Day 20: Can't We Just Put This Vitamin D in an IV?

The sun CAME OUT today!

*dancing* *confetti* *parades* *celebration*

This rainy season has really put me back into my Pacific Northwest roots. So that when the clouds actually do break and the sun comes out, I go into full blown panicked-excitement mode. 

Quick! Open the windows! Put on your flip flops! We need to mow the lawn, wash the car, go to the beach and have a barbecue all before 4pm today. Get the sunscreen STAT. 

But we didn't do any of those things today because a) I'm way too lazy to mow the lawn OR wash the car while Brad is at work, b) it's way too cold for the beach. 

I picked up Cam from school in town and decided that today was the day I would remember to pack a picnic lunch for him and find that super cool castle playground the locals have been telling me about. 

Because anything involving castles AND playgrounds is a major win for the household 4 year old. 

Turns out, the castle playground is only a mile or so away from his school. And it really is a castle. And a bunch of other rad stuff too. Playgrounds like this that are so nice usually require admission or something, so I kind of felt like I was illegally trespassing the whole time and the playground police were going to pop out of one of the bendy slides and be like "Pay up or go home!" And I'd make Cam cry because we'd have to go home because who carries cash with them anymore. 

But no playground police arrived so we stayed. 

It really is a castle playground!

We stayed an hour or so until I literally dragged Camden's exhausted body to the car, all while he's whining "but I want to staaaaaaaaaay I'm not tirrrrrred." and fell asleep before we even drove out of the parking lot. 

And that my friends is a victory.

After his 20 minute nap in the car he was raring to go once we got home, but wanted to play his "iPad" (Leapster). 

WHAT? Electronics? In this weather? Blasphemy.

So we played catch out in the front yard. And then Calen came home from school and before even saying "hi" to me the neighbor boys came running over and in an instant all the kids were gone in a large alarming swarm imitating rabid locusts to the playground near our house, leaving me with a baseball glove and Calen's backpack and a stupid look on my face. 

"Ummm...hi Calen...bye boys." 

Is this a preview to teenage life?

Unfortunately (for them), Cam has been a bit of a troublemaker on the playground lately. You know, wandering into neighbors' houses uninvited or peeing on the tree next to the playground in front of 11 year old girls, that sort of thing. So instead of staying at my house catching up on cleaning, I hung out at the playground to supervise. 

But it was sunny, so I didn't even mind. 

Once Brad got back from work we whisked away to the batting cages, since both boys have barely had any practices with their teams due to rain, and their first games are this week. They even had an open tball stand for Cam to hit at while Calen was in the cage, so even he got to have fun. And then got home and I walked the base with my neighbor. 

Funny how a sunny day will suddenly make me that much more energetic. Maybe I should just walk around with a vitamin D IV stuck in my arm, then I could bounce off the walls like my kids and do all sorts of activities. 

The camera on my phone rocks my socks so I took lots of pictures of the Caminator at the playground (unedited). 

Day 19: The Man (Boy) Cave

It's still raining. 

My God California, who do you think you are, Seattle? Get over your depression, take some Prozac, and get on with your life. You know, "sunny California." 

My kids (and I) are really, really over the rain. They are not the type that can (happily) sit on the floor and play with their toys for twelve hours and be satisfied. They can for a little bit, but after maybe 45 minutes they'll stomp downstairs in that whiny bored face. 

"Mom, can't I pleeeeease go outside?"

No, you can't, because it's raining so hard you need a canoe. And it's blowing so hard your canoe will end up in Nevada. Just stay inside. 

So, I pulled from my "El Nino Indoor Emergency Kit" to keep them busy and happy. I had bought these a while ago and had planned on putting them in their Easter baskets but let's be honest, it probably won't rain after Easter and we needed an activity:

Well that's rad. 

These books are beyond cool. Each page has a double sided pattern and specific folding instructions. It's a little beyond both kids, but that forces lets parents be included too. Brad and I made two each for the kids. They had eagle rockets and dragon ships and one that actually looked like the space shuttle. Que the next hour of them running ALL over the house (and standing on furniture) to launch these suckers. 

Camden ready to launch his little alien ship off the sofa. 

 The problem with living in a townhouse (again) that was poorly insulated (again) is that the poor next door neighbors sharing a wall with us can hear every.thing. And my boys are now big enough that their noisemaking is big. Balls are bouncing off the walls, monster trucks are rolling (LOUDLY) across the floor and then CRASHING loudly together, voices are loud, everything with them is loud. 

Since we moved here (already nine months ago!), I envisioned turning our larger-sized garage into a sort of hang out. Somewhere for the kids to go and be loud/crazy/insane/insert annoying adjective here. We've since reorganized it (twice), and made at least a little space for them to play (if only we can get rid of that motorcycle! Hint hint....). So today was a PERFECT day to try out the new improved man/boy cave. I threw down Calen's road rug and installed a small space heater in there to make it at least almost warm. Add our extra dining chairs for seating and the picnic table that's been in there for a few days, and it's actually a pretty cool hangout. 

the cave

The boys took their hot wheels and paper airplanes in there and it made for a good afternoon chilling in the garage (like rednecks or something. All we needed was a TV). Then I threw the GIGANTIC box that the small space heater came with and a jar of markers, and they were set. 

After a while, they created a new game of "push my brother around the garage in the Amazon box". This lasted a serious hour. And then a game of "launch the paper airplane into the box to get points". And of course Calen was the scorekeeper and would somehow mysteriously always have just one point more than Camden, even if Cam really got the airplane in more times than Calen. To which Calen would announce "Well, you only are allowed to cheat if you're the older brother."

"NO, you're not! I announce Camden is the winner of the game THE END."

Parenting is really nothing more than intense refereeing. 

Day 18: Welcome Back to the First World

Today was officially opening day for the boys' youth baseball league. Except it wasn't because:

Booooo!!!! Hissssssss

What else is new. 

So I begrudgingly put their super adorable totally cool and awesome baseball uniforms back in their closets and grumpily plopped down on the couch to not enjoy some youth baseball. 

This turned out to be a major league blessing in disguise because out of nowhere, Calen started puking. Not like he was complaining about a stomach ache and it built up to the big show in the bathroom, like he was totally fine, dressed and putting shoes on getting ready to head to the batting cages and Costco for lunch, when suddenly he booked it to the toilet. 

Well that escalated quickly.

And in TRUE Calen fashion, he actually tried talking to me while vomiting. "Mom!.....Sorry....I....threw up a little....on....the floor...." 

"Calen!! Stop talking and don't worry about it. Just finish what you're doing."

That kid won't stop talking even if breakfast is actively flying out of his mouth. And to think he was in speech therapy. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't a one and done thing. It seems that the tummy bug that's been rolling around the neighborhood finally hit our house, as Calen was sick on and off all day. Hopefully (*Praying* *begging* *bleaching everything*) it won't hit anyone else in the house...

Costco really couldn't wait today, so I set up Calen on the sofa with his bedding and a bucket, and left him with Cam and Daddy to watch Youtube videos of rally car crashes (eyeroll) on the tv while I went to do some grocery shopping AND purchase a very important necessity in the first world:

Ooooh. Ahhhhh. 

Here's a joke: I've had a Samsung Galaxy s2 (s-TWO) for something like 150 years. It's so old it barely does anything; I just carry it around to pretend that it's useful like everyone else does with their phones. It was as slow as a computer on dial up internet, couldn't do basic features (it wouldn't save any of my events in my calendar, for example), and would leave me screaming "I HATE THIS PHONE!!" at least twice a day to various victims via text message. So for the first time in the history of ever, I have a super new state of the art phone (Samsung Galaxy s7) which was only released yesterday. Aren't I keeping up with the Jones' now. 

My God, if cell phones were a household thing when I was in high school like they are now, I would have been so uncool. How could I have shown up to school with a 5 year old phone disintegrating in my back pocket? Yikes. 

On the other hand, I'd sure as hell be cool in school now. Dusts her shoulders off. 

And it does all sorts of cool first world shit like saves my events in my calendar and doesn't take seven months to load Google Maps and takes pictures so fast that I might actually successfully get a picture of what I want to take of instead of the moment being over for a good hour by the time the shutter button clicks. 

Well hot damn!

-------

In other news, here's another episode of "The Things That Come Out of My Kid's Mouths", featuring Mr. Calen Elijah this afternoon (not while barfing):

Brad: "I'm not sure if the kids should see Guardians of the Galaxy. I heard it's not good for little kids."
Me: "Eh, I heard it's not too bad. It's only bad language."
Calen (who invited himself into the convo...always): "Bad language? You mean it's in Spanish?"

I'm sure some stiff turd is going to be offended by that, but that crap is funny. Brad and I nearly dropped dead on the floor from laughter. 

Day 17: The Drought Is A Lie

This area is supposedly in a five year drought. 

I officially declare that they're lying and were just telling us that to be cheapskates on our water usage so that they can use it all. (Whoever they are). 

Or the drought is officially over. 

Aka: it rained ALL day again today, and the surrounding areas are officially flooding. 

Yay California!

The sun did come out for five seconds and created a stunning rainbow outside my back door. 

We weren't that exciting today. Sorry we didn't live up to your expectations world. 

Day 16: El Nino Is A Punk-Ass

It hasn't stopped raining in days. 

I don't mean a little drizzle rain. I mean torrential downpour, flash flooding rain. 

I know, I know. California is in a 300 year drought or something and the rain is so good for the environment and we need it, blah blah blah. But it's practically spring and the kids and I are stir crazy.

El Nino is a punk ass and he's the reason my kids are watching too much tv and playing too many video games. 

So today in a bout of desperation I dragged the picnic table into the garage and dried it off, then pulled out one of my "rainy day save the kids from making me kill them" activities. 

In the form of kinetic sand (or as the kids call it, "squishy sand"). Add some dollar store construction vehicles, and you're set for a good hour of peace and quiet. 

(that stuff is rad. We've had it for over a year and it hasn't dried out. It's expensive but it lasts and it holds the kids attention way better than actual sand. Think sand + playdoh. Even I like playing with it). 

It's supposed to rain nonstop for the next four days and my phone keeps freaking out over flash flood warnings. Maybe the next garage activity should be to start building an ark. 

Day 15: A Lesson In How to Wear Your Jockstrap

WARNING: This blog post contains explicit material...about jock straps. No descriptive details about the actual body parts inside the jock strap. JUST the jock strap. If you haven't figured it out yet, little is sacred in this blog. Life is gross and thus I post about gross. If this offends you in any way, please accept my middle finger, and go post about how much the world offends you on Facebook. 

Anyways.

Calen (turning seven...seven!! at the end of the month), is playing Cal Ripken youth baseball. He's in an 8u rookies division which means pitching machine all season (kids don't start pitching until AA - 9u). Now that he's in big kid baseball, he is required to wear (drumroll please) a cup. 

A cup! I nearly gagged at the word. This can't even be for real. Do they even feel anything there yet? My boys go around kicking themselves in the junk all the time and laugh. But rules are rules and moms everywhere are going "ewww REALLY" and buying them, sobbing quietly to themselves that now they're responsible for washing a dirty jockstrap. AHHH!!

Instead of buying the traditional totally awful straps of elastic you imagine are used as slingshots in every boys locker room in the history of ever, I bought these, boxer briefs (in the athletic-y Under Armour type material) with built in "pocket" for the cup:

A picture of underwear! Ahhh!!! Report for explicit material!

Comfortable, washable and can't be used as a slingshot. Okay, win. 

The first time he wore them, it didn't bother him at all. In fact, he was thrilled that he had "armor" and would stand in the infield and punch his junk and show the other kids "look, it doesn't even hurt!" 

Eyeroll. 

Then, I took the cup out, washed the underwear, and put it back in. And the next practice was a disaster. He wouldn't leave it alone, tugging at it and shifting it and walking like John Wayne after a three day cattle drive. He kept looking at me as if he was about to complain and I'd shout from the stands "DEAL with it!" Thinking maybe it was just a little stretched out from being washed, but he needs to get over himself. I mean really. STOP MESSING WITH IT. I'm such a good parent.

Got home, pulled the cup out, washed the underwear. And then suddenly had a thought. 

Look, I don't know jack squat about cups. I have a completely different set of anatomy from everyone else in this house. I've never worn one. I've never even SEEN one in person (I don't think. If I have, maybe I blocked it out of my memory forever. Thank God). And I certainly haven't studied one before. 

So I go out to the living room, hold out the cup to Brad, and go "is it like this? Or.." (flip the cup upside down) "This?"

Brad immediately points to how I held it the second time. And gives me a look like "obviously". 

Well shit. 

During his ill-fated practice, I had Calen wearing it like this:

WRONG. Dumbass.

When really, it's supposed to be like this:

RIGHT

Every guy is going to be like "Well DUH" but wouldn't someone, who's never dealt with a male private area protective apparatus, assume that the skinnier part would go where the uh...skinner body part is, and the...ahem...wider...part..would go where the....wider...body part goes?

(that doesn't count as being descriptive about explicit body parts, does it?)

And after throwing that argument out there, Brad proceeded to give me a visual aid on why it's shaped the way it's shaped. And I guess it makes sense. 

NO ONE WARNS YOU when you have cute little baby boys wrapped up in fuzzy lamb printed baby burritos that some day THIS is going to be something you will have to be educated in. NO ONE. 

This is your warning. AND your visual aid. 

You're welcome.

Day 14: Choose Your Own Adventure

I'm getting really tired of these rainy days. 

Okay, before you get all huffy and say "But you're from Seattle, you should be used to the rain!", let me say that yes, I am used to the rain. When I'm in Seattle. But I'm not in Seattle, I'm in mother effing sunny California. And it's rained the last 9 out of 10 days.

Anyways, once I got over myself I had to get creative with the kids this afternoon since they were stuck inside (again) and are starting to get a little stir crazy.

I bought this game at the book store in town this past weekend. The concept is this: each six sided dice has various pirate themed pictures on each side. Roll all (eight) dice, and whatever pictures you get, create a story about it. This might not have caught the kids attention whatsoever except it's pirate themed. 

Okay audience, the dice are rolled, what's your story? The red means it's a super power. 

I thought they would like it? They LOVED it. We all took turns and told two different stories each. Calen's were even pretty clever, for never have been required to make up a story in his head on the spot before. Brad's stories were detailed and spectacular, of course, as he's the head storyteller in the house. Even Cam started to get it towards the end, and tried his best ("Once upon a time, there was a pirate, and a seagull, and a net, and an anchor, and...the end") though the concept was over his head. 

Anyways the game was a runaway success and I strongly recommend it to any family for a rainy day (or season) when you're not in the mood to pull out an entire board game and dedicate an hour to arguing over the rules. 

The boys are completely wrapped up in Daddy's elaborate story

After the kids went to bed, Brad and I had our now-weekly in-home date night: pick the WORST movie in the sci-fi section on Netflix, and watch it while adding our own distinguished Mystery Science Theater 3000 commentary. Today's feature film was this:

Because we hadn't watched this Oscar winning blockbuster yet...

And I TOTALLY won First Place for "Who's the first almost-main cast character to get eaten by a shark flying out of a tornado" award. I called that sucker. I expect a trophy on the table when I wake up tomorrow morning. 

Day 13: We Can't Get In The Garage!!

Today was the last day of our little weekend visit with Marina before she flew out this evening on a red eye back to Jersey. And wouldn't you know it, the sun finally decided to come out. In California. 

Brad had to work and the kids came home from school at various times today so we spent most of the day hanging out and watching Hoarders, like the good ol' days when we were neighbors. But once the kids and husband came home, we basically said "hello and goodbye" and headed out to San Francisco to spend the rest of the day there, since she conveniently flew out of SFO at 10 tonight. 

It seems that we can't go anywhere without it being a bit of an odyssey. You know, serial killer encounters and that sort of things. Well the city must have known we were coming. 


First of all, San Francisco is newish to me and especially driving through it, so I had google mapped the parking garage across the street to Pier 39 (you know, the super touristy Fisherman's Wharf area). 

So, we turn right and the parking lot is on the left. But I can't turn left into it, because there's barrier pole things in the way. So I pass the garage and turn right, intending to turn left to swing around the block and enter the garage from the right. 

Except I can't turn left, because it's a one way street. 

So we go back to where we started from, attempting to pass the garage completely and turn right. Maybe there's another entrance on the front of the garage. 

BUT I CAN'T TURN RIGHT. 

In a fit of rage, as I'm driving the complete opposite way of the parking garage for the third time, the complete outrage sets in. 

"We can't get in this garage!!!" 

Like, is there no entrance? Do we need to drop in from helicopter? Skydive in like Navy Seals? What the hell is this?

Just as I'm about to say "eff this", and turn left to plow right through those stupid barrier poles to get into that entrance one way or another, Marina notices a barely visible, near u-turn entrance on the side of the garage. 

A secret passageway. What is this, Harry Potter? 

To help you, here's a very accurate, to-scale visual aid of the parking garage and how to enter it. In case you need it, the next time you go to the Fisherman's Wharf. 

Once we finally got out of the damn car, we did the tourist thing on the wharf. Checked out the very verbal sea lions, went and had dinner on the pier, screwed around in a few shops. 

There's also a stairwell that is a piano. It somehow knows you're stepping on steps and plays piano keys for every step. Want to know how to cause a couple of thirty-somethings to create a scene? Throw piano stairs in front of them. See how fast they fly up and down the stairs and stomp and dance and spaz out on them like five year olds on Mountain Dew.

Me, seeing how fast I can play stair piano

It was after dark which means most of the tourists are long gone (ha!) so we had most of the wharf to ourselves. Until we stumbled upon a camera crew following this guy in a white suit in a bakery. A small crowd had formed and we're all "Who's this guy and why's he so important?" And everyone else goes "We have no idea!" But we can't stop watching him because there's a camera crew, which must mean he's somebody. So we hung around and watched him buy a crepe and then eat a crepe all while being filmed, and then stopping some kid on a remote control skateboard and asking to try it. So he did. And everyone clapped that he rode this skateboard even though no one knew who he was. Finally his bodyguard or homeboy or something overheard us and said "Oh, he's Larry Hernandez", and we're all "Oh, who the hell is Larry Hernandez?!" which prompted about 15 of us to whip out our phones and Google him. 

Larry Hernandez is a Mexican singer. And I guess he's famous and he has his own reality show called Larrymania on one of those Mexican television channels. 

Well, aren't we privileged? We got to witness an international superstar eat a crepe and ride a skateboard. 

Well my year is complete. 

Ladies and gentleman, Larry Hernandez! Whoever he is. 

Then, to complete today's saga, we went back to the cursed parking garage. I put the little parking ticket in the slot to pay whatever ten million dollars they intended on charging me. But the machine wouldn't take my ticket. So we tried the next one. And the next one. And the next one. And the machines kept spitting out the ticket. 

"WE CAN'T GET OUT OF THE GARAGE!!"

But then Marina's like "Wait, is this the right ticket?" And I immediately go "Of course it isn't" because I realized in that second that I had pulled the wrong parking ticket out of my wallet. It was the one from the mall two days ago. 

And that's why you can't take me anywhere. 

Well, the party is over and Marina is flying somewhere over somewhere on her way home. It's been real and it's been fun and we have determined that this not-visit-for-two-years crap is unacceptable, and we're already planning the next of what's going to become an annual visit.  

Thank you for the memories, my favorite!

Day 12: Girls Made of Glitter, Boys Made of Farts

Marina is still here so it was another day of talking, shopping around town, eating. It has quite literally rained the entire time she has been here so sight seeing isn't exactly in the cards. Not that we care. We are easy to entertain. Rumor has it it's going to stop raining tomorrow (gasp!) for an entire day so we are going to see the sights of San Francisco. 

We went to the super rad bookstore in town this morning and found ourselves in the kids section most of the time. I have to admit, books for kids are so much cooler now. Example A: Dragons Love Tacos. The favorite book in the house. There's no excuse not to read (as long as you know how to read...you know, small prerequisites). 

Marina has three girls. I have two boys. Though our oldests and youngests are eerily similar, boys and girls most certainly, as proven by some shrink that decided to write a book in the 90s (which instantly makes him an expert, obviously), are from completely other planets. Girls are born infatuated with their fashion style and hair and pink fingernails, boys are born infatuated with their junk. Girls grow to love fairy tales and elegant princesses, boys grow to love farts and boogers. This is science. 

This also pertains to their reading material. Here's what Marina picked out for her girls (an elegant story about girls in Neverland trying to help the fairies or something), side by side with what I picked for my boys (a story about...a farting dinosaur. And a group of kids who's superpower to fight the fart dinosaur is...farts). 

Okay, so we actually got these books at Target and not the bookstore. But we got books at the bookstore first

And now ladies and gentlemen, an excerpt: 

"From great farts come mighty winds', Stan liked to say. ....he'd been holding on to a "special" batch of burritos ever since, just in case the Fart Squad's talents ever needed to be recharged again. And a rampaging fart monster seemed like just their kind of emergency."

Now isn't that elegant depth of writing just asking to be a Pulitzer Prize nominee? 

To further prove my point, Fartasaurus Rex was wedged in between Captain Underpants and the sequel to Fartasaurus Rex: the highly esteemed Unidentified Farting Objects. 

The good news is, if the goal in the world is to get young boys to read, they have succeeded wildly. Because what boy between the ages of 6 and 11 doesn't want to read about superheroes and butt jokes?

Maybe the Fart Squad series won't earn a Caldecott Medal, but it will most certainly get my kids reading chapter books. 

A winner is me. 

(what's that smell?)

Day 11: The Serial Killer in the Green Sweater

We didn't do anything exciting today except shopping and eating, but we did have a creepy encounter this afternoon.

Marina and I were eating lunch at Taco Bell here in Petaluma. I rarely go there anyways and have not eaten inside this Taco Bell yet, so we decided to go in and actually sit down and pretend we were eating a fancy meal.

In the form of a quesalupa. 

Anyways, for as cute and quaint and trendy hippy as Petaluma is, the inside of this Taco Bell is not. It was dirty and sketchy and borderline ghetto. When we walked in, it was like the jukebox turned off because all heads turned towards us. 

Do we look funny? Do we smell weird? Are we suddenly in India? Why is everyone staring at us? 

As we were standing in line to order, this older (like, silver hair, maybe mid sixties older) man in a green Mr. Rogers sweater was standing next to Marina, staring at her. Shamelessly, not blinking, staring. I gave him the shifty eyes and we ordered and went and sat down at a table (not a booth) thinking the moment was over. 

Creepy. 

They way we are sitting, Marina is facing out to the window and I'm facing the counter. I'm watching creepy green sweater guy as he gets his drink and stops behind Marina and shamelessly stares at her while drinking his drink. I gave him a face which caused Marina to turn around and stare at the guy, who smiles and says "I was just enjoying your ink (her tattoo)"

Um, creepy? And you're at least 65. 

And then he sits down NEXT TO US at the table, and asks about her tattoo, where she got it, oh she's from Texas, so am I, and then suddenly switches gears and talks about a documentary he saw about a guy in Austin that killed someone and chopped them up in tiny pieces. All while happily eating his chalupa. I wasn't invited into this one sided conversation (I guess he didn't enjoy my ink) but I'm studying him carefully and suddenly came to a conclusion in my head:

'That's it, this guy is a serial killer.' 

He finally got up and left after several painstakingly uncomfortable minutes of his uninvited conversation. But we were convinced he was going to come back. With duct tape and a shovel. 

The emergency exit door is that way. Be ready to run. Or squirt hot sauce packets in his eyes. 

He never did come back but as we meandered through town the rest of the afternoon our eyes were peeled for creepy old men in green sweaters. 

Lesson of the day: If eating at the Petaluma Taco Bell, go through the drive thru. Forever.