Jack and Bob Make Babies

Here it is, almost 9:30 and I don't know where the day went.

First of all, school needs to be out, like yesterday. My kids are so over and done with this school year. They don't want to go anymore and they for sure don't want to go to sleep. So what are they doing? Right now, they are in bed and have been (off and on) since a little after 8:00.

Unfortunately though, thanks to Daylight Saving's Time, it's still nice and light outside at 8:00. Why go to sleep when the sun's not down? And since they don't want to go to sleep, they get to fooling around.

First there was an itty bitty spider on the wall in their room. I had to stand on a chair to kill it and then they were scared it was going to come back from the dead like a zombie. Next they were hungry yet again. Trust me though, I believe them when they say they're hungry because these growing boys are like bottomless pits.

How bottomless pit-ish? Well, we went to the Los Feliz Street Fair yesterday, and I watched my seven year-old, "O", sit on the sidewalk in front of Skylight Books and devour one large Jamba Juice and one slice of cheese pizza from Palermo. Then he started begging for my bowl of Channa Masala and rice from Electric Lotus. I felt sorry for him so I went on and gave it to him. Twenty minutes later, he wanted a hot dog. As I sat there watching him scarf down the hot dog, I couldn't help but think, "10th percentile for weight. 90th percentile for height. He's gotta have tapeworms."

Anyway, back to tonight. Their second "dinner" got served to them around 8:45. Then folks had to go to the bathroom yet again. Now they're in their beds pretending that one of them is Robin Hood and the other is the Sheriff of Nottingham.

There's no point in going in there and making some sort of threat like, "If you don't go to sleep I'm gonna throw out all your toys," especially since the acting is so entertaining. Oh wait, they must be finished with Robin Hood and have clearly moved on to scientific inquiry because "O" just yelled, "Hey Mom, what are Jack and Bob doing?"

Remember those silkworms, Jack and Bob, that we picked up at the Bug Fair a few weeks ago? Yeah, if you don't, I don't blame you. I forgot about them too because Jack and Bob spun cocoons and have been chillin' inside them for over two weeks.

Well, today after school, O discovered that Jack and Bob, finally hatched from those cozy cocoons. Our two newly hatched moths then proceeded to have sex with each other all afternoon. Wait, let me go check... yep, still having sex with each other.

Gosh, silkworms. I had no idea the moth Kama Sutra would be going on in my house.

The most awkward moment of the evening was during their second dinner (peanut butter and jelly) when "O" just had to put their little plastic box next to his plate so that he could observe Jack and Bob. He was watching them intently and then he narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why are their butts stuck together like that? And why does Jack keep moving like that?"

Um, er, um. Mommy really doesn't know how to answer those questions without freaking both of us out, so that's why she said, "Because that's what moths do, so eat your sandwich and go to bed!"

Clearly I'm just as unprepared for the animal sex talk as I am for the human sex talk. Eek!

So, yeah, my kids will both be total zombies in the morning. This could work in my favor if Jack and Bob haven't detached from each other by then. The kids might not even notice if they haven't. And if the boys are little tired, hey, they only have a few days of school left. "T" graduates from Pre-K on Thursday and "O" only has till the following Thursday and then we are DONE with this school year!

Badly Behaved Children

Sometimes I get a little annoyed when folks go on and on about how shocked they are that my sons are so well-behaved. The typical comment goes something like this:

"I just can't BELIEVE how good your kids are! I mean, look at them! They are just so well-behaved, it's AMAZING!!!"

Those are the moments I want to ask in return, "Why can't you believe it? Because they're black and male? Do you think all black males are heathens who can't behave? Hmm???"

But that would be me reading into the situation a little too much, even if I do sometimes think that racial dynamics are a part of the shocked response to their good behavior. I never ever do the, "Oh, but you should see how they bad they are when they're at home," thing. Instead, I verbally agree with the person, especially when my boys are in earshot. "Yes, they are very well-behaved. They are such good, polite boys."

We talk about the proper way to behave a whole lot in my house. Plus, I was a teacher, a teacher that did not play around and accept anything less than excellent behavior. Kids learn how to behave if you teach them how to and reward them for being good. To me, it's the essence of vanity to think you can go somewhere and be rude or disrespectful.

My seven year-old just started taking Kung Fu lessons at a place a couple of miles from my house. My husband took him to the first two lessons but I wanted to go so I took him last night. There are six other boys in the class and five of them are really badly behaved. My husband had warned me about how bad they are, but I still wasn't fully prepared for how they were talking back to the Sifu. These boys are a little older, maybe 6th graders, so the Sifu was giving them sets of push ups to do as punishment for being disrespectful. It really didn't seem like these boys cared all that much because they were doing dozens of push ups.

I saw my son watching these boys and then he'd look over at me to gauge my reaction to this. I kept shaking my head at him and giving him the "eye".

I started having flashbacks to something that happened when I was at a middle school basketball game. This girl in my class named Eleanor called her mom a bitch in front of everybody. What did Eleanor's mom do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She just stood there and said, "Oh, Eleanor, don't talk like that, honey!"

And what did Eleanor do with that? "Well you are a bitch! And I hate you! I wish you weren't even here."

My mouth was totally hanging open and I remember my mom just looked at me with this look that said, "If you ever do something like that, I will kill you."

The parents of these boys at Kung Fu last night were sitting right there watching their sons misbehaving. I think they saw my mom's look on my face. But them? One mom actually had the nerve to laugh and say, "They just come in here with so much energy, don't they?" They were totally being Eleanor's mom.

I made sure to talk with my son after the class about it all. I told him how I liked how respectful he was, how carefully he followed directions and how he thanked the Sifu after class. Then I took him to Robek's to get a smoothie treat. He asked me why I thought the other boys were bad and I told him it's because their parents let them act like that.

Later on, I got to thinking about how every single one of those misbehaving boys are white. After I got home I was talking on the phone with a girlfriend of mine and I told her about these boys. I started joking with her, "What they need is a black mom to set them straight because black moms don't play that."

Total stereotype, I know, but I think there is a grain of truth that certain cultures, particularly black folks, don't look kindly on their children misbehaving in public. And if your mom or dad is there, that's a definite no-no. It's not regarded as cute or funny and there's the cultural legacy that misbehaving in public can get you killed. Google Emmett Till's story if you're not sure what I mean by that.

Clearly, I know from teaching that black and Latino kids can and do misbehave in public. But again, I never saw it go down while the parents were sitting right there. I had students who would talk much smack, they'd be all, "Call my momma, I don't care!" Then when I'd call mom and get her to come up to the school, the tears and apologies would start big time and they'd never be a problem again.

The flip side of this is that while some of this cultural stuff is true, it also gives rise to, like I said, stereotypes. White parents are nice, but passive wimps, and black parents are mean and will beat your ass if you even look at them wrong, (especially if they're from the Caribbean).

Now, I don't beat my children at all. I do the modern version of discipline, which clearly, parents of all colors do: explain the rules, enforce the rules and reward and punish accordingly. I'm curious though, what do you all think about all this? What do you think about culturally different ways that people raise their kids or discipline them? In your experience, what do you see happen?

Encounters With the Clueless

We got to yesterday's St. Patrick's Day parade a little late so maybe we missed all the super exciting floats. But as far as parades go, I give it a D+.

I mean, hello City of Los Angeles, having a green-painted trash truck drive down the street is not exciting. Not in the least. Have some dancing leprechauns next to it or something. Even my kids were like, "Why is there a trash truck in the parade, mommy?"

I guess I was expecting a Chicago-style St. P's Day celebration and this was not it. If you want to see some photos of what we saw, LAist's photographers were right by where we were sitting and captured both the parade and the subsequent festivities in Pershing Square.

That's not to say we didn't still have a great time. My boys danced a little to the sounds of the folk rock group, Young Dubliners. They also got to pet a gigantic Irish wolfhound, take photos with various fire trucks and harass the police officers in kilts by asking, "Why do you have on a skirt?"

We were also captivated by the dancing horses that came out and did their version of the Irish Jig. I took a little video of it for you:



My sons also tried to jump in the specially dyed green water over in Pershing Square. By that point I was thinking about those old "Calgon, take me away" commercials so I told them they could go in the water if they wanted to but that, "Weirdos come along and go to the bathroom in it too so swim in that if you want." They didn't want to jump in after I said that and instead took to trying to float leaves on it.

While I was sitting there watching them, a guy sitting a couple feet away with his kids asked why I was all tricked out in the shamrocks and green. Not to mention that HE was all tricked out himself, but whatever. I told him that it's fun and besides, I'm half Irish so I have to represent.

His response? Laughter. "Ha-ha! That's a good one! You're one of those Irish for a day types, aren't ya?"

"No. I'm really half Irish."

He sobered up quickly. "Are you for real? Because you sure don't look like you're part Irish."

I've heard this my whole life so my ever so sweet and innocent reply was ready. "Well, what does someone who's part Irish look like?"

"Uh, um, uh." He was stammering like he thought I was going to go all Jeremiah Wright on him. And then he spit out, "I woulda thought you're just a plain ole black person."

Newsflash! All of us plain ole black people (and a lot of you plain ole white people) are mixed with something. Some of us just have it a little closer in our family tree than others. I was pretty through with the conversation by that point but then this moron dropped the ultimate bomb by asking, "What is St. Patrick's Day about anyway?"

Are you for real? You're down at a St. Patrick's Day celebration with your family and you don't even know what you're celebrating. He wasn't the only one though. I got into conversations with no less than FOUR individuals who were all, "I have no idea what St. Patrick's Day is about!"

I'll give them all the benefit of the doubt and assume they got dropped on their heads as children. I should have told them that St. Patrick's Day is the day you have to give $20 to the first person who tells you what the day is really about.

Pajamas...Or The Lack Thereof

I have received an award!

Open Grove Claudia has kindly given me with the "Most Likely to Inspire a Pair of Pajamas" award.

I'm not sure if I really inspire pajamas. I can only think of the fact that when my boys were smaller and I was really stressed out by my work schedule (and life in general), getting them out of their pajamas and into their clothes every morning just seemed to take forever.

So, I stopped having my sons wear pajamas. I'd give them their baths at night and then dress them in the clothes they were going to wear the next day.

That's terrible, isn't it? Yes, my poor children frequently slept in their clothes. Sure, the clothes were clean, but still, it was just trifling on my part!

This sleeping-in-clothes thing went on for quite a long time. So long that I am embarrassed to state an exact number of months that this went on...or, ahem, years.

I'd feel especially guilty when I'd be talking to folks and they'd say something like, "Gosh, you're amazing! How do you do it all?"

The fact was that I couldn't do it all and wasn't "doing it all". Heck, if I could've slept in my clothes and just gotten up and left the house in the morning, I'm telling you, I would have!

I simply had a good facade going on. A whole lot of us moms do this fronting. We don't want to admit that we are struggling with all of the myriad things we are supposed to be doing.

Thankfully, though, the days of them sleeping in their clothes are over with. And they finally know how to dress themselves in the morning!

Of course, I must pass this award along to someone, but I'm not sure if any of you want it given my lack of pajama expertise. I will mull it over, and in the meantime, I hear Victoria's Secret is having a sale.

Put the "P" in Percolator

I think I've finally recovered from the awesomeness that was last Friday night's Muse concert. It was a really good show. In fact, Muse is so good that watching them for an extended period of time is mentally exhausting.

My husband described the experience best. He said Muse is a little like the genius elements of Prince, Smashing Pumpkins, Rachmaninoff, Jimi Hendrix, Depeche Mode and Queen all in one band. Seriously out of control. Seriously legendary. Go see them if you get the chance.

The only downer was the pot-head sitting next to me. He got mad when I politely asked him to put his joint out. "What are you gonna do, call the police?" he snarled.

Ugh! I can't stand drug use and I didn't go to the show to get a contact high so I told him, "If necessary." He was probably ten years younger than me and I gave him my "teacher / black momma" look so he'd know I wasn't playing.

After 30 seconds of cussing, huffing and puffing, he finally put the joint out and then ended up leaving early...missing over half of a Muse concert to go smoke a blunt. What an idiot.

We got home at around 2 in the morning because the drive home from Irvine took an hour and a half. We were having a torrential downpour and I thought we might die because folks out here either drive 80 mph or 5 mph when it rains . It was our first rain since spring and the first September rain in Los Angeles in over 25 years. Does this mean El Nino is coming again? Do I need to buy another umbrella?

Anyway, even though I'm recovered from the show, I've been sort of brain dead today. I'm sure part of it is that I have a really bad cold. Kleenex is my new BFF!

So I figure it's perfect timing that I've been tagged by the wonderful Ian over at Or So I Thought. My task? I must come up with seven subjects beginning with the letter "P" that are meaningful to me. So, let's get it on and poppin' with my seven "P" subjects.

1) Prayer: I have this picture up in my kitchen. It always makes me think about how I can't figure it all out by myself. I don't have all the answers. And I need to improve myself infinitely. So, I pray.

I remember how when I was a little girl, I was absolutely afraid to go down into the basement of our house. The only way I could get down those stairs was to say one of the first Baha'i prayers my mother taught me.

"Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!"

I believed that God would remove my difficulties and protect me, so I said that prayer on every single step, all the way down, while I was getting clothes out of the dryer, and while I was going back up the stairs.

I've taught this same prayer to my children and my eldest son says it before he goes to bed every night. He tells me that he's asking God to protect him from having bad dreams.

Of course, prayer is infinitely more than asking God for stuff. It's not about closing your eyes and mentally reciting the fantasy material possessions list, as in, "God, I need a new car. Can you help me get a new car? Oh, and I need some new Chanel perfume too."

I really believe that prayer is a process of making yourself better, having a conversation with God, and becoming more humble. We all think like to think we're "the bomb" so when we pray, it's like admitting, "No, I am not the end-all, be-all of this existence. Plus, true prayer needs action. I can have my conversation with God, humble myself, and then I need to decide what action I'm going to take. God doesn't just solve everything for me. Nope, I have to make things happen and make decisions based on something other than my own ego.


2) Parenting: If I'm not a parent to my kids, then MTV, peer pressure, drugs, alcohol, gangs, promiscuity and materialism are all too happy to step in and help raise my sons. I'm clearly not trying to have that so I have to be vigilant about being a good parent. Now that I'm working from home, I have the joy of spending more time with my little boys. Being around my three year-old is such an ego check. He told me earlier today that my earrings are ugly. Then he sniffed my socks and said my feet smell. But he's coming along nicely in Pre-K so that's putting a smile on my face.


3) Peace: I read today that violent crime in this country is nearing a five-year high. That has nothing to do with Al Qaeda.

Then again, there's a whole lot going on over in Iraq that has nothing to do with Al Qaeda...

Yes, peace takes more than letting some doves out into the sky and singing Kumbaya. It takes more than fancy speeches and treaties. Clearly, we need to stage some interventions on our world leaders. Their wars make money for their friends and cause misery for the rest of us.

As far as our own personal peace interventions, we can start off making peace with our families and with our own neighbors. After all, how many of us have some relative that we can't stand? How many of us hate the neighbor next door or the girl who sits in the cubicle next to us. Granted, there may be good reasons to hate the person but sometimes, we have to just let it go. I think I'll challenge myself to make peace with someone I don't like too much. How about you?


4) Please: I am a big fan of people asking for stuff politely. I hear too many demands for service these days and folks just seem to leave the word "please" out. How many times have I heard someone say, "Can I get another Coke?" to a server?

Hello, folks! It's, "May I have another Coke, please?"

Even Britney Spear's latest song is "Gimme More". I don't think I heard the word "please" anywhere in there. Then again, I might have missed it since I haven't listened to her song other than hearing it every time I turn on the news.

Really, I think our entire country needs to go on a manners and politeness binge.


5) Poetry: I've been writing lots of poetry lately. Sonnets have been my favorite form over the past couple of months. I hadn't written any poetry in years, and then, two days before Memorial Day, I got inspired. I've posted two sonnets to this blog. You can read them if you haven't already:

A Sonnet For Dreamers

A Sonnet For Remembrance and Love

I might be posting more in the future. I'm not sure yet.


6) Percolator: All you Chi-town house music heads know this one. It's been FIFTEEN years since this song came out and folks all over the world are still working it out to Cajmere's monster house hit. I will forever associate this song with a particular time and place in my life, one that was heavy on the going out and dancing, especially to home-grown favorites like this. It's impossible not to dance to this song. There are a great many clips on YouTube of folks dancing to this song. This girl breaks it down though.

I don't think my old behind is moving like that anymore!


7) "Personal Jesus: No list on this blog would be complete without a mention of Depeche Mode! And, in case you think that my extolling the virtues of Muse means that they've replaced DM in my heart, um, no. Never.

Luckily, there are several "P" named songs by Depeche Mode that I really enjoy. I was tempted to pick "Policy of Truth", "People Are People" or maybe "Photographic". But the live experience of "Personal Jesus" is truly something to behold.

The song came out in my senior year of high school and even though I'd been a Depeche Mode fan for many years at that point, hardly anyone else I knew listened to them. "Personal Jesus" changed all that. It was Depeche Mode's first really really big hit. And no, the song isn't literally about Jesus. The title is a metaphor for Priscilla Presley's relationship with Elvis. So if you think about what you know of that relationship, you'll understand it.

We've probably all put our faith in people in ways that we shouldn't, elevated them to a status they don't deserve, pinned all our hopes on them when we should've known better.

Or at least if you've never done that, I know I have.

So there are my seven "P"' related things! I can't remember how many people I am supposed to tag for this. But, I think I'll pick three lovely ladies living in the Chi because I'm missing home today and I miss you all a bunch:

1) Mamita Umita

2) Ready, Set, Blog

3) If I Only Had A Blog

If anyone else wants to take this on, go for it! Let me know and I'll come by and read your responses.

What Do I Like About Myself?

The incomparable Heart in San Francisco has tagged me with the most challenging meme ever: I must share ten things I like about myself.

It's a little hard to think about what I like about myself. It feels a bit immodest to do so. For example, this is what Heart said about me: "I love her fine mind and great honesty, her personal beauty."

I am tempted to just write that over and over again ten times because it sounds so good. I mean, seriously...I'm incredibly flattered. In fact, I should get myself a custom t-shirt made with that on it. I'll wear it on days like today where I've eaten way too many cool ranch Doritos and feel like a Mrs. Potato Head.

Anyway, because I have such an admiration for Heart's wisdom, maturity and sense of justice, I decided to go ahead and do some self-reflection, even if it makes me feel absolutely immodest to tell you these things. Whew, deep breath....here goes:

Ten Things Liz Likes About Herself

1) I have never hidden my love for Depeche Mode or tried to downplay it to gain acceptance from anyone. Growing up, I was fine with being the "weird mixed girl who likes those depressing British guys." I wasn't about to turn around and start pretending that I liked Ready For The World just to have more friends. My love for Depeche Mode has lasted since I was eleven. It's almost become an emblem for being proud of who I am, what I like, and who I love. Despite all that, even today, folks will seriously try to ridicule me for loving Depeche Mode. People, not just family either, have commented that it's my "white side" coming out. I've had folks who've barely know me say with thinly veiled disdain, "Oh, aren't they an '80's band? So you're stuck in the 80's musically?" or else I get the, "They're soooo gay!" comment, but only men say that. I guess if members of Depeche Mode were gay, I'm supposed to suddenly stop liking their music? My comeback to that is, "Oh, that's right! I heard you slept with one of them! How was it for you?" That usually shuts most guys up with a quickness and hopefully points out to them how stupid that comment is.

Anyway, I'm so into Depeche Mode that I have t-shirts (both tour and custom-made), track-jackets, dishes, necklaces, screen savers...and, ahem, the Depeche Mode thong underwear. I know, crazy! I have stopped short at getting a DM tattoo, but I'm still young so there's hope for me yet.

2) I can talk to anyone about anything. I think this is because of a few things. First, I'm interested in a lot of things and pretty well read on a variety of topics, so I feel comfortable talking to a wide range of folks about many different things. Second, I'm not shy about admitting when I know absolutely nothing about something and then inviting someone to tell me about it. Third, I really like people and believe that everyone has something I can learn from and something to offer this world. When I first moved to NYC, it took me a couple of days to realize that you weren't supposed to talk to people on the subway. You're just supposed to try to look uber urban and tough. It was an adjustment since back home in Chicago, I'd interview people while waiting for the El. With a mini-cassette recorder no less. Out here in LA, I met one of my dearest friends on the street in downtown. Once I realized that I wasn't about to get mugged, I was totally comfortable talking about everything under the sun. Come to think of it...maybe I should have titled this one "I'm really friendly" or else, "I'm really nosy!"

3) I smile a whole lot. I even smile when I'm dancing. Especially when I'm dancing! For awhile there, I was self-conscious about my smile because my bottom teeth are crooked. I never got braces growing up. I also have fairly full lips, and trust me, pre-Angelina Jolie, my lips were not in fashion. Unfortunately, a guy I was seeing years ago teased me about both teeth and lips. He called me snaggle tooth sometimes and joked that I had such big lips. (That should tell you a whole lot about where I was in my life that I would even tolerate that kind of crap.) Fortunately, one day I snapped out of my coma and he became an ex. Nowadays if folks comment on my crooked teeth, and believe me, some rude people do, I tell them they are welcome to pay for my invisible braces.

4) I am very empathetic. I have been through a lot in my life and so I find that it breeds a deep empathy for other people's situations. I've survived through so many hard things and I know that there's always something else going on behind what we see of a person. I think the best way to come out stronger is to just love other people as much as you can. I try to keep that in mind and just see the humanity of someone first and foremost. I find that I can easily step into someone else's shoes. For example, I have been the shy wallflower at a party so if I go in a room and see wallflowers, I make it my job to make them feel welcome, valued and wanted.

5) I'm pretty laid back and relaxed. No, I'm not a high maintenance woman. I can rock some high heels and a dress, but I'm just as happy in flip flops and jeans. I never had the money growing up for a whole lot of beauty products, clothes or accessories, so I never got in the habit of thinking I needed all those things. It's not that I don't like nice stuff. I do. It's just that I know I don't need certain things to survive, especially when I know other folks in the world have so little. It makes me think about how when I traveled in China, I slept in a "motel" that cost the equivalent of $1 USD per night. It was in a remote village and had a communal bathroom with no door. I brushed my teeth and washed my face with water running out of a broken pipe. I wore the same clothes day after day because I wanted to be able to pack light. I'm telling you, after you do that, a high maintenance attitude is just silly. As long as I'm comfortable, I'm all good.

6) I treat everyone with dignity and respect regardless of who they are. Nothing irks me more than the jerk who treats higher-ups with deference but then acts nasty to the assistant or people they perceive as being beneath them. You've seen those jerks, right? They're the person who ass-kisses when someone has a bunch of degrees or personal wealth behind their name but then treats those without that stuff like they're no one. To me, people who do that are scum and it becomes very difficult for me to treat them with dignity and respect. One thing I'm infinitely proud of is that I've never been that pompous, pretentious, condescending scum/jerk . If I ever become that, please, God, send the lightning bolt to strike me dead. I couldn't stand myself if I became like that.


7) I have beautiful eyelashes. They're long but not too long and curl in such a lovely way, all without an eyelash curler. My dear friend Leili's father gave me a compliment years ago about my eyelashes. He couldn't believe they were real because they looked so curly and beautiful. I'd never really noticed that about my eyelashes before then. Thanks Mr. Towfigh...you made me realize that my curly eyelashes are fabulous.

8) I am the human version of MapQuest. I have an affinity for maps and atlases that harkens back to my brainiac nerd days of reading them for fun. I started studying street maps of LA when I was fourteen and had no clue I'd one day be living here. Plus, my father is a driving short-cut junkie so I suppose I'm genetically programmed for expertise. People really do call me when they're on the road and need to find their way around. The best was when friends born, raised and currently living in Chicago called me up a couple of months ago to ask for the best way to get somewhere in Chicago!

9) I'm a good mom. When folks comment on how well-behaved and polite my sons are, I feel really happy and very proud. I decided a long time ago that the most important job I could ever have is to be a good mother. I want my sons to be spiritual and social warriors, examples of excellence and free from the prejudices that breed such unhappiness in our world. I enjoy teaching my boys prayers and then hearing them recite them back to me from memory. I love exposing them to the arts, reading to them, and encouraging all their creative and intellectual interests. I'm not afraid to roll around in the grass with them and let them ride around on my back either. And, I give them kisses and hugs, and shower them with affection. I never want them to think they aren't loved. So when my three year-old runs forward to try to open doors for me or my six year-old wants to talk about God, I know I've done something right.

10) I can let my hair down without having a single drink. My sister often says I know how to have a good time so well that she's afraid of what would happen if I ever did drink. She's probably right. After all, you know how folks say they throw a couple of drinks back to help them relax when they get to the party or the club? You know how people say, "I did that? OMG, I had no idea! I was sooo drunk!" Yeah, well that's never been me. Why should I feel self conscious about dancing all by myself on the dance floor? Why should I need a depressant to help me feel confident enough to go talk to someone I don't know? So if you get to a party and see me dancing on top of the table, guess what, I'm completely sober. I own up to the table dancing 100%. What can I say? I've been dancing on tables since I was two.

So that's my ten things! I hope it wasn't too painful for you to read, and hopefully you know me a little better now.

Here's the hard part...who to pass this on to? Only five people? Well, some of you all may not want to do this, but I'm going to pick you anyway!

1) Sundry at Any Given Sundry. She's an amazing photographer, writer, observer of people, and my inspiration for next year's trip to France.

2) Phillipe over at Baha'i Thought because he has such a keen intellectual mind, a fantastic sense of humor, and the ability to articulate the practical applications of spiritual principles in an incredibly logical manner.

3) Jameil over at the Me, My, Mindspace because she always make me laugh and has such a youthful and positive energy.

4) 1969 over at Nineteen Sixty Nine because she tells the best stories, has such wisdom and keeps it real like no other.

5) Mojan Sami over at Mojan Sami Blog because she is really funny, obviously in love with her husband, takes the best pictures, and is a really good writer.

There are more of you I'd like to tag but I'm keeping it to five. If I tagged you and you don't normally do memes, put your own spin on this! Make it your own to suit your blog.

Again, thank you to Heart in San Francisco for tagging me. If you aren't reading her blog yet, you should. She's one of the best!

Taking Deep Breaths

I have come to the realization that kids break things.

This should come as no surprise to me since I broke a great many things as a child. Actually, maybe "broke" is not the best verb to use. "Destroyed" might be better.

For example, I accidentally set stuff on fire...stuff like the living room curtains. I didn't mean to. I was merely trying to prove I was a big girl by lighting the pumpkin at Halloween.

Unfortunately, the match flew out of the tongs I was holding it with.

I quickly batted the flames out with my hands and then pulled the curtains open so no one would know. Or at least, no one would know till it was time to shut the curtains.

I ended up doing one of those, "You promise you won't get mad if I tell you something?" performances for my mother.

Believe me, she got mad.

I see the, "I wonder what will happen if I..." gleam in my three year-old's eyes and I completely understand what's happening in his brain. I've also always been too curious for my own good.

How curious?

Well, I once took a pair of pliers to the dining room table, just to see what would happen. The resulting mark on the table absolutely enraged my mother. I'm pretty sure that I successfully blamed someone else for that one though.

I used to be a compulsive paper eater. For some reason, I really liked to eat magazines. Vogue and European Travel and Life were especially delicious to me.

I never wanted to eat the old magazine that'd been sitting on the coffee table collecting dust for two months. Nope. I wanted the nice, shiny one that just came in the mail. The one that my parents hadn't really read yet. I figured, if I ate the paper from the new magazine, no one would notice that there were pages missing since you couldn't miss what you had never seen.

And the grand finale of them all? I pushed my siblings out windows. Both of them, despite the fact that they're seven and nine years older than me. (super-human strength, n'est-ce pas?)

Don't worry, I didn't push them both on the same day. I managed to space it out a little.

My brother got pushed from a second story window for ripping the leg off my precious teddy bear, Adam 12. What can I say? I was six or seven and in a haze of anger because Adam 12 had been crippled. I knew that with only one leg, his secret agent spying abilities would be severely hindered.

If my memory serves me correctly, my brother survived because of the side porch roof. I don't really remember too clearly.

My sister only got pushed from a first floor window. I'm pretty sure she hit concrete.

Oh, yeah, and eventually, Adam 12's leg got glued back on.

Yes, I know my parents must have been freaking out and wondering if that 666 was on my head instead of on that kid Damien's.

So with this kind of track record, I can't be too upset that one of my children has broken my digital camera. I am remembering that I should be detached from material things. I am taking deep breaths. I am imagining that I'm in a sensory deprivation tank. I am picturing myself floating in a pool of crystal clear water while inhaling the scent of lotus flowers.

This sort of prayerful state of mind has kept me from resorting to more old school methods of child discipline, the sort of methods that involve swatting bottoms with hands. Or shoes. Belts. Switches. Extension cords...

Instead, I have already given the, "You need to respect other people's property. You do not touch things that don't belong to you without permission" speech. It was very well received.

Neither one of them confessed.

I'm really not sure which one broke the camera. Both boys claim that they never touched it. I'm supposed to believe that digital cameras just crack all by themselves. Both also have the "I'm innocent" face down pat.

My six year-old is a particularly fast blamer thinker. "Maybe Daddy did it. You should ask him."

Hmm... I'm starting to wonder.

Indeed, my mother, like all mothers, sometimes said that my antics would come back to haunt me when I had my own kids.

Like most mothers, I think she was right.

The N-Word

Last night I was peacefully curled up on the couch, reading "The Templar Legacy" by Steve Berry, and watching my kids wrestle on the floor. Suddenly, my eldest was next to me, poking me in the arm.

"Excuse me, I have a question for you," he said. There was an expectant look in his eyes, the look that only six year-olds can give. The look that says, "Drop everything and pay attention to me, right now."

So I asked him, "What's your question?"

"What's the n-word?"

Whoa. I wasn't expecting that one. It felt a little like those moments folks talk about when their kid says, "What's sex?" Yes, I should be prepared for this kind of question, because, let's face it, discussion of the word is all over the TV and radio these days. I don't even need to listen to an old NWA track to hear it. All I need to do is keep the radio on NPR. (Damn that NPR!)

I needed to mentally readjust my brain from the fiction of Rennes le Chateau and Templar treasure. So, I stalled for time by answering his question with a question.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe on the radio or something," he responded.

Yes, damn that NPR! So I asked another question, to see what he think he knew. "What do you think the n-word is?"

He leaned down, a gleam in his eye, and whispered in my ear, "It's "nasty", isn't it?"

"Um, no, it's not "nasty"", I replied back. My suppressed laughter faded as I immediately recognizing that my truthfulness was just going to open the door to another flood of questions.

"Well, what is it then?"

And I didn't want to tell him. I know I should have, but I just couldn't do it. I know I should have because if I don't, someone else will. But, dang it, I really didn't want to.

I told him to ask me tomorrow. Well, today is tomorrow and he hasn't asked me yet. But that kid has a memory like a pit bull gets lockjaw. He'll remember.

I have an idea about what I'm going to say, but I'm curious, what do you all think I should say?