Monthly Archives: March 2010

The car shopping is sort of fun. I love cars more than a little. I love big rumbly engines, I love revving a car engine and feeling it move under me. I love taking a turn so fast that the car turns sideways just a little, but rights itself to speed up again.

I love talking torque.

I also love the planet, as does my daughter. I’m buying a hybrid because Jane is making me. My Mom has two hybrids, they love them. My Dad has two hybrids, he is looking for a 10 cylinder. I’m so totally my dad’s kid. I want to want a hybrid, but really, deep down… all I want is a fast car, preferably with rear wheel drive and an engine that roars at me.

My husband is a Saint. Not really a Great Saint, you know, the kind that lets you have chickens. My husband is the kind of Saint that lets me spend whatever I want on whatever kind of car I want, whenever I want it. So I’ve test driven everything from Hyundai to Porsche, Ford to Cadillac and everything in between.

I’m going to buy the car that ensures my children the best future I can. I’m going to buy a hybrid, because it will pollute less. I’m going to buy a car instead of leasing it, because (as my daughter points out) we don’t keep our cars long enough. I’m not going for the hybrid I’d really like best, because it’s not good for the planet, and the planet belongs to my children. I’ll be buying a midsize hybrid with great safety ratings, because I love my children, and because it’s the right thing to do.

Excuse me if I’m not jumping for joy.

This week at Momversation Karen asks, “do you make your kids hug your adult friends?” Asha, Mindy and I do not agree with each other on this one.

Well? Do you? I’m sure no one is surprised to find out that I do not. We’ve talked about this a little bit before, in fact, I don’t even care if my kids are rude to strangers. Nope. Really, don’t care one iota.

I really want to know what you think about it. I remember having to hug Aunts and Uncles and they were horrible and old and smelly… come to think of it, I’m not even sure they were aunts or uncles.
(more…)

We had a lovely weekend. The kids and I. Alexander had Little League Baseball games on both Saturday and Sunday, Jane had a sleepover Saturday night, and both kids got to play with their friends who are moving back to Australia.

Today I wanted to take them up and down Auto Row so they could sit in the backseat of a few cars. Even if I like a car, the kids need to be comfortable in the back seat. We went to Subaru and they went nuts for the Outback. I can’t go for a car that doesn’t have heat or air vents in the back seats. They’re going to be miserable back there.

I digress.

After we came back from car shopping, but before heading off to my mom’s house for dinner, the kids retreated for a little quiet time. I went into my office to look at a few car options online, and Alexander tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Can I read this book?” “Sure”, I said without so much as turning my head.

A few moments later I heard a gasp from the playroom followed by Alexander muttering eew gross. The book he’d asked to read? It’s called “Where Did I Come From”, and I remember buying it for my kids, because it was the book my mother bought me. It includes pictures an awful lot like this.

I took a deep breath and asked my son if he wanted to talk about the book. He muttered something about Dad already told me this. I asked him if there were any new bits of information? He muttered again about how Dad told him everything so I told him that I’d be happy to talk to him, but if he wanted to wait a day he could talk to Dad tomorrow or even Grandpa today.

He shook his head, and I asked him if he’d like to continue reading the book alone. My boy is not a talker, and today I loved him a little more for that.

Everyone goes about their business, the kids play on the street, and I get us ready to go to my Mom’s for dinner. Dinner is great, we head back home and there is hideous traffic on the 405 Sepulveda Pass and it appeared that Sepulveda Blvd was a mess too. I turned on news radio (something I never do with kids in the car) and we got to hear about Health-care Reform while waiting for a traffic report.

“Mom, what’s an abortion?” Jane asked me.

Traffic, traffic everywhere.There is no escaping this conversation. I take a deep breath and I explain that the abortion bill will never affect her but that it is very very bad.

I tell my daughter how people who can’t afford health care will get health care from the government, but that it will not cover the cost of an abortion. I tell her this is a mistake, because women who cannot get abortions will find other ways, and illegal abortions may be less expensive but they will also be dangerous and girls will die. Equally awful is forcing a young woman to be a mother when she is not ready.

I told both kids that they must use birth control, they will have sex, but they must not do it without birth control because there are diseases and babies they aren’t ready for. I said, “You are not to have unprotected sex until after you are married.” I look to my son to ask what he thinks, he is in the fetal position asleep. Jane wants to know who gets abortions. Clearly this question is relevant since I’ve basically told my children they will be having premarital sex, just not without a condom.

Girls a lot like you. “The health care bill won’t ever apply to you”, I tell her, “you and your friends, you have insurance, and you have parents who will help you no matter what.” I can’t give my eleven year old daughter permission to have an abortion, but she has to know I’m here.

I want to tell her that abortions are terrible and that babies die. I want to explain that it’s an agonizing decision for most women, because it does involve ending another life. I want her to know that I think it’s wrong. I don’t tell her these things. I bite my tongue.

I need my daughter to trust me. This conversation, this bumper to bumper traffic at eight on a Saturday night, may be our lifeline one day. Our casual conversations are loaded. My daughter is a bright girl, and she remembers minutia. She senses the subtexts of conversations.What if? Not for her, but for one of her friends? What if there’s a need and my daughter doesn’t trust me?

I thrust my eleven year old daughter headlong into the Women’s Liberation movement. I did it all while driving a station wagon.

We went to drive some Subarus and Jane asked for money for a Crunch Bar.

“No honey,” I said, ” we don’t eat Nestle products.”

“But I want a Crunch bar, I love them.”

“Jane, Nestle tells moms that they should use baby formula, and in some of those countries the water is unsafe so the babies die.”

She looked at me puzzled, so I continued, “and Nestle also cuts down the rainforest to make KitKat bars, and the apes have nowhere to live.”

“Oh my gawd Mom,” she replied, “Please don’t let them take away M&M’s.”

My husband and parents keep asking me what I want for my birthday.

I’d like to play tennis or maybe take a hike. I have everything I ever wanted, so I don’t really want any gifts.

Well, there is one thing.

I want chickens. I want backyard chickens for eggs and for fun. I’d love to have fresh eggs every day, and nothing feeds your flowers quite like chicken poop. My dream is to get the Araucana chicks that are a day old from McMurray along with a nice hutch for them.

I’ve been asking Mr. G to let me have chickens (just a few maybe 2-4) for the past five years or so. I’m pretty sure he’s still thinking he’s against it, but Mom and Dad, if you want to make me really happy for my 40th Birthday, you’d change his mind. And, no, I have no clue how to get him to change his mind.

I just thought that public begging might work.

I got a phone call from New York. Someone at the corporate offices is helping me with the iPhone. They have agreed to the help as much as they can, and it seems there was a misunderstanding.

Apparently there is a manager on duty (oh gee what a surprise), apparently there is a head of security (another revelation) and though the General Manager and the guys from corporate were incredibly kind and contrite, the Sheraton Universal has a lot of work to do. According to the General Manager they lined up the valets and the banquet servers (I dunno why?) and called “Andy Garcia’s” cell phone number hoping for a ring. If that did happen I sure do thank them for trying, and had anyone called me to let me know (a two minute process) I would have been satisfied. Of course we all know that didn’t happen.

I hear everyone’s atwitter about Nestle now. I tried to warn them, there’s no calling things off now.