This Little Piggy Went to the Health Department

If I were at a job interview and someone asked me what my worst quality is, I would immediately answer, "Impatience." Immediately, because I don't like to waste time.

Driving the junior high carpool today, I said to Xanthe, "I'm going to count to two, and I want your seatbelt on." One of the junior high boys said, "Uh, don't people usually count to three?"

I said, "I don't have time."

I'm in a car, we're on the road, and I don't have time to count to three? I have got to get a hold of myself. Recently, I overheard Xanthe in the back seat of the car saying, "What is this guy doing? Why doesn't he get out of my way?!" We were at a red light. I looked up from my book (What. Red lights are long enough to read a page or two.) and Xanthe was glaring angrily out the window.

So imagine how much agony I was in yesterday at the thought of going to Salt Lake to get the Swine Flu vaccine. The journey was comprised of four elements that are guaranteed to send an inpatient person over the edge. A government agency, long lines, six kids in a car and rush-hour traffic. Just one of those components is enough to make my head explode.

Once we got there, I was surprised at how quickly the line moved, how efficient the workers were, how easy the vaccine was and how smooth the traffic was coming back. Before I had a chance to rant about slow drivers in the fast lane, we were home and theoretically protected from the Swine Flu. (I'm not going to say H1N1. It's boring.) Thanks to Emily for giving me the heads-up on the flu clinic. Here's hoping our piglets are protected. I just wish there were a nasal mist that could make me more patient. I'll have to cure that ill on my own.

What You Wear from Ear to Ear

Help wanted!

I need somebody to come over here and smile at Ptolemy. He's remarkably spoiled and my facial muscles are tired from cooing at him. I would love to play peek-a-boo all day long, but there are moments when it's not feasible. Like when I have a razor-sharp chisel aimed at my hand or when I'm measuring millimeters. Like Humpty Dumpty, this poor violin will never be put back together if someone doesn't smile at this baby for me! Come on, give my tired face a break and save me from slicing off my fingers. Multitasking and sharp tools don't mix. If you could hear his sad, neglected whimpers, you wouldn't be able to resist!

Da Bears

Golda went crazy at the San Diego zoo with her wildlife photography. She wants to make a wildlife calendar. Between Yellowstone and the zoo, I think she has enough great shots for her project. Don't you just love digital photography? It's a far cry from the old days, when Ryan (Scott's brother) "wasted" a whole roll of film taking 36 pictures of Old Faithful. Ryan was ahead of his time! Now you can take 500 pictures of a sleeping koala and still have memory space. All these bears are adorable, but I have my favorite.

Veni Vidi Vici

It's a statue of Julius Caesar. My mom would know that right off the bat. One of my most vivid memories of my mother is her telling us kids about Julius Caesar. In the Shakespeare version, he was assassinated on the floor of the Roman Senate by a group of his friends. When Mom got to the part where Julius Caesar said, "Et tu, Brute?" she started crying. She said, "Can you imagine? His best friend turned on him!" She broke down, and at that moment my understanding of literature was born. It dawned on me that a story or a play or a piece of music could reach you deep in your heart and cause you to feel compassion or true sorrow or even joy.

At the time, I was a little uncomfortable with my mom crying over something that happened centuries ago. But I got it. Just recently, listening to West Side Story with the kids in the car, I couldn't help but choke up during the Jet song. The Jet song! It's not even sad. I blubbered to the kids about how tragic it was that Tony decided to go to the dance, and how he killed Bernardo, and it ruined his chance for happiness. The kids were perplexed by my breakdown, but maybe a little subdued. I thought of my mom and how her passion taught me so many lessons. Here I am, unwittingly passing on the same lessons to my children. That's what I thought until "Officer Krupke" came on and Golda said, "Mom, can you keep your eyes on the road? We're all going to die because you're doing jazz hands."
Well, Moms aren't perfect. If I aspire to be as great as my mom, I won't do too badly. Happy Birthday, Mom! Thanks for Julius Caesar.

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to the man of my dreams. Scott may not be perfect, but so far I haven't found anything wrong with him, so he must be pretty close. We started celebrating his birthday in Imperial Beach with Seacoast Pizza, the dangerously large pizza. Friday, Scott and I went to dinner at a Brazilian barbeque, where Scott did his proud dad routine, holding Ptolemy up for everyone to admire. Tonight, the kids made cupcakes and Butterfinger spiders. They hosted a surprise party where they called Daddy into the kitchen, hid behind the table and jumped out to say, "Surprise!" Scott was, of course, shocked.

Tomorrow, he'll celebrate by going to work, shuttling girls to ballet and helping the kids with homework while I teach. Par-ty! Even if Scott's actual birthday has a touch of the mundane about it, he makes every day a celebration for those lucky enough to be in his sphere. Everything is fun when Scott is there. He lights up a room, he makes people comfortable, he stirs up trouble, he makes kids happy, he is sarcastic and funny. If you're in the neighborhood, he likes it when people bring sugary treats to his office on his birthday. And he'll be checking the blog to see if anyone has wished him a happy birthday. I'll be the first: Happy birthday, Scott. Go buy yourself a gift, just in case the one your wife comes up with is lame. (Remember the shirt from Guatemala?)

Little Foodie

Here's Xanthe, my little foodie, dining at Mama Testa's in San Diego. (Good food, very rainbow friendly. A family of eight could not be more out of place there, but it was fun.) When Xanthe joined our family, she was 13 months old and all her food had been pureed and served through a bottle. Her bottle had the top of the nipple cut off so that the food or milk would come out very fast. At first, she wouldn't take her bottle from us, until I figured out that she liked the formula scalding hot. I wish I had a video of it; she could gulp down a whole bottle in seconds flat. Five or six seconds to drink eight ounces.

When we got her home, I put her in a high chair and put Cheerios on the tray. She played with them but didn't put them in her mouth. All the other kids demonstrated how to pick one up and eat it, so she mimicked them. The first one, she picked up and aimed for her mouth. She hit her forehead. It was funny, but heartbreaking. She had never eaten solid food!

So she had some struggles. She went hungry, I know she did. All this time later, I could swear she's still making up for it. Spicy food has never bothered her. She likes everything, which is great. Except that if she sees that someone has something she doesn't have, she goes nuts. She gets frantic at a party where there are lots of different choices. She wants all of them. Sometimes, she says, "My tummy hurts. I ate too much. I'll just eat a little more." If she sees a McDonald's billboard, she's suddenly hungry. If there's an empty water bottle in the car, she's desperately thirsty. I realized how intense her eating habits are this summer at the pool. A kid near me opened a little bag of Doritos and it make a whoosh noise. Instantly, I was thinking, "You fool! Put that away! Xanthe is going to be crying for Doritos now." Sure enough, Xanthe got out of the pool and came running to me. "I need chips! I need chips weally bad!" I don't even think she connected why she felt like she needed chips. It was an instinct.

In a way, it's cute, her predictability. Every morning, she has to have two kinds of cereal, not just one. Her idiosyncrasies are adorable. But I also worry that maybe the desperate need for food is indicative of some deeper need that is not being addressed. I don't worry about it too much, but maybe I should. Some of you may have answers on this one. I'm sure some of you have food bills to send me from playdates with Xanthe. It's your own fault for keeping food in your house. You should have known better! It's a good thing she's so darn lovable.

City of Distinction

There are so many things I like about my town. The farmers' market uses a tarp as security when they close at night, and nobody ever breaks in. I get to look at the beautiful mountains whenever I drive around town. Our movie theatre has the most buttery popcorn ever and it's only one dollar. There is an art museum in our library. The dog catcher returns lost kids. (That only happened once. Glad you're back, Ari!)

And we have Stewart's Gift Shop, a local treasure. They have a wedding registry and sweet children's clothes, and they've been around for generations. Araceli chose her baptism dress there, and the experience turned out to be a special occasion in and of itself. Ari was going to wear Ruby's baptism dress because I told myself we didn't need to buy another one. I asked Ari if the dress fit and she said, "Yes! Except I can't breathe at all because it's so tight and I can't move my arms. But I want to wear it!" I challenge you to not buy a kid a new dress after an answer like that!

We went to Stewart's and Araceli, who was as full of Glee as the fall lineup, chose the perfect snow-white dress. Shirley even gave Ari a gold ring with her birthstone in it, to go with her dress. Stewart's Gift Shop, where I got my first Easter dress and my wedding china, came through for Araceli. They say it takes a village to raise a child. My village literally does raise its children, from the teachers and coaches to the neighbors and store owners. I think the village is doing a fine job with Ari. She's turning out to be a wonderful girl.

Phone Home

I got to pick my parents up at the airport today when they arrived from Paris. I got nostalgic thinking about how times have changed since the '80's, when I somehow tricked my parents into sending me to Europe every summer. Back then, communication was cumbersome and limited. I remember going to the post office in France with a pocket full of change. In a tiny booth, feeding coins into a big, clunky phone, I would receive a few precious sentences about home, shout into the phone that I was OK. Then the change would run out and I would be cut off from my family, alone in the world.

The summer after my senior year, I was in love with a boy named Scott. I tearfully left him to visit a friend in Paris and attend a music camp in Rome for the summer. I missed Scott terribly, so my friend Genevieve offered to send a fax from her workplace in Paris to my dad's office that Dad would then deliver to Scott's house. I wrote a page-long letter to Scott proclaiming my love. If Scott received my fax, I wouldn't know until days later, after I arrived in Rome.

When I had been in Rome for a couple of days, getting acquainted with the other kids from the camp and finding my way around, I was desperate to know Scott's reaction to my letter. I pooled all my lire and walked down the street to the nearest phone booth on Via Tritone. I tried to call Scott's home and the line was busy. I don't think I've ever felt so alone. Suddenly, I heard a man shouting "Scott Dopp! Scott Dopp!" It was the owner of my hotel, shouting my beloved's name with a heavy Italian accent. A boy from the camp came running to me, saying, "Scott is on the phone at the hotel! Run!" Boy, did I run! I was breathless by the time the hotel owner handed me the phone. From across the Atlantic, over a crackly phone line, Scott told me he missed me and that...he loved me. That ancient, dark-paneled hotel lobby on that narrow cobblestone street remains the scene of the most romantic moment of my life. I was seventeen. I walked to the TWA office and begged them to change my ticket, citing love as the reason. I came home two weeks early, and my parents were furious. I decided that I wouldn't admit it was because of Scott (like they didn't know!) unless I married him. A month later, I went away to college and Scott left for his mission. I had to wait seven years before I said the words, "I came home early from Rome because of Scott."

Today, that kind of intense communication - or lack of - is hardly a possibility. While my parents and Trajan were in Europe, we texted back and forth almost every day. We were never out of touch, despite all of us being in different cities on different continents. It was fun to banter across the miles, to get word that the pastry shop I loved was still there, or that Mom was taking too long in the Louvre gift shop. I'm glad, though, that when I was seventeen and in love, I had to wait for that crackly phone call to find out that Scott loved me. I'm not sure if I would still be able to conjure the damp stone smell of the hotel lobby or remember what dress I was wearing then, if Scott's call had been in text form. Still love u, S!

The POD

A twelve hour drive is the perfect time to capture the many faces of P.T....P-Town...Tolly Baby...Tollsie...Tolly boy...Sweet P...Honey Pie Boy...the POD...

Do you think we're confusing him with all these nicknames? I know we're confusing Freestone. His writing homework was littered with what he explained to me were "silent P's." As in, "I wentp to pthe beachp." Oh boy. Poor Pfreestone! Hopefully he can sort it all out in time to explain it all to Ptolemy when he hits school.

Dear Grandma,

Happy birthday, Grandma Dopp! Each time I asked one of the kids "What is your favorite thing about Grandma," a big smile would cross their face. I knew they had lots of favorite things about Grandma, but the fun part was seeing their faces light up when they talked about it. Your sleepovers, your cakes, the delicious meals you prepare for us, Lagoon day, the way you make holidays so magical, your gravy, the trampoline, the cousins, the way you always give the perfect gift...

There are too many favorites to list. Scott got teary-eyed when he named "all the sacrifices she has made for me" as his favorite thing about you. When Golda heard us talking about it, she asked in a small voice, "Mom, did you have to sacrifice a lot of things to have us?" I said no, that my life would be empty without them. I'm willing to bet that you feel the same way about your family, that despite all the large and small sacrifices you make, the return of having a happy family is greater than anything you could give up in return. Because of your example, I'm learning that lesson better all the time.

My favorite thing about you is how I can lay my burdens at your doorstep when I enter your house. Somehow, all of my worries disappear when I'm in your home. Part of it is the love that surrounds my kids when we're there. With them cradled in the safety net you have created over years of devotion, I feel safe. When Golda was born, you knitted a beautiful white blanket that all of our children have used on their blessing day. Over those same years, you have woven a blanket of support and love, overlaid with your faith and desire for family harmony. We know how many hours have gone into it: 24 a day. That blanket is large enough for all of us and warm enough to keep us together and happy. No matter how big the blanket is, though, there will always be toes sticking out because Grandma like her toes to stick out, and everyone wants to be just like Grandma! We love you.