Take Your Time - I'm Fresh Out

time (tim): n.

1.  indefinite

2.  the entire period of existence of the known universe; finite duration

3. a system of measuring duration


"We are out of time!"



Hrmm... have you ever had one of those mornings?  I did, just a few minutes ago.  We all woke up late.  No one actually wanted to go to school.  No one wanted to get dressed (myself included).  I gulped down a cup of amazing tea and life was better.  Seriously.  I'm pretty sure it's what coffee drinkers experience, but I'm not sure since I have maybe 10 cups of coffee a year.  [diet coke and tea are a whole nother story!]  I kicked into gear, lunches were made, violins grabbed, sweaters donned and out the door to the bus. I'm exhausted and want a cocktail.  IT'S ONLY 9 AM!!!! And I have at least 12 more years of mornings like this.  And.... would I trade those mornings for anything?  Nope.  Not a single one.

I discovered that when I'm driving (the whopping 2 blocks to the bus stop... don't go all green on me, we usually walk, even in rain, but we were REALLY late today.  TIME!!! I was out of it!) the girls tell me the most amazing things.  They tell me all of their fears, hopes, problems, and dreams. Even in the so short 5 minutes that it takes them to get on the bus. [Equally awesome is that the bus driver knows that the girls WILL NOT get on the bus until they have a hug and kiss from me.  Miss Ruth waits. And Miss Ruth will.not.let.Crow.on.the.bus, no matter how hard Crow tries.  Awesomesauce bus driver.]

Today I heard the Christmas wish list, and I silently thanked the gods that my children also included great toys for the local shelter.  I also made sure that they knew Santa has a budget and would love to know that they want to share with those less fortunate.


I also heard that Bank snores too much. [The sisters are are a bit annoyed that she hasn't had to have a sinus surgery yet, so they complain as MUCH as possible about her snoring, which I've recorded and is pretty minor.]

And Grace is mean in the mornings and wakes everyone up.  I discovered that Grace actually gets up an hour before me and pops onto the computer, so after this, I'll contact a computer forensics guy (old friend) and have him search my mac for... I'm not even sure, but I'll have him search.  And I'll have him explain to me very simply how to password protect stuff.  [I only figured out how to password protect my phone after Crow called Portugal's equivalent of 911.  I can now yell into a mobile phone in several languages, "It is not an emergency and I live in America!" I'm fairly certain that someone from the government (here or there) will show up soon. And then they will meet Crow.]


I also learned that I should really clean out my garage so I can put the minivan in there.  I have an awesome garage.  Fits 2 big cars; my father hung all sorts of hooks on the walls so I can hang bikes, scooters, ladders and extension cords.  And he gave me shelving for a birthday gift one year.  He might be one of the most fantastical dads ever! I need the garage space because on mornings like this when I need to drive the 2 blocks to the bus stop, I need clear windows in the minivan.  To get the clear windows this morning, I had to put all of the windows down, and I was cold!

My Garage: ... there are bikes on the floor.  A lone kayak, a row boat (that isn't ours) paddles, scooters galore, jump ropes, tools, a desk(?), boxes of stuff, stuff I'm sending out west (because I'm going to be a grand/great aunt again, and either grand or great totally work for me, feeds my ego...), donation stuff, and just more stuff!  Some of my neighbors have amazing garages.  They are the ones who still have operating garage doors, no 'stuff' on the floor, painted garage walls (seriously, who has time to do that?! And I'm really jealous!), stairs to the storage space ABOVE the garage (again, I'm really jealous, who wouldn't want all that extra space?), floor mats so if anything ever drips they can wash the mat, a system to hang things like kayaks from the ceiling... the list goes on.  And then I look at my lovely neighbors and realize that they have already raised their children and they have TIME to put everything away.  I'm coveting time now.  Forget the garage, I want time.  Or maybe another mother in the house.  Or a second wife.  Not sure how Q would feel about that, but darn, the garage AND the kitchen would be clean at. the. same. time. Who wouldn't want that?!  (Yes, I know laws, morals, etc get in the way, but really!  A clean kitchen and garage with laundry being done at the same time seems pretty out of this world to me.  Like space alien out of this world....)  Yes, I know I digress... bear with me...

Now, we are embarking on the ever stressful holiday season as well.  We start with Halloween.  Then, Thanksgiving sneaks up.  And then we, as mothers start panicking about the winter holidays! (I swear, it doesn't matter which one you celebrate, you freak out anyway!)  Then New Year's.  Right on it's heals as you sigh a breath, it's Valentine's Day!   Time!!! We have no time!


So I propose this to all:  Let's make the time for our kids this year.  


Who cares if our garages aren't as awesome as the folks who live next door?  I'd like to spend the afternoon teaching my girls how to chop vegetables for soup.  And I'd like my girls to go biking (without me freaking out where the bikes hang up at night!).  And I want my girls to enjoy a movie on a school night if their homework is finished early, popcorn included.  I want them to make gingerbread houses for Christmas, light candles, and make home made gifts.  All of that takes time, and, well, aren't they worth it?

Cheers,

Katya

P.S.  Bank just had a birthday and was super excited to get *TWENTY BUCKS* from her aunt.  She's already cashed it in for 2 10's so she can go shop for her school's canned food drive.  (She did tell me she'll *save* the other one for a toy for herself.  I'm pretty proud of her right about now!)

[Note from Mom- If I'd only know $20 would be the awesomesauce gift, I'd have gone with it!]


P.P.S.  Nina would have chocked at my misspellings and grammar on this post before my made up words and spellchek.  I just like messing with her,,,,,  ;) She is my bestest friend ever! [As always, I've fixed everything in the main area and added pics - I leave little notes like this one alone just for you. -N]

Weight-Sharing

skin·ny [skin-nee]: adjective
1. very lean or thin; emaciated.
2. unusually low or reduced; meager; minimal.

(Sounds kind of derogatory, doesn't it? Hmm.) 

-noun (slang)

3. accurate information; data; facts. 

“I was so skinny, they gave me the nickname stechetto - the stick. I was tall, thin, ugly and dark like an Arab girl. I looked strange. All eyes. No flesh on my bones.” -Sophia Loren

Okay, you know what? We need to declare a truce on the whole skinny-girls-versus-fat-girls thing. Seriously. It's not productive, and leaves every single one of us sobbing neurotically and calling anyone who compliments us a liar. I think we could all do without that, including the men, children, and pets who grace our households and have to stand there helplessly with a box of tissues listening to us wax neurotic about our body image issues.

In the grand scheme of things, I think it's safe to say I fall on the thin side of the weight spectrum. Like, aaalllllll the way down there at the shallow end, where everybody looks vaguely like Olive Oyl. Motherhood does a number on all of us, one way or the other, and I drew the postpartum straw that gave me food allergies and a tendency to lose my appetite when I'm upset. Which happens with increasing frequency, because I somehow think that being thin makes me creepy and funny-looking. Awesome. I dropped two sizes in one year (after I'd cleaned out my closets, of course), and I've resigned myself to being perpetually hungry, usually for something I'm allergic to. I try to eat enough to gain back a few curves, but I might as well be calling for diamonds from the sky, because the weight just will not show up. It sucks. You know how some people who feel trapped by their circumstances dream about flying? I dream about eating Milano cookies. This is a recurring dream. I might as well dream about flying, because for me both are equally impossible. I refused to wear shorts all this past Summer because every pair I tried on made me look like a Halloween skeleton wearing a diaper - not a look I'm going for.

Now let's look at the other side of things. Some moms weigh more than they would like. These are usually women who are totally awesome and otherwise fun to hang out with, if they could get rid of the notion that having a few extra pounds about their person made them less than awesome and lip-smackingly sensual. Seriously? They drew the postpartum straw that said pounds would come take up residence and flip them a nasty gesture anytime they try to get rid of it. It sucks. These are my friends who are always trying to find the magic button that will make the weight go away, including resigning themselves to being perpetually hungry and crabby and feeling guilty every time they eat. It drives them bonkers because they didn't have this problem back when they were a young and energetic twenty-something, so they feel like the fact that the weight's still there means they're doing something wrong. I've had friends sheepishly admit that they won't wear shorts during the Summer because their thighs jiggle too much.

There seems to be some weird "perverse pride" thing going on lately, where women struggling to lose weight proudly and loudly declare that they're BETTER than thin girls. As a thin person myself, I admit I felt more than a little hurt when friends of mine hopped on this fancy little bandwagon. They seemed blissfully unconcerned that, in their haste to feel better about themselves and their struggle, they were perfectly happy to dump on me and mine. In fact, my first impulse was to track down every one of these friends and smoosh a banana cream pie in their face for being able to eat the things I can't. And that, my friends, is crazy. It's the kind of crazy that makes a friend look like an enemy for no real reason except their struggle is a bit different. This nonsense "x-is-better-than-y" campaign is just another kind of name-calling, only it pretends to be pro-female (by causing one half of the female population to attack the other half?!), which drives.me.bonkers. Really bonkers. I actually sat down and tried to write something funny about it earlier, and just ended up sounding whiny and angry. I hate sounding like that, so you won't read it here. Instead, I went to bed angry and came up with a brilliant new concept I think we could all get behind: WEIGHT-SHARING!

I think rather than waste our precious free time, energy, and brain cells resenting one another for our respective weights, we should pool our resources. Clearly, I'm stealing the thin from someone and they're turning around and sucking out all my yummy curves. So let's make like post-imperial Britain and give it all back! All the gals who are one bad flu away from a stay at the hospital will chip in their skinny, and all the gals who get friction burns from running too fast will chip in their extra pounds. If we mix it all up together, then redistribute things evenly, we'll all come out happy.

Right?

Or maybe we could spend all that fabulous time, energy, and brain power on something that really matters to us, something that will always make us happy regardless of the numbers on the scale. We could learn new things. We could gaze at the stars. We could catch snowflakes on our tongues. We could rediscover standards of beauty so broad and diverse and inclusive that every one of us will find out we've been revered by some ancient culture somewhere, where they made statues in our honor. We could travel abroad. We could splash in public fountains. We could make art to comfort the tortured soul. We could volunteer at a food bank, or build houses for the homeless. We could hold our children close and whisper how much we love them, while they'll still let us. We could take the time, each day, to congratulate ourselves on something we did right, even if it means just celebrating that we're still upright and breathing. Most of all though, most importantly, we could take all that time, all that energy, all that brain power, and recognize in each other not an enemy or a judge, not a "skinny bitch" or a "fat cow", but another mom - an ally and a friend.

No matter how much weight we're carrying, we're all pulling a heavy load. Let's shed the weight of a partisan battle that no one will win, and help each other along instead. That's the kind of weight-sharing that will really make a difference.

Nap

Nap-verb

1.  a wonderful thing

2.  sleep, in the afternoon

3.  a wonderful thing most mothers don't get a chance to do

4.  restorative rest so mothers don't become horrid to the short people

[can y'all tell I wrote those definitions myself?]

I just had Nina's kids over for the weekend (which was really great) and I took them out (okay, Q took them out, but I was there, I just don't have a captains license, minor detail, I do all the lines as long as I won't break a nail and if I will, I make the short ones do the lines) on the boat.  IT WAS THE WORLD'S MOST EXPENSIVE NAP, and so worth it.  All *5* short people napped!  And allowed a real grown up conversation!  It was pretty fantastic.

And they did not care one iota about rounding out a recent field trip to Fort McHenry. Yeah, seeing it from water made them lose memory of that lovely field trip that they had only 2 weeks ago and had told me all about the day before.  On that note, I was pretty happy that they napped.  They were up late the night before, slept in, ate the contents of my fridge  (18 eggs for 5 kids?! almost 2 lbs of bacon?! and asking for lunch by 10:30?), and were getting a little tired of each other. So the wave motion of the boat produced naps. Which was awesome.  And then they woke up. And I gave them freeze pops.  And then they started jumping on the beds.  On the boat.  I'm just not really great at math or physics, and I don't know what all the theories are named, but even I know not to jump on a bed while on a moving object (a hotel bed is a whole nother story!).  I found that out (in the exact same way) when I was 4.  So, add one head injury to the weekend. *sigh* I almost made it through with 5 injury free kids.  Ice fixed all, it was very minor. Now, all the kids know NOT to jump on boat beds, sometimes when you descend, the bed is not there...  I wonder if they will apply the same thinking to RV's?  Maybe I'll find out next summer.  If Nina will only let me kidnap her short ones for a camping trip... Hrmm... [Done! -N]

I heard about all of Nina's family secrets (okay, there aren't too many... but short young ones say funny stuff!). And, I thought it was really funny to hear that, "You're not MY mom!"  Um, yes, that is a true statement, lovely short child in my house, *but* I'm the mom around.  And that mother you are referencing, is my best friend who left you with me.  I promised I would only call IF I had to take you to the ER so your lovely parents could have a whole weekend to themselves. So you will follow my rules, which right about now include putting on swim trunks and getting in the hot tub because we just finished breakfast and hurry up because your parents will be here soon and we need to cram lots of fun/spoiling/exam week stuff in RIGHT NOW! Yup, a scuba mask was worn as well.  Completely necessary in a hot tub by the way.

Nina may hate me right now.  Her children had fun.  Lots of fun.  And only one minor head injury... bound to happen with 5 kids...  And going into exam week, super tired. And I'm pretty sure all of the clothes she packed are still at my house.  

Things I learned from her children:  

1.  Do not give them tea.  No matter how nicely they ask.  Children should not be caffeinated.

2.  Warn them about laws of physics.  Those laws apply to humans too.

3.  Procure twice as much food as you think the short people can ever eat!  They will go through a growth spurt.

4.  Wake them up in the morning.  Otherwise you will never, ever get out the door before 4 in the afternoon!  (And it's just fun since they kept you up late!)

5.  Remember to have all of them brush their teeth.  Whoops.  My bad, but by 9 at night, *I* was exhausted! (Dentists, take note, I do not condone poor oral health, but sometimes I need everyone to sleep, including me)

Lessons learned were valuable.  I hope Nina takes note, because next time it's her turn!

Cheers,

Katya

P.S.  About 10 minutes after the kids were dropped off I sort of promised a LIVE gift for Christmas (to Nina's kids, I already have a managerie).  After about 5 seconds of reflection, I had to back out of that ALL weekend.  Lizard or snake or turtle are not happening.  Or hermit crabs.  Did you know they can live about 15 years?  Yeah, I have 3...

Cacophony: Need I Say More?

Ca-co-phony


[kuh-kof-uh-nee] - Noun

1. harsh discordance of sound

2. a discordant and meaningless mixture of sounds

3. Music:  frequent use of discords of a harness and relationship difficult to understand



I have come to the conclusion that the audio of my life is similar to a pack of screaming cats.  I believe that I was delusional to have 3 children within a very short period of time.  The oldest was still 3 when the last was spawned.  And now I have 3 very verbal and dramatic short people, none of whom nap anymore.  Or go to sleep on time.

When I deign to take a phone call, they stalk me.  They will follow me around airing every grievance they can come up with while.I'm.on.the.phone.  And if ignored, they get louder and louder.  And then they will start touching me.  Maybe it's just a poke of a finger or a gentle tapping, but for the love of Grace! Have they not ever heard from me, "DO NOT TUG ON SUPERMAN'S CAPE!" [Maybe they think you actually mean Superman. I just threaten mine with unnamed violence. The uncertainty seems to make it more effective. -N] I do not need to know about whatever it is unless someone is bleeding from their eyeballs or vomiting.  I have told all of them this many, many times, but for some reason, they do not believe in that rule.  And if I hang up to give them a time out, they have actually succeeded in their plan to thwart outside adult contact. *sigh*

I am the one who feeds, shelters and clothes them.  I help with homework.  I drive them places that they want to go. I host playdates and parties for them.  I do all of those things with love and don't complain about it (laundry is a whole different story though).  There are days when I really think that they have indentured me to them. [Of course. You're an au pair, remember? -N] Short people of this world (those under 10 at least) are the most powerful group of people on this planet.  And then after poking me and getting loud, they are genuinely surprised if they get yelled at! Really?

Grace gets upset if there isn't complete silence when practicing her violin (which she just started and is really schreechy still), but it is perfectly acceptable for her to ask how math problem #8 should be done while I'm trying to schedule an appointment.  For her.  Well, my love, #8 is completed the same way #1-7 were.  And, nice try, I'm not actually doing your homework for you.  I already finished 3rd grade, theoretically, I should not need the practice in math.  I'm all grown up and get to use a computer for that sot of thing. [Mine try to get me to answer their exam questions for them. Home schooling is AWESOME. -N] [I know you think homeschooling is awesome.  I don't.  I think YOU are awesome for doing it!  I love putting them on the bus in the morning.  So, some moms cry the first day of school.  I wanted a mimosa (and was sadly out of all the makings, poor planning).][...Remind me to define "sarcasm" next. -N]

Bank has the lovely habit of calling someone else and talking to them while I'm on the phone.  It shouldn't be a problem, but she is loud too, and stands right next to me to talk to her aunt/friend/dad.  And then I lose whatever short train of thought I had going for me.  I had to hang up with Nina last night because I couldn't figure out what we were talking about anymore.

And behind all of that fun noise was Crow and Q singing off key.  And not knowing the words.  And not stopping. Even with many glares from me. I used to like that song too.  So itunes was put on and turned up.  That really helps my concentration... [This is true. I could totally hear them. It was awesome. Because on my side? Everyone was being quiet in case I heard them and realized they were available to clean. -N] [Awesome, smawsome! Only great for you Nina.  I couldn't actually have a conversation! And then, Q, instead of talking, started staring at me.  Because that's not distracting.  At all.  What?  Was he on fire or something?  Oooo, they actually clean?  I'm only asking because I have them for the weekend! More child labor! Yay! -K][Nice try - they don't really clean. I tell them to clean things so they'll go hide and be quiet. -N]

Not making this up. Possibly buying it, though.

Crow is yelling at me right now, mostly because she's tired from school, but also because there is a bee outside.  OUTSIDE! Good grief! It's not inside, it's not bothering her, she's never been stung... So she is yelling "Mommmmmmmyyyyyyy!" Over and over.  I feel bad that my next door neighbor can hear her, she called to see if I needed a break from her.  Have I mentioned that I really do have awesome neighbors?  I wouldn't wish Crow on anyone right now though. Maybe she'll cry herself into a nap. Probably not.

[Note:  I'm really slow, so Nina has to put the pictures in for me.  However, on that note, the wine is actually really good!  My dad bought some for me last Halloween and I didn't share.  And, I won't share again.  They also make a lovely white.  I suggest Mommies bring some to whoever hosts a playdate; that mom deserves it!-Katya]

So, I've changed my name.  And I'm not telling what it is.  Maybe I'll get some quiet tonight. Failing that, I'll get some wine.

Cheers (literally),

Katya

What the ....

puck [puhk]: noun
1. also called Hobgoblin or Robin Goodfellow; a particularly mischievous sprite in English folklore who appears as a character in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
2. ( lowercase ) a malicious or mischievous demon or spirit; a goblin. Derived from the Old English puca.
3. in ice hockey, a black disk of vulcanized rubber that is to be hit into the goal.
4. relating to British computer terms, what is known in the United States as a mouse. (Hey, I've learned something new!)

"Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night."
- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

As most people who know me well will tell you, I believe in fairies. Like, actually believe in them. I'm not just talking about the flittery little things with wings and skimpy clothes (Do they shop at Forever 21 Mini, or mug Bratz dolls, or what? ANYWAY.). I'm talking about nature spirits of varying kinds of benevolence. I am aware that this is considered crazy by modern standards (at least among non-pantheists), which is why I would not answer those psychological wellness assessment questions honestly. Sheesh. I'd have to be really crazy to admit to something like that out loud. In a public forum. Like the internet. Hm...

Oh, look! Over there! A distraction!

Okay, now that the scary people with white coats have gone, let's get back to business. I swear this will relate to motherhood, just bear with me.

As every mother has discovered since the dawn of time, the urge to swear like a drunken sailor does not magically disappear with childbirth. If anything, the urge to let loose a string of invectives that would curdle milk, peel wallpaper, cause refined ladies to fall into a faint, and possibly knock the earth off its axis, comes more frequently. Unfortunately, as we all know, one must not teach one's children any interesting words that would cause eyebrow raising from friends, neighbors, teachers, and CPS (because we all know we're just a concerned citizen's phone call away from being officially labeled Worst Mother of All Time).  [For the record, CPS has NOT EVER been called about me, however, I've won the *Mother of the Year* award several times.  -Katya]

Fortunately, as I mentioned above, I believe in fairies. And they can be a rotten bunch of nasty tricky beasts when they want to (still talking about fairies, not kids). So when my life goes doughnut shaped and crazy, and the urge to vent will not be denied, I yell at the fairies. Or rather, one particular one. By name. He's a nasty little piece of work, and could well be responsible for whatever in.ter.est.ing. thing is going on. If not, I rest assured that whichever one of the nastier ones happens to be nearby making things worse for fun, it probably won't mind being confused with him.

You have probably noticed, of course, that the name also very closely resembles an actual swear word. Throwing it in wherever you don't want to be caught teaching your carefully-listening children the Queen Mother of All Swear Words works pretty well, and it feels just as satisfying, what with the emphatic use of consonants and everything. You might get some hairy eyeballs, because everyone else can hear those awesome consonants as well, but you'll get a pass upon repetition. Best part? If your children want to know more, or are caught using it, make sure they know where it comes from. Yes, that's right, you're not hurling expletives around in front of your child, you're teaching them cultured things, like Shakespeare. Look at you, you're so cultured and classy!

What about people who don't believe in fairies and think they're stupid? Well...I hope you're a hockey fan, that's all. As any worthwhile hockey fan will tell you, a flying puck (lol) can do a lot of damage and engender a lot of cursing. It's probably safe to say that many things that make a mother want to curse will strangely resemble a hockey puck in full-on Demolition Mode. Or if not, Mommy soon will. Either way, that makes the term appropriate for hockey moms too.  [I used to have a mean slap shot.  Then I became a little less than coordinated.  Hmm.  I should work on that before the dating years.  -K]  [Nina's just a scary good shot]

If you're a British mom who thinks fairies and hockey are both stupid and that Shakespeare is stupid as well, I'm afraid you'll have to learn to really revile your computer accessories in order to get the proper tone. Also - what the heck is wrong with you?

Go forth, ladies, and pseudo-curse. You're welcome. Puck will be visiting your home shortly, I'm sure.

Cheers,
 Nina

Just Ducky

Duck- noun (and really, we all know how to pronounce this one)

1.  Any of various swimming birds in which the neck and legs are short, the feet typically webbed, the bill often broad and flat, and the sexes usually different from each other in plumage


2. The flesh of any of these birds used as food




My darling Crow, when she was almost 3 years old caught a duck.  I'm not sure which of us was more stunned, the duck, Crow or myself.

Crow wasn't feeling well, so off to the doc we go.  It had rained a lot the day before, so every parking lot I saw was full of lovely puddles for ducks.  After being told she had yet another sinus infection, we left the office and went to hop into the big ugly van.  She took a detour.  Crow snuck up on a duck, caught it and started petting it.  Of all the things in my life that I've said, I never thought I'd yell the words, "Put the duck down!"  I never, ever considered that combination of words our of my mouth. Ever.  Who says that?


So, back into the doc's office for hand sanitizer.  Because she picked up a duck. And he comes around the corner, and being the good doc that he is and concerned we are back within 10 minutes, asks what's wrong.  I didn't want to tell him.  I have a history of over-reacting to my children's illnesses and I live by Murphy's Law.  It's embarrassing.  I did tell him we just popped back up for the hand sanitizer, and after the look he shot my way (think him calling Child Protective Services...) I told him.  When he was done laughing at the fact that my daughter caught a duck, he gave me more sample sizes of sanitizer for my purse.  God bless him.


I was laughing when I picked the other short people up from school [I'm not brave enough to homeschool like Nina] [You typed it wrong, the word is "crazy". -Nina] I told them about the 'duck incident'.  Bank wanted to know, since she loves duck so much, if I had killed it and brought it home.  Really? I have killer shoes.  I do not hunt. Who is that spawn of mine?  She was 4 at the time. She is still a foodie and not afraid of where her food comes from.  Good and bad from that, but I digress...


When relating the story to Q later that day, between my fits of laughter mind you, Bank asked me what was for dinner.  It was right around her birthday [For an entire week at birthday times thy get to pick breakfast and dinner] so it was her week to pick the menu. Oh.my.god.  We were having roasted duck, Bank's favorite.  I had to sit down.  My family could not tell if I was weeping or laughing.  I thought I was going to pee my pants.  

So, the duck we had that night came from the grocery store, not the parking lot.  The doc thinks I'm crazy, not too far off the mark.  And, I've discovered that there are sentences and exclamations you never think you will have to speak.  And, catching water fowl is a little more dangerous than I once thought; Crow has almost fallen into harbors while trying to repeat the experience.  She find great delight in creating germ-induced (it was bird flu mania!) panic attacks in her mother.  [She was also one of the first kids to be diagnosed with swine flu in the mid atlantic, my germ phobia is understandable with her.  I'm raising 3 petri dishes who are so cute, smart and funny, but I swear they lick grocery carts when I'm not looking.]


Cheers,

Katya