It's all in the bag...

The Redhead is awesome.  She knows how to personalize a package.  She loves sticking with themes.  And most of all, she knows if she can't find a Pokemon gift bag in the store, she can just make one.

SO

COOL.

Amazing.  And we couldn't be prouder.

Turtle Power

Just last week, I took Mister Man aside while The Redhead was in the backyard and told him we needed something, anything, for her in the backyard.  I told him she was bored and that's why she keeps wanting to go out front with her doll stroller and stuffed friends and play on those giant rocks.  We needed to get started on turning the smaller shed into a playhouse.  We needed to do something. Kids are supposed to play outside.  Kids are supposed to be active.  And since plucking our wee tot from The Midwest where she had a sandbox, a play structure with slide, clubhouse, high bar, rings, and swings, plastic playhouse pirate ship, and other various outdoor toys, we have since dropped her in the west where she has rocks.  The latest thing to bring joy to her face outside consists of a bug house from Target's dollar bins.  We left part of her old stuff in Kansas in the other house's backyard for our tenant's small son, and sold the rest or just simply gave it away.  Including her worm farm and bug houses.


We justified it by saying she was already nine and wouldn't need another swing set or sandbox.  But I think we both underestimated the impact of taking those items away, simply because we were moving.  Mister Man hadn't even thought about her needing anything and he's felt bad about it ever since I told him.  We knew we needed to get to work making our yard worthy of outside playtime.  We had to do something.



These are the years that kids should be playing outside.  It's critical for development.  I read these things all the time complaining how kids don't play outside anymore, that they just play inside on computers and game systems.  And while The Redhead loves her game consoles and computer playtime, she has also been a child who loves the great outdoors.  But aside from the excitement of riding her bicycle and playing with her plush husky in a stroller, she isn't getting quite the thrill that she used to.  Sure, she stills goes hunting for bugs, but that's about it on the fun scale.



I hate the thought that we left that outdoorsy child in Kansas.  And I think Mister Man does too.



So while our gears have been turning and we have been coming up with ideas for the backyard, we knew the one thing she wouldn't have again was the sandbox.  Sure, she loved her awesome sandbox, the huge one with the attached picnic table and umbrella, with the particular sand Mister Man had to have.  But we didn't think we needed to buy a new one or make one.  And then we were driving last Sunday and suddenly we see a green plastic turtle sandbox on the curb, right up the street from our house.  We didn't stop for it, but we should have.  Mister Man said maybe when we came back later in the day.  But I know how that always turns out.  He also KNEW it wouldn't fit in the car.  I thought it would, but I didn't want to argue.  So we headed off for the day.  When we drove back home, surprisingly it was still there, now buried under a bunch of tree trimmings.  It appeared someone was cleaning out their backyard.  And just as Mister Man thought he'd walk home with a sandbox and lid, I was right.  It did fit.  And it was in great shape, other than missing some eyes.  No cracks, it wasn't even that faded.  Someone else's trash is indeed someone else's treasure.


Before we had a chance to do much else, we dashed out for some sand. By late afternoon, it was ready to go.  And then that night I had an epiphany.  I wanted to turn that eyeless turtle sandbox into something else.  Into something even better than a free sandbox.  I wanted to turn it into a Ninja Turtle.



I told Mister Man my idea and asked him, "wait, how much do you want to bet someone else has done this on Pinterest?"


Because folks, I have this concrete theory that every good idea has been thought of by someone else, by multiple someones.  No matter how good you think an idea is, don't be so egotistical to not consider someone else has thought of it too.  If you doubt me, get a craft idea in your head.  Check and see what the Pinterestese have done.  Someone out there has probably done it too.


And sure enough....Ninja Turtle sandbox brought up several pins.  Now came the part I dreaded.  I was going to have to ask The Redhead permission before I even thought about taking a paintbrush to her sort of new sandbox.  It could go either way.  She can jump for joy over my brilliant ideas....or brutally crush them with her tiny feet.  (And yes, I did need to ask her.  We'd already given it to her, it wouldn't be fair to then vandalize it.)


Fortunately, she loved the idea.  She also loved that I thought of it, and then found it on Pinterest too, like so many other ideas.  She had a couple of guidelines though.  It had to be Donatello, and I was only allowed to paint his face.  She knew I would want to do more.


I'm not sure why I love the Ninja Turtles so much, but I do.  Technically, they were in my brother's generation.  They were his toys.  He had so many.  I remember one year he had a Ninja Turtle cake for his birthday.  He had other items as well.  And I recall watching the cartoon every weekday afternoon with him.  Perhaps what I like so much about them is that nostalgic reminder of childhood, of innocence.  That once upon a time there were four baby turtles mutated into ninjas as well as a young girl with a little brother, watching them on the screen, one of the only cartoons that growing girl would watch.


By the time I was a freshman in college, he was no longer playing with his Ninja Turtles.  He was nearing twelve and only cared about game systems and Pogs.  This justified the fact I stole the four main turtles and one April O'Neil for my college dorm room.  My roommate and I hung them from the ceiling with fishing line alongside her New Kids on The Block dolls and other weird memorabilia from our youth.  Our dorm was a thing of greatness.  April hung out on my computer because she was me.  At least I told people she was me in reporter form.  We looked a lot alike and at the time I thought perhaps I wanted to be a sports journalist.  Or maybe I just wanted to be April O'Neil.  I still do.



The last couple of years, the Ninja Turtles have been making a comeback.  Last year for Christmas, I asked for a Ninja Turtle hat and tee and received both from The Redhead.  My shirt received so many compliments at work, mostly from guys.  There is just something about ninjas.  And turtles.  What a combination.  Pure genius.



Another great combination?  Free sandbox.  Turned Ninja Turtle.  A bonus?  The Redhead has inherited my love of mutated turtles.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.  And modifiable.  Thank you, Sharpie.

Luckily, Folk Art makes outdoor acrylic paints.

I traced the bottom of the paint bottle for the inner eye, and messed up a bit, but fortunately paint will cover it right up.

It doesn't get better than that.  

A Tale of Two Toilets

Once upon a time, in Kansas, we had the most bizarre toilet in the world.  It looked like it had a bomb in the tank and it was called the Flushsaver 2000.  I would guess it was made some time in the 60s, if not earlier, but I honestly have no idea.  It was such an odd toilet, that not even the inspector had ever seen one, and he let us know he had been in A LOT of houses.  A plumber once glanced inside it too and he also had never seen such a phenomenon.  It was the most difficult toilet in the world, and up to the point of meeting such a beast, I never knew toilets really mattered, except using them.  But they do matter.  And although most people don't care about your toilet in your home, they cared about that one.  Because they couldn't figure out the secret to flushing it.  

And somehow, I don't have any pictures of that strange toilet.

Luckily, we replaced the toilet with a Kohler one, a taller one, a more efficient one.  An elongated one.  I loved that it used less water and was better for the environment and our water bill.  Mister Man liked that it was taller.  And newer.  We both liked that no one would ask us how to flush our toilet again.

But this post isn't about that toilet.  Or the weird one with the bomb in the tank.  This is about two toilets in California.  That we now own.  

Because up until switching out the toilet in Kansas, we never knew toilets could matter.  But they do.  And we've missed our highly efficient, taller, elongated toilet that's still in Kansas with our tenant.  I mean, it's not like we could pack it along.  That just wouldn't have made sense.  But we miss it all the same.  Because the toilets that came in this house are shorter, rounder, and not efficient at all.  They require jiggling the handle.  And listening to make sure they're not still making noise.  You would think we'd just be happy enough finally having more than one bathroom here in California, versus how we lived in Kansas.  

                               

But now they're in our backyard, sprucing up the place.  

                         

And we are now sitting much prettier.  

               

               

Sure, no one probably cares about our newer, taller, more efficient, elongated toilets, but we do.  And that's all that matters.  And they probably shouldn't have to worry about jiggling the handles.  Or sitting on a tacky wooden toilet seat in our bathroom.

                               

And most of all, the cat has new boxes to play with.  

Just between you and me, thank goodness it's recycling week.  Please don't tell the cat.

Smashed Fingers Aren't Much Fun

I don't care who you are, if you smash your finger in a car door, it's going to hurt.  Unless you're one of those rare people who don't feel pain.  And if you are, well, I'm not sure whether to envy you or feel sorry for you.   I have a high pain tolerance, but a smashed finger still hurts.  It hurts a lot.  It hurts enough that you may find yourself spewing expletives you wouldn't always spew.



And The Redhead learned all about this on Sunday (aside from the expletives part).  She found herself distracted by the wet roads, saddened they were keeping her from biking, and next thing you know, she was saving her finger from the bite of of car door.




Ouch is right.  And I assure you, she didn't choose to smash her middle finger only to offend you in some obscene way.




And yeah, she cried.  She probably won't appreciate me telling you this, but she cried. A lot.  For a long time.  And I wanted to erase her pain so badly.  I read this article once about how we coddle our kids too much when they're sick and in pain and we do too much for them.  That we shouldn't try to give them the world.  That we're preventing them from becoming independent.  And you know what I say or type to that?


I. DON'T. CARE.


My kid was in tears with a blackened finger.  She was sad.  I can coddle her all I want, okay?!  ALL I WANT.  Because she's mine.  And my instinct is to attempt to take her pain away.  In fact, I always want to take everyone's pain away.  It's a bad habit.



But smashed fingers aren't much fun.



Do you know what is fun though?



Pedicures.  Pedicures are fun.  And a much needed distraction.  Soaking your feet in a bubbling foot spa?  That's a nice distraction too.



Unwanted advice from lousy, intrusive articles?  Not fun.  And if you think it is, well, then feel free to take the below photo as an offensive gesture.

From Frumpy to Fabulous

Well, I don't know about the fabulous part.  But no matter how pretty you are, how much you weigh, how many inches your thighs are, you have to be comfortable in your own skin.  No matter what you look like.



It's that one thing that skinny people, chubby people, tall people, short people, blondes, brunettes, redheads, Caucasians, size 7 feet, and yoga fiends all have in common.  People of all sorts struggle with confidence and body image issues.  It doesn't matter what size you are.  It doesn't matter how much you work out.  Some people are naturally confident.  Some women are perfectly okay with their larger body types.  Some size zeroes are freaking out on their scales.  It's more so a mental and emotional struggle than a physical one.



I am no different.  I have body image issues aplenty.  I wanted to embody the cliche as much as possible, apparently.  And I've had these same issues from when I was a size zero to now.  But this isn't about that.  This isn't about my struggles with food and metabolism and former demons.  This is about clothes.


Yes.  Clothes.



This is proof I can be that shallow.



And ever since moving here, I haven't really bought myself much in clothes.  Except pretty underwear; I've still fed that addiction.  Part of it may be because I don't have anyone to impress.  Part of it is because I'm cutting back on stuff because my closet is full enough and I finally made everything fit.  But before you think it's because I've just saved myself a ton of money, and even though I almost would like you to think that about me, you're wrong.  It's because no matter how many trips to Kohl's I take, I can't find anything I like.  What happened, Kohl's?!  Why aren't you trying to sell me stuff?!  I've NEVER had a problem finding shirts in a Kohl's store.  At least not in Kansas!  I could find something every time I went in.  Which could be a problem, but I was a smart shopper.  And seeing myself in the mirror looking decent in a shirt was a great reminder that I wasn't totally shabby.  Because if I thought I looked okay, I couldn't look that bad, right?


Except in California, I can't find any shirts worth trying on.  Because Kohl's in California doesn't want to sell me anything.  Do you, Kohl's?



No matter how many times I go.


Although, I don't go that often, because I know I'll have the same results.  I always do.



And today, I had the same troubles.  Nothing.  I couldn't find a single thing.  And then I walked through the clothes again.  Still nothing.  I was getting upset.  I mean, really?!  I wanted to buy SOMETHING.  I needed new clothes.  I needed to see myself in a new perspective.  I needed it so badly.


Do you know why??


Because I've lost that ability to see myself in a positive light.  I've lost it.  And I don't know about you, but that's a terrible feeling.  It's why I haven't updated my collection of goofy Facebook photos.  It's why I keep wearing the same few pieces of clothing over and over again.  And it's why, gosh forbid, I've been wearing t-shirts.  T-SHIRTS.


Now, you may not see the big deal in this, but I'm not a t-shirt sort of girl.  At least not men's, size large to extra-large t-shirts.  And yet, that's all I've been wearing.  Constantly.  That and the same four nicer shirts.  Occasionally.  That's it.  Extra-large men's t-shirts.  And although it's perfectly okay that I bought a new Hogwart's one last week at Target on sale, it's not okay that I have been wearing them constantly. There isn't anything wrong with anyone wearing tees, but for me, it's almost the equivalent of wearing pajama pants out in public.  I may not wear makeup, I may not fancy my hair up, but I like to wear my khakis and decent shirts.  And if you went back in time a decade or more, you'd see me in baby doll tees and awesome pants.  And the best shoes.  THE BEST.  Maybe not ones in style, but THE BEST.


But frumpy tees?  Only if I'm working out.  Jeans?  Rarely.


And while I picked up this style out of necessity when I was working, this is not okay.  Because I don't feel good about myself in tees and jeans.  I don't feel motivated to work out.  I don't feel empowered.  I feel frumpy.  That's it.  Frumpy.  A word I wouldn't even normally use.  And that's what it all is.  I look frumpy, and I feel it too.  And that's not okay.   This look may have worked for me when I was working- that whole ponytail, jeans, and baggy tees look.   Yeah, I seriously had a job where I could wear jeans and t-shirts.  No wonder I loved it so much, right?  But I constantly complained about my attire.  I wore it only because I had to!  I wore it because I knew I'd ruin my regular clothes at work.  I even had to buy a whole new wardrobe of plain tees and jeans for that job.  SERIOUSLY.


So Kohl's, why didn't you want to sell me some clothes?


I get that I've gained a little bit (and just a little) since working, and I get I'm not seriously working out forty hours a week, as it was easier when I was paid to do it.  But I can still wear the same size.  So why didn't you want to make some things I wanted to buy?


I made one more lap throughout the women's department with The Redhead in tow.  It was quite the conundrum because I didn't want to buy something just to buy it, but I didn't want to leave empty handed either.  And I needed to get myself out of this baggy tee rut.  Because it's killing my pride.  I may be a lot of things, compulsive, obnoxious, even low maintenance when it comes to my hair and face, but I like to wear clothes that make me feel nice.  And I'm starting to dress like a clinically depressed woman, and it's only time before I start becoming one.


And then I found a few okay styles from a brand I never even look at, partly because I'm a snob and I even said aloud in the store, "I can't buy clothes from a former MTV reality star."  And then it hit me.  It's not that Kohl's didn't want to sell me anything.  It's that I haven't been looking in the right places.  And not only that, but at some point between me switching off with the PTO mom outfits and the work wear, the fashions have changed.  I just hadn't gotten the memo.  And you know what?  Some of those new styles look just right on me.  They even have some vintage flair.  And just like I told The Redhead, "it's not about your size, it's about finding the right clothes to fit your body type."  And maybe I had judged that former reality star too harshly.  Maybe I was too impatient with Kohl's.


Kohl's had wanted to sell me clothes all along.  Kohl's wanted me to feel good about my appearance, I just wasn't allowing them.  It hadn't been just a Kansas thing.  It wasn't a Californian fashion conspiracy.  It was all me.  It was my fault.  I had been wrong, just like that time I said, "you're never going to see Matthew McConaughey win an Oscar."  And you know what?  I can be wrong.  I'll even admit to it when I am.


With The Redhead's help, we may have overdid it, but I have five new shirts.  It wasn't Kohl's cash time, or anything.  And I bought them anyway.  I must have really needed the salvation.



And luckily, Kohl's sold it to me.  Just like they'd wanted to do all along.

A Little Over a Year Ago

A little over a year ago, what now feels like a lifetime ago, Mister Man received the results from a certification test he had taken in December of 2012.  I remember the test week well, as I was at my sickest with yet another bout of pneumonia (we'd become frenemies, I feared), but yet I was working a couple weeks straight and The Redhead was home safe with her sitter while Mister Man was in DC.  This started our relationship with the best sitter in the world.  This also began a life-changing journey.



Some time in February, Mister Man heard from a couple companies that were interested in his skills and his latest certification, a certification that opened him up to other job opportunities.  Sure, he had a job, but he was always up for a new adventure.  One company was in Austin, one was in Sacramento.  Sacramento opportunities had popped up into our lives over the years, and I suppose, perhaps it was in our destiny.  But early in the stages, it included various phone calls and e-mails.  Mister Man was bored in his current position, and anything new was sounding intriguing.  He always wanted to leave Kansas and move to a coast anyway.  I was perfectly content in my chaotic life.  Plus, five years prior, he had danced around the notion of moving to Pittsburgh, PA, and we were close to doing it.  And then he took an even better opportunity in our area, so in Kansas we stayed.  And I didn't have to move.



But this time, this time there was that potential.



I remember when I first brought up this prospect to my work husband.  (Yes, thanks to another coworker, that is my term of endearment for him.)  We were both despondent over the topic.  A lot of sighs happened during the discussion, but I kept reminding him that these sorts of opportunities and discussions have often come up.  But we've never actually moved.  For a while, it was only really us that knew.  I didn't really see the point in telling anyone else yet, because if we didn't move, then there wasn't going to be a need for an explanation.  And we almost moved once, and I told a few people then.  And then it kept coming up.  I'd learned something from that experience.  But by the end of February, it'd become more serious of a prospect and I told a couple more people at my lunch table.  Austin wasn't even mentioned anymore.


At some point, we brought up the topic to The Redhead, mostly to gather her input, see it from her perspective.  She was surprisingly excited about the prospect.  Her immediate response was, "I can make friends anywhere."  Then she focused on Disneyland, the ocean, and mountains.  Then, next thing I knew, it was early March, a year ago.  I had just attended a work function where I got to play laser tag for hours (on no sleep, mind you) and a friend of mine, who I had mentioned it to had mentioned it to someone else and I was all, "this is not a sure thing," and I told the friend "let's not have this spread like a plague," because nothing was definite yet, and I need things to be definite.  That's how I am.  I need everything defined in cement.


That same day, I had to rush to The Redhead's school for a meeting, leaving my beloved laser tag and work husband.  I was in charge of the school yearbook and had assembled a committee for it, as I thought a committee might make the yearbook more honest.  It complicated my life a bit further, added more meetings and hassles, but I still to this day believe it was the right thing to do.  And while getting ready for that meeting and walking along with our yearbook rep, another parent approaches me and says, "I heard you guys are going to be leaving us."  I can only imagine how my face looked.  I started stuttering and trying to figure out where this came from.  The Redhead.  Of course.  She had told his daughter, who then told her father, who was now saying this to me.  Our yearbook rep was loving that it had caught me off guard, but was not loving the potential of me leaving.  I explained to him "this is ONLY a possibility."  Meanwhile, I was telling The Redhead who was also with us that we didn't need to scare people.  That we didn't need to tell anyone until this was actually happening.  Her response was, "but it's most likely going to happen."


So during this discussion, more ears were listening.  The Redhead's technology teacher was almost getting a little weepy.  She told me I still had to send cards.  Which is funny, because I had every intention to, and I'm actually doing just that.  Then another mom had to give me her input and go on about this being a terrible idea and she knew all about California. After all, she lived on a base there.  Once. Then another mom mentioned the high taxes.  "Why would you want to live there?"  It was just a possibility, people.





By the way, I don't like being put on the spot.




It wasn't The Redhead's fault though.  She was just excited.  And she was only eight.  And she was loving the idea of moving to a coast.  Fortunately, the yearbook was finished on time, we left for spring break, meeting Mister Man's parents in Florida.  While at Universal Studios, Mister Man spilled about the possible move.  Apparently, he thought doing it in the middle of a rollercoaster filled day was the best sort of ambiance for such a serious topic.  We hadn't originally intended to even tell them before we knew for certain, but more and more, he was thinking this was serious.  And he had to have because we never even told them about Pittsburgh until years later.  Plus, he didn't want The Redhead to feel like she had to keep a secret.  And since I was experiencing my own turmoil with such a secret, I understood this fully.


In all honesty, we didn't want anyone to know until it was a sure thing.  Unfortunately though, it was complicating things.  He finally flew out to Sacramento in late March and then negotiations were starting.  During his trip to Sacramento, our sitter was with The Redhead and that's when she first heard the news.  She was in shock, and I kept assuring her we knew nothing yet.  She was already sad at the idea.  That was a lot of people's immediate response.  Which is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to know.  I suppose it's nice to be missed, but still.  I only wanted people to cry if it was truly necessary; if it's ever necessary.


But then it was time for our April PTO meeting where we were discussing officers.  I was the secretary and everyone was expecting an answer from me for next year, and I couldn't give them one.  I didn't feel like I could commit.  They kept taunting me with the prospect of the presidency, which I didn't want anyway.  That wasn't in my comfort zone, but nor was the idea I could be moving.  Even though I didn't want to, I went ahead and broke the news to my boss the very same day, even though nothing was set in stone.  I did this because at the meeting, one of the other officers worked for the same company.  And I knew at that meeting, I was going to end up confessing about the move.  And I didn't want my boss to hear about it from anyone else but me.  He was glad about that and he also admitted she probably would have told him.  Not out of spite or anything, but it was probable she would say something.  At the meeting, a lot of people were in shock.  Two had already known, but many didn't.  Luckily at this point, negotiations were heated and serious, so I knew we'd know something within a couple days.


The next day I was assisting with Kindergarten Round-up.  The news had exploded to everyone, and I kept answering questions.  I just kept repeating, "they're still negotiating."  But honestly, I had a feeling.



Perhaps I'd known all along.



I know my work husband and I both had similar feelings.  Similar fears.  We just kept dancing around such a delicate issue.  Yet painfully reminding ourselves of the possibility.


Less than a year ago, early April, it was settled.  We were going to be moving.  But this isn't about the finality of that decision.  This isn't about the stress of living apart or moving across country. It's not about the difficulties in leaving the comforts of what you know.  This is about what lead up to that moment.  This is about how such a major change could complicate your life, even the mere thought of it.  Before anything was final.  So much depended on it.  Life practically stopped.  I was holding my breath from February to April.  The not knowing was killing me.  And despite what a hateful someone told a friend of mine, I did not know we would be moving in October when I took my former position.  Because had I known, I would have handled it the same as how I handled other elements in my life.  And thank goodness I hadn't known in October.  That would've added even more months to the suspense.  And my work husband and I would have sat with that sadness even longer.  The prospect of our friendship having distance between us.  I get chills thinking about it.


And sitting with an overwhelming possibility like that, with an unknown future is hard enough the way it is.  But when it's all over, when it's finally final, finally concrete, you have just memories.  And another adventure.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss!

Granted, Happy belated Birthday, Dr. Seuss.

Thanks for writing some of our most favorites books and reminding us that even nonsense can make sense.