Celebrity Blog, Part I

Thanks to you all for your questions. It was so nice to sit down today and not have to puzzle over what to write. If I didn’t choose your question today, never fear. We’ll be doing this again next week! Aren’t you excited? Good – because I need you to send in more questions. Keep 'em coming.

Who is your favorite dwarf and why?

OK, I ‘m assuming that you’re talking about the famous 7 dwarves here. I confess to not really remembering them all, so I went ahead and looked on Wikipedia for a refresher. The seven dwarves are: Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful, Sleepy, Dopey, and Happy. I guess that the only way to pick a favorite is to try to identify with the names. Doc? The boys call me “not really a doctor,” so I guess I’ll scratch that one off the list. Sneezy? Not usually, so I won’t choose him, either. Bashful? Ummm, not exactly. Dopey? I hope not. Happy? Well, down deep, yes, but do I walk around grinning all day long? No. Hmmm. Grumpy and Sleepy – those are two that I can identify with. I think I’ll go with Sleepy as my favorite dwarf.

But here’s an interesting twist! There were lots of dwarves that didn’t make the cut. Here are the others: Blabby, Jumpy, Shifty, Snoopy, Scrappy, Cranky, Dirty, Awful, Silly, Daffy, Flabby, Jaunty, Biggo Ego, Chesty, Bald, Gabby, Nifty, Sniffy, Burpy, Lazy, Puffy, Dizzy, Stuffy, Sleazy, Tipsy, Titsy, and Tubby. This list is much more interesting. If I am going to pick a favorite from this list, I’ll have to do some categorizing before I make a choice.

I am never: Chesty, Bald, Dizzy, Awful, Shifty, Stuffy, Tubby, or Titsy

I am sometimes: Blabby, Jumpy, Snoopy, Scrappy, Cranky, Dirty, Daffy, Flabby, Jaunty, Sniffy, Burpy, Lazy, Puffy, Sleazy, and Tipsy

I am always: Silly, Biggo Ego, Nifty, and Gabby

Of those five, I think I’ll have to choose Biggo Ego, because it is truly the best name I’ve ever heard.

If you could do anything – and I believe you can – what would it be?

I immediately approached this question as a career question, though I’m not sure that’s what you intended. If I could do anything, I would be the next Sarah Vowell. She’s got it made! She sits around and writes clever essays, gets paid to read them on the radio, and occasionally gets to do cartoon voices for hit movies.

In my dream last night, you had given me instructions for a performance that we were giving together; we were supposed to introduce writers to an audience. I was ready for this, until you announced that this was just a rehearsal, which had to do with everyone eating a lot of cake at your house. Also, a set of twin girls about the age of Green and Blue were there, and my husband moved in with your family. Overall, I felt panic. Can you interpret this for me?

Well, of course you are panicked. I spent the whole day bossing you around, and then I went and stole your husband. I hope I at least gave you some of the cake.

What happens when you combine bottomless, strong margaritas, chips, salsa, and guacamole?

Well, first of all I turn into two of those rejected dwarves – Tipsy and Tubby.

Then I start to spill my secrets…

Have you ever been abducted by aliens?

Yes, almost six years ago. Their names are Blue and Green.

Do you wear underwear?

Often.

If you could go back and “do it all again,” would you?

I don’t think so. There are certainly things that would be fun to relive, but I assume that “doing it all again” would involve the bad as well as the good. Plus, ultimately I would want to end up in the same place (but with a bigger house and tighter abs).

If you could go back in time and impart one piece of knowledge to your high school/college self, what would it be?

I’d tell my young self to take a risk. I was always timid in my choices.

Oh yeah, I’d also tell myself to throw away those stirrup pants. What a mistake!

Can you tell me why I am thinking up questions when I should be sleeping?

Because this is so much fun!

Do you budget your family expenses and why?

Not so much. I do a little mental budgeting, though – like, “If I give up Diet Coke for a month, I will be able to buy X.” But then I don’t usually give up the Diet Coke.

How has becoming a mother changed you?

Well, it made me lose YEARS of sleep. I will be at a deficit for the rest of my life.

I also never expected to become REALLY GOOD at sucking boogers out of a baby’s tiny nose with a bulb syringe. It really is an underappreciated skill.

And there’s a whole cavity in my brain that is filled with horrible songs. Do any of you remember the Wiggles? The boys have totally forgotten the show and the characters, but I will be humming “Toot, toot, chugga, chugga, Big Red Car!” throughout eternity.

I have also learned to really value privacy, because I no longer have any. Yesterday I was in the shower, when I suddenly heard the bang and slam of people entering the bathroom. The boys began a deep and animated conversation about ferry boats just inches from the shower curtain. “Hello!?,” I shouted. “Why is there a party in here?” They were still in the room when I got out of the shower, and despite my efforts to conceal myself, Green said, “Mama, you have bumps like a camel.” Fabulous.

But, seriously, I guess I would say that becoming a mother has amplified everything. I find the world so much funnier with the boys in it. I laugh louder, and I scream louder. My capacity for happiness is enormous, as is the potential for grief.

You are so amazing and talented. How do you manage to do it?

Thank you. Thank you. I’d like to thank my manager, my publicist, my personal trainer, and YOU, the fans! Where would I be without my fans?

Blog Fatigue

I have to admit to having a bit of blogger's block these days. We've been at this blogging thing for six months, you and I, and I'm finding it a bit difficult to come up with new and exciting things to babble about.

This week I considered writing about the Martin Luther King, Jr. celebration at the boys' school. I happened to be volunteering last week when the kids abruptly abandoned their lesson about goldfish (They're gold! And they swim!) to practice their Martin Luther King song and dance. Yes, you read that correctly -- a song and dance. It starts off like this: Martin Luther King/You make my spirit sing/You mean so much to me/'Cause you taught us how to be free. Combine that with a little foot stomping, hand waving, and wiggling, and you're ready for the Martin Luther King assembly (pageant?) on Thursday. I was also there when the teacher tried to generate a discussion about "brotherhood," but that quickly dissolved when the five year olds started raising their hands to say things like, "I have a brother!" and "I have a sister!" and "My brother is mean!" At that point, the kids were quickly dismissed to go work on their tooth fairy pillows (in preparation for February, which is Tooth Month).

But, you know, I feel like I've already made the case that this school is capable of making any serious holiday hilarious. I think I need to do something different for a few weeks. I'll come out and admit that I've read more than a few celebrity blogs. On these sites, fans write questions to the celebrity, and he/she answers. I think that's what we should do! After all, I can be a pretty big diva. But, of course, this plan only works if you ASK ME QUESTIONS. They can be funny or serious. You can pose them in the comments section, or you can send me an email. But you have to do it, and if you don't, my feelings will be hurt. And if my feelings get hurt, I'll have to post a video with me crying. Let me tell you, that's not a pretty sight.

To get us started, certain young people agreed to be the first question askers. Here is what their inquiring minds wanted to know:

Do you eat lunch while you're teaching?

Sadly, yes I do. One of my classes runs from 10 am until 1 pm, right through the lunch hour. And if I get hungry, as some of you know, I am not a nice person. And if I am not a nice person in class, I will not get good teaching evaluations. And if I don't get good teaching evaluations, I will not be rehired.

My lunch looks like a kindergartener's lunch: peanut butter sandwiches, applesauce, Chips Ahoy cookies. This is because there is no grownup food in our house.

Do you have play time at your school?

Uh, no. I have some bad news for you, Sparky. After kindergarten, you'll find a substantial reduction in fun.

What do you do while you're teaching?

Fly by the seat of my pants. And show movies. There's nothing like showing a movie to kill an hour of class time.

What is your favorite grocery store?

This is a tricky question. We have many, many grocery stores near us, and they all serve different purposes. The closest one is our local organic coop, where we can go and spend a lot of money but feel happy about ourselves and our choices. This is the place we go for produce, dairy, and general good karma. But if we want Chips Ahoy cookies, we need to go somewhere else. We tend to go to the place that has the free child care, because in addition to buying Chips Ahoy, you can take a little time to get a coffee and read a magazine. Now, if the coop were to offer free child care, I would move in there! Good karma and babysitting at the same time!? Can you imagine?

What do you like to eat for breakfast?

Little kids.


OK, there you have it. Now it's your turn. Send me a question. I'm waiting.....

Politics

So we were all sitting on the couch a few mornings ago flipping between the three national morning shows. I was marveling at whatever process it is that allows three anchors on three different channels to interview the same presidential candidate at the same time. At one point, the big, grinning image of John McCain popped up on the screen. Blue started cackling wildly, holding his belly because he was laughing so hard. “What is it?” we kept asking him, but it took him a while to regain his composure. “That looks like Grandpa,” he finally answered. Then, as we were contemplating this idea, Green said, “Look! That one looks like Daddy!”

It was Mitt Romney.

I just about peed in my pants.

Michael and I are progressive people. We live in a progressive town. We wear fleece a lot and enjoy a good spotted owl. But, as fate would have it, we have a son who is not so progressive. Do you remember the 1980s show, Family Ties? It was the one with the hippie parents and the Ronald Reagan-loving son. I have a feeling that’s going to be us in a couple of years.

Green is conservative. He loves his routine and his rules (one does not put one’s underpants in the hamper until AFTER the Curious George show ends). He eats the same food for lunch every single afternoon. One day a while back we asked him whether he would like to try something different, something new, just to spice things up. “Mama,” Green said, “I do not like different.”

Well there you have it.

But you see, Michael and I DO like different. And no matter how many times we screech Change! Change! Change! like a couple of overcaffeinated Democratic presidential hopefuls, Green is not interested. He likes tradition, consistency, and the status quo. I'm pretty sure that he is going to grow up to be the kind of guy whose idea of a good afternoon involves a can of beer, a recliner, and a Packers game.

I bring this up, because we came to an interesting realization the other day. We’ve made it through babyhood. We’ve made it through toddlerhood. We’ve made it to the point in our family life where we might actually be able to DO STUFF again. Except there’s the teeny problem of Green, who has no interest in broadening his horizons.

Last year we took a little weekend trip to Portland. We stayed at a hotel out by the airport, because we wanted an affordable suite. It turns out that this hotel was a conservative 5 year old boy’s nirvana. It had a view of the runway (planes taking off and landing! Woo!), lots of elevators (and buttons to push), a swimming pool, and a free buffet. Green was quick to mention that he saw no need to go out into the city and actually do anything, when there was SO MUCH FUN to be had at the hotel. And when we did leave at the end of the weekend, there was considerable sobbing and screaming. Michael and I needed to promise that we would someday return to that hotel and stay in the exact same room.

Green and I recently had a meaningful conversation about traveling. Here's a piece of it:

See what I mean? It looks like we're not going anywhere exciting any time soon. But if you have an Embassy Suites in your city, let us know. You can join us for the free breakfast.

New Year's Eve (the Parental Version)

Back in the day, New Year’s Eve was a marker of one’s essential coolness. When asked, “What did you do for New Year’s,” you wanted your answer to stand out: “We went to Club Whatever until midnight and then sat on the beach until sunrise” or “I went to this fabulous party with the most creative, interesting people, and we made sculpture out of broken clocks by the light of the moon.” It was understood that New Year’s Eve wasn’t an ordinary night; rather, it was one that had to generate a STORY.

Well, then we had kids and lost any semblance of essential coolness. I know, I know, some of you have kids and are still cool, but we aren’t. Somewhere along the line, we decided to let our young, cool selves go into hibernation. We figure that one of these days, we’ll wake up and be revitalized, older cool people, and that will be OK. Until then, however, we’re just tired.

But New Year’s Eve is still noteworthy no matter how boring your life is, so we had the idea that we could celebrate the east coast New Year’s Eve – that way we could be wild and crazy until 9 pm and then go to bed like usual. To that end, we invited some other parents-of-a-kindergartener over to join in our nutty early evening festivities.

You may not know it, but Michael can make a mean margarita. A REALLY mean margarita, the kind that makes me pretty stupid after just a couple of sips. So it was 5:00, and the grownups were sitting around the kitchen table with a huge pitcher of lemon-lime goodness. After just a few minutes, we were giggling like kids about old prom stories (what color was YOUR tuxedo?) and bad hair and questionable fashion choices. Every once in a while, a kid would come in and ask something like, “Mama, can you take the top off of this toy?” And I would say something like, “Umm, you’ll have to wait a minute until I can reconnect my brain with my hands.”

But here’s where that essential coolness problem comes in. It’s was now 5:45, and we were all feeling kind of bad. We looked around at our disheveled selves and thought, “We could just go to sleep right now.” But, no. There were 3 hours and 15 minutes left until “New Year’s.” Wouldn’t it have been embarrassing to go to bed BEFORE the east coasters did their countdown? Wouldn’t it have been pathetic to go to bed when it was technically still daytime?

Never fear. We made it until 9. Oh yes we did. And I am proud.

All of this got me thinking about New Year’s Eves in the past, and I was startled by one memory. I’m not sure what year it was – sometime in the late 1990s. We were in Minnesota, visiting Michael’s family. New Year’s Eve fell toward the end of the trip, and all of us were feeling weary of the constant celebrating. That night’s activity consisted of sitting around together watching the Access Hollywood Year in Review special. But there was one funny twist. Michael’s sister told us that changing your underwear at midnight could bring you special luck, provided that the underwear’s color was aligned with your wish. If I remember correctly, yellow meant money, pink was love, and white was happiness. So at 11:59, all six or seven women, including Michael’s mother, took off for the back bedroom where we stripped, changed, re-dressed, and returned to the living room by the stroke of midnight.

And we’ve never spoken of it since.

I wonder, did anyone get their wish that night? Can well-chosen unmentionables bring prosperity or romance or just general good energy? Next year, I will try again. And if you find me with a wad of cash in my pocket in January 2009, you will know why.