CityMama™

BUNNY-ISMS

Sometimes, I wish I didn't have to be woken up every morning by a little three-year-old calling, "Maaaaammmaaa, I'm ready for bum wipeeees!"
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The other day, Bunny sidled up to me and remarked, "Hey mamma, guess what? I don't eat my boogers anymore."*
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A Ramones song came on the radio and Bunny exclaimed, "It's Green Day, Mamma!" (snort)
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"Why do you have long boobies?" asked Bunny one night as we sat in the bath.

*I had explained the function of boogers two days prior.  I guess my science lesson sunk in.

DIARY OF A MADWOMAN

I haven't left the house since Wednesday, which means that I have been inside for almost 72 hours.  Oh wait, I did step outside to put a pukey pillow outside on the back deck to dry in the sun.

I'm a homebody at heart, but I have to get out of the house at least once a day or I start to go a little nuts. When I start to go a little nuts I do things like buy perfume online that I've never smelled before just because I like the bottle. (Inner voice: It has to smell good, it's Italian.)

I've also spent naptimes obsessively hunting for places to live. Then I snap my lap top shut in disgust when I come across listings like this. The awesome-on-paper place I was supposed to look at on Wednesday? Rented.  Why make the appointment if you know you showed it the previous weekend and someone will probably want it because it's...awesome-on-paper? Frustrating.

I heart San Francisco. Only here can landlords skirt discriminatory rental policies by stating things like "this flat would be perfect for two professionals" or "no more than two tenants" or "this flat is on the third floor. There are 35 steps and no elevator. (...so dont bother trying to drag a stroller up here.)" Oh, I just love the veiled "no kids, please" disclaimers. And why are these Disclaimer Flats all in Castro/Upper Market (or, okay, Telegraph Hill. They hate breeders there, too.) I wonder?

Albertsons.com is coming later to deliver more Clorox wipes, cheap-ass red wine, and "chicken bones" that Bunny requested for dinner. I guess she is feeling better if she's hungry for drumsticks.  Either that or she wants to take her T.Rex impersonation to the next level.

Did I mention that Bunny enjoys stalking Wallie with her arms flopping in front of her, gnashing her teeth and growling, "I'm a tyrannosaurus and I'm going to CHOMP YOU, WALLIE!" Poor Wallie wobbles away with a furrowed brow, anxiously whining, "No sinosaur! No sinosaur! Waaaah!"

Upside: Kids are better.  They respond well to being homebodies.

Another upside: Maybe I'll take a shower today.

And yet another: We look at a house tomorrow morning, and hopefully it'll be right for us.

FRIDAY LINK LOVE—4/28/06

Greetings from the Hot Zone. Put on your biohazard suit and check out some links:

• See San Francisco the "Mundane" way.
• Can a red paper clip be traded for a house? Find out.
• Blogs I'm digging: Mommy off the Record, The Delaney Diaries, and Urban Baby Runway

If you read CityMama and you blog, please comment!  It's pretty much the only way I discover new blogs. I'd love to dig you!

Have a great weekend!

AT LEAST IT'S SUNNY

After a respite from puke all day yesterday, Bunny's illness took a turn just before bedtime. Suddenly she was lobster-red, covered in a hive-like rash, and itching like mad.

I called J. at work. He raced home and took Bunny to urgent care. She was pronounced with a mystery virus that has, apparently, been plaguing San Francisco. Vomiting plus rash. Give it five days.

Last night, she threw up 3 times (once in her bed, once in ours, once in the bathroom). Now, she's asleep in my bed. And her little, concerned sister is left to wonder, "What's wrong with Bunny?"

And the laundry continues.

IS YOUR GMAIL ALL FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW?

Is anyone else (using Firefox on a Mac) locked out of their gmail account? Or, rather, signed into one account but can't get into any others?

Or, is it just me because Frisco hates my guts?

It's fine now.

SAN FRANCISCO HATES US

I'm starting to think we're cursed.

Ever since we moved back to San Francisco, we've been plagued with illnesses. It's almost biblical.  The day, the very day, we moved here, the girls got pink eye. Since then we've had vomiting before we were supposed to have a brunch party. Bronchitis that incapacitated us for almost three weeks. And now both girls are sick. Again.

Bunny has been puking for 24 hours. I've washed my bed linens twice. Including the comforters—a major pain in the ass. Why do they never puke in their own bed? Why is it always in your bed? Or in the car? I know Wallie is going to get it any moment.  I'm refereeing as hard as I can, but I cannot keep them separated. Bunny keeps whimpering that she wants to "smell Wallie's head." (She has a little smell fixation...)  It's days like this I wish I had a live-in nanny.

Bunny is hungry and thirsty, but she can't keep anything down. She lays with her head on my lap. I've even broken down and allowed her to watch Caillou, the little French-Canadian brat that teaches kids how to be whiny.

All this and I'm supposed to look at a flat today. A "really great on paper" flat. With laundry in the unit.

Frisco, can you please give me a break?

TRAVELLING WITH KIDS: IT'S NOT THE TRAVELLING THAT'S HARD

Our kids don't travel well. Everytime we travel, they get sick.  Case in point: we just travelled, they're both sick. Bunny is has a cold and has been complaining of a sore tummy since we got back. Today, she threw up twice. One of those times was in the car. In a word? Gross. In another? Febreze.

Wallie's nose has been running like a faucet since we hit our cruising altitude of 35,000 feet.

It's enough to make you never want to leave the house.

It's frustrating, though because this last trip I feel like we finally got our travel plan honed so that form finally follows function, if you will. Thank goodness Wallie is old enough not to need so much crap. Travelling for me is a battle. It's me vs. The Shit. All that fucking shit you have to carry everywhere.

What makes our plan so workable?  Here's what I've learned over the years:

• Buy your over-six-month-old-but-under-two-year-old a seat if you can. You don't have to, but if you can, do it. They will be more comfortable and so will you.
• Don't bring a carseat (if your child is old enough to sit in an airline seat without one) if you can rent one (or borrow one) at your destination. It's what we do with Bunny. We bring Wallie's seat so she has a place to sit on the plane, but we always rent one for Bun whenever we rent a car. I can't wait until Wallie is old enough not to need a carseat on the plane.  And, despite what everybody and their mother loves to whine about: 1) we've never been given a gross car seat, and 2) we've never not been given one.
• Minimize the carry-ons. If your preschooler does the "carry his/her own backpack thing" make sure it's not so weighed down with toys and crap that you'll end up carrying it after 10 minutes. I carry a big tote bag into which I throw: my purse, my laptop in a zippered sleeve (if I'm bringing it), a couple of diapers, and some portable, non-messy snacks (an apple, some pretzels. I wish my kids would eat bars but they no likee). I don't bring sippies anymore. (Thank god. It's one less thing to keep track of.) My kids drink water at the airport or on the plane. (Teach your babies how to use a straw when you introduce a sippy cup and then teach them to sip from a regular cup soon after.) I don't bring changes of clothes anymore either. If disaster strikes on the plane, my kid can enjoy wearing an airplane blanket until we hit baggage claim.
• Minimize the luggage. My girls share a backpack. The only shoes we bring are the ones we wear on the plane.
• Board first.
• Bring an umbrella stroller and gate-check it.
• Travel at naptimes or natural sleep times. But don't ever take a red-eye. That's a seemingly-brilliant plan just waiting to backfire on you.  The moment you spread an airplane blanket down on the floor beneath your feet then tell your three-year-old to sleep on it you'll realize your mistake.

What else?

WORKIN'

Yesterday I officially started my new gig (hooray!) but I still can't discuss details yet (wah!).  Soon.

The big, huge downside of my new job is that I had to quit my job at Blogging Baby.  Can't do both. I'm going to miss having an outlet for all my celebrity snark, but at least TomKat hatched their child on my watch.

It's amazing how even when you work from home you can experience a "work culture." The work culture at BB was chill. I will miss my co-workers. Even though we worked from home all over the world, it always felt like we worked in the same office. Another reason to thank the universe for instant messaging. It's what allows me to virturally hang over the cube wall and say, "Hey, how was your weekend?"

I also wanted to especially acknowledge the Big Cheeses—Sarah Gilbert, Melissa Summers, and Karen Walrond—for creating a culture at Blogging Baby where bloggers were empowered, supported, and treated like equals. For saying things like, "Of course you can write the word 'tits,' I just used the word 'ass.'" They don't run the blog like a mini fifedom. I appreciated that muchly.

Keep on keepin' on, Blogging Baby!

MINIVAN LUST

Everytime we travel we rent a minivan. And we love it. I know I've written about this before, but I love me a rented minivan. Two words: cup holders.  Too bad they're so frickin' ugly.  It's like driving a brick of cheese down the freeway. Swear ta gawd it's the only thing holding us back from getting one. That and we can never remember the name of the car we're driving.  What kind of car did we drive this weekend?  A Chrys--? A Ponti--? I dunno. A minivan.

Was a time in our lives when cars were important to us. I like to call those times the Stupid Nineties, when J. and I had kick-ass dotbomb jobs, no kids, and plenty of disposable income which we enjoyed disposing on martinis and restaurant dinners with friends that started at 10PM. J. had Sven, his sweet Saab (the car for "intellectuals"), and I had Mochi, my beloved Cabrio (the car for "girls,") followed up by Stella, my new Beetle (the car for "girls with jobs") which I got the second my Cabrio lease was up.

Then the 90's were over.

Then we had kids.

Then I didn't go back to work.

Then we decided that—pfftt—we weren't what we drove. We were "above that" on a budget.

Now we drive an 11 year old SUV ("Olive") which we bought two years ago for cash for hauling my garage sale treasures shit around. She runs great and has served us well. Have to admit, it's nice not having a car payment. But, soon, it will be time to get a new car, and I'll say it, I'd serve my kids beans and rice at every meal to drive one of these. (I will have it. I will have it. I will have an R-Class.) If I put my intention out into the universe, won't it come back to me?)

But, look at it! It's a sexy minivan! It's what the that fancy Nissan minivan should look like, but totally misses the mark. What is it? The Quest? It's all swoopy like the R-Class, but it's not sleek at all. It looks like a swoopy brick of cheese.

The practical, safe, comfortable next car to get would be something like a minivan. I just can't go there yet. Or let's say, I could go there if my other car was this. I've always had a place in my heart for VW Golf's. I think of them as the perfect family car: smallish, 4-door, hatch back. The A3 is that, but sportier. Snazzier. Dreams.

But, when I think of safety, I think Mercedes. Doesn't my family deserve to be protected by the finest European safety engineering?

I will have an R-class.

Why am I even bothering to think about cars when my family is 2 months away from being homeless? Can we say "coping mechanism?"

PORTLAND STILL FEELS LIKE HOME

We arrived in Portland Friday evening and driving the 15 minutes from the airport to our Northeast neighborhood I felt myself relax for the first time in four months. It felt so good to be on Fremont Street to see families out for an after dinner stroll. I miss doing that.

As I looked down neighborhood side streets, I saw what looked like snowflakes floating down from the sky and covering the sidewalks, but no, it was just cherry blossom petals blowing in the breeze.

As we turned on our street, there was our yellow house looking down at us from the top of its little hill. The lawn that was brown when we left is now green. Bulbs are blooming, the magnolia tree is full of pale pink blossoms, and the wisteria over the front porch is starting to bud. As we pointed out our house to Bunny (who hasn't seen it in four months) she asked, "Are we staying there?"

"No, we can't, " I responded, "The little girls who live there now are still there."  Bunny thought for a moment and then replied, "That's okay. We can just go to the hotel."  And that's when I knew we were going to be okay.

Our plan was to paint the trim in the basement and kitchen, but we didnt realize how hard that was going to be with two kids in tow. For those that don't know, last fall we remodeled our kitchen and replaced windows and added decorative trim to our basement family room, but we didn't have a chance to finish the little details before we had to move.

Bunny went off to a friend's for most of Saturday. Wallie wouldn't nap so that rendered 3-4 hours that I could have been helping J. totally useless while I tried to get Wallie to sleep.  A bomb was thrown into my Saturday evening plans to see friends because J. need to finish as much painting as he could while I stayed with the girls in the hotel. I did manage to sneak out for two hours to visit my pal Mamaloo and her new baby boy (the cutest!) in the hospital, but that's about it. It's okay, I was tired. And even though J. painted until 4:00AM, we're still not done. He'll have to go back in a couple of weeks.

It was fantastic to be back in our house, though. I miss it so much. I miss being able to relax among my own things. Our Portland house isn't a perfect house by any means, but (gonna brag a little) it's a damn nice house. It's home. We put so much work into it during the 16 months we lived there from the new double-paned windows upstairs to make our 1927-built house a little warmer to the new kitchen to the comfortable family room. We had more planned: landscaping in the front, a backyard deck, a Japanese soaking tub, finishing out the attic into a playroom for the girls, more painting...

Now we'll never get to do those projects. We'll never get to watch our house evolve into our idea of a perfect house. Even though it was so wonderful to be there, it's sad to see our house in as much of a state of transition as we are.

We walked into the house and J. and I looked at each other and could instantly read each other's minds. "What a great house," he kept saying. "How can we sell it."

"I don't know. How can we?"

We got back to San Francisco yesterday afternoon. The girls were totally wrecked so we fed them dinner, got them into the tub, and then it was straight to bed. J. and I spent a few hours online looking for rentals. Seems like all the good-sounding places held open houses over the weekend and are probably rented by now.

In June we'll be in a new house, but this time we'll have our own furniture, our own cooking utensils, our own pictures on the walls.  Hopefully then, we'll be one step closer to home.