Another Back Story

Another back story to go along with my story that ran today in the Danville Weekly.
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When I signed up to write a story on hiking, I figured it would be the perfect motivation to get out and enjoy the improving weather. I love to hike, I love to write, so what could be more perfect? My editor and I assigned the story a deadline so that the story could run in early Spring.

I've hiked numerous times in the rain and I have decent gear. So, one morning I headed out to brave in inclimate conditions and explore a few trails in the name of research. None of my friends were available, but my four-legged hiking partner, Pete, saw no reason to stay home, so I loaded him into the van and headed out.

My game plan was to do a nice loop. Kind of a nice up and down I found on a map. I figured it would take me two hours tops. I parked the car, unloaded Pete and the two of us set off in a light rain. Amazingly, I ran into a woman I knew from FCC on the trail and she and I hiked together for the first hour. She was taking a different route than I, so we parted ways with her reassuring me the trail down would be a piece of cake.

And it was a piece of cake...as long as you like lots of frosting. The mud was so thick that in several spots I was wishing for skis to just slide through the muck. Pete, of course, loved every second of the filth and was gaily chasing squirrels as I picked my way down the incline. I knew at some point the trail was supposed to fork, and I was supposed to take the left fork, but I never saw it. Next thing I knew I came to a big gate, that said "Private Property. Keep Out."

Well, I had been hiking for 90 minutes in the rain in horrible mud and I had just climbed down a hill I had no intention of climbing back up. It wasn't a fitness issue, I was running out of time and I was just sure I was on the right path. So, I did what every responsible 40 year old would do: I jumped the fence. Pete found an opening too, and he and I continued down the hill on a considerably better drained trail.

About 5 minutes past the first gate, we came to another smaller gate that was wide open. I leashed Pete up because it looked like we were entering a neighborhood. We veered right down the street. The grounds surrounding me were lovely, it looked like a golf course. I saw a couple of houses, and I was sort of wondering where I was. Then I saw a really big locked gate. No big deal I thought, I will just go the other way.

So, me and my muddy 90 pound Australian Shepherd headed back to try the other fork in the road. Now I was on a lovely loop that led me past a sparkling swimming pool surrounded by a terraced patio. There was an outdoor kitchen with more amentities than my indoor kitchen, a fireplace, yard furniture nicer than anything in my house and trellis laden with out of season wisteria. My walk took me past the front of a rambling craftsman style mansion and right back to the same really big locked gate. Uh-Oh!

When I turned around there was a woman standing in front of the lovely manse and she was not pleased to see me and my wet, muddy dog on her property. Oops! I began apologizing profusely and I explained I was hiking in unfamiliar territory and got lost. Could she please just let me out of her yard? No was the answer. She wanted to know exactly how I got in there. Didn't I see the 10 foot gate?

Now, there were several answers to that questions, but I really didn't want to admit I hopped the 10 foot gate like a 12 year old looking for a pool on a hot day. So, I evaded her question by repeating my story and then adding I was a writer researching a story for a local paper. Wrong answer. At that point, I thought the police were going to be called, so I fessed up to hopping the fence and I was hoping that my editor would take my one call from jail.

More fast talking on my part. A lot more skeptical looks on her part and I finally convinced her to let me out. Whew! So, after making me wait by the gate for an additional 10 minutes...probably just to torture me...she opened the gate from her house and I escaped.

When I got back to my car, I looked down and realized why she was so skeptical. Pete was not the only muddy creature crawling around her property. I was dripping wet and covered with mud from the waist down. And even worse, I had exactly 10 minutes to make my meeting with my editor. Unfortunately, it wasn't the editor who's story was on hiking. It was the other editor. So, I walked into this meeting, several minutes late, shoeless, soaking wet and covered with mud. He looked me up and down then brought the publisher into the meeting. Yikes, I wasn't expecting that. Good thing she and I knew each other socially. I never explained my appearance and they never asked. Perhaps when they see today's story they will figure it out.

Why I Hate Umbrellas

I had to go to the library this afternoon to return a book I borrowed a couple of weeks ago. This was no normal book. It was a "Link" book, meaning it was on loan from another library. "Link" is a great service if you're looking for some random books, but it has a draw back. Namely, if the borrowed book is damaged in anyway the fine is $125. Yep, $125.

As the girls and I were heading out the door to return my "Link" book, it started to pour. I thought about waiting for another day to go to the library, but my week is crazy, so it was best just to complete the errand. I wrapped up my precious commodity in a plastic bag and put it in my book bag. I put boots and rain coats on the kids, then I grabbed my purse. Of course, Maggie insisted on taking 'wankie', so my hands were quite full. Suddenly, La Nina couldn't leave the house without an umbrella. Had to have it. Now, on a good day, I find umbrellas cumbersome, but on a day when I have two kids and a book I can not get wet, I find umbrellas impossible. Despite my children's image of me, I'm not an octopus. I tried to explain to La Nina that our hoods would keep us dry, and she acted like I was nuts.

"But Mom, in the rain, you're supposed to take an umbrella," she reasoned.

Finally, after 5 minutes of debate and sworn oaths of good umbrella behavior from my 4 year old, I gave in. Out the door we went, myself, my book, two kids, two umbrellas, a wankie and a purse in a downpour. I warned if there was any monkey business, the umbrellas would not leave the house again, as long as I drew breath. They were unfazed by my threats and danced into the rain like a couple of pixies under protective flower petals. I have to admit, they did look pretty cute for about 30 seconds.

Once we were in the library with wet umbrellas, the trouble started. I collasped both rain covers, and the girls insisted on holding them. As I handed the book to the librarian, I heard a thunk and a giggle that sounded like the Magster. Then I heard another thunk and another giggle that sounded like La Nina. I figured it couldn't be that bad if no one was crying, so I looked around in time to see La Nina wind up and swing her umbrella, like she was trying to hit a home run. Oh...they weren't using the umbrellas on each other, they were smacking the librarians desk with their weapons, spraying water everywhere, including onto my "book" that was sitting just above the spot they were hitting. I scolded them, glared the "mothers' glare", offered the poor librarian an apology and began taking the umbrellas away from the girls.

Essentially, it was two on one at this point. Since she was closer to me, I grabbed Maggie's umbrella first. And her sister, seeing a weakness, smacked Maggie across the back with her umbrella and giggled uncontrollably at the act. It didn't hurt Maggie, but it soaked me, the librarian and a hapless passerby, who didn't look amused. I was so sputtering mad, I couldn't speak, but when I saw her line her sister up as a target for a second time, I managed to wrangle the "bat" away from my little ball player.

Needless to say, that ended our trip to the library. My load was one book lighter, but I was now carrying the umbrellas in my empty book bag, along with Wankie. I had crying child in each hand and I was livid. I think the librarians were smirking behind my back, but I was too ticked off to look around and see. In the end, I only blame myself. I knew umbrellas and kids go together like oil and water. I should have never given in. And trust me, my children will not touch those umbrellas again for a long, long time.

Our little Princess hunters strike pay dirt and garner this picture with Sleeping Beauty after listening to her tell a story. Note the autograph books and matching pen in La Nina's hand.  

Pursuing Princesses

If you have a 4 year old girl and you visit a certain amusement park in Anaheim, chances are you will be pursuing Princesses for a portion of your visit.

Now, pursuing Princesses is no easy task. There are 7 princesses and it is rare that all seven appear on any given day. Therefore, your pursuit is likely to be a multi-day activity. Also, princess pursuing takes preparation and planning. Princesses do not carry pens, therefore, Moms must have a pen at their finger tips in case a Princess suddenly becomes available. (Note: Disney is very helpful selling pens at every vending outlet.) Finally, unless you ask at guest services, you never really know which princess is going to be where and what time she will be arriving. Guest services will tell you, but then it is sheer luck that every other parent hasn't already figured it out.

As a veteran of multiple princess pursuits, I have tried a number of techniques, watched children and parents fall apart in line and missed out on more signatures than I can count on one hand. Therefore, this trip I started really watching the different techniques parents use to pursue princesses and I present them to you for our collective amusement.

Rookie Strategy: Get in long line and wait.
Fatal Flaw: Your entire Disney visit will consist of waiting in lines for 15 seconds of glory with a princess. The chances of catching all seven princesses is slim. You will be working hard keeping your daughter busy.
Upside: Very little time for shopping.

Sophomore Strategy: Put Dad in long line, while Mom turns her cell phone on and takes daughter to ride rides. When Dad gets close, he calls Mom and she returns with her princesses pursuer at an opportune moment.
Fatal Flaw: Other parents who are executing a rookie strategy will glare. (But really, why would a 40 year old man would stand alone in line to meet Snow White if there wasn't a little girl in the picture somewhere? Get real people!)
Other problem: Dad spends entire visit to the Magic Kingdom standing around looking at beautiful young women in ball gowns. Suddenly he starts discussing who is hotter: Cinderella or Ariel? It's worrisome.
Something I've never tried, but I think could work: Park a couple of dads together, give them each an ear bud to listen to March Madness basketball and I believe they could be happy for hours! Also, my guess is they would discuss princess hotness among themselves, saving Moms from listening to the lechery.

Junior Strategy: Take girls to Princess Story Time. (This includes the Jasmine and Aladdin story time. This is a real bonus 'cuz you get a princess and her prince, and parents get to sit in chairs. It just doesn't get better than that.)
Advantage: Guarantee an autograph, a picture and girls get to hear a darling story. Shorter lines and escape the heat of the day. Girls highly entertained by the story, and Moms get to brush up on Princess trivia--ever important when discussing the merits of something vital such as the type of shoes Belle wears.
Fatal Flaw: Only 3 stories a day--though Jasmine and Aladdin tell stories more often--the stories are packed and potty runs must be timed so as not to interfere with the autograph action. Also, the sound effect guy can frighten small girls as we found out the first time we tried this.
Other problem: The schedule changes daily, so you need to keep in constant contact with the shopkeepers in the Princess shop to insure you know the schedule. Heaven forbid, you repeat a Princess!

Variation of the junior strategy with a sophomore twist: Kids go to princess story time with Mom, dad gets into princess line. Story time and autograph ends at just about the same time dad reaches the front of the line. Wa-la! Kids will get 2 signatures fairly quickly.

Senior Strategy: Princess Luncheon
Advantage: 5 princesses in one place at one time and they come to you. AND every time you see a long princess line you can say to your daughter, "Don't worry, honey, we're going to see 'so-so' at lunch."
Fatal Flaw: There are 7 princesses...and it never fails, the two missing princesses are the two signatures you need.
Other problem: Overpriced, mediocre lunch--but the princess lunch isn't about the food. So tell Dad to stop whining and make sure the disc space on the camera isn't full.
Something to be aware of: Reservations can be made 60 days in advance and they sell out. But the restaurant takes walk ups, so if you can't get a reservation, try a walk up! (This isn't disclosed on the phone.)

In case you think this is slightly insane, you are right. It is. But then again, you probably haven't been to Disneyland with a 4 year old girl recently. If you have, you know, the pursuit of princesses is serious business and probably have a few strategies of your own. Most important of all is that you find a way to pursue princesses and still enjoy the park...something I saw more than one family losing sight of earlier this week. Ex-Cinderella- anything to add?

Etc., Etc., Etc.

Well, sorry for the long pause...we've been out of town, I've had loads of stories due and it seems that we're still behind from the birthday parties. Here's a quick run down:

• We just returned from Carly's annual birthday trip to visit her Anqing family and Disneyland. Lots of fodder for the blog. I'll get to it as soon as possible.
• I've had back to back stories due and a couple of stories that were up in the air suddenly materialized with near term due dates. I have so little control over these things. SO-a couple of great back stories to share.
• I found out yesterday that my first essay took second place in a local writing contest. You can find a version of it here. Like all writers, I tweaked it before I submitted it any where. The good news is there were more than 2 entries and the judges didn't laugh when they read it.
  

That's the short version. The long version is yet to come.

Confessions of a Bad (or Real) Mom

Dear Mr. Pediatrician-

I'm so glad we were able to visit at my daughter 4 year old well baby appointment. It was great catching up. I feel the need to refute my honesty yesterday for fear my true parenting abilities have been uncovered. You see, when I answered that questionaire on the care and feeding of my daughter, I was honest. I felt it would set a bad precedent if I blatantly lied to you in front of my daughter. So, below is my confession:

1.) Hours of television: I don't like television, I rarely watch television, I haven't even glanced at Survivor or the Apprentice this season, and frankly, my kids don't watch that much television because I don't have it on. It stresses me out during the day. But in the mornings, television allows me to read the paper and have a cup of coffee. I'm a writer...I have to read the paper. It's like a job requirement, for crying out loud! The television--PBS, Disney or Nick Jr for Dora and Diego-- is on two hours tops. So, when you asked hours of television a day, I answered two. Is my daughter plopped in front of it for the entire two hours? Well, she eats breakfast, gets dressed, washes her face, brushes her teeth and hair and puts on her shoes with the television droning away during that two hours. She likes the background noise. Thank you for explaining to me the detrimental impacts of television on my daughter's developing brain and reminding me it's supposed to be less than one hour a day.

2.) Milk consumption: I know, I know, I know. Sixteen ounces of cow's milk a day. You guys are big on this. Here's the trouble: the Magster. She will only drink milk every other day. The kid will dehydrate herself before will drink milk when she isn't mentally prepared for it. When she is in the mood for milk, she drinks it. It just isn't an all the time thing with her. I give it to her at meals and sometimes at snacks, but if I need her to drink, I have to give her juice. Some how the whole dehydration thing scares me. Then La Nina sees the Magster getting juice, and I'm up a creek with out a paddle. So, when you asked: Yes or No, sixteen ounces of milk consumed daily, I answered NO. Again, that honesty thing bit me. I will try to do better on the milk thing, but I defy you to get the Magster to drink her milk. In fact, I will give you $100 for every day in a single week she drinks milk. BUT if she skips a day, you give me $100. Trust me, I will win this bet.

3.) The Car Seat: Ok, it was only one time. La Nina has been really into talking about the one time I let her ride with me in the back of the van with just a seat belt, but it was only one time. It was on the dirt roads at the ranch in Colorado. There were no other cars and I was practically holding her. When you asked her if she always uses her car seat, I knew I was doomed. I swear the story she told you was a single instance. When I did glance at you from under the chair I crawled, you seemed to be amused. I hope my pink cheeks didn't give me away.

4.) The Flexibility Thing: Your questionaire asked about unusual talents, so I listed it. You have to admit, it qualifies as unusual. I warned you she was REALLY flexible, but you just had to see, didn't you? I saw the doubt creep across your face when I told you she could wrap her legs around her head and eat dinner through her legs. You cringed when she sunk into the sideway splits with ease, and I saw your eyes widen when she then laid flat on the floor. Thank goodness, I stopped her from then rolling forward onto her belly...that's the one that gets me. I know. I've never seen anything quite like it either. Thank you for the referral to the orthopedic. As you recommended, we'll give them a call to find out if there are any risks associated with our daughter's rather odd contortionist capabilities. It certainly doesn't seem to bother her.

That's it on the confessions. I really want to be honest with you, so please don't judge me too harshly for my imperfect parenthood.

Your honest parent

PS Glad La Nina is doing well.

The birthday girl with birthday cash (to be spent on more bubblegum, no doubt).

Tips for Turning 4!

Turning 4 is big. By following these simple instructions, you can turn 4 and abuse your mother all in one weekend. It doesn't get any better than that.

First, there is the issue of the party. When your birthday is in early March and you live in Northern California, you should not plan to be outside. However, you should badger your mother to hire a jumpy until she relents. Then, the morning of your party, your mother will realize she should have trusted her gut and will cancel the jumpy because the forecast calls for snow. Now, you must cry your eyes out over this development, even though your Mother was up late painting 18 white frames so you and your friends would be busy despite the lack of a jumpy.

Second, there is the issue of bubblegum. When you are turning 4 it is ok to have some bubble gum. Your Mom may even put some in the pinata. But as the kid who gets the honor of opening the pinata, you may be left gumless because other kids at your party will scoop up the gum first. This is very tragic and requires more tears. All your friends will feel so sorry for you, they will give you their gum. Except Mom will force you to chew it in 15 minute increments when your sister is sleeping, because there is no way the Magster can handle gum. This is not a good situation for you or your Mom, so make sure you glare at her throughout the entire designated gum chewing time allotment.

Third, there is the issue of clothing as gifts. When you are turning 4, it is very dull to get clothing as a gift. Your mother will love it, but you will be less than impressed. It's especially frustrating when something is so cute your Mom wants you to try it on and you just want to play with your Little Ponies. You will win this battle, because your Mom will realize there are bigger fish to fry and she's eager to get online and look for that jacket in her size too!

And that just about wraps up turning 4. We're kind of glad this birthday thing only happens once a year.

One of the women who cared for La Nina in her old room.

Our birthday girl on the wall at Anqing SWI

Anqing SWI Revisited

In honor of La Nina's birthday, I'm posting another essay on our trip to Anqing. We visited the city of Anqing in April 2004, 16 months after we adopted La Nina. I posted the experience of visiting her finding location on our family day.

Finding My Sentinel

When the young girl with her sleek, black hair bound in a neat ponytail grabbed my hand and pulled me toward her, I had no choice but to follow. She smiled back at me and beckoned me to keep up. She never slowed her urgent pace as we entered a building in the back of the grounds.

We had first met the girl a few minutes before in the office of Anqing SWI. She had been listening intently to our translator explain the nature of our visit and her eyes opened wide as she looked at the pictures of our daughter and the 6 other girls adopted with her. Before I could stop her, she disappeared with my pictures. But now she and my pictures had reappeared and we were dashing together: destination unknown.

The building she led me into was white with a terracotta tiled entrance and a stout gate. The center of the structure was an open courtyard with a couple of trees and brightly painted murals of animals danced on the walls surrounding it. I deduced we had entered the “Baby House” (aka orphanage) where my daughter and her friends spent 8 months waiting for their forever families, but I didn’t see any young charges, only clean floors, white walls, open doors and windows.

My wordless friend with soft warm hands stopped in front of a collage of picture frames. Each frame was an umbrella cradling a picture of a baby. The girl gestured to my pictures, then to a picture on the wall. I looked hard at the two pictures and the girl trying to discern her message. As I stood there, a slow realization swept over me. The baby on the umbrella was my daughter. My breath caught in my throat. Tears filled my eyes. For a moment my heart stopped beating. I looked at the girl she smiled and nodded. More slowly this time, she pointed to my daughter’s picture in the album I carried with me from the US then to the baby’s picture on the wall and she nodded her head. I nodded mine too. The girl was right. She found my daughter.

By now, several seconds had passed and the group of men including my husband and our translator caught up to us. My husband came up behind me and I wordlessly pointed at the treasure on the wall. Our baby’s face greeted him and emotion flickered across his face. It’s one thing to know your daughter is from a place far from your home. The words used to describe her beginnings become habit. We had said those words so many times they had lost meaning. But to see her picture. To see my baby in that place sent a chill down my spine. She had been there, oh yes, she had. The proof was staring at me with familiar soft brown eyes.

I took a step back from the wall and surveyed the pictures in front of me. The umbrellas framed several different snapshots. Probably left over referral pictures put to use to decorate the walls for the current charges. I looked more intently at the pictures. If my daughter was here, chances were some of the other girls adopted in her group were as well and I wanted to find them. I wanted to tell their families their daughter’s faces graced the wall of Anqing SWI as a group. Slowly the girls I knew as healthy toddlers morphed into the waiting babies on that wall. I recognized them one by one, with painstaking slowness. I wasn’t as intimately familiar with their faces, their moods, their development as I was my own daughter. But, in time, I found them. I found them all. And my eyes kept returning to my daughter’s face.

What was her life like here? That is the question we traveled so far to answer. We didn’t trust other information that Anqing SWI was a good place. My husband did much better than I with the trust. But I couldn’t. Late at night, when my daughter cried out and my attempts to comfort her were rejected, my mind envisioned this place as the ghost haunting her dreams. For me, this place became a hell hole conjured from the imagination of Charles Dickens and I needed desperately to rid myself of those images. So, there I stood. Ten thousand miles from home, surrounded by my daughter’s history, staring at her picture and still wondering, what was her life like here?

I drew back from the wall and nearly tripped over a silent invader that launched a sweet assault against my leg while I was distracted. I looked down at my nemesis and found a baby in a walker smiling back at me. She learned to escape the confines of her room and was off exploring the halls of the orphanage. Apparently I piqued her curiosity. As I bent to say hello to my new little friend, she flung down her toy to see if I knew how to play fetch. Always game for a little casting exercise, I grabbed my buddy’s toy and handed it back; she squealed in delight. Realizing she had a live one, she cast the toy off again, and I repeated my duties, insuring our game would continue. Her squeals echoed among the baby community and soon two more babies in walkers joined our little group. Before I knew it, I was picking up toys, playing peak-a-boo and singing silly songs to all of them.

Seeing I was outnumbered, the girl who had led me to my daughter joined in my games and about 8 babies surrounded us. Thankfully, my husband was off gathering details on my daughter’s life, because the questions that seemed so important to me on my arrival were lost in the squeals of delight that I was eliciting from these babes. Finally, the sight and smell of hot bottles was more appealing than our simple games and my little friends wheeled their way back to their room for some lunch.

Left alone in the hallway with my wordless friend, I stood and returned to my daughter’s picture. It was still there, watching me play with these babies who were following in her walker tracks. I glanced in a nearby window for the first time and saw babies in cribs. Curious, I grabbed our translator and headed into the room.

The room we entered held the smallest babies on the first floor, maybe 5-6 months old. The room was naturally lit by 4 large windows on either side. About 8 cribs were huddled together in the center of the room; a few more lined the walls of the room. Some of the cribs were occupied by sleeping children. Two nannies were holding and feeding babies who were awake.

In some ways, the room was the answer to so many of my prayers. It was well used, but immaculate and airy. There was heater in the corner for wintertime and cabinets lining one wall were filled with clean bedding and clothes. The current occupants looked well-cared for. I quickly counted 14 babies to 2 nannies. Not great by US standards, but it wasn’t 20-1 as I so often read about on line. Relief coursed through my body. No, this wasn’t great, but this was so much better than I expected.

The translator stayed with me as I approached the nanny who was sitting in a rocking chair feeding a baby. I showed her a picture of my daughter and asked, “Do you remember Yue Ming?” She looked at the picture closely. She gestured to the baby she was feeding, and I understood her meaning without waiting for the translation. “Yes, I cared for her a while ago,” she answered. She remembered feeding my baby. She rocked my baby in her arms as she rocked the baby in her arms now. I staggered, grabbed the translator to steady me, and said something I had longed to say to someone, “Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.”

“I was just doing my job” was the answer, but to me she had done so much more. For eight months, this woman held one end of my daughter’s slender lifeline while she lived in these walls and my gratitude was overwhelming. She kept my daughter warm, safe and dry during her darkest days. This woman and her coworkers were the mothers’ my daughter was missing before my arrival on the scene. This woman and her coworkers were the reason my daughter was the healthy, vibrant 2 year old I loved with a fierceness that frightened me sometimes. My translator held me up until my husband took over, the words “thank you” just didn’t seem enough to express my gratitude to this woman and this place.

As I turned from this woman, I was drawn to the cribs. Sixteen months before, my daughter had lain in this room, in these cribs, warmed by these blankets, fed by these women. I went to the baby nearest me, I stroked her cheek and I whispered, “Your family is coming, little one. Your family is coming.” Before I knew it, I was chanting this refrain and stroking the cheeks of every baby. “Your families are coming, little ones. Your families are coming.” It was not a promise; so much as it was my prayer for them.

The time passed fast at that place and too soon, it was time for my husband and I to return to the safety of our hotel. But before I left, I returned to look at my little girl’s picture hanging on the wall. A new realization dawned on me: my daughter’s picture represented hope in this place. Hope that life beyond these walls did exist. Hope that families would come. Hope that love would be found. Hope that prayers would be answered. I was glad her picture hung on these walls. I was glad that babies played below her and had my daughter’s image as a sentinel for their journeys. And I was glad to see her face in this shining moment.

Happy Birthday La Nina. I know you want to give up napping, but trust me, honey, napping is a good thing.  

Saying Goodnight on Three

Well, I tucked in my three-year-old La Nina for the last time tonight. Tomorrow is her long anticipated 4th birthday. Near as I can tell, 4 is a big birthday. Possibly the biggest. She is completely clear on the birthday concept and inquired about the type of crown she gets to wear tomorrow. She provided input on her party, her gift and her menu for tomorrow, but let me say, four has some limitations.

1.) The party: La Nina insisted we have her party at home. The theme, Princesses, of course, was her decision. The cake was her decision. The food that will be served was her decision. The area where Mom had to intervene was the guest list. La Nina being kind of spirit wanted to invite every child in her class. Considering the size of her class, the number of kids in our travel group as well as other friends we spend time with, our party would have included about 30 kids. Mommy said No. Considering the likelihood of rain, the expense and the size of our house, we had to limit the guest list to girls only. I know, it's terrible to discriminate based on gender, but it was the most fair thing I could think of. For the record: home birthday parties are more expensive than non-home parties and a heck of a lot more work too!

2.) The Gift: La Nina is tough to buy for. I have never understood how a child could be tough to buy for but she is. And she rarely gives gift suggestions. However, this year, she actually gave me an idea. Last week she told me she wanted a dog from the animal shelter who can't walk. Ok, I have two problems with this suggestion: a.) We have two dogs. b.) Who do you suppose will insure that dog gets out of my house to do his business? La Nina or Me? There is no dog from the shelter who can't walk in La Nina's immediate future. Not happening. Perhaps this is why she never tells me what she wants.

3.) The Meals: La Nina has selected the entire menu for tomorrow. Donuts, a Happy Meal and Spaghetti. Except that Mommy is making some edits. a.) I'm substituting a bagel for a donut. She told me that was ok as long as I put cream cheese and cucumbers on it. b.) For lunch we're going to the Hop Yard, not McDonald's. She agreed to this change as long as there was a little toy with lunch. I picked up a couple of Little Ponies today. (Does anyone get these toys? My kids love them...I don't get it.) c.) Spaghetti is fine. She requested fruit salad on the side. That is fine also.

While it's hard to believe the baby who sucked her fingers and slept like no other is four, at least, she's kept a couple of habits to remind me my baby isn't gone, simply transformed into a little girl.

The Back Story

I thought you might enjoy the story behind the story published today in the Pleasanton Weekly.

*****

When the Weekly asked me to write a story about John Madden a couple of weeks ago, I thought, "No big deal. I can do that." The Madden family lives in the same city as I do, and everyone in town has a story of seeing John Madden somewhere incredibly normal, like the Burrito Place. He's a very down to earth guy.

I envisioned calling up Mr. Madden's office, setting up an interview, chatting with him for an hour and going about my story. I called his office and left a message. It was a Monday, which meant the kids were both home. When the phone rang at 2:30, I just assumed it was his secretary setting up my interview. Wrong! It was the booming voice of John Madden that greeted me and he wanted to do the interview right then and there.

I was smart enough to realize if I wanted the story, I had to go for it. The downside was that I hadn't even thought about what I wanted to ask the man, the Magster was due to wake up at any moment and I couldn't find my note pad. I grabbed a random pad of paper and a pen, and started asking some basic questions. I knew my story angle was "Why Pleasanton?", so I was asking him about his decision to move to Pleasanton 40 years ago, where he first lived, etc., etc. But I was scrambling, big time.

About half way through the interview, my husband emerged from his office. He had figured out what was happening in the kitchen and was listening intently to my side of the interview. My husband is a much bigger sports fan than I, so he was trying to feed me a question. I watched his mouth as I was trying to take notes and praying the Magster didn't wake up. All I could see was, "Something lame." I assumed he was saying, "Don't sound lame." I thought "Thanks dear. I'm working hard on that right now."

A few more minutes went by of classic Madden story-telling (which was totally delightful to hear first hand) and the Magster woke up. Coming out of slumber is ugly for the Magster, so I dashed into the office and her dad had to deal with a very cranky Magster. Even worse, the Magster saw me, heard me, but couldn't have me. Not good.

The entire interview lasted 25 minutes. I was grateful I got anytime at all. When I came out of the office, I grabbed my bitter daughter and asked my husband what he was trying to say to me. The answer: Hall of Fall. Madden had just been inducted into the Hall of Fame. Ooops! I guess the fact I don't watch much television bit my behind on that one. I had no idea. The good news is that fact was to become an assumption for my story and the lack of a quote on the topic was irrelevant.

The one thought I couldn't get out of my mind as I wrote this story was how much my grandfather and my brother, both die-hard Raider fans from the Madden era, would have enjoyed spending a few minutes with John Madden. I'm sure they were both listening into my entire interview and guiding my research as I wrote this story. I hope I did them proud.

Dear Editor

Dear Editor-

I'm so sorry I called and asked for assistance covering the groundbreaking ceremony earlier today. When you called as I was leaving and I said, 'No Problem', it was no problem. Everything was going well. The girls were packed for a day with Nana and Papa, they were fed, dressed and cleaned on time. Then I encountered a crisis.

You see, there is the matter of the Magster and her Wankie. If she doesn't have it, things just don't go well for anyone. Ask Ayelet Waldman. And today, when I noticed the Wankie missing as we were pulling out of the court and I knew I had to return home and find it.

I searched as quickly as I could. I tore apart beds, I upended forts, I looked through the laundry baskets. But today, the Wankie was AWOL. The kids were no help. One would tell me it was in the kitchen, the other would direct me to the office. I finally put them in the car so I could search in peace. When I finally did find Wankie in a backpack that had been stuffed in the oven of their toy kitchen, I almost cried tears of joy. But 20 minutes had elapsed since our conversation, and it was too late to get to Nana and Papa's, drop off the kids and return for the groundbreaking. And let's face it: once the ground is broken, there's no going back.

So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for covering me on the photo op. I'm glad I was there in time to get the story. And sometimes when I say it's a crisis 20 minutes after I told you, 'No Problem', just chalk it up to motherhood.

Your humble freelancer