Skills!  Here he is, turning an ancient hand-me-down computer into a kid-computer.  Brilliant.  (One of the many reasons I’m grateful for him too).

So we left the kids and flew across the country.  This was our first trip alone since Violet was born.  That’s almost four years ago.  Take a moment to contemplate that.

Whew.

October in upstate NY is hard to beat, and on this occasion it was even more gorgeous than usual.  Maybe it just seemed that way because we felt completely unencumbered and strangely light.  Even our cheap and dingy hotel room was relaxing.  I almost felt guilty about this giddy sense of freedom, but when I called my mom to check in with the kids, they did not seem to miss me.  Graham only started to look for me around day three, but Violet professed to be unaffected (although she did wake up and crawl into bed with me the night we got back).  So we relived our college days as much as our 30-ish bodies could handle.

Still, there is something about a small town that is kind of unsettling.  Maybe it’s the fact that any time you leave the house you see someone who knows your past.  Too well.  Case in point: the bar we went to on Friday was filled with the same people from 12 years ago.  I couldn’t walk to the bathroom without running into an ex-housemate whose dog had killed my cat’s kittens and whose husband I used to date.  There is a certain comforting anonymity in a large town.

But there are a lot of wonderful old friends there and it really was a fantastic place to live.  I’d love to experience it with the kids as well.  So I oscillate between urges to move back and move on.  Maybe we’ll just force Graham and Violet to go to our alma mater.

This jabbering is keeping me from napping. Napping is keeping me from getting more sick. And, as I’ve said before, being sick when you can’t call in sick is UNFAIR. It’s even worse when it’s your husband’s birthday. Your super fabulous husband who deserves breakfast in bed and cake and presents and decorations and all of this happening in a house that is not covered in snotty tissue, dirty dishes and unfolded laundry. And for that, Graham and I apologize.

Happy Birthday Rob! Maybe Graham is just so excited for you he can’t sleep.

Tattoo Story: The Why and How

Why: The characters are Korean, pronounced “zzang”, literally meaning “the sound of ice cracking”. While we lived there our students used it as slang similar to “cool” or “right on” or “awesome”. It snuck into our vocabulary to celebrate any accomplishment. And when living and working in a foreign country, everything, from taking the bus to grocery shopping, is an accomplishment. These things were much easier because we had each other. And that’s still true. So for us Zzang is a symbol of how we work as a team, and the work it takes to get through.

Of course, they look cool too. (Rob’s will be posted soon)

How: I got many recommendations for a particular tattoo artist. However, the day I called to make an appointment with her was the day she was on the cover of the Chronicle. The surly girl who answered the phone told me no openings for a month. Well, we had the babysitter, it was the night of our anniversary, and if I didn’t go through with it then, I never would. So I told her “The design is a simple Korean character probably anyone could do. Are there any openings for tonight?”

“Yes,” she said, “See you at eight.”

“Don’t you need my name?”

“No. I’ll remember you because I’m going to do it. I’m Korean.”

Perfect.

She was still surly and didn’t crack a smile the whole time, but she was professional. Probably a good quality for a tattoo artist. Rob went first and didn’t wince a bit. I did. But come on, I’ve had two children. Being zapped by needles was a breeze. I don’t see myself becoming addicted to the sensation, but it made for a memorable anniversary.

Five years. Wow. Together since 1995? Double wow. In that time we’ve lived the small-town-college-rock-band scene, traveled the country, lived abroad, backpacked through Asia and Mexico, learned to scuba dive, moved to Austin sight unseen, became home-owners and became parents twice over. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Yes, I’m very very lucky.

But the boy… well, just look:

Violet, Klaus, Sunny:
Each new day worse than the last;
They deserve better.

But Olaf has been
Unrelenting in efforts
To do them all in.

Through twelve installments
We’ve followed the Baudelaires
hoping for hope, but…

Apprehension is
A word which here means, “we fear
That this won’t end well.”

And as if that weren’t enough, this morning I found out he wrote to Delta Airlines condoning their decision to kick a nursing mom and her child off their flight.

My husband: stellar father, paragon of work ethics, activist, web genius, team leader, athlete, poet, musician.

He’ll probably need all of these talents during our plane ride to Oregon tomorrow. (Let’s just hope it’s not a repeat of the last time.)

“Daddy’s at work baby,” I told her.

“Dada!” She repeated, pointing emphatically at the paper. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was a picture of… Keanu Reeves. “Is that Daddy?” I asked. “Yeah!” she cheered.
Today we were looking at a the Beatles Anthology. She laughed and said “Dada!” pointing at… wait for it… Ringo Starr.

Quiz: Pick Violet’s Daddy out of this line-up.

And since my blog is piggy-backing on www.greasyelbow.com rather than using my own domain, I can change the name whenever I want. Or whenever Violet wants, rather.
By the way, please add me to your blog feeds. www.bloglines.com If it wasn’t for this handy tool, I’d never ever ever ever remember to look at anyone’s blog or pictures. And while we’re at it, put all your pictures on Flickr: www.flickr.com so I can be notified when new ones come up, via Bloglines. (Okay Rob, you’ve turned me into a complete and utter nerd. Curses.)

First of all, I’ve been a journal-writer since I was eight. I’ve got boxes of them in the attic. (Even as a kid I realized that adults don’t truly understand how the mind of a child works. So I wrote with an eye towards my adult self, someday looking for clues about how my own kid feels. Yes, I’m a documenting fool like that.) But, since “the incident” I haven’t had the heart to put pen to paper. “The incident” as some may know, occurred on our road trip from NY to Austin. We stopped at a cheap Louisiana motel recommended in our guidebook. It didn’t take long to realize that this place had degenerated into some kind of crack-den/whore-house establishment. So we decided to splurge and go to a B&B. The next day, somewhere in the middle of East Texas, I realized that my journal was nowhere to be found. And then it hit me; it had fallen out of the car door-well while we were in the crack-motel parking lot. The thought of those hookers and junkies paging through my personal thoughts puts me in a cold sweat to this day. The journal had been almost full. It included our last months in Korea, the difficulty of reverse-culture shock, being in NY on 9/11, our road-trip… so many important moments… all gone. Now, with this medium, it’s almost impossible to lose. Granted, any crack-whore or psycho can read it if they can get to a computer. I know my audience is no longer only my future self, so can’t be as completely uncensored as I once was. But at least this will help me exorcise those writing demons.

And speaking of demons, the need to document everything is a demon that has reappeared full force since Violet was born… actually, since she was conceived. I bought a great “1st year” calendar that was easy enough to use in my new-baby-fog-head state. But now that we’ve reached that birthday, I can’t seem to find anything similar for the second year.

Okay, so the second year isn’t as full of dramatic physical developments like rolling, crawling, walking, the first tooth, the first time the baby falls head-first onto a pile of sharp lumber in front of the entire extended family, etc. But the second year has something my English-teaching heart can’t wait for: WORDS! And now that we’ve delved into the realm of sign language (in an attempt to curb the ear-splitting-scream-producing frustration of the inability to communicate) words are coming at us fast and furious. Oh yes, my wee language experiment is up and running. So here we will record the raw data.

And yet another reason to start a blog has to do with communication. Now that email is ubiquitous, I’m in touch with more people than ever. But do I write to them all the time? Nooooo… Most of that has to do with the fact that the baby is running all over the house trying to pull the cat’s tail off, or climbing the bookshelves. But also I can get burned out writing slightly different versions of the same life updates in each email. I can’t be the only one who feels like that, right? So, is writing a blog to keep people in the loop lazy? Yes. Will I continue? Yes.

But don’t we already have a family blog? Well, sure, Rob set up http://www.greasyelbow.com/blog/ long ago, awesome nerdy techy that he is. But I’ve discovered, to my amazement, he doesn’t always devote his pontifications to his lovely wife, or even his cute genius daughter. So, maybe the most important reason I’ve started this blog is that it’s about ME. Me me me me. Oh, and Violet.