our house

Boxes, boxes, everywhere! Sorting and packing. Not sorting and packing. We bought a new house! Well, not exactly new, but new to us. We can't move into the new house yet, but we are getting this house -- our house -- ready to go on the market, so it can become somebody else's house. Suddenly, I am very sentimental about our house, even as I envision what the future will be in our next one.

Our "old" house, one city over in Oakland, was where our family was born. We were a young couple there ... then parents of one baby ... then parents of a toddler and a baby ... then parents of a toddler and a pre-schooler, when we moved to this house. This house, our current house, is where our babies grew into children, young people who have memories of this house, and virtually no memory of the Oakland house.

I remember walking the kids to school, up the hill in the Sit-n-Stand Stroller -- my daughter, sucking her thumb in the front seat, my son, the train-obsessed Big Boy, standing on the back platform. As we got to the steepest part of the block, I would chant, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ..." as we powered up the hill. When they got to be a little bit bigger, my son would get off the back and push the stroller with me, saying, "Super power boost, Mom!!!"

This weekend, that same son -- now taller and stronger than me -- was carrying furniture with my husband, taking over that spot at the other end of the furniture that would normally have been mine. My daughter had made a Mothers' Day breakfast for me, all on her own, complete with custom Mothers' Day artwork on the wall of the breakfast nook. They really are all grown up. And it's all happened here, in this house.

We'll look back on this house with some very good memories, and I am tearing up right now, thinking about it. It's been more than a house, it's been our home. But it's time to move on -- literally -- and build more memories in the next house. And this house will be somebody else's new house. I hope they fill it with many years of good memories, too.

bye, bye, bunny

This is the year that I finally stopped being the Easter Bunny. No jelly beans. No plastic eggs. No chocolate shaped like eggs and bunnies. Not even a single pack of Peeps. With a twelve year old and a fourteen year old, we really should have stopped a while ago, but I always felt guilty if I didn't have something for the kids on Easter. Hunting for eggs and receiving a chocolate bunny were always fun as a child, and I wanted them to have that memory, too. But it seemed like the time was right to stop this tradition in our household ... plus, I had neglected to buy anything for them, since I've been a bit distracted lately.

Fortunately, my kids didn't mind. And, as an added bonus, my daughter Mika shared an Easter memory with us.

I remember one time we had a Easter egg hunt in the living room, and one of the eggs had a dinosaur in it. And then we went skiing. And when we went through the drive-thru at McDonald's, the guy said, "Happy Easter!" or something like that.

Really? Are you sure it wasn't some imposter-Mom who had her act together enough to make sure you got an Easter egg hunt in at 5:30 am before we left for the slopes? I had virtually no independent memory of the Easter ski day she described, but I was sure she was right about it all. It was a coincidence that she would mention this, since if the weather had cooperated today, we were planning on spending our Easter morning driving up to Tahoe for our own sunrise service, communing with nature. Unfortunately, the forecast was not looking very good for skiing, and we had plenty of other things to attend to today, although none were Easter-related.

Thank goodness my daughter has some positive memories about my attempts at celebrating this holiday, even if it has been wiped from my own memory! It's nice to know that these little details are locked away somewhere in her mind. Maybe she'll put a dinosaur in some child's Easter egg someday.

UPDATE: I couldn't resist the 50% off Easter candy at the store today. Picked up a chocolate-covered Peeps and some little Dove bunnies and eggs. My kids were quite excited about it, so I think I may have just started a new family tradition!

i could use a little help here ...

Several weeks ago, my friend Consuelo asked me if my daughter and I would want to participate in the Macy's Flower Show "Mom and Me" Fashion Presentation. I was flattered to be asked, even though I was pretty nervous about it. This whole "modeling" thing is, well, not my thing. I knew my daughter would do well, having been on stage in dance recitals twice a year since she was five years old -- but when I asked her, I was surprised that she was a little hesitant to do it. After a little bit of discussion, I decided for us. "Mika, I think we should do this because nobody will ever ask Mommy to be a model again. You will probably have other chances, but I'm pretty sure this is my last chance," I stated, matter-of-factly. "O...kay," said my daughter, "that's fine."

And so it began. I watched what I ate carefully. For a few days. Then I fell off the wagon and Girl Scout cookies were here and the thought of the fashion presentation went to the back burner of my mind. As the date grew closer, I worried about the upcoming fitting ... and snacked, nervously. And then, suddenly, it was time. The days had floated away, scattered by the wind like a calendar in a Hanna-Barbera cartoon.

I had never been to a fitting before, so it was great fun to see all the clothes lined up, ready for us to try on. Mika's "looks" were mostly too big -- I had neglected to say "girl" size, and so her clothes were junior-sized. Consuelo hurried off to get some clothes for Mika from the Girls section that did not scream "little girl." The clothes I got to try on were mostly things that I would never have picked for myself -- which made me realize how drab and colorless my wardrobe is!

I feel like a girl playing dress-up -- somehow it is more fun to try on things that somebody else has picked out for me, rather than the usual little black dress that I would choose if left to my own devices. My final line-up: a forgivingly flouncy floral Rachel Roy; a strapless tropical Nanette Lepore that was crying out for cleavage; a tailored, polka dot Ralph Lauren that was about two cup sizes too big on top; and an extremely unforgiving super-fitted white Ellen Tracy. Sigh. While trying on the white dress, I look over at Consuelo and say, "Can I model some Spanx with this?" She shakes her head and says, politely, "Oh, no, you don't need it! You look great!"

Yeah, right.

I look at the mirror. Clearly, I am not seeing what she is seeing. The woman I see in the mirror could use a little help. With no alternations allowed, I realize that I am going to have to alter myself -- with the magic of foundation garments -- in order to not humiliate myself the next day.

At home, I dig frantically through my rarely-used-lingerie-and-foundation-garments drawer until I strike gold: bra insert pads. A similarly small-busted friend had given them to me years ago for my birthday with the note, "Happy Ta-Ta's to You!" I have not had the need to use them much, simply avoiding anything that requires a buxom silhouette, so they had become buried in the drawer over the years. But now, my need was overwhelming. I shrieked for joy when I found them and showed my daughter -- "Look, Mika! I found my boob pads!" She looked at me quizzically at first, then gave me her oh-it's-just-Mom-being-weird-again look.

Also hidden in my drawer was the Jezebel corset I bought in order to fill out my wedding gown. I thought about it for a split-second, then decided it was really not worth attempting to fit into anything from circa wedding day. Technology had more to offer in the new millennium. I zipped over to the nearby Target store and picked up a pair of "Assets by Spanx" -- the style that most resembles a high-waisted girdle in "nude" (which, while literally invoking nudity, is the least sexy color of all).

Fortunately, the unattractive nude-colored high-waisted Assets shaper is not meant to be seen in public, but to hide things that we don't want to be seen in public. And, if nothing else, I was rockin' my Assets at the fashion presentation. It was nice to have my tummy all tucked in and flattened out, and my boobs looking all poofed-out and puffed-up. The bigger boobs make my stomach look instantly skinnier, and the shaper is holding in anything that might want to jiggle out. I look like a complete imposter, but I don't care.

My husband and son were among the audience, partaking in tea sandwiches and scones as they watched the mother-child duos take turns modeling our looks. The other children were much younger than mine ... and I am assuming their mothers had me by about a decade. I quickly realized I was there as the "mature" mom -- which, I am happy to say, did not bother me at all! I had my adorable daughter, fabulous dresses and shoes, and my assets. Represent!

maui memories

On the anniversary of Dr. John Lee, M.D.'s passing, I wanted to share my post from April 2008.

"Hewo, dere, Mika," Miles said to his little sister, talking though an empty miniature box of cereal.
"Hewo, dere, Miyoz," Mika said back to her big brother. With the help of Boyar, I am flashing back to the memory of the kids sitting on the condo balcony in Wailea.

Today, the kids sit at a counter in a different condo in Wailea, chomping down some cereal that they have poured themselves, reenacting the "Hewo, dere" scene to indulge their parents.

"How old were you guys when you did that?" I ask.
"Really young," says Miles.
"I dunno. Too young for me to remember!" answers Mika.

My guess is it was seven years ago. Mika would have been two, Miles, four years old. And Dad would have been about seventy years old. We were staying at his condo on one of the golf courses in Wailea, where he had slept on the sofa so that we could commandeer the rest of the condo with our Pack n Play and various other little kid contraptions.

Boyar had videotaped the scene of the kids eating their cereal -- with a healthy dose of zooming out to film the golf course -- his adorable kids' voices still in the background as he cropped them out of the frame to capture the beauty of another creature that was close to his heart. Father and son would go off together later that day, rendezvousing with one of the gorgeous golf courses on Maui. Makena? Wailea Blue? Gold? Maybe it was the public course, Waiehu, where they sell Spam musubi at the turn instead of hot dogs. Hey, the better the bargain, the better the golf. As a condo owner, Dad enjoyed the local resident kama'aina rate, which he was very happy about.

It is bittersweet to reflect on this now, having just laid Dr. John Lee, M.D. to rest a few days ago. He was my second "dad", and I remember feeling privileged that he let me call him that. He was my mainstream, out-there, super-confident, always happenin' dad; similar and different from my own dad in so many ways. Having a father-in-law is like getting to have a dad who has no memory of what a pain you were when you were little, no headaches or annoyances to reflect back on, no decades of expectations one could never fulfill, a no-baggage dad. Or, at least, that's how it seemed for me.

It's hard not to tear up as we vacation here, with many good memories of Dad, thinking about how he looked out on this same sunset, played a round of golf on this same course. I dropped off Boyar at Makena this afternoon -- twilight rate begins at 2 pm -- and had an image of Dad and Boyar in Wailea, looking hot and tired, sitting outside a pro-shop as I drove over to pick them up. Relief on their faces as they saw me drive up, getting up and walking over to the car, walking that same walk, looking like each other, a father-and-son twosome.

Boyar is golfing as a single today. But I'm thinking Dad might be right there with him.

happy cesar chavez day

As we commemorate the struggles for safe working conditions, I was reminded of my daughter's interview of Dolores Huerta on Obama's inauguration day in 2009, and thought I would share it today:

Dolores Huerta persuaded the people that the farmworkers did not work in safe conditions, so the people did not buy those products, so the farmers had to give their workers safer conditions. She also made up “Si se puede!” which means “Yes we can!” and the farmworkers used it before Obama did.

Ms. Huerta was so gracious and patient, sitting with my daughter and recounting the struggle in terms an elementary student could understand. After they were finished, my daughter moved along to look for another interviewee as Senator Boxer introduced Ms. Huerta to the roomful of reception guests. Looking back on that day, it seems so far away in too many ways to count. You can read the full set of her "interviews" here.

balloons

It's amazing what can happen when you just get out of the way.

I had a great idea last year -- buy a large, blank canvas for the kids to paint and display in my husband's bland, undecorated office. We had just come back from a trip to Paris and its many museums, and we were all feeling inspired.

Then, like so many other things in life, the project stalled. I take responsibility for that, being the one who let the summer slip by, the one who insisted on ideas being sketched out and painted on a smaller (and much less expensive) "test" canvas, and who always let other things be a higher priority than this. It was, in the scheme of things, a pretty optional project. But I still kicked myself every time I walked past the giant, still-blank canvas in the dining room. I toyed with the idea of just painting a brown dot in the middle and calling it Freckle, a modern self-portrait that would hang ominously above my husband's head. Or, a splatter painting, made by painting our dog and having him shake off on the canvas.

In the end, however, I knew that I needed to follow through with the original idea. My son was not as interested in participating, so this had become my daughter's project, and I couldn't take that away from her. She had given this a lot of thought and made some pencil sketches, but had not gone about this in the systematic logical way I thought she should. Yesterday, I finally let go and got out of the way. We needed to get that canvas out of the dining room; it had loomed long enough. I asked my daughter if she could do the painting then, and she replied with a bright-eyed smile: "Yes!"

A few hours later and one frantic run to Michael's before closing time, and the blank canvas had been transformed ... full of movement and color ... with nothing (and nobody) to stand in the way ... a handful of balloons pulling gently upward and away.

tsunami: far away, yet close to home

UPDATE: click here to find out how to help.

I was expecting the usual 11 o’clock news last Thursday, but instead -- breaking news: earthquake and tsunami in Japan. I watched in horror, mesmerized by the blurry image of the amoeba-like blob moving across the screen, gathering up everything in its path. It was like a supersized, real-life, pancaked version of the Japanese video game, “We Love Katamari,” where a giant ball rolls around swallowing up cows, cars, people, etc. The real-life version paralyzes me. I try to focus on the little map they show on the screen, trying to pinpoint where the devastation is in relation to where my cousins, aunts and uncles live. I am relieved to see that the tsunami has not impacted the areas where I think my family would be, but it is still unnerving to watch. I fall asleep with images of the scary blob replaying in my head.

The next day is not any better. Tsunami coverage has gone local, as the tsunami has actually crossed the Pacific and has landed on the West Coast. I watch footage of some boats being tossed around and a dock being pushed out of the water, thinking it is new film from Japan; then, I realize it is showing Santa Cruz, just down the coast from here. Further north, I would later learn that a young man was swept away to his death while he was trying to take photos of the tsunami. So preventable. So sad. I hope they don't report this in Japan, since it would just confirm the stereotypes of Americans doing stupid, inappropriate things; on the other hand, I guess this is one reason for that stereotype existing in the world outside the U.S. I am guessing this little tidbit of news will not make it into the rotation on NHK, since they have much more pressing matters to report on right now.

One thing that I had not thought about but that my husband heard one commentator report on was that the Japanese people -- typically polite and civilized as a general rule -- have become even more so during this crisis. She observed pedestrians in Tokyo still waiting patiently for the green “walk” light, even though the cars on the street were clearly not moving in the post-quake gridlock. People lined up at stores, in the usual, orderly fashion. Food and water were reportedly scarce in Tokyo, as people who worked in the city were unable to leave, and yet, they lined up. As one reporter put it: “The people of Japan have handled this in a dignified, lawful, civilized fashion.”

In Japan, I am guessing this is not news. Being civilized and lawful in a time of crisis is simply not news: it is expected, understood, a given. This is something that would only be reported outside of Japan. It made me wonder what would happen here in a big city -- San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York -- under similar circumstances. Would we be civilized? Or would people resort to opportunistic behavior? I hope we never have to experience such a disaster to find out.