parade part two or a few things you may or may not find amusing

The chinese new year parade was attended by thousands or millions of people yesterday. Either way it was a lot. We were fortunate to find a good spot to see all the action and the dragons. Who wants to go to a parade where you can't see anything? Not me. I would rather be at home watching the confusing curling competition of the Olympics. By the way, is it just me or are you totally confused how they score that game? Apparently there is some strategy involved, too. At least it looks that way judging by the competitors strained faces.

Anyway, the streets were barricaded by these metal gates so the crowd could not get in the street.



But do you know who jumped the barricade so she could get good pictures? Me. I am a rebel. But that is about has far as my rebel behavior will take me. I am a low-grade rebel.

Hold on. Did you see that handsome guy behind the barricade?



I know him. I am the mother to his 4 children.

Lily loved the parade except when this came towards her and pretended he was going to eat her.



She quickly regained her composure when she realized the parade people were also passing out free loot.




The girl knows when something good is going on. She wanted EVERYTHING they were passing out. As a result we now have too many fortune cookies, Chinese calendars, and some interesting literature from the Chinese gay and lesbian group.

The only confusing part of the parade was when a Hispanic group hijacked the end of the parade with some Latin music and dancing.




They were actually quite good. But their appearance made me think it was Cinqo de Mayo. Which caused me to crave a pinata. And a margarita. Fortunately, Lily was not bothered by another culture invading her Chinese parade. She just wanted to know why girls would want to show their panties when they danced. I'm praying she feels the same way about that when she is 16.

i burn a lot of calories when i sleep

My husband and I have been married 20 years. And throughout those years we have bought a variety of beds to sleep in. I can't tell you how many times I had to rewrite that sentence so it didn't sound like something else.

The oddest bed was a water bed in the early 90's when we lived in Peru. Let's face it, anyone using a water bed after the 70's is a little strange, right? It should really only be in a room with a lava lamp and an orange shag carpet. But at that time it was difficult to get a real bed in Peru that was not filled with straw, so we shipped a water bed down there and used it for almost 2 years. I was also pregnant with our first child at that time and I'm sure you can visualize a very fat, pregnant woman trying to get out of a water bed each morning. I'll give you a moment to imagine that....It was not a pretty site and I usually had to get some waves going to propel me out. Needless to say, when we moved back to the states, we left the water bed in Peru.

We had a queen sized bed until we had more than 2 kids. When our kids were little they liked to pile in at wee hours of the morning. The more than frequent elbow to the face or knee to stomach prompted us to have the genius idea of LETS GET A KING SIZE BED!

We were quite happy with our king size bed, but then we decided to move to New York. Most apartments are not large enough for king size beds so we downsized once again to a queen. It was traumatic and took some time to adjust to. Apparently, I move around quite a bit when I sleep. Rod relayed the stories in the morning as to how I ran circles around the entire mattress. I had no recollection. What? I don't sleep like a little angel?

And then I noticed an email in my inbox one morning from Rod. What was it? A love email? A email invite to a lovely dinner out? Then I read the message line: THIS IS TOTALLY WHAT YOU HAVE. I opened it and clicked on the link. Apparently the nights are so rough he felt the need to assign a medical diagnosis to me. I had restless leg syndrome. I scanned the article and it said there is no known cure. Unfortunately, that means Rod is going to have to keep sleeping with someone who exercises while sleeping.

I'm so sorry, honey. But I would like to remind you of the time in Peru when I awoke in the middle of the night to find you grasping my head like a basketball, dribbling it back and forth across the bed. You were sound asleep and told me the next morning you dreamed you were actually playing basketball.

This just shows you and I are the most athletic when we are fast asleep.

hello? is this thing on?

That nasty cold/sinus infection hijacked my body for another week, which explains my blogging absence. Not that I would need to explain my absence, but I am a first born child. Which means I continually feel like I've failed someone around me at any given time. It's called the perfection gene. Have you heard of it? It's loads of fun.

My bedside table looked like a small pharmacy for about 2 weeks straight. I was going to take a picture of it but lacked the cognitive skills to operate both my camera and the TV remote control at the same time. Thanks to the Internet, I found one that was similar.



I had several more prescription bottles on mine, but you get the idea. This portable pharmacy beside my bed served as a handy visual to remind my family that I was indeed sick. Now that it is clear again, I am happy to report that I am back in full mother-please-wait-on-me-hand-and-foot mode.

Unfortunately, since we're in a tiny apartment, the sick germs have tried their best to inhabit the bodies of the other family members here. Currently, my 14 year old sounds like he is coughing up a lung. I make my husband follow him around with a can of Lysol. I do fear that this might be affecting his self esteem. My son's, not my husband's.

The sick bed was not a total loss though, as I did make a few important discoveries during that time. I thought I would share them with you. The first one is that there is such a thing as too many Wedding reality TV shows. Two, Kelly Ripa's hair is the most gorgeous shade of blond. It's like butter. And three, given a heavy dose of NyQuil I can easily convince myself that The Bachelor is good TV.

As you can see, it was a productive 2 weeks.

I realize there is a lot of going on in this country

Talk of global warming. Or no global warming. I forget what the headlines are this week. Talk of another possible terrorist attack within the next few months. Not sure what I'm supposed to do with that information, are you?

But I need to talk to you about something really important today.

Eyebrows.

People, please. Do something about your eyebrows. I beg you.

Perhaps you were a child of the 80s like me and every high school photo looks like you have a major unibrow. Seriously, did WalMart not sell tweezers in the 80's? I think we all wanted our eyebrows to look like this:



So we thought our eyebrows had to be bushy and au natural. I can also remember saving all my birthday money just so I could go get a pair of those Calvin Klein Jeans, too. But I had to wear something between me and my Calvin's because I went to a Christian school.

Since moving to New York, I have heard much talk of the famous Sania of Sania's Brow Bar. She has been featured in Vogue, Cosmo, and the ultimate of all magazines...Oprah. She is supposed to be a genius with eyebrows. So I made an appointment and yesterday I had the honor of sitting in Sonia's chair of magic.

She doesn't use wax. She only uses tweezers, so she can be more precise. And she's FAST. In and out before the song on the radio was over. I thought I'd share the before and after pictures with you.

Before:



As you can see, I'm a tad uneven and I don't think my arch is in the right place.

After:




Magical? Right? I decided to point to my eyebrows so you would notice them just in case you forgot what this post was supposed to be about.

Seriously, if you come to NY for a visit, you should book yourself a little appointment with Sonia.

Because you might not be able to stop global warming, but you can do something about your brows.

it's magically delicious

While NyQuil is the magical formula that eases cold and flu symptoms, it's also the magical formula that squelches the ability to produce a logical blog post. I have been sick for the past 3 days even though I'm not supposed to get sick. I am a mother. We all know it is against the good mother handbook to be sick. After all, healthy family dynamics rotate on the axis of motherhood, right?

Speaking of motherhood, my own mother called me this weekend. When I told her I was sick, she said, "I know. I could feel you." She lives in Oklahoma and I live in New York. If anyone can explain this phenomenon, let me know. I can tell you that it has existed since my college days. She used to call and tell me that what I was about to do that night would land me in a pit of fire. Her phone calls kept me out of A LOT of trouble and I plan to use this same parenting strategy with my own children. Kids, consider yourself forewarned. You will have NO FUN in college. But it's for your own good.

Anyway, I'm on the mend. And will be weaning myself off the NyQuil. Personally, I chase mine with a couple melatonin which together produces the deepest of deep sleep coma. But only do this if you have someone to take over your parenting responsibilities. Apparently, the last few nights, children have come in and out of our room needing something or another and I have no recollection. Seriously. Not even a fuzzy recollection. My kind husband has tended to them all.

Do I feel guilty? Not really. It finally makes us even for all those nights he "didn't hear the baby crying." And he can't blame that on NyQuil. He can only blame that on the magical formula of his male chromosomes.

the post where i reveal my inner snobbery

I spent the better part of last week contemplating how I could talk my family of 6 into eating macaroni and cheese for a month so I could afford hair extensions. Well, not out loud, but in my head. I decided their therapy cost for doing this would far outweigh the cost of the extensions. And because I'm careful with my money, I decided to forgo the actual conversation. And extensions.

But I have had some hair dilemmas since moving to the city. Well, actually my whole life. I'm really confused as to why God did not give me natural blond hair, when obviously that is really the best color for me. I have been coloring my hair since college and finding that perfect shade of buttery blond is a challenge. Can I get a witness?

When my first son was born, he had the most gorgeous shade of blond hair. I used to take him with me to get my hair done for a visual. I would sit him on my lap and tell the stylist, "See this? Put this on my head. Thank you." But now his hair has turned dark and I can't do that anymore.

I tried a new colorist on the upper east side yesterday. No one recommended her to me. Well, the Internet did and that is almost a real person, right? I had issues as soon as I walked in the shop. Allow me to share.

1. They told me to go hang up my coat. What? You're not going to do that for me? I need to feel a little pampered.

2. They did not offer me a beverage. Umm...Hello? Its after 12 o'clock and that salon down the street serves wine. But really, some water would have even been nice.

3. The staff had Chinese takeout for lunch. The entire salon was filled with Kung Pow Chicken aroma. Mix that with a little bleach, shampoo, and hairspray...not exactly aromatherapy, people. But I did decide to incorporate stir fry into our dinner lineup this week.

OK. As if I don't already sound like snob, I'm going to go ahead and add the last one. The clincher for me.

4. SHE ASKED ME TO HELP HER BY HANDING HER THE FOILS. I'm not sure why some stylists do this? Really, I don't. It is one of my biggest pet peeves. It makes me have flashbacks to my youth where I'm at the kitchen table handing my mother the perm rods as she does yet another perm to my stick-straight hair.

Note to all styists: I am a mother of 4. The salon experience is supposed to be relaxing for me. A place to recharge. A place to catch up on Brangelina and my other celebrity friends. I can't do that if I'm helping you do my own hair, right? Plus, if I'm your new assistant, I'd really enjoy a discount.

So, I am on the search yet again for a colorist in the city that won't cost more than my rent each month and will provide a tad more pampering. Thinking of starting a prayer chain for this.

What about you? What is your worst salon experience?

70's music makes me think i can dance

I realize what I'm about to say is controversial. But I'm going to say it anyway. I heart the movie Mamma Mia. Don't hate me. And don't write me and tell me how much you hated that movie. I have enough to cope with in my life right now and 70s music makes me happy.

Rod surprised me and bought us tickets to the Broadway show Mamma Mia. It was a fantastic date night. A much needed date night. While I know that I may make the transition to the city look easy, our family is human and it is trying at times- especially when there is only 1200 square feet for the hormones to bounce around in. Sometimes in one day the emotional roller coaster displays itself like this:

I think you're the best mom in the world.

Mom, I hate you!

Mom, I need you!

Mom!!!!!!!

Whatever.

Mom. I love you.

It's exhausting sometimes. But I read something wise this week and it has given me some perspective.

The days are long, but the years are short.

This reminded me that the journey is what counts. I am crazy about my children and love being a mother to my four. I want to savor every moment, the good and the bad. Because, all too soon- they will be gone. I should probably just stop this post there, because this could be a life changing moment for you, too. But I need to tell you about my date night.

After Mamma Mia we went to the Carlyle Hotel for drinks and music. It was swanky. And by swanky, I mean that I should have been wearing some type of fur and holding one of those long cigarettes. Such a fun New York experience.



I loved the wallpaper in the lounge there. And I proclaimed this to Rod no less than 73 times during the entire night.





We stayed out until the wee hours of the morning.
Talking. Laughing. Smiling. Snuggling. Listening.

Because, the days are long, but the years are short.

bless my fashionable heart

Apparently when it is cold, common sense says that one should dress appropriately. This helps fix the whole "I'm so cold" issue. I've been a bit slow to grasp this conventional wisdom, but in my defense I was not raised to bundle up. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I'm from the south. We don't do coats. We don't go outside when it's cold. And if we want to tell someone they're stupid we shake our head and say, "Bless your heart." That last one is just a freebie so you northerners know when a southerner is mocking you.

Anyway, I have to go outside in NYC even when it's cold because there is a law that says my kids have to go to school. And since we only live 2 blocks from there, I walk them. I quickly found out that my cute, short black wool coat was not going to keep me very warm in NY winters. Yes, it's gosh darn cute with those three-quarter sleeves and all, but fashion doesn't keep you warm. At least not the parts that matter.

So I broke down and bought this.



Bah-nanas, right? That's not me in the picture, in case you were wondering.

Love this coat.
Love to wear this coat.
I stay warm in this coat.
But there is one teenie, tiny problem.
The zipper often gets stuck, trapping me inside the coat.
This puts me in, shall we say... a O MY GOSH, I'M GOING TO DIE INSIDE THIS COAT TYPE OF PANIC.

The first time it happened, I broke out in a sweat and ran around in circles in the apartment. Screaming. There was also some hand waving involved. My poor husband stepped in to stop the madness help unzip the coat and the two of us wrestled the zipper a good 20 minutes until I was free. I continued to hyperventilate the entire time. Keep in mind my 14 year old was on the couch staring at me the whole time muttering, "you're so weird" over and over again. Then he continued watching TV, updated his facebook and sent about 739 texts. So it didn't faze him too much.

But I know if he had been raised in the south he would have added in a "Bless your heart" for dramatic effect.

clean water. and good hair.

Last week Rod and I went to the annual Charity Ball event here in New York. I've never been invited to a formal black-tie event before. Unless you count my senior prom. And that involved a date who wouldn't kiss me, a few dozen yards of hot pink taffeta and an enormous amount of hairspray to make sure my permed bangs stood at attention all night. Viva la 80's!

I had been anticipating this event for months because I believe in what Charity:Water does. They are an amazing organization that provides a basic human right to those in need - clean drinking water.

OK. And I was also looking forward to this event because I was going to see some famous people. I like to balance out my support of goodwill with a healthy dose of celebrity gawking.

Here's a picture of Rod and I all dolled up before we left our apartment for the event.



Can you say Bond. James Bond?
And in case you're wondering, I worked on that pose for a long time.

The host of the event was Adrian Grenier. He's been a big supporter of charity:water for a long time. Plus he has great hair.

I got to meet Adrian (yes- we're on first name basis), but was too embarrased to ask for a picture with him. So my husband took this with his iphone instead:



The event was amazing. It was attended by about 1200 people and over one million dollars was raised to provide clean water to those in need. And I'll balance that statement out with this: Later on in the evening, Adrian was standing right in front of me, wearing his velvet suit and then... HE RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH HIS HAIR.

Of course I immediately texted my sister, Jennie.

Unfortunately, I can not repeat her reply text because my mother sometimes reads this blog.

my crib

Many of you have wanted to see what the inside of our apartment looks like. I thought I'd post a picture for you. Here you go:



OK. That's not our apartment. It's the lobby in our apartment building. But I bet I got some reactions out of a few of you.

Let's go on up to our apartment. Which, by the way, I figured out is smaller than a double wide trailer. Yes, it's glamorous living here in the city. I'm in a double-wide trailer in the sky with a family of six. There is room for only the essentials. Someone sent us a lovely boquet of flowers a while back and when I picked them up from the doorman, Jackson gasped, "WHERE are we going to put THOSE?" The reality that we are living in a small space is not lost on anyone here, people.

Going up. 31 please.



Here's what you see as soon as you walk thru our doors.



This is our living/dining room. My favorite thing in this room is the clear dining room chairs. We had the table with us in Colorado, but the heavy black chairs made the apartment feel so crowded. The clear ones give much more visual space. It's an illusion.





The original dining room is on the far right. We had to convert it to Lily's room. AND WE'RE STILL WAITING FOR OUR SUPER TO INSTALL THE DOORS. Did you know putting a 6 year old to bed while the rest of the family chills in the living room is not an easy task? And I won't even go into what happens when we have to send her to her room for disciplinary matters. Let's just say, the whole "there is an invisible wall here that you can't go past" statement isn't holding much water.

Here's Lily's room:




Here's our little kitchen.




And let's go down the hall to the boys room. (Disclaimer: I did not make up their beds, because who am I kidding? They are never made up and some things just don't matter to me right now.)



This is probably the biggest challenge of living in a small apartment. All three boys are sharing this room. We have 3 individual desks on the left side. Each has their own designated area. They've been good sports so far about all this. One of them even said "It's like being at camp." By the way, did you know you can use the retouch tool in Iphoto to digitally vacuum the carpet? Just a helpful hint I thought I'd share with you.

You need to check out this triple high bunk bed though:



I'm so impressed with my husband. He chopped up 2 ikea beds and made this. The bottom bed is really a trundle that rolls out. However, Jackson likes sleeping underneath the middle bunk rather than roll it out. He said it's cozy under there. Personally, I think he's afraid of being stepped on by the 2 older brothers that are sleeping above him.

Here's the master bedroom.




I really like the way our bedroom turned out. It's light and airy and quite relaxing. And I love the views.

So there you go. That's it. There are no more rooms. Except for the 2 bathrooms and who really wants to see a picture of a shower and a toilet?

my hood

I am getting settled here to life in the Big Apple. And I have to tell you that I love it. The city is so full of life and energy, not to mention the interesting people that are everywhere! I think I have a hermit recluse that lives in the next-door apartment. He lets his papers stack up for at least a week. Then I've caught him peeking out his door to scoop the papers in. You know my goal is to find out what is going on in there! I'll keep you posted.

Finding an apartment in the city that fit our family's needs and budget was challenging. There were days during our search where I found a dark corner and soothed myself by rocking back and forth on the floor. But by the grace of God, we found a great place. I just love it. It's tiny. All 1200 square feet of it, but it's in a lovely location on the Upper East Side. And it's on the 31st floor of our building which means we have spectacular views.

I thought I'd show you around my hood today. (Click on any pictures to make them larger.) First of all, when I say Upper East Side some of you may think I'm living on the snazzy side. I don't live on the snazzy side. I live on the stroller side. It's very family-friendly and I really like it here. The snazzy side would require quite the bankroll (new money) or a pedigree (old money) and I have neither.

Here's a picture of the front of my building.



Did you know I can get fresh fruit outside my door every morning?



Here's the view from our living room.



See those two twin buildings there? I'll zoom in.



That's the other side of central park.

And guess what I have across the street from me?



Starbucks. I have made friends with that place.

View from my bedroom. I've always wanted a water view! I just thought waves would be involved instead of concrete.



View from my kitchen. I think you can call it a kitchen. Maybe it's more like a closet with appliances. But it does have a window and for that I am grateful.



And at night. It's all just glorious.



I love New York.

it's all a blur

It really is. It's all a fuzzy dream. The last month has been full of packing, unpacking, joy, tears, and a glass of wine here and there to calm me down. I've been absent because my computer has been packed up and too much was going on. I thought I'd try to catch you up a bit today.

A few weeks ago, our moving truck arrived in Colorado, but not before the blizzard hit. It was like Colorado was trying to trap us there. We woke up the morning of the move and opened our front door to this:



Lovely. It took all day to pack the truck. Fortunately, my in-laws brought down their RV to whisk us away, once the last box was loaded. Here's their RV:



Do you see that behind the RV? It's a trailer. Family members bought some of my extra furniture that I couldn't transport to New York. But wait, do you see what's on the RV? Here's a closer look:



That's a stylish trailer, isn't it? Some people will use their kids to sell anything, right? I'm sure their kids are hoping the trailer rental business makes enough college money fast, so they can get their giant faces off that trailer.

I'm going to skim over the next part of the journey, because no one in my family likes to remember it. Just imagine you're in one of those Chevy Chase family vacation movies and that's what our drive was like. What should have taken us 11 hours, took 24 hours plus an overnight stay in a hotel. Out of respect for my children's psyche's I will not expound.

But we've made it to Manhattan. Still unpacking and settling in. Thanks for all your sweet emails wondering if I'm ok. We are doing great and I'll definitely share more soon!

oh baby, baby grand

As I mentioned before, I'm getting rid of a lot of things around the house before we move. We all know a 6 bedroom suburban home will not fit into a 3 bedroom NYC apartment, no matter how much you squeeze. It's like those jeans you had before you had kids. It's better to face reality and realize your butt is bigger now. Sorry, I digress...

So I'm getting rid of beds. All my kids will go to twin size beds. Right now one of my kids is sleeping on the floor because we have already sold his bed. Poor child. There is nothing in his room but a mattress. Seriously, no personal effects, no dresser, no bed...just a mattress on the floor. It looks like a Dr Phil intervention for a rebellious teen.

I've also realized my baby grand piano will simply not work in a NYC apartment. I did throw around the idea of using it as a kitchen table. I could pull up bar stools to it and the kids could eat their waffles there for breakfast. Maybe I could even play them a song while they ate? Just a thought.

But this baby grand piano has been a tough situation. It was my great-grandmother's piano. It was the piano my mom played growing up. It was the piano that I played as a child, too. Many long tortuous hours were spent practicing there. Of course there were lighter times spent there, too. Like the years I thought I could be a song writer. Ahh, the dreams of youth. The problem was my voice sounds like a frog in a bucket and I found out you can't make a demo that will gain any traction with those kind of pipes.

So, there is a huge part of me that can't bear to part with this piano. I'm too sentimental with it. Plus I've heard things from my family like "Your grandfather will ROLL OVER IN HIS GRAVE if you get rid of that." I really don't want to disturb my grandfather, so I'm storing it and my sister is going to save her pennies to have it shipped out to her.

This week I'm making the final rounds, room by room, drawer by drawer and purging before the movers come next week. Trying to remain calm and plan accordingly, Who knows, I might even face reality and throw away a few pair of jeans.

3 quotes and the truth

We are leaving Colorado in 15 days. Excuse me, I need to go find a paper bag to breathe into....OK, I'm back now. As you know, there are a lot of steps involved in a move. One of the most important steps is finding a moving company. Let me clarify that. It's easy to find a moving company, but to find the right moving company is a different story. You want one that will actually show up, take care of your precious valuables, deliver your things to the right state, and not charge you 25% of your annual income.

I decided to get quotes from 3 major moving companies. I'm a smart shopper.

Moving Company A showed up with a fine representative. He was an older gentleman who looked like Santa Clause. I'm sure if my 6 year old had been at home when he came, she would have asked him where he parked his reindeer. I was a little concerned when he showed up though, because he brought along a suitcase. Turns out it was his printer. He probably should have also packed some snacks in that suitcase because he was in my home for TWO HOURS. That's too much one-on-one time for this task oriented introvert. I've got things to do. I like to squeeze in a nap before I pick up my kids from school.

Moving Company B showed up without a suitcase, which was a good sign. But he kept trying to sell me with how great his packers are. "I've got the best packers in the state." "My packers are fantastic." "You'll just looooove my packers." I felt like I was living an infomercial and at any moment he was going to try to sell me a Slanket.

Moving Company C's representative showed up and was in and out in 15 minutes. Big points scored there. The only thing out of the ordinary was that he had a glass eye. Seriously. Luckily, being from the south, I am schooled in the art of avoidance, and knew which eye to concentrate on.

After all was said and done, Moving Company C had the best quote. The representative came back to my home to sign the paperwork. Again, in and out in 15 minutes. (Noticing a 15 minute pattern here. I'm wondering if they can also load the truck in 15 minutes?) As I walked him to the door he shook my hand and thanked me for my business. I felt like we had a bond. I felt like I could trust him with my home. I felt like we were close. I guess he felt like that too, because after he SHOOK MY HAND, he told me his son was infected with the H1N1 virus.

Great. I should have gone with Moving Company A. Santa would NEVER knowingly infect his client with the swine flu.

changing our view

A few months ago we were innocently enjoying our simple suburban life. You know, summer grilling, late night walks in the balmy air, sleeping in....when BAM life hit us on the side of the head. It came out of nowhere. But I've seen it before. It seems every time my husband gets a new job opportunity it comes out of nowhere. I should know to start preparing by now, shouldn't I? I should continually hold on to something....

Soon my family will trade this view:



For this view:



We are moving to New York City in the fall. We, a family of six.

Let me tell you I have had a whirl-wind of emotions about this move. Don't get me wrong. I feel a great peace inside about moving, but it is going to be quite a change. The transition is going to be a stretching experience for me. And because I am a control-freak, I know it is going to provide for some interesting moments. Don't worry, for your entertainment I will share those moments with you here.

I have to run now. I need to go figure out how to cram a 6 bedroom Colorado home into a 3 bedroom NYC apartment.