First Family Vacation: Thursday

Marlene has a fun day planned, and it starts with breakfast at her place just down the road. Her house is lovely, and I get to meet her son Jacob, who is five, for the first time. Jarrah is instantly smitten with him, and the refrain "Where Jacob gone?" could emblazon her t-shirts by the end of the trip. Sadly, it's one of her first encounters with unrequited love, since at five Jacob has little use for a grasping two-year-old who paws his toys with peanut-butter hands and copies every move he makes. Luckily (and her current ego-less state is a joy and marvel to me) she either doesn't notice or doesn't care that she's been spurned, and adores him anyway. He's a beautiful boy and smart as a whip, and it's incredible to finally see him in action. After a leisurely catch-up (a hallmark of all our get-togethers over the years, though this is the first one interrupted periodically by parental refereeing) we head back to Columbus for a scheduled visit to CoSi, the Columbus Science Museum, which turns out to be like the eighth wonder of the world. Even the lobby blows our minds, as there is a cyclist on a tight rope high above our heads who turns out to be an ordinary museum patron. Jarrah and I spent many an hour at Kidsville in our science museum in San Diego, but it seems like a bus station waiting room compared to KidSpace at CoSi, which has like ten rooms and looks like a city designed by Roald Dahl. We have so much fun, and even enjoy our lunch in their cafe. And Jarrah is in heaven because she can chase Jacob everywhere he goes.

When CoSi closes (I honestly felt I could have spent another hour at least--no Museum Head to speak of!) we head to Udipi, a vegetarian South Indian cafe that is one of Marlene's favorites. There, we finally meet James, her adorable fiance, and many of his family members who have come to town for the nuptials. We eat all kinds of delicacies that we haven't tried before, and try to overlook that Jarrah, who has gone without a nap for the second day in a row, is so tender-hearted from tiredness that just tasting a bite of spicy food is making her burst into tears. She sleeps a bit on the way home, and is in better spirits for the arrival of our first college babysitter, Bridget, who is straight out of central casting with her peachy cheeks and blonde bob. She is a total pro, too, and David and I head to the Cherry Valley bar for a "casual gathering" with more of Marlene's friends, another lovely evening. Jarrah is snoozing hard when we return, and Bridget is a total bargain. Sweet. Jarrah sleeps much better this time, and so do we.

First Family Vacation: Wednesday

We just went to Columbus, Ohio, our first trip with Jarrah since returning from China over a year ago. Why Columbus, you ask? My friend Marlene got married. We hadn't seen each other in several years. Before marriages and kids, we made an effort to meet up somewhere almost every year, and it always felt like no time had passed at all. Which is kind of weird, because I met Marlene twelve years ago at the Wyoming English Conference in Laramie, and we have never even lived in the same state. Praise the age of e-mail! At the same conference in 1995, I met her friend Teresa, who lives in a different state from both of us, and we have also been friends ever since. Teresa was at the wedding, too, and I was so psyched to see both of them.

Because I've been rather wordy, I'll post one day of the trip report each day on the blog. That way, if you have a mind to read the whole thing, you won't be overwhelmed by the length.

Wednesday

I have been packing for months. The image of myself trying to stifle the screams of a two-year-old at 35,000 feet weighs heavily on my mind. In addition to various snacks of delectable and non-nutritive value, I have amassed several toys and wrapped them in newspaper, the better to present them, magician-like, only in a crisis. Because Jarrah does not know we sleep (we put her to bed at night, and get her in the morning, so it's of little interest to her what we do in between) I've researched and purchased a system involving a clothesline, wooden pins, duct tape and a high thread-count sheet for rigging a Wall of Jericho (allusion to It Happened One Night) in our hotel room. I believe I am ready, but I'm still terrified.

The trip to the airport goes amazingly well, considering we are laden with 150 lbs of baggage and a device called the "Gogo Kidz" that attaches to our car seat and turns it into a stroller for airport sprints. Indeed, the flights are on time, we are allowed to pre-board, and there is relatively little need to threaten Jarrah for kicking the seat in front of her. She goes through a lot of the snacks and two movies on her brand-new portable DVD player, and though she will not nap, I'll call it a success.

In Columbus, however, we lose the time we made with our early-arriving flight by standing in line at Dollar Rent-a-Car for the better part of an hour, and then crawling along during rush hour ("Why is there traffic in Ohio?" I ask David) on the 25 mile trip from Columbus to Newark, where our hotel is. I feel strangely elated, however. We've survived two flights relatively unscathed, we'll be seeing friends very soon, the weather is glorious (whither the lashing rain and crushing humidity promised by Weather.com? We never saw it--each day but one was sunny and mild) and Jarrah makes a friend in a five-year-old boy who is also waiting with his parents at the Dollar office.

Seeing the two of them giggling and chasing each other around the gumball machines makes me understand the wonder of childhood for perhaps the first time. Here we are enduring, as we've endured so many times before, the crushing tedium and annoyance of spending the first hour of one's vacation in a dank office in a non-moving line, and Jarrah is as happy as she might be at the beach, maybe even more so. The point is, she doesn't wait for an occasion to have a good time--she seizes any opportunity, and defines it for herself without prejudice. There is something so touching and beautiful about this that I am overcome with the thrill of enlightenment myself. It lasts for at least a couple of hours. ;)

We reach Cherry Valley Lodge a little after seven, having just missed the first event on our wedding schedule, but in enough time to meet Teresa and Gina for dinner. Cherry Valley is wonderful, huge but somehow cozy, and our room overlooks a pond with ducks. I almost cry with relief when I see that the room is L-shaped, so we can push Jarrah's Pack n' Play against an interior wall and she will be unable to see us doing that mysterious thing we do when we close our eyes for long periods of time, and thus unable to stand at attention shouting "Wake-a up, Mommy Daddy!" at regular intervals. Best of all, we are made to feel so welcome by Marlene, the Bride with the Mostest, who has left us the Pack n' Play, a stroller, and a massive gift basket with snacks, toys, spa goodies and a card informing us that a) she's arranged a babysitter for two nights of our stay and b) I have a pedicure and facial scheduled for the Girls Spa Morning. Newark, Ohio is looking more and more like the best-kept secret that Travel and Leisure ever neglected to cover.

Turns out Teresa and Gina are only one exit away on Route 16 and right next to a very promising-sounding place called the Texas Roadhouse, so after a quick reunion catch-up (and their first Jarrah sighting) we head out for steak and baked potatoes amidst thousands of peanut shells on the floor. Jarrah gets the hang of that right away.

I wish I could say that we slept like precious angels and woke refreshed, but despite replicating her bedtime ritual from home, Jarrah is cranky and unsettled that first night. She wakes what seems like every fifteen minutes, crying in confusion. We are all kind of wrecked in the morning, but we don't dally because a lot of people who are already on Eastern Standard Time are waiting on us.

Summer Lovin' 2

Yesterday was a lovely summer day. First, leisurely perusal of the newspaper and two cups of coffee. Then I drove to Fashion Valley in the gorgeous, breezy sunshine to meet my friend Lisa for a girly lunch n' shop. We ate like ladies in the Nordstrom Cafe, and my salad and signature tomato soup were divine. I ate slowly, savoring every bite. Afterwards, we hit the Half-Yearly sale, where we scooped up some jeans for our hubbies, then checked out Old Navy and the Gap. Lisa is a really great shopping companion, and had lots of good tips. We then sidled into See's Candies, where they just happened to be handing out my all-time favorite Chocolate Butter as the free sample of the day. Thanks for the snack, See's. No need to buy anything now. ;)

We parted ways, Lisa towards the movies, and me to Bay Park, in pursuit of a free massage from an old friend who has recently started at the School of Oriental Medicine and needs bodies. As I lounged on her comfy table with soothing music in the background, she explained the technique of Tui Na, and how it would likely help my neck. I guess it did, since my neck feels great today, but I'm happy to say I don't remember much because I was snoozing like a kitten on the hearth through most of it. She even offered me another freebie as I was leaving! Sweet!

From there I hit Trader Joe's, and picked up some snacks and savories, all satisfyingly cheap. When I got home, I did a bit of reading, then took a shower and primped for the evening's festivities. David and I headed out to our friend Lynne's birthday party at Lei Lounge* where we whooped it up for several hours, sharing finger foods, sipping fancy, fruity drinks, and appreciating how as the sun went down and the balmy night set in around us, the mood was enhanced by fire pits and a wall of ambient video across from our cabana. Yes, cabana--it was that kind of place. A fun evening to cap off a fun and relaxing day.

Let me count the ways this perfect summer day was oh-so-different from summer days of yore:

Yesterday was a lovely summer day. First, leisurely perusal of the newspaper and two cups of coffee. (I got up at 7:00 with Jarrah, which I don't usually do, so I was nodding off again by 10:00.) Then I drove to Fashion Valley in the gorgeous, breezy sunshine to meet my friend Lisa for a girly lunch n' shop. (I felt a little guilty leaving my two babies, but David said he was going to bring Jarrah on his errands. Hmmm.) We ate like ladies in the Nordstrom Cafe, and my salad and signature tomato soup were divine. (I rarely order salad or soup, because they are time-consuming, and hard to share.) I ate slowly, savoring every bite. (Okay, that hardly ever happens anymore.) Afterwards, we hit the Half-Yearly sale (no one whining or begging for snacks), where we scooped up some jeans for our hubbies (one day 'til Father's Day!), then checked out Old Navy and the Gap. (Jarrah already needs a new bathing suit, since she's trashed the tush on her current one via undisclosed manoevers at camp.) Lisa is a really great shopping companion, and had lots of good tips. (Normally when I see her, we don't even finish a four-sentence conversation.) We then sidled into See's Candies, where they just happened to be handing out my all-time favorite Chocolate Butter as the free sample of the day. Thanks for the snack, See's. No need to buy anything now. ;) (Walking into a candy store with Jarrah would create an ugly scene. 'Nuff said.)

We parted ways, Lisa towards the movies, and me to Bay Park, in pursuit of a free massage from an old friend who has recently started at the School of Oriental Medicine and needs bodies. (I am totally tweaked these days from improper toddler-lugging methods.) As I lounged on her comfy table with soothing music in the background, she explained the technique of Tui Na, and how it would likely help my neck. I guess it did, since my neck feels great today, but I'm happy to say I don't remember much because I was snoozing like a kitten on the hearth through most of it. (See above, where I didn't get enough sleep.) She even offered me another freebie as I was leaving! Sweet! (I scheduled it for when Jarrah's at camp.)

From there I hit Trader Joe's, and picked up some snacks and savories (a certain snacker in our home goes through my stash in 2-3 days), all satisfyingly cheap. When I got home, I did a bit of reading (Jarrah was sleeping), then took a shower and primped for the evening's festivities. ("Wha' doing, Mommy? Wha' doing, Mommy?") David and I headed out to our friend Lynne's birthday party at Lei Lounge* (after briefing our newest babysitter on bathtime and dinner options) where we whooped it up (with the occasional eye to the passing time, since it was costing us by the hour), sharing finger foods, sipping fancy, fruity drinks, and appreciating how as the sun went down and the balmy night set in around us, the mood was enhanced by fire pits and a wall of ambient video across from our cabana. Yes, cabana--it was that kind of place. A fun evening to cap off a fun and relaxing day. (As we drove home, I silently hoped that Jarrah had had a good evening, and looked forward to being back under the same roof with my sleeping cherub.)



*Please see attached post for a review of Lei Lounge!

Everybody Must Get Lei'd

I've always less-than-secretly fantasized about being some kind of reviewer...movies, preferably, but travel and dining sound pretty great, too. Sadly, I'd be stymied in the dining arena by the unfortunate fact that I'm a picky eater! And not only picky, but with an "I'm a fifth grader from the Midwest" culinary bent.

Nevertheless, I love to tell people about new restaurants I visit, especially on vacation, but sometimes in dear old San Diego, too. So here is my first official blog restaurant review!

I was a little bummed I didn't discover Lei Lounge myself. After all, I devour all the local restaurant reviews in the U-T and the Reader, and keep my ear to the ground for word-of- mouth gushing. So I wince as I admit that I might never have discovered this kitschy little gem, in the footloose-and-fancy-free neighborhood of my youth, had I not attended Lynne's birthday party on Saturday night.

Luckily, I don't like to miss a dear friend's birthday party, and after procurement of a babysitter and a little extra effort in dressing (ooooh, earrings and lipstick! some gel in my hair!) I was off with David for an adventuresome evening. Even the name itself--Lei Lounge--filled me with girlish longing.

Lei Lounge is wedged between the venerable Bourbon St. bar and El Zarape burrito joint in downtown University Heights (a downtown comprised of two blocks of Park Blvd. between Monroe and Adams, yet jam-packed with gems) and has a slick, glass front that screams "hip" and "young." Entering, our aural faculties were assailed by ear-splitting house music, so loud I literally could not hear what Lynne was saying about our table when standing six inches from her face. Not my demographic, I surmised. A quick survey of the bar crowd revealed a lot of youthful, tan skin and trendy Empire tops, plus a wall of water. Later, Lynne's husband Grant mentioned how much he likes the bar, but had I stayed there longer, I would have spent the evening screaming "What?" and needing to pee.

What Lynne was trying to tell us was that five members of our party were required before access to our table, but luckily Kay was hard on our heels and we were briskly escorted through an outdoor courtyard to a white leather-sheathed cabana to the left of the teeming center. I gasped with delight at the set-up--a cushioned banquette arranged like a "C" complete with throw pillows, a low coffee-style table, and our own personal heat lamp. Diving onto the cushion, I glanced up to see diners across from us seated around an actual ring of fire doubling as a table--the effect was lovely, though I wondered if revelers in their cups ever get singed in a moment of inattention. Above the courtyard, a wide, high wall reflected, with increasing drama as night fell, an ambient video presentation that alternately put me in mind of kaleidoscopes, time-lapse flower growth, and gynecological exams.

The mood was wild and loud, facilitated by a vast selection of fruity imbibements with cutesy names, all served in sleek, round glasses with no stems. Within seconds, our fabulously flamboyant waiter Kevin appeared ("It's our anniversary today," Lynne told him, at which he shouted "How many years? Or is it weeks? Honey, I'm a homo--weeks ARE years to me") and we quizzed him about his favorite cocktails. "Well, I like the Tokyo Iced Tea," he said, "But I can stagger home afterwards." Thus forewarned, we each chose something slightly less potent but no less delish. My Lei Signature Martini combined pomegranate and cherry juices and flavored vodka, with the result of making me want to slurp it down with great haste.

While waiting for our other guests, we ordered a couple appetizers for the table. Kevin explained that pretty much the whole menu is tapas-style, eminently shareable, and there are lots of choices. The theme seems to be Asian/Polynesian fusion, with a comfort food flair (e.g. Cheese Steak Spring Rolls and Crab Mac & Cheese) Even more fun, some of the combinations are served as bento boxes, with four or more disparate flavors and textures artfully presented in a partitioned lacquer box.

We started with the edamame (enjoying a recent surge of popularity in local restaurants) and the sweet potato fries with raspberry dipping sauce. The edamame were cooked perfectly crisp, and arrived warm and nicely salted. But the sweet potato fries were a revelation--delicately sprinkled with powdered sugar, fluffy and ethereal, with the sweetness of fresh yams. And though the dip sounded weird and looked even weirder (kind of like salad dressing) it was absolutely yum on the fries.

More friends arrived, and several of us moved to a second round of drinks. We put in our orders for entrees, but many of us chose to share. Kevin brought a metal contraption that put me in mind of a cupcake tower--when we were done with our little plates, we stacked them on the rungs to make room on the table. The kitchen sends out dishes as they are ready, so everything came to the table piping hot and fresh, in no particular order. That was fine with me. The mood in the courtyard, from which we were partially protected, buzzed with almost manic glee. Many of the tables contained large groups, all dressed to the nines, snapping photos of each other and shrieking with laughter. The firepits twinkled and the video wall glowed. I sat up straight on my cushion (at 5'4", I was hamstrung by not being able to lean back unless I wanted to plunk my feet in the food) and was able to imagine for a moment that I was one of the chic gals from Sex and the City, or part of Paris Hilton's posse, only seconds before being immortalized by Us Weekly. Considering the low glamour quotient of my life these days, it was a mighty fine feeling indeed.

Our entrees did not disappoint. David and I shared the Kobe mini-burgers, not all that mini ("These are the size of the ones you make us at home!" he laughed) and the trio of tacos with steak, chicken and mahi, all with different sauces. Grant let me stick a fork in his Lobster Pad Thai, which was scrumptiously peanut-y. Lynne offered me some of her plump, fluffy crab cake, but...errrrr...no. Crab cakes I do not do. Across the table, Gil received a plate of frites as beautiful as any in France, no wider than matchsticks, gloriously tangled in a stack nearly a foot high, with a spicy sauce on the side. "Kevin!" I called. "Another plate of those, please!"

There had been talk of hitting Extraordinary Desserts afterwards (as Seinfeld would say, not that there's anything wrong with that) but then Kevin asked if we wanted to hear about the desserts. "There's dessert?" someone asked, almost dumbfounded. It seemed our cup runneth over. He started rattling off various confections, but my mind screeched to a halt when I heard "House-made mini-donuts with caramel, chocolate and strawberry dipping sauces." Hold the phone! Everyone pretended they weren't going to eat any, but I sensed there were liers among us. We also tried to order an insane-sounding apple dumpling built around an entire baked apple, but they were sold out. Small wonder. The donuts, though (and 10 forks were out like a shot as soon as Kevin placed them in front of us) were a sensation, hot and sugary outside and fluffy inside, though it was the dipping sauces that put them over the top.

Alas, we all turned into very full pumpkins at the stroke of two hours (well, Kevin looked the other way for an additional half-hour) because private cabanas in a restaurant where the food is actually good don't come without a price. In this instance, the price is spelled out on the website, and gently reiterated by the servers: your reservation guarantees the cabana for two hours, and then, with a tinge of regret, our merry party made way for the next band of celebrants. Luckily, my fortune says that there will be more Lei Lounge in my future.

Summer Lovin'

Jarrah started camp this week. She finished her first semester of preschool last week, so there's been no hiatus, which I'm so thankful about. ;) She would have attended camp at her preschool, but they are in demolition/construction mode this summer (for the attached synagogue, not the school itself) and hence have shut their doors for the first time. Through the on-line rumor mill, I heard that there was another synagogue preschool in the neighborhood, so it was an easy decision to sign Jarrah up for the same days she is used to going.

The camp is very nice, a preschool palace, even. The playground and classrooms are huge, the equipment sound and shiny, and there's even a long Astroturf runway where they set up kiddie pools, bubble machines and "jumpy castles," depending on the theme of the day. Because Jarrah attends Tuesday and Thursday, she has swimming on Tuesday, and "science and cooking" on Thursday. Both the science and the cooking seem to involve mud, which I suppose if you're two is the way you want them to be.

On the first day, I learned that I am more like my mom than I ever imagined. David and I were greeted by three smiling teachers, but my eyes were darting submarine sonar-style around the room to take in the smallish, tottering children. "What's the age range in here?" I inquired, with what I hoped was neutral politeness. Turned out Jarrah was indeed one of, if not the oldest in the room. Hmmm. At her other school, she's the very youngest in her class. She's also a giant for her age. She is used to 3-year-olds and her language skills seem to rise to meet theirs with every passing day. I perused (more like snatched) the class roster, which did not contain familiar names. "Aren't there a few kids from her class here this summer? What room are they in?" Turns out they were next door, in the 3-year-old room. I'm not sure why, since several of them are mere months older than Jarrah. I suggested she might be more comfortable with them. There were some darting glances, a bit of scrambling, and then the word came down that Jarrah was welcome to step next door. I snatched that roster, too. No fewer than four names from her current preschool class appeared on the page. Jarrah was the same height as the other children. I had a tiny tremor of nervousness for having been so demanding--would it come back to bite me in the ass?

When we left, Jarrah was crying. "Will you be be available around, let's say, 11:00, if the day seems to be getting too long for her?" asked the director. "It won't happen," I smiled, my confidence restored. I called 30 minutes later. "Hi, I'm calling about my daughter, who was crying when I left?" "I'll go check on her," said the secretary cheerfully. "Call me back in five minutes." I called back. "She's painting a picture with a friend and smiling," she said, "Go enjoy your day." When I picked her up, both her teachers said, "She had a great morning." I was vindicated. I had been a meddling mom and it had paid off. My mom was always marching into my various schools, demanding that I be moved or re-tested or whatnot, and it used to mortify me. Why couldn't she just let the teachers do their job, like everyone else's parents did? So it surprised me that the craving to meddle was instinctive. I had to speak up for Jarrah, since she couldn't do it for herself.

Jarrah is loving camp, and came home wet and filthy both days. The first day she rhapsodized about the "fimming pool," and today about how "very, very hot" it was in the jump-jump. She didn't seem to have eaten much lunch both days, and today her socks were missing. "I have no socks," she said serenely as I was searching for her backpack. "Sure you do!" I said, not looking at her. But when I turned around I could see her statement was purely factual. "Where are they?" I asked. "By the bubbles," she said. No one could find them, though. That's okay. A pair of socks is a small price to pay if she's having a good time.

Speaking of good times, this week we discovered the Tierrasanta Rec Center Pool. I was yearning to get wet on Wednesday (I'm a Water sign, after all) and didn't feel up to lugging all our gear to the beach. Then I remembered that in my carefree childless days, there had been a great deal of unnecessary screaming in the shallow end when I'd swum laps at the Morley Field pool. Perhaps, I mused, we could now become part of the screamers. I called around, but none of the local municipal pools had morning hours. I vaguely remembered hearing that the Tierrasanta pool was a kiddie paradise, and I'm happy to say that whoever said that did not lie. The Children's Pool is a sort of mini-theme park, with no edge (hence, no falling) no water deeper than a two-year-old's thigh, and a big slide with waterfalls smack in the middle. Jarrah and Yea-Yea splashed themselves silly, and I hurt my wrist from all the patting myself on the back. We have discovered another playdate with great allure! I like to update my options regularly.

Literary Life

I just finished reading Death of a Writer, by Michael Collins. It's sort of a murder mystery, and sort of an analysis (indictment?) of academia, particularly the writing and study of literature. Some of the novel, set in a small, fictional New England college called Bannockburn, hits a little too close to home for me, since I attended a small, New England college, and because I later taught literature and writing to college students in the manner of Adi Wiltshire, who is a seventh-year graduate student on the verge of getting kicked out for lack of progress on her dissertation. Late in the novel, she is driving with Allen Horowitz, a writer who has become rich and famous by "reconceptualizing" the coffee table book, when she has the following outburst:

[Adi] said in a searching way, "How come life feels so unreal, so meaningless? You know, somewhere along the way I think I lost something...lost the reality of reality, locked away with my books, all those years wasted, tearing things apart, dismantling things, debunking false power structures, sexual, economic, and otherwise, not out of some sense of nihilism, but believing that what one had to do was transcend the ordinary to arrive at the profane. There was something permanent and transcendent about the college...from its old ivy-covered buildings to its aging faculty." Adi took a shallow breath, shivered again. "It existed outside of real life. It came to stand against the transitory nature and failure of everything I had lived through. But the thing is, now I don't know how to reconcile that life with this life out here. I have this superficial sense of self-consciousness. I see myself as nothing but a character passing by in a car. I see myself as nothing."

Adi hasn't finished her dissertation, she feels, because she has nothing to say. When she does catch a break, it's only because the attempted suicide of another character initiates a chain of events in which she becomes the executor of his estate. She is able to capitalize on the fervor with which his fiction, written in quiet desperation and previously unpublished, is embraced in the wake of the scandal. Even though she ultimately garners a peachy tenure-track position at another exclusive, private college, she recognizes that her "dream job" is simply the result of learning how to play the game. She resigns herself to being the facilitator, the conduit of genius, rather than a creative force herself.

There was a time when I felt very lucky to be studying literature, to be "reading for a living," as I winkingly told people, and hopeful that this would lead to a busy, purposeful life in which I was stimulated and fulfilled. (Sounds good enough to be almost naughty, doesn't it?) I enjoyed my eight-hour sojourns in the library, snaking through the stacks in search of the ultimate justification for my argument. I buzzed like an extreme athlete when I finished a paper just minutes before a deadline, instinctively knowing that I'd nailed it, stuck the landing, even the German judge would give me a 9.9. I enjoyed discussing passages like the one above, but more than just enjoyed it, I felt there was some intrinsic importance in the act of discussing things. Analyzing texts could make me smarter, bit by bit, and when I was smarter, bit by bit I could contribute to the world.

I finished my Ph.D., wore my cap and gown along with hundreds of others, took photos in which I'm smiling with a tassel in front of my face. Officially, I have the right to be addressed as "Dr." now. Not to brag, but about 50 percent of Ph.D. candidates in the humanities do not finish that dissertation and graduate. It's lonely, isolating work, writing a 300 page book with no one to talk to, no one to validate your ideas, no one to remind you not to spend the day watching reruns of 90210 and eating Nilla wafers out of the box. The people who finish tend to be focused, disciplined. They know what they signed up for, and are prepared to follow the necessary steps to achieve recognition, which is NOT a diploma--it's a job. And job is the wrong word, because being an academic is a lifestyle that encompasses so much more than working. Yes, it's about teaching, about writing and research, but it's about seeing the big picture for all three. Most of all, it's caring not just about what you do, but what you THINK, because as a writer and academic, you are what you think.

From the earliest days of my coursework, I could tell that I didn't understand that part. It's not that I am fundamentally opposed to any of the elements--on the contrary, reading, writing, researching, teaching, discussing and thinking are probably my favorite things to do. Somehow, though, bringing them all together in an organized, cohesive, progressive fashion overwhelmed me. Very early on, I knew I wasn't up for it. In fact, I was sitting in yet another droning, humorless, lingo-stuffed seminar in my second year of classes when I decided to drop out and move to New York, where I'd show up at Entertainment Weekly and work my way up to movie reviewer. I told a classmate my plan during the break. His expression didn't even change. "Have some coffee," he said. "You'll feel better."

That's a funny story, but it's not his fault that I didn't do it. I didn't do it because I was afraid, which is why I haven't done a lot of things. But I don't think I didn't become an academic because I was afraid. Sure, that would have been terrifying--week-long interviews at colleges in the midwest where a dozen people observe how you use your fork!--but I've plunged right into terrifying things when I really cared about them.

Do I regret not being an academic? I don't think so. I remember one of my committee members, a delightful, brilliant woman who's had tenure forever, reaching across her desk to grip my wrist. "You should write a biography. It would be fun. People would actually read it. Get out while you can. If you stay here, no one will ever see what you write."

I didn't seriously consider writing that biography, nor have I ever *seriously* considered writing anything. I never faced the question, "If I'm not an academic, what will I be instead?" Now--again, I recognize this is an excuse--I spend most of the day wiping things (dishes, counters, noses, bums) and can't seem to think about much at all. Like Adi, though, I have been rigorously trained to do something that I'm not really doing. And that makes it hard to accept ordinary life. I have "a superficial sense of self-consciousness" about spending each day as a mom without a job. Is this what it's supposed to look like? Am I doing it right? Am I supposed to be this bored? When people ask, "Are you working?" why do I wince before I answer? Yes, yes, I know this is a job in its own right, and yes, yes, I know I made this choice. That doesn't change my overwhelming sense of ennui, however. I watch myself, the character passing by in the car, and wonder why she doesn't do more of...what? Something in which I am part of a community, I know that much. Now I am so very often alone.

Do I regret being a mom? Not for a minute. Jarrah is my daughter, and I've made certain choices in order to find her and get to her. I also don't blame her for the way I feel. Whatever I am struggling with was going on long before she arrived on the scene.

Like Adi, I've spent years tearing things apart. I have learned to do it well and I'm really good at it. Also like Adi, I want to build something instead, to create, but I'm not sure I have it in me. At the end of the novel, Adi stands by her office window, drinking coffee and watching the rain, musing about the papers she'll be grading over Thanksgiving break. I felt envious of her, in a way, because she achieved what I didn't. But I also felt a kinship with her, because things didn't turn out quite how she expected.

The News in Brief

1. Jarrah did her business in the new potty this morning for the first time. So, it only took her 10 days to get the idea. Sarcasm is hard to detect in blog posts, I know. ;) Ever the multi-tasker, she simultaneously...

2. Read Old Hat, New Hat out loud. It was a thrilling day for Jarrah's text-analyzing mum when she chose this fine volume for her first recitation about a week ago. The book has no plot to speak of, just a Berenstain Bear trading in his tattered fedora for a fine new chapeau...if only they weren't "too beady, "too bumpy," "too feathered" and whatnot. She has the whole thing memorized except for a couple of adjectives she has no previous context for, to which she charmingly admits, "Don't know." Until I actually heard my child reading a book aloud, I didn't realize it would bring a tear to me eye.

3. We rode an antique train! From the '40s or even further back; it was hard to concentrate on the historical details while supplying two toddlers with snacks and walking up and down the aisles. Luckily, the train was swarming with children who were all doing the same. The windows were open, inviting the hot, dusty breeze of Campo, a town near the U.S./Mexico border that certainly has an impressive array of shrubbery. The ride was about 90 minutes out and back, and made even more charming by Joy's Grandma and Grandpa in special train costumes, narrating the journey for us. Jarrah especially liked when the "yellow bus" detached from the front and trundled around to the back via a parallel track.

4. We went to see Jarrah's third feature film in the theater! And we didn't have to flee to the lobby even once. The movie was Shrek the Third, and Jarrah wasn't scared a bit. I think we owe this circumstance to her previous ogre initiation via an episode of Charlie & Lola, in which Lola helps an insomniac ogre fall asleep with an improvised lullabye. Whenever Shrek left the screen (luckily not often) Jarrah would call out "Where ogre gone?" The movie was in a stadium theater with a section of trio seating, and it warmed my heart whenever I glanced over at the tiniest member of our movie-crazed family, the one who announced on the way home, "Watch ogre movie again. Peez." Now, we have a whole new category for reviewing this sequel that the critics ignored: it's the only one we've seen with Jarrah, so it's the best!

5. David and I celebrated our sixth anniversary! He treated me to dinner at the Parkhouse Eatery in my old neighborhood and a play at the Diversionary called Bunbury. Discerning Oscar Wilde fans will want to know: yep, THAT Bunbury--the one who's "more of a concept, really" in The Importance of Being Earnest, which is my favorite play. In this play, the character exists in parallel to the others, and meets up with Rosaline from Romeo and Juliet (another character who never appears in her play) and the two of them run amok through literary history, altering details so that poignant, thoughtful tragedies end up cheerful and bland. It was funny but also had us discussing themes in the middle of the night.

My Girl Wants to Potty All the Time

Today is a banner day because when we got home from Animal Crackers there was a giant box on our doorstep. And I knew what was in there.

"Ooooh!" I squealed, like a girl who's just been presented diamonds or Jimmy Choos, "Jarrah! Your potty is here!"

For some time now, Jarrah has enjoyed the occasional respite from her busy life on a cushy seat insert atop our toilet. She's never done anything up there, but she enjoys the view. Recently, I purchased her the book Once Upon a Potty, about a little girl named Prudence and her adventures in Pee-Pee and Poo-Poo. Jarrah enjoys this book very much.

"My potty?" Jarrah asked, perplexed. "In bawth-room!"

"This is your very own potty," I told her. "All for you."

"Open!" she said. "Open, open!"

"As soon as I bring the groceries in."

But she couldn't wait. She hoisted the box which was--no joke--taller and wider than she is, and carried it over the threshold. "Open, open!" she repeated, each time I walked by with bags.

When I finally zipped open the top and revealed what looked kinda like a salad spinner, she was entranced. She smiled at me and said:

"And she sat and sat and sat and sat."

For a moment, I had no idea what she meant. I often have no idea what she's talking about these days. It used to be that I couldn't understand her. But now it's about fifty-fifty between the unintelligibility factor and the opaque logic factor. Sometimes I just can't work out how she got from A to Z. Then it dawned on me.

"Yes! Just like in the book! That's what you do on the potty!"

She couldn't pull her pants off fast enough. She sat down, smiled, and...she sat and sat and sat. I got the book and read it to her. But she wasn't really listening because the potty also came with a Prudence doll, who comes with a Velcro diaper. Off and on. Off and on. Finally:

"All done!"

"Well, that's the cool thing about this potty," I said. "When you're all done, you just stand up and go. You don't have to wait for us to help you."

She stood up, very pleased with herself. She peered in the potty. "Look!" she shouted, "A tiny poo-poo!"

I looked. There was a speck, maybe a sand granule or wood particulate from the park. Maybe just a molecule of fuzz. No poo-poo. The kid has some amazing eyesight.

"Not this time." I said. "But maybe next time, okay?" She was satisfied as long as Prudence could take a nap with her. I'll keep you posted on further developments.

In more serious news, thanks to everyone who expressed concern for the state of Jarrah's health after my last harrowing post. It was a tough week of staying indoors in isolation, but she is much, much better. She still coughs occasionally, but each day when she doesn't vomit is a good day. One learns to be thankful for the little things. ;)

I Think I've Earned My Mom Badge Now

Back to "As the Toddler Turns:" Jarrah was still steaming when David got home yesterday. She was also peculiarly gray in visage and her breathing was shallow and rapid. We tossed her in the tub and she barely protested. That was also weird. We stalled for a bit but I think we both knew it was time. When we finally called our pediatrician's office, the attending said "Go to the ER." So we did.

I was nervous and light-headed on the way there; thankfully, I don't know much about emergency rooms, let alone those devoted to children's emergencies. The whole thing seemed slightly surreal. David dropped us in the circular drive and went to park the car. I had just gotten Jarrah out of the car seat when I heard someone behind me say "She's gonna blow!" Right then Jarrah barfed down my back and into my open purse. Suddenly, I was a weird combination of embarrassed and scared. I started running with Jarrah in my arms towards the check-in desk, and then straight back out again as I wondered: "Is it rude to carry a vomiting child indoors?" Then my terror overruled that polite consideration and I ran back the other way. I got in line and Jarrah snuggled her head under my chin. Just before my turn, she let loose a torrent of puke directly into my cleavage. Twice. I stood there, clutching my burning child, coated in hot vomit, just in time to hear "Next!" I opened my mouth, and no sound came out. Tears started running down my face.

"It's okay, Mom." said the admitting nurse. Like an angel. A special Patron Saint of Vomit. She slipped the little pulse thing-o on Jarrah's finger. "She's awake and responsive. That's a good thing, Mom. It's okay." I cried some more but managed to get out a couple pertinent details. David came in just as it was time to sit down and wait. Now I was able to focus on other things, like the fact that I was wearing vomit and hadn't brought a change of clothes, and that everything in my purse was wet and stinky. I snapped open my cell phone. Totally wrecked.

I couldn't change, but I had a moment to appreciate our surroundings. The lobby was new, and sort of cheerful. There wasn't any screaming or crying; no one appeared to be bleeding or dying. By the time I was done with that, they were calling "Ja-RAH! Ja-RAH!" and we were on our way to triage.

The triage nurse took her temperature, and then we all held her head for a very sloooooow dose of Motrin (since all the recent ones had come right back up.) By now Jarrah was no longer excited about the "doc-tah"--back at the house she'd been psyched, since she'd seen one on the Wiggles. The nurse sent us back out to the lobby, saying "If you haven't been called in an hour, let me know." Uh-oh. But they called us in two minutes, if that. I never did finish any of the admitting paperwork they gave us. Hopefully someone did.

When we got to the overly bright room with the paper tablecloth, Jarrah was over it. "Go home now," she said. "I want to go home, too, sweetie," I said. I really did. I was ready for dinner and Heroes. "We've got to wait for the doctor." Another triage nurse came by to do her vitals, and said she "heard something" in Jarrah's left lung. Eek.

All of the above happened bim, bam, boom. But we waited for the doctor for an hour. We put Jarrah in a gown covered in tigers. "Don't like it," she said. "Don't want it." We got her a cherry popsicle and the nurse took her temp again. It had gone up. But she still had the presence of mind to prefer the Red Vines from the gift shop to her popsicle. "That one," she said. And then she said it about 20 more times. Because we thought she had the stomach flu, however, we couldn't give her anything but liquids, in the interest of keeping the Motrin in.

I was getting hungry (and cold--I ended up shucking the vomit shirt and putting on David's jacket with nothing underneath) so David sent me to the attached McDonald's for a snack. Later, he said that Jarrah cried for me the whole time I was gone. Cringe. McDonald's in a Children's Hospital is even more depressing than usual. I ate a cold Happy Meal while reading a brochure on how McDonald's gives back to the community. I listened to a man near me say into his cell phone, "We're here for the duration. Thanks for your prayers." I shivered thinking about all those tired, sick kids on the other side of the wall, and their anxious families sitting around. I scurried back to our room.

When I got there, David was talking to Dr. Dabhia. She was young and beautiful, and very sweet. She confirmed that Jarrah needed a chest x-ray, and went off to order it. Right before she did, I stood up and almost fainted. The room spun around and around. I had to sit down and put my head between my knees. I'm not sure what was going on; maybe I had forgotten to breathe for a while.

David went snack-hunting right as the respiratory technician came in. He explained that he was going to give Jarrah a breathing treatment. He asked me to seat her on the edge of the table and hold her hands. Then he snapped the little mask like you see in the movies over her face and turned on a big unit that pumped out dense, white steam through a blue tube. For a split second she froze, in what looked like total disbelief rather than shock. Then she opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs, ripped off the mask and made a dash for the door. That's my girl--she can take care of herself. I wanted to be strong for her, but I immediately began sobbing when I saw her little face looking so betrayed, that expression that says, "Why are you letting this happen to me?"

In the end, the technician and I had the lovely experience of holding Jarrah in a headlock (it took two of us--she's that strong) while he pressed the hose directly to her nose and mouth without the scary mask. I swear we did this for 15 minutes, and my eyes were about six inches from his crotch the whole time. You know, because the situation wouldn't have been quite awkward enough otherwise. Throughout, Jarrah was keening, "Noooooo.....noooooo.......noooooo" until he finally said "There's no owies, right?" and something seemed to click for her--true enough, there were no owies! She stopped crying and moaning, though we still had to hold her head.

Immediately after, a radiology technician popped in to take us to x-ray. By now Jarrah looked positively shell-shocked. "Any chance you're pregnant?" the cute x-ray girl asked. "Um, nooooo." I said, in my sarcastic voice. I've got to stop doing that with total strangers. We hoisted Jarrah onto a narrow table and the technician strapped her down. Then she positioned bright lights on her and wheeled a giant machine towards her. "Look!" I cried shrilly. "What a big camera! You're going to have your picture taken, but this camera is much bigger than Daddy's!" I stepped behind a giant glass screen while David held Jarrah's arms over her head. Her expression was dumbfounded, but she didn't cry or struggle.

Back to our room, which was starting to feel like home. Jarrah thought the ceiling track for the privacy curtain was for trains, so I turned it into a choo-choo and made it chug along for her. A sweet nurse brought her a stuffed giraffe as a souvenir of her visit. She found the abandoned oxygen mask on the counter and made him wear it. She palpated his stomach (which had been done to her several times already) and said, "Giraffe go to doc-tah!" We had a pink vomit basin from earlier, which Jarrah decided was a phone: "Hello? Hello? See you soon!" Then I positioned the giraffe's head over it and said "Blehhhh! Blehhhh!" "Don't give her any ideas, " said David.

Dr. Dabhia came back and told us Jarrah had pneumonia, in the early stages. She was going to need antibiotics. She went off again to write up the Rx. A cute nurse who reminded me of Seth Rogen from Freaks and Geeks came in to discharge us, and explained that Jarrah was only throwing up because she was coughing so hard. All signs pointed to it having been a good idea that we got her looked at sooner rather than later.

Jarrah was ecstatic that we were going home. It was 10:30 p.m., we'd been at the hospital for nearly four hours, we'd been treated really well, and we'd gotten some answers. Outside, it was strangely tropical, like Hawaii, only we were in a parking structure in Kearny Mesa. "Wiggles!" shouted Jarrah as we made our way to the car. She has a very strong association of where we parked for the Wiggles concert, and since her mommy is claustrophobic and avoids parking garages whenever possible, there hasn't been much to compete with this memory. Now there is.

I'd like to say that all our troubles came to an end with our return home, but Jarrah soon vomited in her clean bed and spent most of the night alternately crying and coughing. I went unshowered and unbreakfasted to the pharmacy when I finally woke up, having been up the first half of the night on a hair-trigger response for more coughing-vomiting interludes. Jarrah slept in, clearly exhausted from her cootie battle.

And get this: insurance wouldn't cover any of her meds because a generic is being released on May 11. Because we obviously can't wait for it, we had to pay over a hundred dollars to get her better starting today. I guess they think she should just suffer until then to get the generic? If I wasn't so tired, I'd be making some irate phone calls. Tomorrow's another day.

41 Cents

Jarrah is sick again, a scant two weeks since her last fever extravaganza. She's already missed one day of school, and today she threw up while she was taking her nap. She threw up twice more while I was trying to clean it up. I'm guessing she'll miss the other day, too. I'm trying to do the responsible thing by plying her with fluids and keeping her inside, away from other children. However, I am accomplishing these goals with a gross of Capri Suns from Wal Mart and far more than the recommended daily allowance of Elmo.

I did get out to the dentist today. That was relaxing, at least. I planned--six months ago--to go when Jarrah was in school. I once tried to reschedule an appointment and they offered me another in 2008. So, David had to be late for work.

On the way there, I stopped at our local post office to mail a package. I belong to a Yahoo! group for people who have adopted from the Chongqing Children's Home, and one of the members is collecting photo collages of children who once lived at the orphanage, to put in a book which she’ll mail to the Home. Another member posted that when she visited, the CCH director proudly displayed the books from previous years. It's a very sweet idea, and I feel guilty that I've missed the original deadline by nearly two weeks. Luckily, a recent post suggests that there is a whole mess of other slackers like us. So I think we'll make it in.

The post office was peaceful on a Tuesday morning, and the line was short. I made a mental note to ask for a book of stamps. These days, a mental note does not suffice; I must also mentally underline the note with a green highlighter several times, and then thumbtack it to my frontal lobe. So I was busy focusing as I approached the man behind the counter. I gave him my package, and said:

"I just heard in line that the postal rate is going up--"

"You JUST heard? Where ya been? Under a rock?"

"Um...hanging out with a two-year-old?"

"It's been in the paper. It's been on the news. There have been notices everywhere."

"Okay. When does it go into effect?"

"You really don't know?"

"No." I had an urge to apologize, but stifled it.

"Monday."

"Yikes, I guess I need some stamps then."

He whipped out a little black book of stamps, seemingly from his pocket, but probably not. "You see these? They're good forever. Even if the postal rate goes to 50 cents, you can use them. They will always be good."

I waited for him to explain how to peel the sticky bit off the backing, affix it to the top-right corner of the envelope, and then think real hard about what to put in there. But he didn't. He was done with me.

Where is our friendly, neighborhood post office? I wanted to say to him. Didn't I wave to you on a float at Spring Fest? Didn't you throw us candy? What has changed?

I hung my head and slunk away in shame. I live under a rock. If only they'd done a feature on the postal rate change in US Weekly, I'd have been on top if it. If only Britney Spears had worn a T-shirt with the new stamp on it. Alas, no. I need to get out more, or at the very least, watch more TV.

In related news, I was apparently vague about how Spring Fest got its new alias. We told Jarrah we were taking her to Spring Fest, and she said "Beef Fest, yay!" And we tried really, really, really hard not to repeat that, but we failed.