Running the Weekend Numbers

Naomi Play-Dates: 2
Lincoln Safari Stops: 3
Pony Rides at the Zoo: 1
"Big Dig" Sandbox Fossils Found: 4
Mosquito Bites: 2
SPF factor: 45
Haircuts: 1
Richter Scale Reading for Haircut: 7 (extreme)
Haircut Remorse: 80 fold the Richter Scale Reading
Water Balloons: 6
Water Balloon Mis-haps: 1
Duration of Continuous Giggling from Balloon-Soaked Backseat: 5 min
Jogging Pedometer Two-Day Reading: 8 mi
Dr. Who Episodes Watched: 3
Iced Toddy Carmel Lattes Consumed: 2
Family Dinners: 2
IRS Economic Stimulus Deposit into Bank Account: 1
Cabin E-grade Replacement Windows Purchased: 8
Times McKibbin Explained the Merits of E-grade Windows to Me: 10
Sketches and Graphics Required For Me to Understand E-Grade Properties: 3

It's What's for Dinner

I have long believed that good food, good eating is all about risk.
- Anthony Bourdain Kitchen Confidential

We were divvying up the vegetable box from the Community Supported Agriculture program last night and came across a kohlrabi. Now I don't want to make the CSA program sound like it fills your house with odd looking vegetables. For the most part the weekly box of greens is filled with everyday items like onions, tomatoes, berries, snow peas, etc. But this kohlrabi was thrown in for the more adventurous crowd.

N let out an involuntary ew. She was aghast by the space-alien-looking vegetable occupying her father's hand. She dared us to eat it.

McK and I looked at each other warily waiting for the other to flinch. Turns out a kohlrabi is from the cabbage family, and the CSA box contained a salad recipe for it. Taking the cabbage relation, the recipe, and the dare into account it was pretty clear what we were having for dinner. It was actually really good.

Standing By The Punch-Bowl

I met a woman at a party the other night. I'm terribly insecure about meeting new people. Usually I clam up in any group larger than six. But over the past couple of years I've made the concerted effort to actually build social skills. There was nowhere to go but up from ground zero which, truly, was my starting-point.

Anyway, I'm at this party the other night and making polite small talk with a woman in the corner. Turns out our kids went to the same child-care center, she's originally from Minnesota, and she's trained as an anthropologist. The conversation lulled and we moved on to poke at the ice in our glasses.

I thought the conversation had gone quite well so I fought the urge to excuse myself before I said something silly. Instead I put a wide smile on my face and offered up the "Oh, you must know..." game. Oh, I said, you must know my dear friend Ms. Bizzlehopper (not her real name) to which the stranger responded with a ten minute diatribe about how Bizzlehopper had bees in her bonnet, was a complete nincompoop and an interpersonal ogre.

On the one hand, the stranger's comments left me feeling defensive on behalf of my friend, Bizzlehopper, and on the other hand I thought isn't that interesting. Here's a person trained to study human behavior yet when offered an opening like you must know my dear friend... she berates our mutual acquaintance rather than saying yes and moving on to another topic.

I felt a strong kinship to the moment itself. By no means am I throwing stones on the foot-in-mouth score. My house is made entirely of glass on that one.

But I have spent most of my adult life feeling inept at the art of small talk. Assuming everyone else was the equivalent of a Super-Hostess or Social-Olympian with easy conversation and funny stories while I'm tongue-tied and standing by the punch-bowl. This moment made me think maybe the group of mere mortals is more crowded than I thought.

I waited for the Bizzlehopper comments to arrive at their natural close, responded with a nod and mmm-hmmm, allowed the conversation lull and noticed out-loud Oh, look my glass is empty. If you'll excuse me...
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Currently Reading Reason: Why Liberals Will Win the Battle for America by Robert Reich
Currently Watching Slings and Arrows: The Complete Collection

My Daughter: The Closer

I shot this photo of Naomi when we were in the Denver Airport. I was reassembling our carry-ons and tying my shoe laces after the TSA checkpoint so Naomi took a moment to phone my mom.

Naomi hatched a plan to spend the night with her grandparents and phoned just to shore up the logistics. Oftentimes I think of Naomi as always giggling or goofing around by contrast this photo is all business. The kicker is that Naomi isn't even speaking to a live person in this photo she's just leaving a declarative voice-mail message.

Given her level of determination it came as no surprise to find my mom (aka Grandma Mel) at the arrival gate in Lincoln. We piled into mom's car. No explanation was required as they kicked me to the curb at our house. The day closed with Naomi tucked under the covers at her grandparents' for a good night's sleep. Done deal.

How To Keep Your Feet Happy

I just put my feet in the air and move them around.
- Fred Astaire

McKibbin and I were driving to Crete this morning when a Podiatrist turned Pilates instructor came on National Public Radio for an article on feet. McKibbin had this sideways smirk and I listened attentively. As Renae Montagne cut off the feet focussed article, McKibbin said if this had been the Podiatrist turned Pilates instructor's sermon I was definitely, definitely the choir. I tried to find an indignant stance from which to respond but didn't have a leg to stand on there. Let's just say its a good thing my feet are on separate legs because my feet are pretty pampered divas.

My toes and I have had one message to this world which is: be good to your feet. If you want to hear the longer version from a smarter more studied person, check out the NPR's story:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91661083

You Take Me To All The Best Places

I've taken this week off from my desk job. I can't say I'm on vacation because McKibbin and I have spent the past three days knee deep in our fixer-upper cabin near Crete, Nebraska. The former owner, and her 20+ animals, abandoned the property several years ago. Aside from some initial clean-up that my dad was kind enough to take on the cabin has sat vacant until the McKibbins entered as both owners and general-contractors.

This week has been a series of lessons. A science lesson from the refrigerator. A wildlife biology lesson provided by the unidentified furry pelt under the dock. Two truck loads to Goodwill and filling half of a construction sized roll off dumpster with various pet litter-boxes, rain soaked carpets, and general trash. McKibbin and I laughed out-loud today as we got down to the demolition and realized the construction rubble was a vast improvement in decor.

Children's Mouths Shouldn't Say

Me: How was your day at summer camp?

Naomi: Not so good.

Me: Really? How come?

Naomi: Alex said a bad word today.

Me: I'm sorry that happened.

Naomi: Yep, he said that bad word children’s mouths shouldn’t say. (She leans in to me here, looks around, and lowers her voice) You know, the s-h- word

Me: Oh, that’s too bad.

Naomi: Yeah, *sigh* he said shut-up. It was too bad.

Me: Yeah, *sigh* too bad.

You May Find Yourself

And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?
--Talking Heads

I popped open my car trunk the other day to grab my gym bag and noticed a dangling plastic yellow tag. Turns out it’s a trunk release. You yank on it in the event you’re trapped in the trunk of the car and need to get out.

Obviously this trunk release was installed at the factory. Otherwise someone thinks I lead a much more colorful or criminal life than I do. How flattering.

More appropriate, given my age and circumstance, than the trunk release itself was the reminder to run once I’m out of the trunk. Aaaaah, I feel so much safer.

Sad But True

I don’t need help because if I can’t help myself I can’t be helped.
--Amy Winehouse

My brother turned me onto the soulful sound of Amy Winehouse last year. While her music is amazing and deeply moving Ms. Winehouse is a sad character. I'll spare you the details but we've all seen some rendering of VH1's Behind the Music. Any and all troubles detailed by the VH1 series would apply to this artist. Ms. Winehouse is the subject of yet another string of gossip column press this week. Its too bad that a person so amazing and talented on the one score can't seem to get it together elsewhere.

I found out that if you Google "Amy Winehouse" and "trainwreck" the search generates 76,600 hits. Ouch.

So, how was your weekend?

It's the first question anyone asks you at the watercooler on Monday: So, how was your weekend? Today I can't respond without giggling. My Aunt Carol threw her annual Splash Party on Saturday. Water-guns, a two-lane Slip-n-Slide, beach balls, wading pools and sprinklers made for a super fun time. Naomi and I were completely jazzed to hang out with the gaggle of kids, and near-kids (aka grown ups) in attendance.

I snapped this photo after I dared the kids to strike their silliest pose. Let's just say I didn't have to ask twice because they busted out the silly poses very, very readily.

Having been a parent for six years now, I can say with some distinction that this was a group of the sweetest, most fun-loving, well behaved children quite possibly ever congregated in one place. Nothing stood in the way of this good time. No squabbling, no fighting, no crying nothing but an afternoon fully-loaded with sun screen and splashin' around. Afterwards Naomi and I climbed into the car just dawg-tired. We were running on fumes by that point but still giggled with glee the whole way home.

Thanks, Aunt Carol, for such a fun afternoon! And don't worry, that patch of grass under the Slip-n-Slide will grow back eventually.

The Presidential Race

Circa 1980 the job title I coveted wasn’t astronaut it was President. Put in its proper context my aspiration makes sense. My dad was running his first campaign. My first grade classroom staged a mock-election with the Carter-Regan ballot.

I was selected as one of two class speakers that Tuesday afternoon. We were to speak to the merits of the a candidate. I backed Regan. No lie. I had read the weekly reader, agreed with my grandparents (Republicans on both sides), and advocated my fellow seven-year-olds vote for him. I backed the guy whose first Presidential decision was to remove the solar panels from the roof of the White House. Huh. Go figure.

My dad, and Ronald Regan, both won their elections and, obviously, I decided I wanted to be President.

A Reason to Whoop

Last Saturday found the McKibbins airborne as we went to Colorado. A friend of mine from college was getting married. I like weddings. Shocking, I know, to have a woman say such things. What? A woman who likes weddings? No way! Having grown up with elopement as my family m.o. the first wedding I attended (years ago) felt more like anthropological study. The ritual seemed odd and complex.

I got ah-hemed when as I sat, clueless about my cue to stand as the bride entered. I remember thinking at the reception: Hmmmmm. So we clink our glasses and they kiss? Fascinating. At some point, though, I quit feeling like an anthropologist at weddings. I came to appreciate the beauty of the occasion. Not the dresses, the flowers, the trimmings which are always quite nice; but an occasion which celebrates two people deciding to travel through this world together is pretty spectacular.

In a world where cynicism comes quickly to any discussion of marriage I sound like a sap whenever I say I believe in it. But I do. I believe that if you find someone that inspires and loves you -- marriage is a good idea. I recommend it.

This past month found me at two wedding occasions actually. Ashlee and Sean's in Colorado. Kirsten and Jeremy's in Lincoln. I'm getting to know my way around the gift table and the cash bar.

McKibbin still has to sign the guest book for us, though. I have the urge to write something like "WOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOO!" And he says that rather than sounding like an emphatic whoop of celebration the phrase conjures an image of the drunken sorority girl who missed MTV's spring-break so she settled for the role of wedding-crasher.

In case I ever grab the pen from my husband and sign the guest book myself ... I want to be clear that I was never a sorority girl nor did I aspire to appear on MTV's spring-break show. I have, however, found someone who inspires and loves me. I am lucky enough to travel with him through this world and I think its worth a whoop when others find the same.