got the Eccos. Went back to the store last week, but they were out of size 5 SKRs. Ordered some online thinking they'd be perfect now. Unfortunately, they are too perfect and look like they will fit about another 4 weeks. Maybe 6. Now, these are only $40 shoes. A bargain, right?
But I'm not really keen on spending $20 -$30 a month on shoes for this kid. I also am a bit embarrassed by shoddy hole-ridden mocs. What's a girl to do? I do have a pair of Berry sock/mocs for her for Christmas waiting in the wings. She could alternate those with the Stride-Rites. I was thinking of returning the SKR's for a size 6, but then realized they are way too easy for her to take off, now that she has become Master of the Velcro (and of keys and locks, but that's another story). So, I think I either have to suck up the $40, knowing they at least don't have holes, and hoping that she'll keep them on, OR, I have to just return them, and deal with the holes in the Bobux until she hits the next size of something, or Channukah. I was going to order new shell tops, as they are lace-ups and should stay on better, but they've changed the design over the last 4 years and now I think they look ugly.
It's mind-numbing, isn't it? I mean, this is so tedious and boring that I'm going on autopilot and not even listening to myself. Sigh. And my husband won't help me, either.
More upsetting, is the fact that this isn't about shoes for me.
I want a house. With a yard. A real yard that I can have a party in. That the kids can run around in, scoot their little scooters along the driveway. A driveway where I can park my car close to the house so I don't have to haul groceries from the street. If I'm going to pay more than what I pay now, I want it to BE more. More space. More room. More storage. Something. Anything. Oh, and a nice neighborhood would be swell, too.
Today I looked at a house for rent down the street from some friends. It had no appliances. In LA, that's not altogether uncommon. Our apartment didn't come with a fridge, and I imagine most home-owners would take their own washer-dryers, especially if they're the nice new double load things from Sears. But this place, along with having no fridge or washer/dryer, also had no stove. No stove!!
Also: No pretty views, no ample storage, no high ceilings, no handy-on-the-corner-Trader Joe's. No pool.
There is: a half-blind woman with a yellow sports car that takes up most the parking space in the driveway, a few beater cars parked in an empty lot on the other side of what would've been my fence, an ugly gray carpet, and one small closet for 2 bedrooms to share.
What's most upsetting (and this is a week later that I'm finishing this post, I've been so upset) is that I can't even afford this icky little house in a "developing" neighborhood, let alone a nice-but-way-too-small-for-a-regular-family-
but-at-least-it's-in-a-nice-neighborhood-with-a-good-school-but-hey-it's-LA kind of house.
I love the folks at LL Bean. First off, they're Mainers. Love the Mainers. Grew up in Maine. So even though there are several well-stocked camping kind of stores here in LA, I tend to order from across the country, partially so I can spend some time with the accent of my childhood. It's stupid, and inevitably it causes me regret, but I do it every couple years anyway. Besides, the thought of taking my girls with me to try on gear or whatever makes me shiver.
But they do have great customer service. They'll take anything back. Even years after purchase. We used to rag on my brother about this because he totally took advantage of this policy. The boy would wear holes through jackets or gear or sunglasses and casually take them back to upgrade to something more recent. I wonder if he still does it.
Anyway, today I spent a half hour on the phone with their customer service, trying to solve the problem of a new 3-in-1 raincoat I got from them for my birthday. It's too small. Well, half of it is too small. The outer shell is roomy and perfect to wear over a sweater, or alone. But the fleece liner is too small. The underarm seams poke into my armpits and I can barely wear a tee shirt underneath. Makes no sense to me. I spoke with 2 different customer service reps AND a "product support" person figuring out the measurements of 3 different jackets so that I don't have to be returning jackets all winter long (and getting them to refund the return shipping because I think that's hugely unfair). And I'm kind of bummed because I really liked the shell and I'm kind of picky about these things. I thought about keeping it and just not wearing the shell, but that felt wasteful. I ended up ordering a different jacket for the same price, without the fleece shell. So, I kind of feel like I lost out on a nice fleece, but then I remember that the design was odd and from the back, I'm pretty sure, the jacket made me look malformed. Bulgy. But I don't know. How can a raincoat with a liner be the same price as one without? Shouldn't the one without be cheaper? It makes my brain burn. Ugh.
I hate returning things more than sharp sticks in the eye. Largely because returning things has to do with receipts (little pieces of paper that mock me by hiding in strange places I'll never find), and if it was Internet, a trip to the post office. Don't even get me started with that.
I'm hoping this new raincoat will come and make me happy. Help the boyscout inside of me feel well-prepared for the wet SoCal winter that will soon be here. I have been woefully unprepared the last 5 years. I have about 7 parkas and wool coats and puffy vests as I've always lived in chilly climates. But raincoats, I have none. And I hate to be wet. Especially hate to be wet AND cold, leaning into the backseat of my car waiting for a little girl -- or 2 -- to get properly into their car seats.
I can't believe how boring this post is. I think I'm putting myself to sleep. After this customer phone service excitement I put groceries away, washed some dishes and vacuumed. Wooo! Then I went to my daughter's school for a teacher conference. It'd be much more fun to talk about the lovely pair of undies I bought at Nordstrom a couple weeks ago. They were my first pair of lacy, matching panties since my wedding day 11 years ago. So pathetic. But now I've crossed into a new world where I love sexy comfy little ribbony panties. I need more. Thank you, Elle MacPherson. Who knew?
I am having trouble talking about my daughters on this blog. "5-year-old" and "the Baby" do not roll easily off the tongue or keyboard. But I don't want to use their real names. That's just crazy talk. But what to call them? A friend of mine with a blog and 2 girls calls hers Edgar and Bob. That's fun. It reminds me of a couple of parakeets. So what to call mine online? Some ideas:
Steve and Edie
Fatty and Butterhead*
Chicken and Spit-spot
Zippy and Specs
*nicknames of our old cats, although I think the 5-year-old may resent be called "Fatty." Just a hunch.
I'll have to rest on this.
