Must Have

These might just be the CUTEST skirts on the planet.

My friend Rachel makes them. She is awesome and creative and can do no wrong.

You can find them here. There are plenty of different colors and patterns (I'm really loving the Halloween themed ones right now!) Get one for your little twirler (or send the link to Grandma!) You will NOT regret it...

You guys, every day I die a little...

...because my babies won't stop growing. I love these little people and why do they have to get big? They are jumping up and down in their cribs as I type this. All I hear over the baby monitor is Boing! Boing! And lots of giggles. It's their daily pre-nap ritual.

Lucy, going down the slide for the 50th time in a row

Lane

Mila had an XBox party recently and invited three boys. They all ran inside our house after taking the bus home and Mila said, "You guys! My mom put out lots of snacks that rock!" (I totally did.) She also knows everything about Pokemon and Club Penguin. Do you think the boys think she's cool? Um, yeah! She is almost finished with Harry Potter Book 5, and she understands everything that's happening, she claims. I told her that I am proud of her because she never lets her peers tell her what to do or what she likes. She replied, "It's because I'm brimming with confidence, Mom."

Mila and Lucy

Ethan sometimes kills me the most of all. He tells me that when he grows up and gets married, I will stay behind in the house that he grew up in, sort of like "a servant who stays in the castle, while the king goes out to find new lands..." I always thought I was his queen, but clearly, I was mistaken.

His prayers right now are awesome. He says things like, "You know what? It is really hard to be good, but we are trying our hardest to be good every day. Sometimes the babies bug me a lot, but that's OK because they're little and don't know any better so I need to respect them. Also, when people move in, you need to be nice, because once I moved in and I was afraid, so I learned to be nice to new kids. Oh yeah, and when we're helping, we're happy..." and so on. We all just sit there and wait patiently--Mila doesn't even open her eyes, bless her heart, but I open mine almost the whole time because I'm silent laughing with Ben.

I also love listening to him rant about how the only thing he hates about school is the bus ride home because "it is TOO crowded, and one day, I even had to sit on Mila's lap! Aargh! And another day, I saw a spot, but before I could grab it, Carrie was yelling, 'Sit here, sit here, sit here!' and argh! I got so confused and then I lost my spot!!" I love it. So. Much.

He is really into taking self-portraits with our old digital camera

I just like my kids a lot, you guys. (This is the kind of post my friend Josh was talking about.) But I will counterbalance this bragging by admitting to everyone that I am a big disorganized mess and my house will always look like it's a Monday morning. So wah wah waaaaah...

Hot Sugar

At our last Thrillionaires show, the theme was 80's rock and it was radical. We had an audience of 75, all ready to be taken back to the decade of John Hughes and shoulder pads. For our first play, we got the title "Back to the Top" as a suggestion. What followed was a high school drama about a stuck-up football jock who learned a valuable lesson about trust, life and love, after discovering the dark secrets of a 30 year old gold stamp collector. There was also a prom queen runner-up who fell in love with a rebel artist! (Are you crying yet that you missed it?)

Brett, Lisa and I before the show (also before Brett had his first wig of the evening on)

For the musical half of our show, we were given the suggestion "Hot Sugar" as a band name, and we then told the story of a trio of gas station workers who realized their dreams when a music idol-turned producer (named Nigel Thorpe, aka Gold Stamp) and his assistant discovered them. Brigham played the piano, and Brady was on the electric guitar, improvising their musical hearts out. Overall, it was one of our best shows, even though my hair, huge when I first left the house, continued to shrink throughout the night. Aqua Net, anyone?

Maclain, me, Jake, Lisa, and Brett, after the musical

Labor Day

On the 1st of September, we were treated with rain. Ben was at school playing catch-up, so I bundled up the kids to go to Costco. Everything was closed, so we returned home to do some puddle-jumping. Good times and hot cocoa ensued. P.S. I may need a polka dot intervention...

Mila and Ethan

Lane

Lucy

I make them give each other kisses--mean mom

It's that easy!

Exactly two weeks ago, I was eagerly awaiting the return of my husband from his seventh week of being gone this summer. We would have two days with him home before he would have to leave again the following week, this time for New York.

He called me from the LA airport: "Just come with me...it will be fun...free hotel, free food..." (Dangit, he knows me too well, that kid--I can't resist free stuff and especially edible free stuff!)

I certainly didn't doubt that it would be awesome, but how could I possibly abandon my children in the middle of a school week, and who would I ever convince to watch them?

He wouldn't give up, so I told him I'd make a few calls, get a few rejections, and then he'd see just how crazy his plan was.

Well, naturally I turned to my sisters. Sort of. I called Courtney, who played my sister Meg in Little Women. I made my crazy offer and she insanely accepted! It could not have been easier. To fill in the gaps when Courtney had to nanny for another family, I called on Lex, who played my sister Beth. I love fake sisters!

Lex is on the left, Courtney is on the far right. Emily's in the middle--we love her, too.

I bought my ticket that night and wondered what I had done. The following weekend was a blur of cleaning, typing up schedules, laundry and packing.

Monday afternoon, I snapped some pics of my little guy and took him to his first day of Kindergarten. I put the girls down for a nap and we left for the airport. It was that easy.

We flew into Newark after 11 pm, and took a cab to our hotel in Times Square. In the entrance of our hotel, there was a glass ceiling with water rushing through it. On the 7th floor check-in area/lounge, there was a bar and very loud music. As we escaped back into the elevator to head to our room, we decided we were old and we liked it that way. This is what our room on the 21st floor looked like:


We played around with all of the modern contraptions in the room, looked out the window at all of the people in Times Square, not sleeping, then shut the blind to block out the midnight daylight. We decided that this was the best free hotel money could buy, even with the obnoxious music on the 7th floor.

Tuesday morning, I took a cab with Ben to his first callback and then went and ate breakfast across the street. I called my mom and said, "I'm eating breakfast in New York by myself!" She was so proud.

After breakfast, I began to walk. I walked and walked. When I'd get to a corner, I would just look down both streets and decide which one looked more fun. I passed lots of fancy shops, like Tiffany & Co., I passed the Trump Tower, and I passed five hundred and twenty Starbucks. I came to Central Park. I walked along the south end of it and up another street. At this point, my friend Ryan called me and asked me where I was. I told him, and he said, "Oh, you are near the temple." I looked up and I was, in fact, standing in front of the temple! I was pretty proud of myself for accidentally finding so many landmarks. It was SO easy!

Manhattan Temple

Next, I headed across Central Park and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When I went to buy my ticket, the man said, "Student?" I said, "No, adult." He didn't look convinced. (Incidentally, the exact same thing happened to Ben and I at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. The lady would not believe we wanted to pay the admission for people over 30.) I told the man that I was pretty sure that I had not been a student for eight years and then he proceeded to actually try and talk me out of paying the full fare. He was not making it easy:

"You know, $20 is only recommended, but you can pay whatever you'd like."

"Oh, it's OK, I'll pay $20."

"Are you sure?"

Well, now I WAS sure I wanted to pay the $20, just to prove I was an adult! I felt like if I backed down and paid $3 like he was trying to convince me to, he'd think "Aha, she IS a student!" As if someone would fight to pay more. Silly man. I showed him! Silly me. Next time, I'm offering all the change in my pocket, like Ryan does. Of course, he says they treat you like dirt when you do that.

The Met was incredibly large, and I got lost many times, but that was part of the fun, I think. My findings included:

A Vermeer

A favorite Monet

A famous Seurat

Ben called and said he was done, and after spending a long time trying to find my way out of the museum (not easy), I met up with him again. The rest of our day included the following adventures:

We went to the top of 30 Rock

A nice view of Central Park

We HAD to take a picture of this place for a certain 8-year old

We saw this Chris Clark favorite after eating dinner at a steakhouse full of French waiters

We went to the Stardust Diner for dessert, where Ryan treated us to some Barry Manilow

I'd say it was a pretty awesome day, all around. Stay tuned to hear about Day 2, which included lots more Ryan and a New Jersey outing, and Day 3, which involved more walking. And shopping. And walking. And Pinkberry!

This is what happens when I ask him to "smile normal"

So close!

So far, the first week of Kindergarten has been quite nice (it helps when you're out of the state for most of it.) He seems to love going, and says he is "the best rule-follower in the class!" I don't even doubt that.

Tonight, he and Ben were tossing a ball back and forth and Ethan was trying to catch it three times in a row so that the war would end. I'm not sure what war it was, but I only know that my role was the sick mother who was bed-ridden (I always try to cast myself in the lazy parts in make-believe games) and Mila was reading me stories and making me imaginary soup. After several fumblings of would-be third-time catches, Ethan laughed hysterically, as he is wont to do, and exclaimed, "Every time it's the third catch, I think of Cash Cab and it messes me up!"

Cash Cab? Really? I have never even seen that show--when has he? I'm not sure I want to see it, though, now that I know how much it might affect your performance in high-pressure situations. I mean, imagine the horror of being onstage, doing improv, and the only thing in your head is Cash Cab? Poor kid. After we took some of the pressure off, he relaxed, cleared his mind and ended the war. AND the sick mother was healed. A night of triumph, all around!

Just flew in...

I've been in NYC this week, so I haven't been able to make sure everybody knew about the silent auctions occurring right now on blogs everywhere in honor of NieNie Day yesterday. Go to Design Mom for a complete list of auction items. I haven't decided what I want to bid on yet, but there are tons of different categories, including Lisa's auction for Maroon 5 tickets and an autographed Maroon 5 guitar! Happy bidding!

I will post details on my trip soon! It was a whirlwind adventure! And I haven't even written about Paris yet...

Thoughts

I wasn't going to write about a tragedy that occurred in the life of someone that I don't even know personally, but then I changed my mind because I wanted to write something about it. Blame it on my exhaustion, or the fact that my husband is in the mountains of California and I've had no contact with him since Sunday, but I'm in a serious mood and I guess I just want to help any way I can.

Two of my most favorite people on the planet are Chris and Lisa. Last Saturday night, Chris's sister, Stephanie, and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash. They are both in a burn unit in Arizona, with months of recovery ahead of them. They have four small children.

They also have an amazing family. Because of the events of a few seconds, that family has changed forever. But they have unshakable faith and hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that has made all the difference. After hearing and reading bits and pieces of how they're all coping with life in the aftermath of this event, I've found myself reaffirming my own beliefs.

I don't usually talk about religion on here, but the simple fact is, it is a huge part of who I am. I have a testimony of the gospel of Christ and I believe families can be together forever and that our Father in Heaven wants us to be happy in this life. As crazy as life can be, and as imperfect as I am, I have always believed these principles to be true and I know I always will.

I've often wondered if my faith would hold up when put to the ultimate test. Would it really be possible to feel hope and peace in the event of unthinkable tragedy? As I've observed the small miracles and blessings taking place in my friends' family, the answer is a resounding yes. They are buoyed up by their beliefs and they really do know that everything will be alright somehow, and that is perhaps the greatest miracle of all.

So I guess I'm mostly feeling grateful. Grateful for children and families. Grateful for the beauty in others that inspires me. Grateful for a faith that has never once let me down. Grateful for life and love.

To donate to the Nielson family, you can click on the button on the right side of my blog. To find out other ways to help as well as updates on the family, please visit sister Courtney's blog.

I am seriously old

Mila and Ben

On Saturday, August 2, I became officially old to myself. I remember my baptism. It was on June 2, my mother's birthday. My mother's 29th birthday. So, I am already older than my mom was at that same milestone in my life. Wow--my parents must have felt REALLY old this time around.

On her big day, Mila was nervous and excited and so sweet. She said the water felt warm and wonderful and, in her words, "I just can't really explain the feeling that I have inside, you know?" I could have cried all day (not because I felt old.) Baptisms are pretty awesome. My hair was pretty not awesome. And my grandpa said I looked tired and that I needed a vacation. Oh well. These are the prices you pay for being an old woman, I guess.

With Grandpa and Grandma Smith

The whole family

*Mom, if you want a picture of you guys on here, you will have to send it to me. I have two of the three of you. In one, your eyes are closed. In the other one, Mila's are. Dad, same thing. You look funny in the one of you guys. Just sayin'. In fact, if you have a better one of our family, send it to me also because dang!

Last day in Romania

(It has now been five weeks since the day in question. However, this blog is my way of keeping a record of this trip, so write it I must. It is a novel, so I won't be offended if you don't read it. You are not my friend because you're the most awesome reader. You're probably my friend because you're an awesome eater.)

Sunday morning, we got up and got ready for church. We ate breakfast at the hotel, which always consisted of an odd assortment of cold meats and cheese slices, as well as that same carrot salad from the plane, but I did find a little raisin and cheese pastry that I liked, so I ate that every day, with fresh fruit salad. I live for breakfast, so these were not my most favorite mornings.

We took a bus to the church where the LDS branch met. We were early, so I had time to meet people. Everyone was extremely friendly and smiled and shook my hand. I met a girl who is headed to BYU in the fall. Another lady came up and I said "Hi" and she turned to Ben and said, "I can't understand her at all," and Ben told her that it's because I was speaking English. I always loved listening to Ben converse with Romanians because they always sounded like they were arguing with him. They would be going off and Ben would just be nodding and saying "Da" or "Bine" and I figured he was losing the battle, whatever it was. I would always ask afterwards, "What's wrong?" He would just tell me that they're argumentative by nature, no harm was really meant by it. (Although I did see a few people clearly yelling at a train station ticket agent and a security guard--I just wish I knew what they were yelling at them.)

Once the meeting began, I looked around at the congregation. There were about thirty people in the chapel, and at least eight of those were missionaries. Of the remaining people, there was only one couple and everyone else seemed to be individual men and women, there alone. Some of the women sat together, and there were no children. When we started singing the opening hymn, "How Firm a Foundation," I began to sing in English. Ben stopped me and whispered, "You're going to throw them off--they don't know the songs that well." So I switched to singing Romanian as best I could by listening to Ben. In the closing song, "We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet," we actually sang Mila's name in the line "We'll sing of his goodness and mercy," so that was cool. In case you're wondering, "mila" means "mercy" in Romanian.

My overall impression of the members in Romania was that they are not many, but the few that are there are admirable. The retention rate is very low and Ben said that none of the people that attended church when he was a missionary are there anymore, including the branch president. That said, I really like to think that some of the people we met will continue to attend church, despite all of the struggles they face. There was one young man in particular who bore his testimony. He could not have been much older than eighteen, and yet he possessed more spiritual wisdom than many members I know who have gone their whole lives. I was truly impressed. After the meeting, I also met a sweet older man who works in the mission home. He told Ben that he wanted to visit Salt Lake some day and he also told him that he felt like he's known him forever, even though they'd only met two weeks before.

Many of these people face incredible hardships because of their dedication to the LDS faith, such as their families being torn apart. To remain 100% active after such a trial would be an incredible feat. They are amazing people.

After church, we went to Pizza Hut for lunch. That place has NEVER tasted so good. It tastes better there, I swear. When the waiter asked us if we wanted ketchup for our pizza, I thought it was funny because Ben had told me that Romanians put ketchup all over their pizza then eat it with a fork and knife.

I noticed that a boy about eight years old at a table near us had a glass of beer in front of him. At one point, I looked over and the dad was helping the boy drink it. The boy made a disgusted face and returned to eating his ketchup-smothered pizza. I tell you what, it's not often you see THAT happen in Utah.

Our next stop was a tour of the House of the People, now known as the Palace of the Parliament. It was built in the 80's by Ceausescu and is the second largest building in the world, next to the Pentagon. Basically, it is a tragedy that it was ever built and it stands as a permanent manifestation of the things that can go terribly wrong with communism. The palace is gorgeous, unimaginably stunning in every way. The only problem is, Romania cannot afford it, and they never have been able to. Ceausescu put all of the people's money and resources into the construction of a monster that they would never be allowed to enter. Romanians were starving in the streets, could not buy bread, and yet Ceausescu continued to put the country into more and more debt in order to complete his masterpiece.

The Palace exterior

Today, the Palace houses the Parliament, but we went on an hour long tour and only covered 3% of the building. Ben and I figured that it must cost the country millions annually for maintenance. It's ridiculous.

This theater is used for conferences, of all things--what a waste!

The ballroom, which is the largest room in the Palace

Standing in the very center of the whole Palace

Our tour guide told us a funny story about how Michael Jackson came to the Palace in the 80's and stood on the balcony to address the people. He said, "Hello, Budapest!" Then guess who did the very same thing not too long ago? That's right. Good old George W. Us Americans is smart!

The view from the balcony (the Bucharest equivalent of the Champs Elysees)

I left the Palace feeling a little sad. Sad that one man's greed to have the best building in the world had cost thousands their lives. Talk about a valuable lesson on the evils of excess. I feel the need to be a lot less frivolous materialistically speaking.

We took the metro to Gara de Nord to make a delivery for a friend of mine. Ty was in Romania back in January, shooting a documentary about homeless street kids living in the sewers of the train station. Ty is also the one who probably freaked me out more than anyone about what to expect in Romania. After he asked me to deliver a book of pictures to a kid at the station, he advised me to go with Ben, as we would have a better chance of not being jumped because they feared "mother figures," having no mothers themselves. He also added that he's been jumped twice and would say things like, "Have a fun trip--I hope you don't die." My friends are awesome like that.

Making Ty's delivery actually turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip to Romania. We found Marian at the flower shop across from the train station, just where Ty said he would be. When we mentioned Ty's name, his face lit up immediately and he said, "Ty is my best friend! Last time I saw him, I had no home, and now I have a job and a home and I am good." I felt so happy for this stranger and he was so happy to see us. He and his friend pointed themselves out to us in the pictures Ty had taken, and his friend added, "In that picture, I had drugs, but now no more drugs--clean." They both grinned. Then Marian gave me his new cell phone number for Ty and we said good-bye. I'm so glad I was able to be a part of that exchange.

On the metro going away from the train station, an interesting/terrifying thing happened. At one stop, there were deafening screams right before the doors shut and about twenty blue-jumpsuit-clad construction workers stormed the train. I totally thought that it was a stagecoach stick-up at first, except we were on a subway and the cowboys were gypsies. I guess they really didn't want to miss that train! The gypsy construction workers seemed like jolly enough guys, despite the overwhelming smells of body odor and sweat that they brought to the party, and I told Ben as much. He said, "Are you crazy? They are foul!" Well, excuse me, but I don't speak Romanian and so how was I supposed to know they were making dirty jokes? At least they were actually smiling and having a good time! Even if they were doing it by trying to look down female passengers' shirts...

To finish off the day, Ben took me to the old part of Bucharest, and we found the ruins of the fortress of Vlad Tepes, better known to you as Dracula. Someone was having a wedding at a church right next to the ruins. We also went inside an old church that I'm pretty sure was moved from its original location, as it was in the way of the Palace's construction. It was tiny and peaceful and beautiful. We walked around seeing more buildings and taking more pictures. I commented to Ben that I had actually gotten used to the smell in the air and no longer noticed it. However, I have to admit I had seen all of Bucharest that I wanted to see and was ready to board a plane the next day for Paris!

Vlad's statue in front of the ruins

Some building

Ben standing in front of the cheesy Count Dracula Club

The following are some pictures that Ben took before I came, but I like them:

Huh? Why, America, why? (I guess Utah would need 5,000 spaces like this)

Yes, the politician's name is "Chiliman"

I am a slacker...

So, I have a heckuva long post almost finished about my last day in Romania, which was, indeed, four weeks ago now. But I've been somewhat busy (see: full-time mom, part-time performer and business-runner, hard-core SYTYCD fan) Also, taking care of two toddlers is a lot harder than you may have heard. When they are sleeping, I am usually zoning out with Tivo or sleeping myself. When they are not sleeping, I don't know what's happening.

In order to spice up my blogging AWOL-ness, I give you a link to this and this and this. Please enjoy! (I know the first two links are Ben's, but the kid is seriously funny. The third link is probably already on your Google reader by now, but just in case it isn't...)

Sometimes you have to clean the house...

Toilet Tax

I felt like I had walked into an episode of The Amazing Race today. We left our hotel, then walked to the underground metro station. We took the metro to the Gara de Nord, the train station. After we bought train tickets, we walked around for a while then took a taxi back to the station. We then rode the three hour train ride to Braşov. Amazing Race, we are ready for you!(But only if it's in Romania...)

The train was hot, humid and stuffy. We were hesitant to open the window of our compartment as there were two older Romanian passengers sharing it with us and Ben informed me that old people there are afraid of wind, because it might make them sick. So we spent some of the trip standing outside in the hall, at the window there. A lot of the Romanian countryside was beautiful, especially when we got into the Transylvanian Alps. We passed one village that we did not have time to visit called Sinaia, home of Castle Peleş, the residence of the exiled king. Maybe next time...

We finally arrived in Braşov, which was originally a Saxon fortress complete with high walls and a moat. It is nestled up against the mountains, and is home to the Black Church, given its name because it nearly burned down and the walls are still blackened from the smoke, but they spent much of the twentieth century restoring it.



Right off the bat in Braşov, I had an unusual experience. I went to use the bathroom at the train station. Inside the bathroom, a very thin woman with a deep voice came up to me and started yelling something. She held up some money and pointed to the stalls and I got super confused. I went back out to Ben and asked him if I needed money to go to the bathroom, all the while being followed by this loud, jabbering lady. He gave me 1 lei and told me I needed to pay a tax. I gave it to the lady and she threw it on the floor. Another woman picked it up and handed me three squares of toilet paper. I had to pay to pee. I instantly thought of "Urinetown." After I came out, Ben asked me,

"What was that man doing in the women's restroom?"

"What man?"

"The one yelling at you."

"That was a man?"

Maybe it was his short shorts and very thin legs, or his long, stringy, dyed blond hair, or the fact that he was hanging out in a ladies' room, but I seriously thought that dude was a woman.

We took a taxi to the piaţa, or plaza, in the oldest part of Braşov, and we had lunch at a restaurant. Again, I was not in love with the traditional Romanian food, but I did get to order a Pepsi. I figured that if I stayed long enough in Romania, I would undoubtedly lose 10 lbs. When I sit down to eat, I like to EAT. None of this starving stuff. Especially after so much walking.



After lunch, we toured the Black Church, then hiked up to the old walls of the fortress.




We walked along one stretch of wall to the telecabina, or tram, that takes you up to the top of the mountain. Along the way, we passed a man and woman who were yelling at a little girl climbing up the hill. Ben translated. He said that the man was telling her that he was going to throw something at her head. The family ended up being in the same telecabina with us and after we all got off at the bottom, he was yelling at her again. "Now he says he's going to kick her," Ben said. So I felt better about my parenting practices at that point and scored one point for America for not generally screaming out threats of abuse in public.

Speaking of kids, you don't really ever see them in Romania. Every time I did, I would get so excited: "Hey look, Ben, a cutie little one!" Ben explained to me that people don't usually have kids until they are older (just like in the U.S.) and then they ship them off to live with their grandparents in the country until they are teens so both parents can work (not like the U.S.) He said one single woman he worked with wanted to raise her own kids and no one could believe she would be so crazy. She also said that she didn't like her mom that much, but adored her grandmother. Go figure. The thing is, Romanians all wear these stony expressions all the time and no one smiles at strangers or even looks at them. It was nice being a tourist because you can be invisible, but the general moroseness can be unsettling. However, the few Romanians I saw with children were completely different. They smiled and laughed and were lively (OK, with the exception of Mean McGrumpy Dad in Braşov)and it made me so happy to see that. It also made me miss my babies!

After coming out of the telecabina station, we visited another bathroom and paid another tax. Near as I could tell, you are paying a tax to have them keep the floors super clean, because both of the floors of the bathrooms I had been in were freshly mopped and both attendants stood there holding mops, ready for anything, I guess. I mean, what else is there to keep you occupied if you're a toilet tax collector? Re-fold all the toilet paper squares, mop, fold more, mop again... It has probably made it on my list of top ten least desirable jobs.

It started to rain a lot at that point so we booked it to a taxi and got back to the train station. Nothing too exciting happened on the way back to Bucharest, except that I took a nap and at one point a man came sliding down the hall pushing himself with his hands, as if his legs were paralyzed. He went from compartment to compartment, asking for money. All the Romanians just stared at him or ignored him completely. Ben told me that begging is illegal and Romanians are racist against gypsies. He also added: "How in the world did he get on the train in that condition?" Naive me. I hadn't thought of that...

After we got back to the city, we took a taxi to Benihana at the Howard Johnson. You know you are in a strange country when you walk into a Japanese restaurant and feel like you are home again. It was awesome. The only other couple at our hibachi was an Italian couple. The man spoke a little English and so we asked him why he was in Romania. He said he had come there to go to Benihana. What are the odds? It turns out, he owns a Japanese restaurant in Rome called Shinto and so he visits other chains to see how it's done. He is, after all, from Rome. At one point, his wife almost put an entire glob of wasabe in her mouth. We were relieved that her husband caught her just in time. With the exception of us and two other tables, the entire restaurant was empty the entire evening. Those Romanians are missing out on a little piece of Japanese-American heaven. Also, I really want to go to Rome-maybe in another ten years...

Me no speak Romanian

I am sitting in our hotel room in Bucharest. I probably woke up around 5 am and I felt like blogging. Today is Saturday, June 28. I flew out of Salt Lake on Thursday afternoon, quite unsure what to expect.

That day, when we pulled up to the airport, I felt a little sick to my stomach about saying good-bye to my kids, especially the baby ones. Luckily, both the twins were asleep so I didn’t have to endure the cutest little “bye-byes” ever heard on the planet. Ethan and Mila gave me fake sad faces, but they were pretty engrossed in Mila’s Top Secret Brazil spy game, so they weren’t really that sad. Ethan didn’t “have tears” as he had promised me he would, but that was probably a good thing after all.

I went into the airport and got through security pretty quickly, then sat there wondering why I had checked in two hours early for my international flight. We eventually boarded and were on our way to Paris. I really liked Air France. They fed us a lot, which is always good, and I loved that everything was in English and French. Even half the flight attendants were French. I watched a really dumb movie, Fool’s Gold, then slipped myself half an Ambien and passed out. I’m not really clear on what happened after that. All I know is that roughly four hours later, my land surveyor neighbor from Tucson was asking me if I wanted to borrow some eye drops, so either I was doing something embarrassing like snoring or drooling and he graciously woke me up, or else I just kind of came to on my own and I must have been blinking a lot. Either way, I was grateful for the eye drops.

When we got to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, I quickly found the tram to take me to the gate to make my connection to Bucharest. The problem is, I thought the gate was in the F terminal and it was actually in B. So I actually circled the entire airport once, got off at F, went up the stairs to have a man look at my ticket and say B, then went back down and circled the airport again, all the while panicking that I would miss my flight. However, amidst my panic, I enjoyed being in Paris for a moment and trying out my rusty French. I think I only said “2B,” “oui,” and “merci,” but it was awesome.

I finally made it to the right gate with a few minutes to spare and burst onto a plane full of people who looked Romanian. I took my seat next to a couple. The lady turned to me and asked something in Romanian, to which I smiled and said “I don’t…speak…Romanian” like an idiot. She gave me a dismissive gesture with her hand and turned to her husband and said something, probably “It’s just another dumb blonde American…” The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom and said something that made everyone look at their watches and grumble, so I assumed they had said we wouldn’t be leaving yet. Even blonde Americans can figure out some things. I got an idea. I turned to my neighbor and asked, “Parlez-vous francais?” She did, and we were able to break the language barrier. I loved that five minutes before, we were a Romanian and American, just staring at each other blankly, and now we could use a third language to communicate. So cool. I told her that Ben was working for a lawyer in Bucharest and today was our ten year anniversary and we had four children, two of them twins. She told me that she had been at some conference in Paris and her husband just walked around while she was there and they had one son who was studying archeology. After that conversation, I felt like maybe we were friends until they served lunch. I couldn't bring myself to eat anything. Maybe it was the carrot-turnip-mayonnaise salad, maybe it was all of the airplane food I'd already consumed. At any rate, my neighbors devoured their lunch then looked at my untouched food suspiciously. I wanted to say, "Je n'ai pas faim--j'ai deja mange beaucoup!" But I didn't--I sat there, thinking, "Great--I haven't even gotten to the country and I've offended the people by not eating their gross airplane food."

This is what Ben told me to expect when I got to the Romanian airport: “You will exit the plane on to the tarmac and be ushered into a stinky bus. You will then pass through a passport check. If you get in the wrong line, they will yell at you. After that, go straight to the baggage claim and go right to where the baggage shoots out, so your bag doesn't get stolen. In Romania, things such as lines, politeness, and patience have not yet been invented, so push to the front. If your bag is missing, go to the second office. If you go to the first one, they will yell at you. After you file a claim, come outside and look for me. Don't go with some person holding a sign with your name on it. (Apparently, my husband also thinks I might be a dumb American blonde.)

So, here's how it actually went down: the bus wasn't really that stinky, no one yelled at me, but they did lose my luggage. And boy, was he ever right about there being no such thing as politeness. I was standing in the "line" to the lost baggage office and yet five men cut right in front of me. Not one, FIVE. MEN. Ethan would have been screaming his head off: "Ladies first, ladies first!!!"

Luckily, I was sort of planning on them losing my luggage so I was not too distraught and I had a carry-on stocked with clothes and toiletries. I was finally able to go out and see Ben and I got to listen to him call the lost and found office from outside the airport and converse with them about my bag in Romanian. It was hot (As in, I love listening to my husband speak Romanian. But it was also about 95 degrees.) Then we took off in a taxi to head for the hotel.

Romania is a fascinating place. There are all of these huge, beautiful old buildings adorned with graffiti and window air conditioning units, set amidst dilapidated streets and littered sidewalks. Ben got it right when he said that the air smells of garbage mixed with cigarette smoke. They drive like crazy people and yet wear no seat belts. The taxis don’t even have seat belts.

After checking into the Hotel Venezia, we walked to a restaurant called La Mama, which served traditional Romanian fare. I loved the meatball soup with borsch and herbs, but did not really enjoy the meat cooked in cabbage with polenta, which was the most Romanian of all dishes, according to Ben. Over dinner, Ben told me about his past month here and I especially enjoyed hearing about the boss at his firm, who always greeted Ben and his friend with “My wonderful American friends…” Apparently, he sounded exactly like the Count on Sesame Street, but with a lisp. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him. We walked around some of the city and I marveled some more at the gorgeous buildings that no one can afford to maintain. Ben told me the history of the Revolution of December 1989 as we stood in Revolution Square. He said there’s actually a video on Youtube of Ceausescu, the last Communist president in Romania, standing on the balcony of the CC Building in the Square, trying to pacify the starving citizens who were hissing at him. The day was supposed to be a celebration of him and he was actually shocked that the people were so angry. I just can’t believe that all of this change has occurred within this country within my lifetime. It’s crazy to be in Eastern Europe.

I will have more stories and pictures in the next post...

Page-turners

I need your help. Remember how I'm going to get on a plane this Thursday in Salt Lake and step off the same plane in Paris? Yeah, so I need book recommendations. Now, I tend to be one of those people who rarely will sit down and read a whole book in one sitting. I just can't read for that long. There have been very few books that have captivated me enough to cause me to read for hours on end. It's not that I don't love reading--I just generally "snack" instead of "binge."

What book that you've read would you DARE me to just try and put down? If your comment is passionate enough, I will buy the book and if your glowing endorsement pays off, I will write a blog about how awesome you are as a prize! (I would send you a homemade gift, but I'm not very crafty.)

As a frame of reference, the books I have probably loved the most in recent memory are: The Road by Cormac McCarthy, The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, and that seventh book about the magical kid with the glasses--heard of it, much?

I'll be waiting...

(Please don't say The Host by that Mormon chick, whatsername...)

So, Ben is in Romania...

...and I am not. And we're surviving. And no, he's not hunting vampires, although if he was, maybe I could write a super special book about it and become a millionaire after every last person in the universe read it. But no, he's working (for free) at a law firm in Bucharest and the work is kind of boring so he mainly just looks forward to the weekends when he and his friend make excursions to Dracula's Castle (to hunt vampires), so I'm so happy he's enjoying his playing, ahem, working.

Because Ben won't be here to celebrate Father's Day with us (I'm already suffering panic attacks thinking about another Sunday in church alone), I thought I would post a few recent gems that have proceeded out of the mouth of his seven-year old, who, I am fast learning, might just be a carbon copy of her father.

Mila was playing Monopoly with my friend Jenny when she was babysitting and Mila demanded, "Jenny, give me my rent!" When Jenny reminded her to say "Please," Mila retorted, "This is business!"

Yesterday, when we were driving to T-Ball practice, I was encouraging Ethan to exercise his free agency in standing up to his bossy friends. Mila jumped in and went off on a tirade, which included the following:

"This is a free country. This is America, not...England! England has a king who tells you what you have to do and you have no choice but here in America we have a President who lets you do whatever you want!"

"This is America, land of the free, home of the brave! Well, just forget the home of the brave part, but you are free!"

It seriously went on for at least five minutes. So. Awesome.

Finally, Ben told me before he left that Mila approached him one evening while I was at rehearsal with great concern. She said quietly, "Daddy, I said a really bad word today, but I didn't try to..." When Ben asked her what happened, she told him that she had been making up silly rhymes and after she made up one with the word "duck," all of the kids in her class started to laugh at her. They told her that she had said a bad word and she had no idea what they were talking about, but she was super embarrassed.

That story breaks my heart for a number of reasons. First of all, why did all of the other kids know THAT word? Seriously. Wake up, parents! Also, that particular bubble of innocence is burst forever. My sweet little girl now knows that word for the rest of her life. Poor little thing. I'm so glad she's made it this far at least. You guys, I just might die when she gets to junior high and high school. We're all about taking it slow here. I mean, maybe, if she asks nicely enough, we will let her go on a date when she's eighteen. MAYBE.

**Happy Father's Day, babe! I will never forget the day Mila was born and I saw you transform before my eyes. I have never seen a grown man push a little baby cart around with such pride, or swaddle a tiny 6 pound thing with such care, or insist on changing every single teeny diaper. I fell in love all over again. We miss you!

(I scanned a few pictures from the dark ages before digital cameras)