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...)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
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...
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...
Saturday, June 28, 2008
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...
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...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
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...)
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...)
Friday, June 13, 2008
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)
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)
Friday, May 30, 2008
This is why I have not been blogging...
There is a Thrillionaires show tonight! I'm sure that I am posting this way too late for people to hear about it, but oh well... Come if you can! 8 pm at the Covey Center for the Arts in Provo! We will be featuring KOSY radio host/actress Laura Bedore.
May has been a heck of a month. I have been rehearsing every night for "Little Women: The Broadway Musical" (although this version is not on Broadway--it's in Orem.) I am playing Jo and whoever wrote this musical decided that Jo would have loved singing fourteen songs and loved changing costumes fourteen times, because that is pretty much what I am doing the whole time. The show runs from May 30 to July 26, however I am only in it on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights, except for the week of June 26-July 3, when I will be in Europe (yeah, I know! Another post...) I hope you will come and see it--it truly is a lovely show with beautiful music and heartfelt performances. So much talent! For more info, go to www.haletheater.com
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Are you for real?
Monday morning, on the way to the park for a picnic with friends, I stopped at my local market to grab some sandwiches because Lisa told me that the sandwiches are awesome (so far, I agree!) I locked my kids in the car because running inside anywhere with twins is UTTERLY impossible (please don't call the Crestwood Police--does that story make anyone else super mad?) and ran in. When I was in line to get my stuff, a nice-looking man behind me who was also buying a sandwich, asked me if I liked the sandwich I bought. I told him that I didn't know yet as I had never tried it. (I promise this gets more interesting.)
As I was rushing out to my car, the man behind me in the store called out behind me, "Excuse me!" I stopped and turned and he asked politely, "How old are you?"
Now, if you know me, you know that I avoid confrontation at all costs and I'm horribly awkward when put on the spot (and I do improv how?) so a polite stranger could pretty much get me to tell my life story if they were persistent enough. However, I was anxious to get to my kids so I kept walking quickly as he approached me.
"Uh, 30."
"Oh, I just ask because I'm always curious how people stay in shape around here, because it's hard."
"Um, I don't...do...much..." ( My need to get to my car far outweighed my desire to tell him my exercise regimen.)
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"So am I. It seems like people around here need to get that out of the way..." (I'm thinking, a) of all, awkward, and b) what is his deal with 'around here'--where the h is he from?)
Then he asks, "So what are you going to do with those sandwiches?" (Is he kidding?)
"I'm taking my kids to the park for a picnic..." (they're in the car that I'm opening the door to, Einstein!)
Then he said something I did NOT expect:
"Well, I just think it would be really fun to have lunch with you and your kids."
What the? Who SAYS that? What is he thinking? Has this EVER worked in the past, because I can't imagine any place in the universe where some married woman with three kids in a minivan would actually reply to a married man she's never met, "Oh my gosh, that would be SO fun! We'll be BFFs, I just know it!"
What I said (because I'm still so dang nice) was, "Well, gotta go--bye," as I hopped in my car and turned it on quickly. I sat there for a minute, experiencing the same uncomfortable feeling I probably last felt when my family's home teacher asked me out to dinner when I was thirteen, and watched as Creepy McShady crossed the street and WALKED to wherever he was going, meaning he works somewhere in the neighborhood. Yeah.
When I recounted this story to Ben and some of my friends, their first question was, "What did he look like?" (Ben asked because he wanted to know what description to give the police if I turned up missing--Rachel, you will appreciate that...) But I think that's what was the strangest thing about it. This guy was well-dressed, probably close to 40, clean-cut and not at all ugly. So he's just super-duper creepy and crazy. And he works in my neighborhood. And he buys sandwiches at my market.
And I will never go there between 11 and 1 again.
As I was rushing out to my car, the man behind me in the store called out behind me, "Excuse me!" I stopped and turned and he asked politely, "How old are you?"
Now, if you know me, you know that I avoid confrontation at all costs and I'm horribly awkward when put on the spot (and I do improv how?) so a polite stranger could pretty much get me to tell my life story if they were persistent enough. However, I was anxious to get to my kids so I kept walking quickly as he approached me.
"Uh, 30."
"Oh, I just ask because I'm always curious how people stay in shape around here, because it's hard."
"Um, I don't...do...much..." ( My need to get to my car far outweighed my desire to tell him my exercise regimen.)
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"So am I. It seems like people around here need to get that out of the way..." (I'm thinking, a) of all, awkward, and b) what is his deal with 'around here'--where the h is he from?)
Then he asks, "So what are you going to do with those sandwiches?" (Is he kidding?)
"I'm taking my kids to the park for a picnic..." (they're in the car that I'm opening the door to, Einstein!)
Then he said something I did NOT expect:
"Well, I just think it would be really fun to have lunch with you and your kids."
What the? Who SAYS that? What is he thinking? Has this EVER worked in the past, because I can't imagine any place in the universe where some married woman with three kids in a minivan would actually reply to a married man she's never met, "Oh my gosh, that would be SO fun! We'll be BFFs, I just know it!"
What I said (because I'm still so dang nice) was, "Well, gotta go--bye," as I hopped in my car and turned it on quickly. I sat there for a minute, experiencing the same uncomfortable feeling I probably last felt when my family's home teacher asked me out to dinner when I was thirteen, and watched as Creepy McShady crossed the street and WALKED to wherever he was going, meaning he works somewhere in the neighborhood. Yeah.
When I recounted this story to Ben and some of my friends, their first question was, "What did he look like?" (Ben asked because he wanted to know what description to give the police if I turned up missing--Rachel, you will appreciate that...) But I think that's what was the strangest thing about it. This guy was well-dressed, probably close to 40, clean-cut and not at all ugly. So he's just super-duper creepy and crazy. And he works in my neighborhood. And he buys sandwiches at my market.
And I will never go there between 11 and 1 again.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Rabbit Hole
So, I'm in a play. And it is, in fact, called Rabbit Hole. It's about a couple dealing with their grief over the death of their four year old son. I know. It's so not a comedy. However, it IS a Pulitzer Prize winning play and it is, needless to say, pretty intense. Having said all that, you should come on out for an uplifting night of theater! But seriously, I don't think it's all that depressing and I think it's an incredibly realistic depiction of the different ways that people deal with loss. Although it's been kicking my bootay, I always love a challenge and I get to share the stage with my good friends Chris and Jenny. Another reason I like this play? The characters are eating various baked goods in EVERY scene (which is totally how I would grieve, let's be honest.) But the Broadway actors must have gained 40 lbs. during the run.
Anyway, you should come see it, if you dare. We perform May 1, 2 and 3 in the UVSC BlackBox Theater at 7:30 pm. The best part? It's FREE! (My director, Alex Ungerman, said we weren't supposed to say that because you might think free things mean crappy things, but trust me on this one. It's worth it just to see Chris Clark act-a rare treat!)
P.S. I love this song right now and I think it fits the theme of the play, don't you? (If you think that I pick specific songs to match my blog posts, then you are absolutely right and you win a prize.)
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Revisiting Dante's Seventh Circle of You Know What
Yes, I am a goodie-two-shoes, I admit it! I always play by the rules and I always have. It frustrates me to no end when others don't. And yes, I am one of those people who yells at people in my car. It's a weakness-- I'm working on it. But those two characteristics combined? Bad news. I should not be allowed to take kids to school. Remember this?
Well, now the school's different, but it's the same old rules. And there are the same old rule-breakers. Just let it be said: if I have been waiting patiently for ten minutes in the correct (and only) line to drop my kid off, don't you DARE cruise in at 50 mph and cut right in front of me and everyone else and just let your kid off like it's nobody's business. When you see us all waiting there, I'm not real sure why it suddenly occurs to you that you have some magical golden ticket that justifies you swerving to the front of the line ahead of 20 other cars! Please don't look so surprised when I'm screaming at you from my car--I have good reason! I mean, it's not like I planned ahead and spent fifteen extra minutes loading up five children in a van so we could be on time. Oh, wait a minute. Yes I did! But maybe your kid will be late! Oh no! In that case, GET UP EARLIER IN THE MORNING, LADY!
And to you Dad guy, pulling all sorts of crazy stuff, I will let it go this time, but only because you are a man and you are absolutely clueless. Oy-vay.
You people who live close enough to let your kids walk or far enough away so that they take the bus--you have NO idea how lucky you are!
I'm going to go put myself in a time-out now...
Well, now the school's different, but it's the same old rules. And there are the same old rule-breakers. Just let it be said: if I have been waiting patiently for ten minutes in the correct (and only) line to drop my kid off, don't you DARE cruise in at 50 mph and cut right in front of me and everyone else and just let your kid off like it's nobody's business. When you see us all waiting there, I'm not real sure why it suddenly occurs to you that you have some magical golden ticket that justifies you swerving to the front of the line ahead of 20 other cars! Please don't look so surprised when I'm screaming at you from my car--I have good reason! I mean, it's not like I planned ahead and spent fifteen extra minutes loading up five children in a van so we could be on time. Oh, wait a minute. Yes I did! But maybe your kid will be late! Oh no! In that case, GET UP EARLIER IN THE MORNING, LADY!
And to you Dad guy, pulling all sorts of crazy stuff, I will let it go this time, but only because you are a man and you are absolutely clueless. Oy-vay.
You people who live close enough to let your kids walk or far enough away so that they take the bus--you have NO idea how lucky you are!
I'm going to go put myself in a time-out now...
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
A Day in the Life of LuLa
Hi--Lucy and Lane here! We've had some people ask us what it's like to live the fabulous life of a twin, so we thought we'd describe our typical day for you. First, we get up around 6:30 or so. Mom likes to sleep in, so we talk and giggle for about an hour until she comes and gets us. Ethan often comes in and plays with us, and by plays with us, we mean that he tosses all sorts of random things in our cribs and then makes weird, loud noises to make us laugh. Sometimes, Mom gets mad at him for that because she is clearly trying to get one more hour of sleep. Here are some pictures of our "crib(s)" (Get it? Ha ha):
At breakfast, we eat bananas. I think we have a three years' supply of bananas in our house at any given time. We are addicted to them. We eat other stuff, too, but there had better be BANANAS!
After breakfast, we like to tear up the house a little bit. That is pretty much our full-time job, so we take it seriously. Here are some pictures of us messing stuff up:
We also like to practice our walking. We're pretty much awesome at it now. Crawling is so 15 months.
When Mom gets us dressed, she makes us wear coordinating outfits. I guess this is payback for the grief we gave her in the womb. Our hair is getting long and Mom says we look "homeless," so she experiments with strange hairdos!
Now that it is getting warmer, we LOVE to go outside whenever we can. Sometimes, when we get tired of walking, we just cruise around the park in a pick-up truck.
On occasion, we have to attend really fancy events, like church on Easter Sunday, so we get all dressed up. But we HATE taking posed pictures with Mila and Ethan so we are kind of bratty about it. But just for the record, Mila and Ethan are NOT the best examples of kids excited to take pictures.
We love it when bedtime finally rolls around, because we get to brush our teeth. For whatever reason, we think brushing our teeth RULES! After we get our pjs on, we just sit back and chillax after our long day.
So, that's pretty much what our days are like. We know it must seem glamorous, but to us, it's pretty normal. We're just Lucy and Lane from the block, keepin' it real, in da house! Peace out...
At breakfast, we eat bananas. I think we have a three years' supply of bananas in our house at any given time. We are addicted to them. We eat other stuff, too, but there had better be BANANAS!
After breakfast, we like to tear up the house a little bit. That is pretty much our full-time job, so we take it seriously. Here are some pictures of us messing stuff up:
We also like to practice our walking. We're pretty much awesome at it now. Crawling is so 15 months.
When Mom gets us dressed, she makes us wear coordinating outfits. I guess this is payback for the grief we gave her in the womb. Our hair is getting long and Mom says we look "homeless," so she experiments with strange hairdos!
Now that it is getting warmer, we LOVE to go outside whenever we can. Sometimes, when we get tired of walking, we just cruise around the park in a pick-up truck.
On occasion, we have to attend really fancy events, like church on Easter Sunday, so we get all dressed up. But we HATE taking posed pictures with Mila and Ethan so we are kind of bratty about it. But just for the record, Mila and Ethan are NOT the best examples of kids excited to take pictures.
We love it when bedtime finally rolls around, because we get to brush our teeth. For whatever reason, we think brushing our teeth RULES! After we get our pjs on, we just sit back and chillax after our long day.
So, that's pretty much what our days are like. We know it must seem glamorous, but to us, it's pretty normal. We're just Lucy and Lane from the block, keepin' it real, in da house! Peace out...
Friday, March 21, 2008
Hoodwinked
My 5-year old is the con artist. I am the mark. I have fallen for a "long con" that is the oldest scam in the book.
I have been so proud of him for the past month. Each day, after Mila leaves for school, he disappears into his room. I hear the familiar clumping of toys being tossed into their appropriate bins and I smile to myself. After a while, he comes out and announces, "Mom, I cleaned my room!" and I go to inspect. Sure enough, it is always spic and span (what does that even mean?) He goes off to play and I pat myself on the back for being an awesome mom by making my son work. I have even bragged about him to my friends.
Today is Friday, which means that he is allowed to play XBox. Basically, he's waited all week long for this day. So the stakes are pretty high as far as the whole "cleaning the room" end of the deal goes. As I went in for my regular room inspection this morning, I noticed two things: 1)The toy bins, normally overflowing with Mystery Inc. characters and Storm Troopers, were only half-filled at best, and 2)At the foot of the bed, various arms and legs were poking out as well as some book pages.
I bent down to quickly snatch up the half-hidden objects and upon sweeping my hand under the bed, I was surprised at the amount of obstacles that stood in my way. I decided to take a quick peek under the dust ruffle. Well, much to my horror, what I saw was about six inches of space JAM-PACKED with toys, books and stuffed animals. There was not an inch to be spared! It looked like some crazy, freaky dump-site for plastic corpses. Also, he sleeps in a queen-sized bed. Yeah. So basically, he has been playing shove-o-rama for an ENTIRE month!
I have gotten out about half of the "buried treasure," but I am going to need a broomstick or something to retrieve the rest. He is so busted.
As for me, how could I have been so blind? I can't believe I fell for the whole "Mommy-I-love-you-so-much-I'll-do-manual-labor-for-you-every-morning!" act. Well, it's not going to be so easy in the future--now I'm jaded. That kid's not getting anything by me!
Now I just need to work on getting more details on Mila and her "boyfriend"...
I have been so proud of him for the past month. Each day, after Mila leaves for school, he disappears into his room. I hear the familiar clumping of toys being tossed into their appropriate bins and I smile to myself. After a while, he comes out and announces, "Mom, I cleaned my room!" and I go to inspect. Sure enough, it is always spic and span (what does that even mean?) He goes off to play and I pat myself on the back for being an awesome mom by making my son work. I have even bragged about him to my friends.
Today is Friday, which means that he is allowed to play XBox. Basically, he's waited all week long for this day. So the stakes are pretty high as far as the whole "cleaning the room" end of the deal goes. As I went in for my regular room inspection this morning, I noticed two things: 1)The toy bins, normally overflowing with Mystery Inc. characters and Storm Troopers, were only half-filled at best, and 2)At the foot of the bed, various arms and legs were poking out as well as some book pages.
I bent down to quickly snatch up the half-hidden objects and upon sweeping my hand under the bed, I was surprised at the amount of obstacles that stood in my way. I decided to take a quick peek under the dust ruffle. Well, much to my horror, what I saw was about six inches of space JAM-PACKED with toys, books and stuffed animals. There was not an inch to be spared! It looked like some crazy, freaky dump-site for plastic corpses. Also, he sleeps in a queen-sized bed. Yeah. So basically, he has been playing shove-o-rama for an ENTIRE month!
I have gotten out about half of the "buried treasure," but I am going to need a broomstick or something to retrieve the rest. He is so busted.
As for me, how could I have been so blind? I can't believe I fell for the whole "Mommy-I-love-you-so-much-I'll-do-manual-labor-for-you-every-morning!" act. Well, it's not going to be so easy in the future--now I'm jaded. That kid's not getting anything by me!
Now I just need to work on getting more details on Mila and her "boyfriend"...
Thursday, March 20, 2008
A Bit 'o' Fun
Our show on Monday night was so much fun! Orlando was charming as ALWAYS and so much fun to hang out with. In the first half, we improvised a Shakespeare play, and it was one of our best ever! The costumes, sets, and background music were gorgeous, and everyone played their parts to a tee. I had a blast! For the second half, we transformed into Irish peasants for a musical. It had a few little quirks but was still enjoyable. And challenging! Did I mention I had to play two characters? Yep, a mother and daughter that looked exactly alike. (Thanks for that, Mac!) It was good times. And the audience was SO wonderful! Thanks to everyone who came!
P.S. Lisa's "bundle" in the first picture is none other than her real live beautiful baby Margaret. I begged her to do the show and, being the awesome woman that she is, she obliged! Thanks to Lisa's mom, who was on baby duty during the show!
P.S. Lisa's "bundle" in the first picture is none other than her real live beautiful baby Margaret. I begged her to do the show and, being the awesome woman that she is, she obliged! Thanks to Lisa's mom, who was on baby duty during the show!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Darby O'Thrill and the Little People (does that sound like a band name?)
Don't you think it's kind of sad when a day comes along that is supposed to be a holiday, but it feels like every other day? St. Patrick's Day is kind of like that for me. I mean, I have to admit, I've never had an experience like this on that day. (In my opinion, that has to be the funniest St. Patrick's Day story EVER. And I will always remember it because it happened to my friend Patrick.) So I wear my green and try to feel festive, but let's be honest, if you're not into heavy drinking, there's not really much else to this day.
Until now.
The Thrillionaires have decided to take matters into their own hands and make THIS St. Patrick's Day one to remember. We're bringing in the ultra suave, super dapper Orlando Seale from across the pond to join us for a rip-stomping Shakespeare play and all-out Irish fun. The show will begin at 8 pm at the Covey Arts Center in Provo. This performance also marks our two year anniversary as a troupe! You do not want to miss it! Go to www.coveycenter.org or call 801-852-7007 to buy tickets. Leave me a comment if you want to be on a "coupon guest list" that gets you in for $3 off the $10 ticket price. See you there!
Until now.
The Thrillionaires have decided to take matters into their own hands and make THIS St. Patrick's Day one to remember. We're bringing in the ultra suave, super dapper Orlando Seale from across the pond to join us for a rip-stomping Shakespeare play and all-out Irish fun. The show will begin at 8 pm at the Covey Arts Center in Provo. This performance also marks our two year anniversary as a troupe! You do not want to miss it! Go to www.coveycenter.org or call 801-852-7007 to buy tickets. Leave me a comment if you want to be on a "coupon guest list" that gets you in for $3 off the $10 ticket price. See you there!
Saturday, March 08, 2008
For those of you who think I'm the creative one in the family...
Please watch this little movie that my husband and his twin brothers made for their dad for Christmas one year. It is truly remarkable to me that it came from the blood, sweat, and tears of two future dentists and one future lawyer. Job well done, boys. I never knew you had it in you!
P.S. Much like Pixar, Ben has included a special, "tasty" surprise after the credits!
P.S. Much like Pixar, Ben has included a special, "tasty" surprise after the credits!
Friday, February 29, 2008
It's a trilogy!
This is the final Jessica Belmont video. It's longer than the others because it's not the final cut, but I didn't want to leave you hanging. It also stars my friend Brett, who could write a book called "It's All in the Delivery!" (And no, he's not a doctor or mailman.)
I also threw in another car dealership commercial, just for the heck of it. This one aired in Wyoming! Yee-haw!
I also threw in another car dealership commercial, just for the heck of it. This one aired in Wyoming! Yee-haw!
Monday, February 25, 2008
Rocking my world since February 25, 2003
Allow me to preface this brag by saying that it is my brag, so I can say whatever I want. OK, now having said that, I'd like to go ahead and say that I just might have given birth to one of the cutest, most awesome boy babies on the planet. He was a week overdue and still the doctor wouldn't induce me. When a non-stress test revealed that he was overcooked, they checked me in to the hospital that afternoon. That night, there was a blizzard, so at 3:45 am, after my epiderral had worn off, my doctor was a no-show and Ben and the nurse got to deliver him. (The Dr. was a real jerk about it, too, when he finally did get there, by the way) But he was healthy and beautiful and that's all that mattered to me. My boy baby is five today. He loves Star Wars and his twin sisters and eating. Recently, he decided to take Remy's advice (of Ratatouille fame) and savor two flavors at a time. His favorite? Apples and cheese. Here are some pictures of him from last week as he takes in the magic of those two flavors:
He closed his eyes every time he chewed. I love him!
Here he is with his girls:
And here are some of my other favorite pics of him, just cause:
He closed his eyes every time he chewed. I love him!
Here he is with his girls:
And here are some of my other favorite pics of him, just cause:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ETHAN! (Stop getting big, and don't get married...)
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