Addicted

K and I have been doing it every night, some times twice a night.

Get your mind out of the gutter; it’s not what you think.

You see, we have been in a frenzy trying to catch up on all of the “Lost” episodes, all the way back from Season 1. We are hopelessly addicted. Each night after EB goes to bed, we boot up our Netflix and lose ourselves (no pun intended) in the trials and tribulations of the plane crash survivors living on the mysterious island. Some nights, we watch not one, not two, but three episodes.

The plot is complex and the characters are an eye-candy. In fact, not only are they beautiful, they are also some of the most useful people to have around on a dangerous island. There's a spinal surgeon that fixes everyone up, a hunter that, well hunts, and an ex-military guy that catches and interrogates bad people. If I ever had to crash on an island, I would choose to crash with these folks. Of course I doubt they would say the same thing about me--I don’t do surgery, can’t hunt boars and am no match for the bad guys. But, I can spin an Excel pivot table and put together Power Point pitches like no one’s business, so maybe I’m not that useless after all.

The unfortunate thing about being a half a decade behind on popular television is that spoilers are lurking everywhere. It’s been a few months since the "Lost" season finale, and we still hear chatters about it. Luckily, both K and I have been successful in remaining in the dark about what happens in the episodes ahead.

We were striving to finish the series before early-August, when K starts nursing school and EB starts her new preschool. While we enjoy each cliffhanger episode, it’s starting to feel an obligation, like we must watch it every night. We need to put this behind us and get our nights back.

Happily we’ve completed two and a half seasons, which means we are almost half way through. But this also means we have another 61 episodes, or another 2,562 minutes to go.

The Working Mom's Videogame

For all you working moms--here's a video game depiction of a career mom's juggling act (courtesy of WSJ.com's The Juggle) . Enjoy!


Girls suck at video games / Les filles sont nulles aux jeux vidéo from Stéphanie Mercier on Vimeo.

Sweets-Crazy

I made this picture using PBS Kids iPhone App. It allows you to paste in all sorts of cartoon characters from their network.

I eagerly showed it to EB, thinking she would be delighted to see Caillou "sitting together" with her.

Instead, EB gave it the stink eye, as if she was thinking: why is this punk Caillou sidling up to me?

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OK, maybe she's more of an animal person, I think. so I made another picture, to the left. 

When I showed her the picture, she was ecstatic: "Ooooh, doughnuts!"  

I ask: "What about Curious George? Isn't it fun that he's with you?" 

She ignores my question and redirects my attention to the cake: "Look, it's a birthday cake!"

So I modified the picture, this time sans Curious George. 

Doughnuts, birthday cake, balloons: It's a Trifecta. 

She demanded to hold my iPhone so that she can stare at the picture. "Please, can I look at it," she begged every time I took the phone away from her. 

The girl is crazy about sweets. Some day, it will be boys. K and I will take the sweets-crazy stage over boy-crazy stage any day.

Happy Birthday, Mom! (A day early. Again.)

I called Mom this morning to wish her a happy birthday. I felt so on top of things until she reminded me that it’s actually tomorrow. This is the second year in a row that I called her a day early. Damn.

Now before you start wondering what's wrong with me that I can’t even get my own mother's birthday right, you must hear me out. Tracking her birthday is complicated.

Mom goes by the Chinese Lunar Calendar when it comes to her birthday. This means her birthday falls on a different day each year on the Gregorian calendar.

To figure out which day it falls on, I download a copy of the Lunar Calendar from the Web (look to the right for an example). As you can see, her birthday is June 10 (highlighted in yellow), and the corresponding Gregorian calendar date is July 21.



So why am I always a day early? It’s because June 10 is not her real birthday. She was actually born on June 11, but someone at the passport agency fat-fingered the date on her passport and put down June 10 instead. And because all of her other official documents like the driver's license is based on her passport, her birthday officially became June 10.

Long story short, her birthday is June 10. But she was really born on June 11. But remember, that’s June 11 on the Lunar Calendar, which means a different day altogether on the Gregorian Calendar.

Like I said, it’s complicated.

Rock Out!

I love this video. Watch this sweet old DJ rock out--he's a picture of exuberance. Notice that he has to put on his glasses each time he looks up his next song selection.

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

The Recital

We enrolled EB in a "dance" class on a whim, and she had her dance recital last weekend. Note, I put the word dance in quotes because it's more like watching the instructors herd cats). “Aww, how cute and wonderful”, you may be thinking. Yes, it was definitely cute – here are a couple of pictures of EB in her clown costume and her ballerina suit. Just look at her; she’s bursting with cuteness.

As for it being "wonderful"....well, not so much. Let me explain.

The Complex
First, a confession: I have a bit of inferior-mom complex. I wish I were more involved with EB’s school and activities, but it's hard for me to balance my relatively long work week with many of these activities, so K shuttles her to & fro about 95% of the time. A dad being more involved with their child than a mom – not very common down here.

Ok, back to the recital. As I walked into the costume area with EB, I felt at least four Alpha Moms quietly sizing me up; many have never met me before and didn’t know what to make of me. I was already stewing in my inferior-mom complex when, to my dismay I noticed that all of the recital girls was wearing pretty little dresses. EB, on the other hand, was wearing a pair of tattered shorts and an “I Love Detroit” t-shirt.



Me, to an Alpha Mom:    "Why are the girls wearing dresses?"
Alpha Mom:                    "For the award ceremony. Didn't you get the note?" Alpha Mom looks concerned.
Me:                                 "Ummm...excuse me for a minute."

I frantically dial K on my cell phone: "Oh my God, you HAVE to go get a dress for EB, NOW!"

K calmly tells me that he’ll just drive over to the closest retailer (read: Big Lots) to find EB an impromptu dress. That’s just the way he is; calm at things that send me flying off the handle.

Meanwhile, I was frantically trying to put EB's hair in a bun, and about 20 bobby pins and 20 minutes later, her little wisps of hair are still sticking out all over the place.

I look over at an Alpha Mom Offspring--her hair perfectly piled into a bun, gently surrounded by tiny little rose buds. I swear I saw the Alpha Mom Offspring give a sidelong glance to the other Alpha Mom Offsprings. The gig is up; they’ve got Alpha Moms. EB does not.

Cost…Yikes.

• A collection of raffle tickets that we did not bother selling to our friends (you're welcome) = $100
• EB’s costumes = $150
• The opportunity to watch the bundle of cuteness on stage….I guess that would make it $350?

Pre-Teen Gyrating Dancers...Double Yikes.
Somewhere in between EB’s act and tap-dance routines, a few pre-teen dancers skimped up the stage. They were wearing outfits that barely covered their still existent baby fat, dancing to a song with questionable lyrics and gyrating in a way that would’ve made the Fly Girls blush. I felt like the dad from the movie Little Miss Sunshine, gawking at the inappropriateness.

So there you have it: my confessions of being an inferior, overly frugal, prudish mom that agonizes over an experience that most normal moms cherish. My solution: next year, I will enroll EB in soccer instead.

EB the Artist

EB turned a corner last night with her artistic abilities. For the first time, she drew a picture that actually resembled something. This is quite a change from the ones she had been producing – a collection of colors and scribbles, or what I’d like to think of as abstract art, a very sloppy Kandinsky.

I was making dinner when she happily ran over and walked me through her masterpiece. Check out the drawing, along with her explanation of each object. Her narrative of the images was bizzare/dreamy/scary: a boat chasing a submarine with anchors, torso-less midgets and a yellow ghost floating out in the ocean, a  floating bunch of grapes (perhaps as an offering to the mysterious kayaker). It’s got all of the makings of a David Lynch movie.

K and I are not one of those parents save all of their kid’s artwork. We’ve been judicious about which pictures to save, pruning all pieces that represent a mere scribble. But this one is worth saving, and it will be fun to see how EB’s abilities progress throughout the years.