making J.C. proud

Lately, when Lizzy's in a particularly playful mood, she'll start speaking to me in a haughtily superior, yet affectionate, tone. If she calls me Madame, I know it's time to put on my English accent. If she calls me 'your Majesty/highness,' then I know she thinks I'm asking a bit much of her. Then that would be the Cinderella game, and Cinderella has an American accent. Different thing altogether.

She's done this accent thing a couple of times lately. I'm not quite sure where she picked it up. I mean, there's Lumpy (the heffalump) in the Winnie the Pooh movie of a couple of years ago, and still in rotation in our house; and you've got the Fairy Godmother (a brilliant turn by the always-hilarious Jennifer Saunders) in Shrek 2. And, of course, a darling little cartoon that we've seen on Disney's Playhouse called Charlie and Lola. I guess the combination of influences is what has her talking like a Brit. Whatever it is, I think it's brilliant, and a ripping good time.
Dear friends of mine -- John and Kat Casson -- moved (back) to England awhile back. They knew us when I was going through the whole "Um, hey everybody, I'm pregnant" stage. They've always been two of Lizzy's biggest fans. When Lizzy was a wee babe, John used to tell me that he pictured Lizzy speaking in a British accent, and it was a bit of a shock, actually, to hear her very American-sounding words when she did learn to talk a little. It just didn't seem right. And so, it feels somehow fitting that she would brush up on the language of Shakespeare, and her mother's ancestors, a bit later in childhood.
I hope they -- John and Kat, that is -- get to hear it from her in person one day.

O, Come Let Us A-dore Hi-him, Buy Some Ice-Cream!

Oops. Another misfire on the 'send' button again. Sorry about that.

Friend dinner update: It was really fun! We got to chatting right away. And her husband is a total sweetie. I love to see my friends end up with good guys (or gals). He gamely ordered the sushi dinner, as well. Lizzy was a little pill, but I think we all had a good time. So good to see them.
And apparently, I need to brush up on my Pete-speak. I'll have to make an appointment. Does he teach private classes, do you suppose? Is there an alphabet code somewhere? It's officially on my to-do list.

Matt and I spent Sunday working on the house. And it's still not ready for sale. Urgh! I painted Lizzy's room, which almost looks worse now, because apparently, the bozos who sold it to us painted over wallpaper, and the reason we had to repaint was because we had a leak during a bad rainstorm, and some moisture marked up the wall and ceiling. Well, apparently it's still in the wallpaper underneath. Bizarre.
I was standing on my $10 folding chair, which is serving as a footstool (amazingly, we have thus far done so without injury), looking up at the ceiling, painting away, feeling fine mist that falls one one's face when one is painting a ceiling, when I heard the tinny sounds of the ice cream truck drive up outside. This, I will NOT miss about the old neighborhood. And it played. And played. And played. And played! I must've heard close to a dozen songs, most of them holiday-themed. O Come Let Us Adore Him was my personal favorite for its utter incongruity. Is the ice-cream truck driver unaware that the tunes he played were Christmas music? Did he care? Whose bright idea was it to turn sacred carols into truck jingles? Just odd.
(I told this to a friend and fellow veteran of that particular street. She points out that it's quite possible that ice cream was being sold for the entirety of the song play, from what she observed when she was there. Wow.)

Also accomplished this weekend: A visit to Wegman's! Wegman's, of which I have heard so much. And none of it was exaggerated. It is indeed a wonder that one must behold for oneself. And, really, it didn't have to be that great (but it was!). They totally had me at: Free child care while you shop. Thank goodness for neighbors who have the grocery store-seeking initiative that we lack.

friday afternoon

It's definitely 4:45 on a Friday. My wrist is sore from a week of attempting to corral my new cordless mouse. It likes to skitter across the screen, playfully avoiding the very thing I'm trying to guide it to. And the physical mouse part likes to plunge dramatically to the floor now and then. I can't seem to get the angle quite right to simultaneously be comfortable for my arm, and to prevent the thing from falling. Something to work on.

It's that time of day when the morning coffee has worn off, but I don't have enough time to take a rejuvenating walk and make it back to do anything productive after that. I don't want to start a new project, because I'll get too into it and not want to leave in 45 minutes.

Hm. I wonder what the weather's like outside. I challenged the weather folks to be right in their prediction of rain by not wearing a coat. I did, however, take care not to wear a white blouse. I've made that mistake before. Coatless plus white blouse is just begging for trouble, especially with the monsoons that can occur around here.

Matt, Lizzy and I are meeting an old friend of mine for dinner at C4F3 4214 in Arlington. (that's written in Pete code. I love Pete code!) I haven't seen this friend since we were 16. We used to walk to school together, and we both played basketball, as well. After our -- hm, sophomore year? -- she moved to another town in Washington state, and we kind of lost touch, though I heard updates now and then from mutual friends. Now, she's living in Montana with a husband and three (?) children.
It feels kinda weird to have plans with someone I essentially don't know. We were pretty good buddies for a little while, but geez. That was a long time ago. Still, my adult life has been full of lessons on how to make small talk, and I'm sure we'll still be compatible enough people. I'm just not sure whether or not I'm looking forward to it. I love socializing with people I know, but I find that it saps me to do time with folks I don't. But which category does my friend Michele fall into?
I didn't recognize her voice on the phone the couple of times we've talked since she's been in town. I joked that I probably won't recognize her when we do meet up (in a half hour). But she probably feels even more that way -- I used a different name when I knew her (Katie). My poor friends. Had I fully thought through the name-change scenario, I probably wouldn't have done it. (I actually didn't ever intend to change my name, per se. But that's another story for another time.)
These are the plans that sound fabulous, until you get right up to them. But I'm sure we'll have a really good time. If nothing else, we can talk about all of our mutual friends. :) And admire my lovely daughter. (her kids stayed in Montana)
Kids -- the great reservoir of conversation topics. Thank God for them.

strange days

It's been a little weird around here lately. Low-grade weird. Not, I'm trapped in a psychedelic wonderland, but it's kind of cool and groovy weird; more like, hey, did I order THIS kind of coffee? Then again, I don't quite remember. Oh, well, it's tasty and obviously sufficiently caffeinated, weird.

We're selling the house we just moved out of, on Quail Run Lane in Manassas. No, wait! Perhaps Matt's mom is moving in, and we're selling the other Manassas house that SHE'S in! But, hold on. Is THAT a good idea? Hm. Meanwhile, the squirrels (or something) in our 'new' attic are adding a deck to the condo they've been constructing up there. (actually, I haven't heard them in at least a week. But since we have yet to investigate, or set any traps, who knows what the heck is going on.)

I was responsible for content this past Sunday at church. Now, if THAT isn't weird, I don't know what is. I even preached a sermon, of sorts. Sort of. The closest I'll ever come, anyway. Thank goodness. I managed to slip in a Star Trek reference, so that was pretty awesome. To me, anyway. Hm. I hope there weren't very many new people. I'd hate to have our chuch evaluated through a Kate-content-filled lens. :) Unless, of course, they're big Star Trek fans. That would rule.
Doing communion was especially odd. I kept thinking, hey, I'm not qualified to do this! And, I suppose, at some churches, I'm not. Then again, who is? It's all a matter of perspective.

I love my job sometimes. We have these faint brushes with quasi-celebrity. Did I mention that Gary Sinise wandered through the office recently? Yes. We have photos to prove it. Unfortunately, I was away from my desk. (His stint as legless Lieutenant Dan in "Forrest Gump" makes him interested in the 'military newspaper'? I wasn't quite sure of the relevance.) The other guy in the picture is a coworker of mine named Brooks. He hates the photo. Nice to see that men can be as vain as women. I work about 10 feet behind where the photographer must have been standing. A vast sea of cubicles, my office.
For the past 20 minutes, I've been listening to my boss interview the next Bachelor. He's in the Navy, I believe. He says he found his true love on the show, which starts airing April 1! There you go. You read it here first. (hope I don't get busted for that one) Woo, he is a hottie, though. I wonder how Matt would feel about me watching The Bachelor. A press release we received today says that in that first episode, one woman does backflips in her evening wear to impress him. And another, a bodybuilder, wants to arm-wrestle him. I wonder which a man would be more impressed by. (rhetorical question)

My parents visited this past weekend, too. Quite possibly the last time I'll see them in awhile. At least, no trips planned in either direction at this point. At left is a photo of my dad skiing in Alaska (where they're from), just because he's so darned cute in it.
It was very lovely to see them, and fun to show off the new house, even in its 'yes, we STILL have just moved, no matter WHAT the calendar says' state. They were all abuzz with infectious excitement about our beloved alma mater, the Washington State Cougars, making it to the NCAA tournament. Whoop! Whoop!! We even got Matt sort of interested. The Cougs got past Oral Roberts on Thursday, but sadly succumbed, despite an excellent effort, in double overtime to Vanderbilt on Saturday. On Thursday, we had been rooting for George Washington University to beat whomever they played in the hopes that it would ensure a televised broadcast for us to enjoy in that second round. But they got spanked instead, so naturally the networks assumed that no one on the East Coast would care about Vandy vs. WSU. Boooo! We were FORCED to go to Damon's sports bar -- oh, the torture! (joking -- it was fun) to watch. So we camped out in a booth for quite awhile. Lizzy behaved very nicely for what turned out to be the last time that weekend. We kept thinking we were about to clear out, when along would come another overtime. Heartbreaking!
The waiter was hilarious in that inadvertent sort of way. It seemed to me like something that should have been a Saturday Night Live sketch. He was a tall, hulking sort of fellow -- definitely a better door than a window, as Matt put it. He seemed to sense just when the Cougs had a key possession, and he would scurry over to our table, stand in front of it just so as to block all views of the massive TV that we sat about 25 feet from, and say, "Is there anything that I can do for you? Anything at all? I'm here to serve! Are you sure? Are you sure?" as we're desperately dodging and weaving in a futile attempt to glimpse past his giant form. Poor guy. We were his only tip for probably 2 1/2 hours or so. But we were generous. (unlike Vanderbilt! Boo boo BOOOOO.)

reading and weeping

I'm looking at the Manassas housing listings right now. Trying to decide whether to throw up or cry. Neither would be strictly convenient, since I'm sitting at my desk. But it IS Friday afternoon. The rules are a little more lax -- I'm sitting here in my jeans, after all, and my boss has gone home for the day (his day starts a lot earlier than mine). Still, neither activity is smiled upon in a newsroom.

So, I'll just blog instead. (as if that's okay in the newsroom. Heh.)

This is the first weekend that I'm not looking forward to in a very, very long time. Matt and I are 'attacking' the old house tomorrow. All day. While Lizzy watches eight movies with her grandma. (at least, that's what happened the last time they spent the day together. Yes, EIGHT.) And I really don't want to. I don't usually dodge physical labor of any kind, and so I suspect the problem really lies in confronting the issue at hand.
Which is, we will lose a lot of money on this house. A lot of money. We really have only ourselves to blame -- we made the fiscal decisions we made. It's sad to see how many of the houses in the listings are 'bank-owned' -- foreclosures. We're not there yet, though -- who knows. Heh.
Anyway, I don't know how anyone feels about praying for somewhat 'self-imposed problems,' but if you don't mind, could you please pray that we sell our house? Or that God gives us wisdom to know what else to do? And helps us figure out how things fall from there, financially? Carrying two mortgages is not cool.
Thanks for watching out for us in the past, God. Please help us find a solution to this particular problem.
Amen.

In happier news, my alma mater is going to the NCAA basketball tourney! It's really exciting. They tend to let me down, but I'll enjoy it while I can. I get very little news and excitement of the West Coast athletics variety all the way over here. Go Cougs!

Also -- Lizzy and I are getting excited about our vacation to Disneyland in late April. My poor brother. He'll be there with seven females. Perhaps he's the one I should be requesting prayer for.

seven-year sneeze

The day I have feared has finally arrived. No more denying it.

I think I'm somewhat allergic.

To what, I'm not sure. To the D.C. area, I guess.

I remember a story that my then-boss' wife told me when I was in Germany. About how, when they'd been there for about seven years, she suddenly became nearly deathly allergic to something the Germans had that her body hadn't encountered before (apparently). It took seven years for it to wear down her system? Or something. I'm not quite sure how these things work. Anyway, she was hospitalized, etc. It probably didn't help that the Germans don't believe in tidying up the weeds at all (the only thing they didn't feel the need to micromanage, as far as I could tell). Some of them were so lovely, some Germans grew them in their backyards. Yikes.
I'm not too worried about hospitalization; I just didn't want to be one of the sniffling, sneezing masses I see all around me in the spring and fall. You know -- the two seasons that are outrageously lovely around here. For about, oh, five or six weeks each. Until the dreaded winter or (to me) summer arrives. Man, do I live for the springs and falls around here. So beautiful. I've been a smug non-allergy sufferer for far too long.
So I'm none too excited about a reason not to go outdoors.
Maybe the ick in my throat every morning and sneezing throughout the day are a long-lasting, minor cold. That will go away soon. Yeah, that's it.
I mean, seriously! Everyone I know here is allergic to stuff! Doesn't it seem that way to you other D.C.-area types?

passing pony love on to the next generation

I gave Lizzy my beloved Barbie ponies yesterday afternoon. The ones that Santa Claus -- er, my parents -- gave to me yesterday -- er, so long ago.


She was having a blast, trying to decide which Barbie princesses looked best on which horse. She already wants more, 'so the girl horses have boy horses to marry.'

It's so fun to pass things along to her. Something I always wanted to do, not really knowing if it would happen. Would I have a daughter? Would she care? Would I actually be able to find said toy at the right stage of the daughter's life? I love that she is getting as much enjoyment out of them as I did. And that she gets a new toy, and it was free for me.

Having said that ... I can also rest easy, having verified that there are multiple replacements available on eBay, if (when) their delicate little hooves get snapped off.

FOX 'entertainment'

One obvious thing about blogging is that you have to have something to say. With luck, it's something someone else might find worth reading, for some reason. Because they find it funny, or maybe just because one's friends or family might use it as a way to keep up with the blogger.

Sometimes, I find that I either have something to say, but no time to write, or a few 'down minutes,' but can't think of anything to say. And yet, I'll e-mail friends and/or coworkers something that I figure they'd find interesting, but don't figure the 'world' at large might care about.

But today, I'm going to share one of those snippets. Maybe I'll do so more often.

Without further ado: My take on "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader?", Fox TV's new post-"American Idol" 'hit' show. Originally typed for the benefit of two of my co-workers.

-----------------------------------------------

I admit, with some shame, that we left the TV on after A.I. (why should I be ashamed of anything I watch, if I’m watching A.I.? Food for thought.)

So we saw an hour of “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader?” (for the record, I am not. But I could’ve told you that without watching.)

I have many reactions to this. First of all, it’s SO the "Millionaire" show, with a slightly different format. Host delays actual progress of show as much as humanly possible. Which is why (among other reasons) I could never watch the "Millionaire" show with regularity.
And I have to wonder: How hard would it be, really, to brush up on the textbooks required through fifth grade? Is there THAT much to know???
They really went out of their way to pick a stupid guy for the first contestant. Pretty, but stupid. And he ended up winning $100,000.
What was he going to do with it? Well, for starters, “buy a Lamborghini, and paint it camouflage.”
Jeff Foxworthy, the host – he of the ‘you know you’re a redneck if’ jokes -- said: “Wow. You really ARE a redneck!” That was the best moment of the show. By far.

After it was over, Matt said, “That was on for an HOUR? I have just wasted an hour of my life – on THAT?!!” Yes. You did. And so did I. (though I was also coloring Tinker Bell and balancing my checkbook -- so there.)

a not-so-random question

Does anyone know if hearing a whirring and a banging emanating from one's sump pump with regularity -- audible throughout the house -- is a really bad thing?
Just wondering.

(fyi -- a new one was installed right before we moved in. I'm starting to wonder how stellar a job was done. Or how to find out who did it, so I can chase them down and beat them -- ahem, I mean, inquire about a warranty. IF a loud whirring and banging is a bad thing, that is. Or if that's TOTALLY NORMAL.)

recant

Hm. On the drive home last night, Lizzy says, oh yeah, she thinks God is real! She was just feeling cranky late last night. That's why she said He was pretend.
(are my hot buttons THAT obvious? Scary.)
She said, "I also said that because, well, He's never come over to our house." (again with the Santa Claus and Easter Bunny stuff, I guess.)
I explained that God isn't like a person; you can't SEE Him. But He's very real.
I asked if she'd ever wondered where all the people, and the whole world, came from.
"Hm. No," she said. "Where?"
"From God!" I said. "He made it all. And He loves us all, too."
Matt said he believed that, too. We all agreed that that's what we all thought.
Good for now, I guess.

4-year-old atheist

I still haven't recovered from this one.

So last night, I'm lying in bed with Lizzy. We'd just read a Dr. Seuss book, because it's his birthday or something (again?!), so they're reading Seuss books in school. And, well, you don't really need an excuse to read a Dr. Seuss book, do you.

We'd been doing reasonably well getting the girl to sleep in her own bed, but then I left for most of a week, and to be fair to Matt, our resolve was slipping before then, anyway. So now she wakes up at 2 or 3 and clambers on into our bed. She doesn't even need any help getting up there, any more. Sometimes Matt wakes up in the morning and realizes for the first time that Lizzy's even there. Oh, to sleep that soundly...

Back to Lizzy's bedtime. We're lying there, and she asks me where I'm going to sleep. In my own bed, I say. I'm leaving after you fall asleep. (spoiling her right there; I know, I know.) No! She said. No! Stay here all night. Don't leave me. And of course, I'm feeling guilty for not having been home from Thursday to Tuesday. (not what I intended. Stupid United Airlines.)

I said, but Lizzy, you're never alone! God is always with you.
Expected 4-year-old response: He is? Really?? Wow. And then perhaps a follow-up question, such as: How do you know? Or, even at school? Or when I'm taking a bath? Or some such childlike comedy.

My child's response: "God's just pretend."

I'm trying to think of a moment when I've ever been so shocked. Or appalled, or felt like a worse parent. I'm still having a hard time coming up with something.

This came, mind you, about 15 minutes after she explained to me that she put an orange rubber bouncy-ball in a plastic egg that she'd just found among the detritus of our yet-to-be-stored moving stuff, so the Easter Bunny could have it when he comes bouncing along at Easter, to deliver all that candy that Lizzy so doesn't need.

Let's count up the score, shall we?
Easter Bunny: All taken care of.
God: Pretend.

In that moment, I remembered my boss telling me (tactfully, no doubt in answer to my direct questioning) that his family doesn't do Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Their logic: If you get kids used to the idea that you lie to them, especially pretending that these entities exist, then finding out they don't, there's no telling where they'll take that sort of thing. I pooh-poohed it because, frankly, I find Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny kinda fun. Also, we 'did' those things in my house -- the Tooth Fairy, too! (gasp!) -- and I consider myself none the worse for it.

I wonder now if I'm going about any of this the right way. We say grace over a meal, and we -- really, more I, not really Lizzy -- say prayers at night. But I say them in her presence, out loud, after asking if she has anything to say. (she never does.)
One thing I've been kinda rolling around in my head lately is that our church doesn't have a structured Sunday school type of system. It's not that we object to them in principle (at least, I think not) -- we have even formed a committee to think about it. But at this point, it would be about one kid (if that many) per age level. We're just a bit small and disparate, age- and opinion-wise, to be attempting it. I love the people in our church. I don't want to, nor do I really feel 'led' to, leave for a SUNDAY SCHOOL, of all things.
But I wonder if my daughter is going to suffer as a result. Or if I am (once again?) overreacting.

Still. Hearing your child say there is no God is something that might tend to be worth wigging out over. No matter what his or her age, I would think.

The more cynical might respond to this tale with a dismissive, "Well, that's what you get for being 'unequally yoked'!" And I'll grant that Matt is not a 'born-again Christian'. But he IS someone who believes -- deeply, I feel -- in God. In His existence, in His presence, in the sense that He cares what happens to us. Matt's hangup is in buying into a set of beliefs that excludes so many faithful and ardent believers in God, but not in Christ. That excludes so many from a happy afterlife. And I can see the logic in that. I don't happen to feel the same way, but I can see it.

So this is kind of just Lizzy, all on her own. As far as I can tell. I'm just trying to figure out where to go from here.
How do you explain God to a little kid, anyway? I've tried. But I don't think I did a very good job. Obviously.

How cute is my family?

I mean, come ON.



For those who weren't there (like me -- sniff!), they were karaokeing to 'Brick House' in what has to be the most fun party in history. Ever. Again, I have only the accounts of most of my closest friends, gathered in one place, doing all of the activities Kate loves the most, to go on.
No, the bitterness just won't die.
Anyhow. As I understand it, Matt was the "She's a Brick" part, and Lizzy was the "House!" and some sha-na-na or something in the middle. She's still doing it on command. The cutest thing ever. Perhaps I should record them re-enacting it on our video camera.

(thanks for the photos, Herr Sniper.)