Being Zoe

I try to understand my daughter. I do.

But she's 4, and that totally handicaps any chance I have of talking to her about things I really care about -- lip liner, reality tv, how my butt looks today. Deep stuff.

Instead, I have to be her mom. Which doesn't always suck.

Yesterday she put together a great outfit (the girl is a fashionista, but if you've been following this column, that's no news to you --) then pranced out to the living room where I was watching tv and Zack was chanting some toddlerbabble to a book.

Zoe took my face in both of her hands, tenderly kissed me on the forehead and said "*Zoe*... Sweety... *Mommy* has to go to a meeting. Don't cry. Do you like my shoes?"

OK. I can play this game.

My turn. "Oh *Mommy,* please don't go!!" I retorted.

She took a deep breath and summoned strength from deep within her 38 inch frame. "But I must go * Zoe.* My students need me. Goodbye!"

She spun on her patent-leather heel, leaving a black mark on my new wood floor.

Hmmm. The girl was beating me at my own game. I'm queen of ditching the family for meetings.

I wasn't going to go down without a fight...

" You haven't fed me dinner, and Zack will cry, and I love you so much, pleaseeeeee don't go."

It didn't work. Zoe is too tough to be swayed by begging.

She sighed and took a few dramatic steps toward the door....

"And definitely don't wear those shoes with that dress *Mommy*, your students will laugh at you."

She returned to her room to change her clothes, and got caught up in a Hillary Duff video. I had about another hour of peace.....

2 points for Mommy.

On Hurricanes...

Hurricanes bring out the bowling pin in me.

When the National Hurricane Center breaks into programming, I put down my merlot (gently, in a place where the kids can't reach --) and race to the tv to check out the path.

Watching a hurricane come near -- and then swerve away -- is like staying up sooooooo late on New Years but then falling asleep at 11:50pm.

The Learning Curve

Don't use bubble bath in jacuzzi tubs.

Pictures of Suburbia

Basically, the directions to our house are:
Get on I-10. Tallahassee is in between Jacksonville and Pensacola.

Go to the 1950s. Take a left. We're the house on the corner.


This is the view from the backyard of all the matchy-matchy houses.

Notice, just like Levittowns, our new homes really need "old" trees to give them character.

Check back in 10 years!

Here is the view from the kitchen window. More matchy-matchy houses.

Chuck, as I mentioned before, is doing a great job of using powertools.

Very interesting to see how homeownership is bringing out some deep instincts in him....

I like it!!!!!!!!!

PS -- That's Armando making the funny face. He and Chuck play very nicely together.

Looking Back

OK. 2 weeks in Tallahassee and a lot has gone on. Most specifically, I have pretty much lost everything except my sense of humor and the kids.

The new house has been full of surprises, but so far the biggest surprise has been a CD of pictures from my going-away-party from Martin at Leadership Broward.

Here is a sample picture of us at Jackson's. That was just the FIRST round of drink!

Haven't heard of Martin? You will.

He's smart and very crush-worthy.

If I remember correctly, Iasked him a few times if he believes in bigamy (the answer was yes) -- and I was already swayed before he told me about his family's vineyards in (a South American country... Hello??? I found him first!! Find your own Martin!)

Anyway, Thanks Martin....

Thanks for taking care of the tickets for me to fly back next month...

I'm Home. Please Send Help.

We have arrived and are settling in our new house in Tallahassee. After almost eleven years of marriage, this is our first "home."

That *doesn't* make me a commitment-phobe, by the way....

I want to say it's glorious, but actually, it's w-e-i-r-d. Stressful in an unexpected way.

Because we have no dining room or living room furniture so we basically have spend the last few days wandering from room to room, making lists of things we really believe we will find at Target.

Then we stand around the kitchen, lose the list, curse at losing the checkbook (and keys and cellphones and remote controls for the fans) again, then try to figure out why Zak is crying. Again.

Strange things are happening, things that no real estate agent or HGTV show could warn us about.

1) My husband has been using power tools. Every day. Yesterday I caught him walking around with a drill in his hand and a glazed look in his eyes. He has become totally addicted to setting up closet organizers, and he is damn good at it.

The man who leaves his socks all over the house is now spending hours each day trying to get us organized. Huh?

2) My daughter the princess has a leopard-print bedspread. What happened to her fantasies of pink walls, flowers and ballerinas?

3) The always independent Zak has been reduced to a crying clinging mess because we are lacking the 2 central things in his life: 1) a sofa and 2) a person to sit on the sofa and hold him all day. He is adapting slowly, though. Yesterday he played naked in our new (tiny) pool outside, and took a big dump in the grass. Because I am now a homeowner, I scooped up the poop (after checking to see if it is the mystical perfect shade of brown that we are trying to match) and flushed it.

4) We live in the 1950s. Sorta. All the houses match, the neighborhood is perfectly laid out. But one thing is weird. It's so quiet. I feel like our neighbors are either hiding from us, or are never home because they need to work 2 jobs to meet the mortgage. Hmm.


One thing hasn't changed. I left the house today at 6am to find my brain.

Being around the kids, Mr. Power-tools and the mother-in-law (please, that's a separate column, don't start me) has left me dangling from a thin nerve. I am wired to require 2 or 3 hours of alone-time a day, and I haven't gotten 10 minutes in the last week.

So, I ran away from home. I'm kinda happy.

.

So, I sign off from my first posting as an official homeowner.

I can't tell you where I am, but -- unlike our house -- there is a CHAIR here!!!

The Big "See Ya"

This is the best worst part about moving -- the hugs, kisses, wine and goobieness.

Yesterday was going-away-party #3, complete with 2 bottles of wine (for lunch), a card, and words so kind and generous that my ears are still smiling.

Going away party #1 was last Friday at Jackson's steakhouse. No goopy words at all, just some great pictures. Right now, this very second, I can confirm that a certain man named Michael (not to be confused with his hot partner, Michael) has my legs as the screensaver on his phone.

In my world, that says "I LOVE YOU" bigger than 2 carats.

Going away party #2 was a great boat ride down the intracoastal, complete with mimosas and cheetos. Heaven.

The only thing missing was the group agreeing to get matching tatoos -- but Zoe and Zack were there, so that would have been.... well....

Today I'm having a party at the Hispanic Unity center at Rotary Park in Hollywood. We finished their leadership trainings LAST week, but since they have an open slot on their schedule and I have a heart of mush, we definitely have the makings for a party. The theme? Can't say. But I have balloons, gum, and sugary junk that will totally make them wild by the time I slip out at 10am. Wish me luck.

The last time I saw this group have a party, the practically dumped the cake on the guest-of-honor.

This might be *it* until next week.

You know -- the Big Move involves turning off the cable and internet access, etc.

Don't take my temporary silence for disappearing.

I'll just be out shoppping.

Later!!

Why I Spend $12.95 a Month

Every month weightwatchers.com charges my credit card $12.95, even though I haven't technically weighed in since January.

Every month, Chuck says "Can you PLEASE get them to stop billing us?"

Every time, I answer him with a very sincere-for-the-moment "Yes"...

.... but I've done nothing...

Because I don't want to.

Quit, I mean.

I don't want to quit Weight Watchers.

Even though, *technically* I'm not doing it right now, I am ABOUT to start.

Re-start, that is.

Really. I've done it before, I'll do it again. I'll do it better than I have before, beause I really haven't put a lot of effort into eating healthy EVEN THOUGH I've spent the last 5 years preganant, breastfeeding and/or seeking the strongest diet pills known to woman. (No luck. Sorry.)

I will NOT be a Weight Watchers drop-out-failure-story who DIDN'T lose the last 10 pounds.

I will NOT throw away my skinny jeans!!

I am NOT really a size 10!! I'm a size 6!!

I have EXCUSES!!! I do! Look carefully.

I am a healthy, super A+ dieter, **trapped** inside the life of a work-a-holic-with-2-small-kids-and-a-condo-with-a-tiny-kitchen-that-is-grossssssss.

I know I can, and I will, do a great job of weight-watching as soon as we move.

See that refrigerator??? It will be filled with healthy food.

And I'll go for long walks in the morning (before blogging, of course) that will make my butt so tight, people will ask to bounce quarters off of it.

And I might let them.

If they give me $12.95!

The BIG Question

"Are you all packed yet?"

People ask it with all the best intentions, I'm sure.

But what I hear is "Girl, you only have like 3 more days. Are you in denial?? Aren't you in a hurry to leave??? Hello? Stop that vacant stare and talk to me!!"

Here is what I have done so far (and the brownie points that I give myself for them)

1. Landed a faculty position in Tallahassee with the people I want to work with. (5,000 points)
2. Worked with Leadership Broward to create a temporary position writing and deliving a program which allowed me to earn some money for a down payment on a house. (100 points)
3. Sent Chuck up to Tally to find a house (10 points)
4. Bought the house (10 points)
5. Packed up most of Zoe's clothes, the kitchen, and my closet (100 points)
6. Bought furniture for the new house (5 points)

I'm trying to concentrate on the positive, but here is what is left:

1. return cable boxes (not until the last minute, baby)
2. pack up computer at home (Chuck's. I'm not allowed to touch it)
3. pick up moving truck Thursday morning (not literally)
4. load moving truck OR watch Zack while Chuck loads moving truck (good idea!)
5. empty out the already-empty fridge/freezer (salad dressing, anyone?)
6. Be flexible and relaxed. (right.)
7. Drive to Tallahassee (Friday)
8. Stay in a Hotel because there is no f*ing way we will be organized enough to get the beds unloaded right away (Friday night)
9. Be cute and charming while Chuck and other men unload the truck (I already have the skirt picked out. Skirts increase my charm quotient by like 50%. The RIGHT skirts, I mean.)
10. Wait for my parents to deliver Zack and Zoe at our doorstep. Be their mom. (Saturday)

So, basically, I'm doing my best....

But it isn't real. Yet.

Not until I break a nail, at least.

Hard to be Me. Today.

Today, I hate myself.

I think it's because the suit I'm wearing isn't fitting right.
My stomach looks... weird, at least from my angle.

And I think I have the wrong bra on for this suit.

Did you know that some people (me?) have different bras for different suits? Honestly. See, the girls need to be at different levels (up or down by an inch or two) depending on the cut of the suit.

So if they're too high -- not good.
Too low? Even worse.

I'm not for sure about this, but I bet that women with 1) size B cups 2) "physician enhanced" breasts and/or 3)have never had kids DO NOT have to worry about things like correct nipple placement.

Their boobs are in the same place every day. Wow. No wonder they have a better quality of life than I do.

But, well, since I don't fall into any of those categories above (yet) I have this extra burden.

Breast placement is a science, and today I get an "F" for not doing my homework.

Shame.

I probably wouldn't be so hard on myself if I didn't have a mirror.

At least I won't be in front of one for several more hours.

At the office (where I'm hiding until 9:30am, probably for the last time since the move to Tallahassee is so close....) the women's bathroom is locked *with the key inside* so I can't get in until Lory gets here... BUT the men's bathroom is NEVER locked so I sneaked in there.

Guess what? No full length mirror.
Just a stall, a urinal, sink and small face-level mirror.

Why do *they* TORTURE women with full length mirrors in the bathrooms????

While driving here at 5:30am, I started to list 100 things that I despise about myself, but I was having trouble stopping at 100.

I won't bore you here with it, but hopefully another diet coke and maybe thinking about the students I get to work with today will totally change that mood.


After all, it isn't about me.... right?