My Summer Camp: Bring a sponge

I spent a recent afternoon searching out new and exciting things for my girls to do this summer, something to supplement their music and drama camps. And the options for teens are endless – how are they going to choose between the LMAO Facebook Status Update workshop and the Cute Boy symposium? That's a full day right there.

So I decided to take a break and have some lunch, and this is what I found when I went to grab a plate from the cabinet:

This is what happens when you ask your daughters to unload the dishwasher, and they're in such a rush to watch Gossip Girl they forgot that the dishes can actually be lifted up and stacked properly

Which confirms my suspicion that this is the most useless toy ever invented and taught them absolutely nothing:

So then I started thinking that what my girls need this summer are not more expensive camps. Do they really need to learn the bass-line to Poker Face, or take a two-hundred dollar workshop where they learn how to act like a lemur or cry on cue? No, what they need are some good hard lessons in practical things, things that will maybe enable them to leave the house and live on their own sometime before they turn forty. 

What they need is Chore Camp.

I love my girls. They're smart, funny, respectful and talented. But they'll be the first to tell you that things like dish washing and cleaning are hardly activities they excel in. Not to scare anyone that comes to eat at our house, but please check your plate for dried chunks of food first. And I don't think they even know how to work the washing machine - I may have even heard one of them refer to it as 'The Big White Thing That Cleans Pants."

So I've decided to start my own camp with a curriculum that puts some serious time into honing their housekeeping abilities. They may not speak to me for the next five years, but I'm sure they'll thank me later. Here are a few courses I'm offering:

Dish Stacking: Large to Small, A Brilliant Concept

Dish Washing: No, There Is No China Pattern Called 'Dried Salsa'

Closet Management: Hangers Are Your Friend

Toilet Cleaning: Someone Has To Do It

Laundry 101: Your Leggings From Hot Topic Aren't Going To Wash Themselves

Hurry and sign up – I have a feeling they'll fill up fast.

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Too much to ask

Kiyomi (yesterday): So, mom - what are you REALLY hoping to get for Mother's Day tomorrow? And don't say 'love,' That's just lame.

Me (only half-joking): What would be awesome is if you were in a good mood for the entire day.

Kiyomi (after giving this request some serious thought. As if I had just asked her for a kidney): Oh, ALRIGHT. I'll give you until 8:30 tomorrow night.

It's 11:30am and so far so good. Hope springs eternal.

Happy Mother's Day Everyone! May you be blessed with the simple things in life.

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Choices

Kira had her 15th birthday party over here a few weeks ago. Sure, I'm a little late in writing about it, but I have a rule that you can't talk about a party until you've finished eating all the leftovers. Although I have to admit I'm not feeling too good after our meal last night of flat Coke and two-week-old pizza.

The party was a big success. She had around thirty people here - the boys never materialized, something Rigel and I were secretly relieved about and that the girls didn't seem to mind one bit. They spent the evening as most teenage girls seem to do at parties - alternating between eating, gossiping, eating, dancing, singing, complaining that they ate too much, dancing, gossiping, singing some more and then talking about dessert. By the end of the night when they were all gathered around the firepit roasting marshmallows they were absolutely loopy, hopped up on sugar, carbs and Lady Gaga remixes. Made me wish I was a teenager again. Or at least had the metabolism of one.

I describe this like I witnessed it in detail, but in fact I barely even went outside the entire night – you could sense that the energy would stop whenever an adult would breach the herd, so instead my friend Juliette and I used it as an excuse to stay inside with our cocktails and spy on them from the dining room window, which wasn't obvious or creepy at all. I'd pop my head out occasionally to see if they needed anything, but as you can imagine "Would you kids like some ravioli?" was a definite buzz kill.

I had maybe sort of forgotten all about the cake, so two days before the party I asked Kira what kind she wanted from the grocery store, what color the tasteless frosting should be and if she wanted clowns or a princess on it. Luckily my sister-in-law Suzy saved us from that monstrosity with these amazing cupcakes she whipped up especially for Kira. Triple-chocolate, red velvet and French vanilla and yes they tasted just as fantastic as they looked.

This is one of the few pictures I took, since I was subtly requested not to take photos or video during the party. Who knew that teenagers don't like their parents walking around and recording them while they're hanging with their peeps? Also, take note that it makes things worse if you call them 'peeps'.

(Best Dad Award goes to Rigel, who when he heard that a few of Kira's friends couldn't find anyone to bring them to the party, drove all the way to Hollywood to pick them up and bring them here. Can you imagine your dad driving fifteen miles to pick up your friends and bring them back for a party? I can't, and if he did he probably would have worn his pajamas just to embarrass me.)

There were friends there that night from all stages of Kira's life. Friends she's known since kindergarten, second grade, middle school, and new friends she's made in high school this past year. One thing that struck me was how much I like all of them, and how they represent the types of people she tends to surround herself with - witty, funny, smart and outspoken. At one point one of them came inside and spent a good half-hour hanging with the adults, telling us about her high school classes and talking about her photography. I don't remember ever talking to my friend's parents at high school parties, and if I did it was because I needed something, like a straw for my Tab or a bag to put my retainer in.

There's a line in the movie 'Freaky Friday' that I've kept in my head since I first heard it. (You know it's significant, since that movie's eight years old and as you know I have a hard time recalling anything I heard five minutes ago.) Jamie Lee Curtis is dropping her daughter, played by Lindsay Lohan, off at school and right before she drives away she calls out to her and says, "Make good choices!" I barely remember the rest of the movie, except I think mother and daughter somehow trade places, chaos ensues and then Lindsay gets thrown in jail for drinking and stealing a necklace. Man, sometimes those Disney movies are a real downer.

But that line stuck with me, because I think it kind of sums up what we hope for our kids – that they'll have the insight and strength of character to make informed decisions when we aren't there to help them along. That the choices they make will make us proud, and prove that we're doing a somewhat reasonable job raising them.

That's how I felt that night as she celebrated her birthday, how I was so proud of the person that Kira's grown into and the things in life she's embraced. She really has made good choices, and I saw that reflected in the people she's chosen to keep close to her and trust as friends – and that's a reason to party if there ever was one.

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Today On The Other Blog:

Party Like a Game Star: Nintendo 3DS Launch in Seattle

A few weeks ago I went to Seattle and came back full of oysters and with the ability to karate-kick my opponents into submission.

Read the whole darn thing here! 

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I'm walking for Eitan

It's true, I'm walking in a 5k next Saturday. And though I get winded just walking from my front door to my car, I'm willing to give it my best try for this.

Kiyomi's best friend Maya lost her brother Eitan in a fire eight months ago. At 14 Eitan became an organ donor when he donated his liver and kidneys and changed the lives of three people. This walk will honor him and will raise awareness and funds for Donate Life California Organ and Tissue Donor Registry.

Please donate by clicking on this link: Standing Tall For Eitan

Or, you can send a check made payable to 'Donate Life Run/Walk' to our team leader: Polly Djiji, PO Box 57949, Sherman Oaks CA 91413 by April 29, 2011. (Or, you can give a check to me if I'm going to see you before next Saturday.)

Luckily these two are on my team:



Find out more about the 5k please go to Donate Life Run/Walk or for information about organ and tissue donation visit One Legacy.

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I'm recycling for Earth Day

What better way to celebrate Earth Day than by recycling? And by that I mean recycling an old post from 2010. Hey, I'm conserving electricity, keystrokes, and the delicate skin covering my fingertips. 

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My Earth Day FAIL. Or is it?

Happy Earth Day! I was hoping to write a post today about how I was honoring our planet on this special day. Maybe I'd be writing this on a laptop powered by solar panels while wearing a pair of hemp jeans and sipping on a smoothie made from sustainable crops. Or sending you reports from a city beach somewhere, where I was picking up soda cans and cigarette butts with my kids and filling their impressionable young minds with love paeans to mother earth.

Well -- didn't happen.

Instead, I'm having a decidedly un-earth day, because I'm in a bit of a frenzy right now. The kids are home early because of a fair and open house at the school tonight, they have friends over whose parents couldn't pick them up, and I'm frantically trying to prepare for Kira's 14th birthday party here on Saturday. So in other words there aren't any Earth Day sonnets being written and I think I actually walked by a couple of soda cans laying on the ground. In my driveway.

But you know what? Because all the women's magazines tell me to be good to ME, I'm going to go easy on myself and find the ways I did honor the earth. Today wasn't a total bust - here are some ways I found my Earth Day moments by turning lemons into lemonade. Or should I say 'juice made from organic locally grown citrus.'

1) I've been cleaning the house today in preparation for around two dozen 14-year-olds descending on my house this weekend, and every single light in the place is on. Even the waffle iron light is on which is weird because I haven't made waffles since 2001. Earth Day moment: I didn't use the vacuum cleaner! So what if I used enough electricity today to power the entire state of Wyoming -- all the microorganisms who call my couch their home will live to see another day.

2) I had the dishwasher and the washing machine on simultaneously. While I was rinsing off the sidewalk. And hosing off the cat. Earth Day moment: I didn't shower today. So what if I used enough water to supply the entire state of Utah -- all the microorganisms who call my navel their home will live to see another day.

3) In honor of Earth Day I could have walked the four blocks to the school to pick the kids up, but since they had their friends coming over and I needed to pick up lunch, I drove my van. Oh, and the other reason -- I hate to walk. Earth Day moment: At least I don't drive a Hummer.

4) Oh, and that lunch? Because of time restraints I regret to admit that it was McDonalds. Seeing as their burgers are made from extinct rain-forest toads and pandas, probably not a good Earth Day choice. Earth Day moment: We recycled all the wrappings! Even the cardboard drink tray, which I turned into a chandelier. You'll just have to believe me.

5) Getting back to that cleaning, instead of using natural cleaners made from vinegar and puppy sweat, I used all manner of toxic chemicals ranging from bleach to industrial-strength etching acid. You would too if you saw my bathtub. Earth Day moment: I used sponges instead of wasting paper towels. Okay they were endangered sponges from The Great Barrier Reef. Nobody's perfect.

But all in all it was a good day, and I'm about to drop all the kids back at school and I'll have a few minutes to myself before I have to head back for open house. I think I'll have a glass of wine during my little break. Organic wine. Enough to help me write that sonnet.

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Tina Fey's Biggest Fan Turns 15

Kira turns 15 today. I'm amazed and sad at the same time. How did that happen? It seems like just yesterday she was propelling her 10-pound body out of that 6-inch incision in my stomach. (Yes, ten pounds. High-five to whoever invented the epidural.)

I'm not going to go on and on here about what a great kid she is (straight-A student! Member of the Young Feminists Club at her school!), partly because I've said it before but mostly because I've got a million things to do before forty-two kids descend on our house for her party on Saturday. Did I mention they're all high schoolers? Did I mention a lot of them are boys? I wonder if I can get my hands on an epidural by this weekend.

(This is the first high-school party we're hosting - what should I feed them? Soda and potato chips? Iced mochas and pizza?  Also, what's the best way to confiscate beer and cigarettes from a teenager? I heard a light chokehold works best, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.)

We're taking her out to her favorite restaurant tonight (Mexican, of course) and as for her gift, we bought her tickets to this, the only thing she asked for:

Because don't all 15-year-old girls want to see a 40-year-old woman and a 65-year-old man talk on stage?

Anyone who knows Kira is aware that she's a HUGE Tina Fey fan, that she never misses an episode of 30 Rock, that she's watched all the repeats of SNL that she was on, that she uses Liz Lemon as part of her Facebook name. So this gift won't seem strange, but it raised the hackles of another parent I mentioned it to and I spent more than a few minutes explaining that Kira really would not know what to do with a Justin Bieber duvet cover.

Or a Twilight Bra:

Instead, she'll get the tickets along with this card I found:

 

After all, I figure a smart, successful, funny, talented writer/actress isn't such a bad role model for a kid these days, right? So here's to you Tina Fey, for making our gift giving easy this year. And for not putting your face on a duvet cover. Yet.

But most of all here's hoping my lovely, sweet Kira, who I love with all my heart, has a birthday to top all birthdays and a blissful year ahead. As Liz Lemon would say, You want to go there.

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This is just nuts

I have a confession to make. No, it's not about my reptile feet. I hope you're sitting down for this one.

I just tried Nutella for the first time last year. What.

Stop yelling.

For some reason, Nutella wasn't ever on the table of this Asian American growing up in South Central. Spam sandwiches, yes. Fancy spread made with hazelnuts and a 'hint of cocoa'? Not so much. I don't think I'd even heard of it until a few years ago, and even then I figured it was just some other mutant form of peanut butter. You know, peanut butter with different nuts or something like that. Hey, calm down.

So last year I finally gave in and bought a jar just to see what all the fuss was about. So that I wouldn't be left out at gatherings when the talk turned to Nutella and all it's amazing qualities. Seriously, I've seen people's eyes glaze over when they start talking about this stuff, saying things like, "If Nutella were a man I'd never say no to sex." And I'm all, "C'mon, people, it's just a hazelnut spread with a hint of cocoa." It's not like it's Baconnaise, or anything.

(Note: This post was not sponsored by Nutella, nor have they provided any product to entice me, although now that I'm thinking about it there is a cool Nutella spreader that they could possibly send me if they're feeling friendly. It says it's "able to reach the sides and even the corners of your Nutella jar!" which seems awfully handy.)

Another confession: Nutella did not overwhelm me. While I'm fond of dipping a pretzel into it or spreading it on a graham cracker, I'm not ready to say it's the best thing to come along since peanut butter. Or Spam.

Wow, put down the torches.

But you'll be happy to hear that my girls are totally down with the whole hazelnut-cocoa experience.

They've developed an overwhelming obsession with it, what seems to be a frenzied desire to make up for all of those years they lived without it due to their mother's ignorance of European non-peanut spreads. The jar is always on the counter and never makes its way back into the pantry - it's as if the parting would be too much to bear. I even bought another jar last week before the previous one was empty, because Kira looked inside it and said with some panic in her voice, "Please buy another one. SERIOUSLY WE MIGHT RUN OUT." Those last words were said with such gravity, as if the absence of the Nutella might lead to some sort of condiment apocalypse.

So now we're a Nutella family - Nutella on toast, Nutella on crackers, Nutella crepes. (Rigel even made Kira a Nutella sandwich the other day, which just seemed so wrong to me – isn't that just a chocolate sandwich?) But more importantly, I feel like I can confidently join in on any pro-Nutella conversations that inevitably break out at fancy dinners and cocktail parties and no longer have to feel ashamed of my lack of chocolate-infused-toast-topping knowledge.

Although I still say it doesn't hold a candle to canned meat.

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This is a teacher

This is a story about a teacher, one of 5045 educators that received a layoff notice from the LAUSD. I wish I could write about the other 5044, too, but I'll be busy telling my elected officials what a horrible decision they've made in a series of angry letters I'm planning to write. With lots of exclamation points. And swear words.

Last Saturday Kira was auditioning for a competition put on the by the local Rotary Club. The auditions happened to be taking place at her high school, and while we were waiting for her turn I sat outside and talked to her choir teacher, Mr. Sacks, who was there to play the piano accompaniment for one of Kira's classmates who was also auditioning. What else did this teacher do on a Saturday? Picked up all of the costumes from the dry cleaners that the kids used in their last performance (a fantastic Moulin Rouge, I might add) and delivered them back to the studio that lent them to the school. Then no doubt he spent most of the rest of the weekend preparing for the kids' next big show. (Luckily he didn't ask about my plans for the weekend, a carefully laid-out schedule of naps and coffee breaks.)

While we were talking, I asked him about Moulin Rouge, because it was the first time it was ever performed on stage and I knew that he had done the arranging himself. He told me a crazy story about what he went through trying to get the rights to use the sheet music from the movie and after he jumped through a bunch of hoops they still turned him down. So, he said matter-of-factly, he put on a pair of headphones, sat down at the piano and re-wrote all of the music himself, working eight hours a day all the way through every day of winter break, even on Christmas day. And his birthday. (Are you listening, school board members?)

(Seriously, I was so enthralled by his story I forgot to wish Kira good luck when she went in, but she seemed almost grateful to escape my usual hug and awkward fist-bump.)

Mr. Sacks is the reason Kira is going to the school she's attending, the reason we make the forty-minute drive every morning into Hollywood. The school was one of the last ones we had toured after an exhaustive few weeks of checking out every performing arts campus in the city. Kira had a mediocre response to all of them up to that point, and just as Rigel and I were about to pull out the, 'It's our choice, not yours, young lady' card, we were invited to a series of workshops at the school. We sat in on one of Mr. Sacks' classes and the rapport that he has with the kids is so evident, and by the end of a rousing rendition of "Aint No Mountain High Enough", Kira was convinced. She turned to me and said, "I love this place. THIS IS IT." She's was ecstatic that she had found a home, and I was happy we didn't have to tour those other schools left on our list.

And here's where I shake my fist at those who have decided to cut funding to education – Mr. Sacks is one of the teachers that has gotten a layoff notice from the school district. I'm sure I speak for a lot of the kids and the parents when I say that the department and the school will suffer greatly if he leaves. Kira is dreading the thought of him not being around, and she and her classmates are wondering what will become of their musical education there without him at the helm. Have you ever witnessed the rare phenomenon of a child actually wanting to go to school? I have, and it's usually on days she knows she has an after-school rehearsal.

There are many teachers that have gotten layoff notices in the past few weeks and this is just one story. I wish the people making these insane decisions could get to know every one of the teachers they're planning on letting go. More importantly, I wish they could hear the stories of every one of the kids whose lives these teachers have touched, and hear about the negative impact these layoffs will have on them.

If you have a story to tell about a teacher, please send me a link and I'll post it here. I'd love to send it to our elected officials so they could put some faces to even a few of those 5045 pink slips.

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You may not want to walk a mile in my shoes

I wrote this piece for the Mommybloggers site. People have been looking at my feet suspiciously ever since.

A few weeks ago I was invited to a breakfast hosted by our local school district.  I’m on a committee made up of parents and faculty that regularly meets with our local superintendent, and the breakfast was a way to thank us for our involvement and for giving up that one morning each month. I have to be up and dressed by 8am for these meetings, a remarkable feat for me that truly deserves a reward of free bacon, so I accepted the invitation. Besides, if I didn’t go they would have just spent the money on something frivolous, like a new textbook for a second grader or a door for the teacher’s bathroom.

The breakfast was a casual affair at a local restaurant, but I was glad I had gotten up a whole six minutes earlier than usual to primp since everyone there was dressed in business attire. After we were done eating they moved on to the very official awards ceremony, where they called each of us up individually and handed us a certificate and a small pin. (Does anyone ever wear these pins? I don’t think so. Maybe they should have some sort of national program where everyone sends in their service pins and they’re melted down and made into teeth for old people.)

They took pictures of us getting our awards, too, full-length ones. After that the breakfast was over and after talking to a group of people for awhile I headed out to my car.  While I was fumbling with my keys at my door I happened to look down and saw two of the most horrifying, scaly creatures I’d ever seen.

I’m talking of course, about my feet.

Any of you who read my blog have heard this all before. Forgetting to brush my hair, going to a meeting with a cereal bar stuck to my sleeve – nothing new.  But what I saw that day was a new low in my personal grooming, which is why I feel the abnormal need to tell you all about it.

I’m not just talking about un-pedicured feet.  I’m talking about scaly, dried, cracked horrors that I blindly slipped into sandals that morning and went out in public in.  Reptilian hooves that I padded up to the front of the room on, and then stood still while a photographer captured it all on film. During breakfast I think I even remember turning in my chair to talk to someone behind me and as I crossed my legs I brazenly bounced my foot up and down. It’s as if it was boasting, “Look at me! I’m hideous.”

I mentioned the incident to a friend and tried to make myself feel better by saying, “I’m sure no one was looking at my feet.” After she stopped laughing she said, “This is L.A., feet are an accessory.”  In fact, she had no sympathy whatsoever and scolded me for not getting a regular mani/pedi, comparing it to not washing down there. Excuse me? I’ll have you know I always wash down there; it’s the region far south of that equator that seems to have suffered a blow.

How did they get that bad?  I couldn’t tell you, except that I was right in the middle of a particularly busy time and my lowest priority was painting Cocoa Mist onto my toenails.  But when I came home, I repented.  I soaked, I buffed, I filed, I polished.  I even slathered them with lotion and wore thick socks to bed, which I think Vogue says is something you should never do if you want your husband to find you even remotely attractive. You think that would be the end of it, me and my now-shiny feet padding off into the warm sunset of a thousand pedicures. But no.

Now, I’ve become obsessed with looking at people’s feet. Maybe it’s to find someone else’s unsightly toes that could make me feel better about how mine looked that day.  Perhaps it’s like going to a friend’s house and sneaking a peek into her messy closet so that you don’t feel so bad about yours. Not that I’ve ever done that.

But I’m finding that we’re a city filled with beautiful feet. As my friend pointed out, the pedicurally challenged in L.A. are a rare find.  I’ve looked at the feet of other moms that I know, of strangers at the mall, of 80-year old grandmothers of friends. Perfectly appointed feet as far as the eye can see.  The only pair I found that came close to how mine looked that day belonged to a homeless woman’s at the airport, but even hers had been filed and topped off with a snazzy toe ring.

I’ve even heard of a procedure called a toe-tuck (I’m serious – go ahead and Google it) that claims to improve the appearance of your baby toe. Just in case, you know, it isn’t looking as young and firm as it used to.

But me? I’m afraid I’ve gone back to my old ways.  I’ll never let them slide so completely, but they’re far from beautiful.  I just looked down at them now and I can’t even figure out what color nail polish I had on last. In fact, is that nail polish or gravy?

I’m debating whether or not to re-join the school committee for the upcoming year.  My oldest daughter just started middle school and my mornings seem to be twice as hectic. Before I decide, I really need to find out what happened to those pictures they took at the breakfast that day.  I’d hate for the administrators to take a close look at them, notice my scary feet and refuse to give me a pin next year.

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