Sorry dear reader (or I should say readers because I know that there are at least two of you), but as I write this, there are boxes to be packed and junk to be schlepped into waiting cars and moving vans. We are on the move, away from apartment living and into a lovely home! Yay!! It’s been a long time coming, but as I have often been told, good things come to those who wait.

Mo has been “catching” (her word, but I’m sure she means casting) spells with her magic wand in an attempt to help expedite the cleaning/packing/schlepping/moving process. Such a wonderful little helper I have. Co is doing her part, too, lest we forget, but I have tasked her with more important things, like cutting that first tooth. She won’t sit still long enough for me to snap a picture of it, but it’s there and it’s sharp!

Anyway, once the dust settles, I’m sure I’ll be back with scores of moving (mis)adventures to tell you about. Until then. . .

I was watching Inside the Actors Studio today while the girls were napping. This is a show that I don’t often watch, but I had seen a commerical for it showing that Mike Myers was going to be the features guest. Of course Myers is known for his various characters from SNL, but I’ve been a fan of his since So I Married an Axe Murderer . HEAD! MOVE! If you haven’t seen it, Netflix it.

Anyway, James Lipton does his one-on-one interview and then wraps up the show with a questionnaire put to his guest. Lipton said the questionnaire was popularized by Bernard Pivot, some French TV personality. I did some googling and wiki searching. Lo and behold! Lipton’s questionnaire is an adaptation of a version of a questionnaire created by Marcel Proust. Basically, the questionnaire is believed to reveal the true nature of the person answering the questions. I was intrigued (obviously) and decided to find out a little more about myself, choosing another adapted list that is usually found in the back of Vanity Fair, plus a bonus question that I took from Lipton’s list. Take a look and learn something new about me. Take the questionnaire yourself and learn something new about you.

1. What is your current state of mind? Scattered, multi-tasking, forward thinking (about tomorrow’s list of “to-do’s”.

2. What is your greatest extravagance? Giving my children what I’ve had and/or better.

3. What is your greatest fear? To live my life with more regrets than gratitude.

4. What is the trait you most deplore in others? An incorrigible sense of entitlement.

5. What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Frugality.

6. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? To be more patient with myself and others.

7. What is the quality you most like in a man? A chivalrous nature.

8. What is the quality you most like in a woman? Non-competitiveness

9. Which words or phrases do you most overuse? Scheisser (German for shit), Son of a goat!

10. Which talent would you most like to have? To be musically inclined with respect to singing and playing an instrument.

11. What or who is the greatest love of your life? The who would be DH, Mo and Co. The what has not yet been determined.

12. Where would you like to live? On a vineyard in the South of France.

13. What is your favorite occupation? Reading, photography, anything that allows me to be creative.

14. What is your most treasured possession? A typewritten account of her cruise to Bermuda with my grandmother written by my Great Aunt Marian, dated March, 1938.

15. Who are your favorite writers? William Golding, Audrey Niffenegger, David Sedaris, Roald Dahl, Amy Tan, Sandra Cisneros, Ayelet Waldeman, Kahty Reichs, Augusten Burroughs, Elizabeth Berg,

16. Who is your favorite hero of fiction? Paikea (Pai) Apirana from The Whale Rider.

17. Who are your heroes in real life? Anyone who has stepped outside of their comfort zone and learned from doing so.

18. What do you most value in your friends? Loyalty.

19. What is your most marked characteristic? Organization.

20. How would you like to die? Quickly, in as little pain as possible, and as a better woman than I am today.

21. What is your motto? Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it.

Bonus: If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? There are five people I would like for you to meet.

Mo and I were talking today about her upcoming third birthday. She’ll be turning the big three in about two months and has been talking about her party quite a bit lately. I can’t blame her, I guess. She’s gone to several birthday parties already this season. We threw a party/luncheon for Co who baptized yesterday, so that’s also fresh in Mo’s mind. Mo even talks about a birthday party for a little friend that was held last June. It was by no means a rager, but clearly, she had a good time. And I have to laugh, too because this was Morgan when she turned 1 year old. How she became a birthday party invitee and celebrant afficianado is beyond me.

Anyway, every now and then, I indulge Mo and ask her what kind of party she would like or who will be at her party or what kinds of things we should have. Her wants are pretty simple, so I have a feeling we’ll be able to accomodate.

A few weeks ago, she wanted a pink princess kitty party. Earlier in the year she wanted a princess mermaid rainbow party. Last week she wanted a princess Dora (no, please, God), party. Today she wants to have a princess balloon yellow cake party. There’s a recurring theme here, isn’t there. As our family dentist, Dr. Cohen, would say when he found a cavity, Oy vey.
Since she all but beat that idea into my head with her Bee-Bop Band drumsticks, I asked her what kinds of things we should have at her party. Her list, in her order, included:

1. presents

*5 second pause*

2. balloons
3. cake

Personally, I would put cake and presents on the same line, but that’s just me. When I asked her what else we should have to eat, she rattled off something about pizza, chicken nuggets and Chinese food. As for the cake, she wants a yellow cake and was emphatic about putting a candle on it that she could blow out. My little pyromaniac never missed an opportunity to blow out a candle. I said, “And then what should we do after you blow out the candle?”
Says Mo, “Then you can clap to celebrate me.”

Riiiiiiiight. No doubt she’ll be taking a bow right after that.

She’s been practicing.

I was reading in the latest issue of Cookie magazine a list of YouTube kid friendly music videos to share with your wee one. The list had favorites like “Mickey” by Toni Basil, “She Drives Me Crazy” by Fine Young Cannibals, and “Say, Say, Say” by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson (back when Jackson was still Black, though his nose had started to disappear).

Feeling nostalgic and having a few minutes to myself, I YouTubed “Say,Say, Say” and was instantly transported back to the days when MTv only played music videos that were hosted by Martha Quinn and Adam Curry (that would be 1983), when the remote control to the VCR was connected to the VCR by a really, really long cord, and if you had a portable phone, you probably also had a hernia from schlepping the big carrying case around with you.

So, I’m watching the video and I realize that the Michael Jackson’s love interest in it is (wait for it) his sister, LaToya!!! His sister?! As his love interest in a music video?! WTF? How did the complete ickiness and gut roiling grossness of that escape me for so many years? Well, in my defense, in 1983, I was only 5 years old, but still! Thank God they just leave it to some coy flirting seeing as her character is evidently someone else’s lady friend, but still! Yikes! I must have been blinded by the wholesome goodness of Sir Paul and Linda McCartney, but boy was I seeing the light today when I watched the video. Of course, one might be tempted to say, “Well, why are you surprised? It is Michael Jackson.” I guess. . .

Oh well. The song is still outstanding, but I doubt I can ever watch the video again. Oh the humanity. His sister?! *shudder*

We went to DH’s 15 year high school reunion this week-end, dropping Mo and Co off at their grandparents house along the way. I swear we slowed down to like 15 mph before we booted them into the driveway, shouting, “Tuck and roll! Tuck and roll!! Mo! Pick up your sister’s eyeball!”

Anyway, there were a myriad of activities in which to participate in, including cocktail parties, dinners, panels that offered perspectives on the future of the current students, the future of the school, alumni lacrosse games, and so on. Jam packed fun in about 105 degree heat. It’s tough to look like the wife of a member of the Board of Trustees when you’ve got rivers of sweat careening off of your face, splashing into your cleavage and making you look like you’re participating in a one woman wet t-shirt contest, but I did my best.

Now, I went to a private school myself and am familiar with all of the stereotypes associated with private, all-girls, Catholic school. DH’s school is a private boarding school that was all boys up until he was junior. And of course, there are the stereotypes that go along with that. Of course, both of those lists are blogs best saved for another day.

Still, the experience I am about to recount transported me back to high school so fast, I swear I had on a blackwatch plaid skirt and a Mount Saint Mary Academy sweater when it was all over. Anyway, on the second night of the reunion, after a wine and cheese reception, a dinner was held for all of the classes. Very nice affair. There was a band, an open bar, good food, and more alums were coming. In the midst of all of this revelry, I decide to sneak off to the ladies room. I guess as a throw back to when there weren’t any girls, this particular bathroom has one stall. Yes, a ladies room with one stall. I’m thinking it’s more of a water closet than a ladies room, but potato, po-tah-toe, if you get me. Inside this little place is the occupied stall and four other women who all give me the overpriveleged-$400 highlight having-I-wear-nothing-other-than-Manolo Blahniks–in-my-size-double-zero-Diane-Von-Furstenberg-sheath-mini-dress-that-I-can-squeeze-into-because-I-only-eat-Tic Tacs-and-Evian-water stinky eyeball. Hey, I’m just trying use the toilet.

So after I get the once over, they resume talking about their plans post dinner. Evidently, there’s a club in DC that they want to go to where they plan to and I quote, “Get fucked up.” (Katt Williams was right!!!). Alriiiiiiiiiight. I’m guessing at this point, they must be from the class of 2003, but hey, I could be wrong. The one in the stall comes out to wash her hands and the next one goes in. Hand washer begins to lament about having to be on a list to get into the club and the other two Ladies in Waiting start in with a chorus of “What’s that all about? What list? There wasn’t a list last time. . ” and so on. Hand Washer then points to a drink on the side of the sink and says, “Is this mine? I’ve had like seven already, so it probably is.” Wow.

The little chorus of how are we going to get to the club continues until the second one comes out of the stall and silences them all with a, “If we get there before 10pm, we don’t have to be on the list,” and punctuates it with a “God” that is eerily reminiscent of Cher and her Clueless cronies. As she’s washing her hands, her friends keep talking. One of them says, “I don’t see why there has to be a list.” Ol’ girl at the sink turns to her lineup of friends, and since, I’m still waiting to use the toilet, I’m included. “Well you know, ” she says, grabbing her paper towels, “DC is like Hollywood for ugly people.”

What.The.Crap?

Pushing past her twittering coven with their flesh piercing clavicles, I gave them all my best Blue Steel and finally made it into the stall. Ahhh, high school.

I just put Mo down for the (first time) night. She’ll be in her room, in her crib talking to herself at least until 9pm. Around about 8:15, I’ll get a plaintive call, “Mommy, I have to go to the potty!” But, I digress. Before bed, we usually have a story and a prayer. She opted to forgo the story in order to watch the Backyardigans and then have me draw some princesses on her Doodle Pad. Hey, whatever floats your boat.

After I had exhausted my repertoire of princesses and their paraphernalia on that little 5 X 7 pad, I told her it was time for prayers. She put her little hands together and said,

Amen, sister.

You’ll have to forgive my absence of late. DH and I partied like it was 1999 this past week-end. Our respective sorority and fraternity grad chapters co-hosted a Midnight Boat Ride on the Spirit of Norfolk this past week-end, and when I say midnight, I mean, in the middle of the night when no one is up but the homeless guy taking a leak on the side of the Dominion Power building (not that I was looking).

This ol’ gray mare ain’t what she used to be. We were jammin’ to old school Jodeci, Biggie Smalls, Jay-Z, Onyx and all the rest of the groups that made our college parties shake the campus. I felt 19 years old again, doing an Ivy Stroll it with my “saw-rahs” and watching DH and his bros party hop across the dance floor. We hooped. We hollered. We “skee-wee’d” and more. Then, the boat docked, the adrenaline plummeted and I was 29 years old, pigeon toe walking across the parking lot in 2 hour shoes that I’d had on for 5 hours, only half joking when I told DH that I had some Ben-Gay in my purse. I straight up felt like Cinderella, if Cinderella had two kids under two that she wrangled everyday and then decided to stay up ’til 4am to get her party on. Instead of the bell chiming 12am and her coach turning into a pumpkin, when the clock struck 3am and the captain said, “Y’all don’t have to go home, but you gots to get the hee-zee outta here,” I pretty much turned into party pooper extraordinaire. Seriously, I think all the cells in my body conspired to let me function until my feet made it from ship to shore before commencing an entire system shut down.

You see that it’s been a while since my last entry. I guess my party favor from the boat ride was this nasty cold that I’m suffering through. So, even though I’m battling congestion so bad that breathing through my mouth might cause me to suffocate, I had to put something out here. I’m still recovering from letting it all hang out. In a respectable way, of course.