Six!

I can't believe that my "baby" is six, but I hope that all of her crazy, mercurial, opinionated, perfectionist, detail-oriented, culinary-talented, silly, Virgo, funny-face-making, mega-watt smiling, stuffed animal-loving energy will remain constant as she grows up. When we decided to add a third little birdie to our nest, we had no idea what we were in store for... And she continues to keep us guessing.

In fact, her birthday was such a big deal to her this year that we celebrated for a few days straight, taking two friends out for a fun playdate over the weekend, then giving goody bags to new classmates and soccer teammates, then capping the whole shebang off with a birthday sushi dinner at Iroha in Studio City (her choice; that kid has great taste). She may be high-maintenance, but I can't help it... I like her. Waiting for her to smile again is a favorite pasttime of mine. Five was really fun -- even if it was somewhat trying -- and I am excited about six. What new things will she try? What will she learn? Will she always kiss her mama goodnight?

(Sidenote about photo: She's blowing out candles on a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough. See what I mean about mercurial?)

iLove

I have broken up with my CrackBerry and have fallen in deep lust with my iPhone 4.

Like a deck of cards that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, my iPhone is full of possibilities that shuffle around like a magician's sleight-of-hand trick in Vegas. Pretty pictures made prettier with hipster filters, FaceTime with my friends' 15-year-old (one of my few friends with an iPhone 4). Apps for music, apps for games, apps that inspire, apps that keep track of the balance on my Starbucks card, apps that practically wipe my butt and wash my hands afterward.

There's a lot of newness in my house lately and I always find myself a little resistant when it comes to truly embracing change, and this was no exception. Though I'd secretly desired an iPhone since its inception and had watched helplessly as my husband abandoned his dinosaur Nokia flip phone and became an iPhone cultist over the past two years, I'd resisted the tug toward "easy" rather than "practical."

All I do is call and text, I'd said to myself. It would be wasted on me.

And the first few days that I had my new phone, I left it in the box, afraid to touch it. Afraid of its power. Intimidated, for sure. What if it doesn't like me? What if I can't figure it out? And when I did finally plug it in, it was a little too easy for me. I was used to my BlackBerry's menu-driven interface which, like a regular PC, demanded that I always return to the main menu, closing out files and folders as I went along so that everything would be in its neat, proper place when I needed it again.

But my iPhone is like a designer's desk, messy and full of seemingly disorganized chaos, a baker's case of goodies that you want to dive right into. There are apps and docs and messages flying all around all the time. There's music playing in the background when my mom calls me to ask for a picture of the new dog, which I take while we're chatting and manipulate to look like an old Polaroid photo, then email it to her before we're off the phone. If I get lost on a hike in my new 'hood, I can pull up Google Earth to find myself... if I want to. It's all good, my iPhone says to me. I know where you are. Play some Biggy Smalls and we'll get you back on track soon enough.

My iPhone is still new, so maybe one day this lust will simmer down into a warm, comfortable companionship and I'll be able to keep my hands off of it for at least a few minutes at a time.

Don't take this the wrong way, BlackBerry, but I don't miss you... Trust me, you did what you could and were the best you can be, but I've changed. I feel bad saying this, but I've moved on. It's not you... it's me.

Seeing Red (but in a good way)

I have written about my struggle to pursue a "better" school for my kids in our move to Agoura Hills and, in doing so, hoping to "pay it forward" so that they can get a kick-ass education, meet really nice friends, get good grades and go to a good (or great) college, find a career that they love and excel in it... Basically, my anxiety stems from a desire to do the right things now so that they will have happy, fruitful adult lives.

A little bit of pressure on myself, don't you think?

But finally, I am relaxing. Our kids have started at the school I chose for them and I believe, with all my heart, that it was the right choice. It just feels... right. The kids that my children have already gravitated to are nice kids, who politely introduced themselves to me and dragged their moms over, too. Not that it isn't an adjustment from the school they loved in the Valley.

The classrooms are small, my kids pointed out to me. Serena said, I'll bet my classroom is half the size of my old one.

Yeah, that's true, I said, but there are fewer students in each class. (Which is ironic for me to say because Las Virgenes has increased their class sizes to a ratio that is still smaller than the one in LAUSD; so while some parents are grumbling, I am singing praises. This increase may also be the reason our kids got into this school, which was trying to avoid split-grade classes.)

They shrugged and then told me how they could take their lunch and sit anywhere on campus that they wanted, a welcome change from their old school, where each class had an assigned table and lunch ladies who kept everyone in line. On my tour of the school, I had asked the principal about this and she'd said, They're good kids, why shouldn't they be allowed to choose their favorite lunch spot?

So this week has been about noticing the differences between what we know and what is our new normal. This morning, we remembered that Fridays are School Spirit Days at the girls' school, so they wore red shirts and prayed that other kids did the same. At 8:26 am, I got this text from Raf:

Whole school sings the Willow Pride song in the yard each Friday. It's got a lil dance to it, too. It was pretty cute. (Our girls) don't know the words so it was kind of a shock to us, but about 80% of the kids were sining and chanting P-R-I-D-E. Kinda cool.

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I loved our old school and was proud to be an involved parent there. But trying to convince other parents to feel the same way was like pushing a rock uphill, over and over. School spirit was not entirely absent, just not fervent. For high school, I lived overseas and went to schools in the Department of Defense "district" and the smaller student populations sometimes made for less-than-passionate school spirit; even my college was more of a commuter school, so great big football games and pep rallies were never an option.

Okay, accuse me of living vicariously through my kids, but something about this school spirit, with kids singing in unison and even proudly spelling out their P-R-I-D-E makes me gleeful. I saw a few SUVs driving around town this morning with Willow magnets on the back so I proudly slapped one on mine, too. If my kids are gonna be proud of their new school, Mama's gonna represent, too.

Firsts

Today is the first day of September and it's also the first day of school for my kids. Marlowe's first day of first grade. Their first day in a new school. First day meeting kids in our new neighborhood. First day of the rest of our lives.

It really feels that way to me, and I'm a little choked up. It was the first time I walked my kids onto campus and didn't get stopped every few feet by friends and other parents asking questions or kibbutzing about teachers and programs. This is cliche, but I went from being a big fish in a small pond to being just one of the many guppies in a new pond. And it felt really good.

September has always felt like the beginning of a new year to me, a chance to start fresh and begin again. This year, it is more palpable than in previous years because of the new house, the new school, a new world vision after our travels this summer, learning to live in a world without Max. But I'm happy about it, all of it. I may be like Marlowe and wear a "Hello, My Name Is___" sticker today.

I'm still finding out who I am, what my name is here. It may take me a while to fill in that blank, but I will. For now, I'm content to wander unencumbered through the school yard, a guppy among guppies, learning to swim through the school of life.

My Dog Days of Summer

I have never said I was a dog person. In fact, I have ardently lived my life as a cat person, with stints of dog ownership (Joshua was a brown lab that bolted into the street and was hit by a car when I was in 1st grade; Mikey was our family's chubby cocker spaniel when I was a teen). I've had the same persnickety feline, Bootsie, since I was out of college. At nearly 18 years old, she is a spry old lady with no plans to leave this earth until she has made her mark everywhere. Starting with Raf's side of the bed and anything that smells like Marlowe.

But look at this dog. He's just happy-go-lucky, wants a little love and a good long walk. Somehow, he ended up at a high-kill shelter in Carson and was rescued by a fabulous organization called Indi Lab Rescue. We'd already filled out an application and had had a home visit... it was not unlike actually adopting a baby, with questions about our work habits, the way our family interacts, etc. I felt "scared straight" afterwards, wondering if we'd be a good enough home for a dog, even though I'm home all day and we have a large backyard...

I'm digressing. What happened is simply this: we found the perfect dog for our family. He's not a puppy, so I don't have another baby to deal with. He's about 5 years old and sort of mellow, likes to sleep by Raf's feet while he works. He doesn't nip at the kids or jump on people, but man does he love to chase squirrels and bunnies. He is not prissy like a cat. He just wants to love and be loved back. That's all. He's just kind of fun and happy, so we named him Gibby, after the kid on iCarly that likes to dance with his shirt off. (On walks, though, I introduce him as Gibson, which sounds a bit more classy.) He is exactly like Doug in the movie "Up!": "Hi, my name is Doug. I just met you and I already love you." That is my dog.

Raf is an excellent dog owner; so good, in fact, that a friend quipped, "You didn't adopt a dog, you adopted Raf's son!" Raf is joyful and easy in his interactions with Gibby and Gibby responds happily to the masculine attention. They eat the same way, slurping and chomping until they're full, then sitting back contentedly, enjoying the moment. Honestly, I'm discovering that I'm a better dog owner than I expected. Like Gibby, I love to take a 30-minute to hourlong walk in the mornings and I like to be in bed as close to 9 pm as possible. I like being in the moment. I'm learning to just deal with life and then, when the moment passes, move on.

Welcome to this crazy household, Gibby. We needed you!

A Decade of Emme

Ten years ago and about eight months ago, I remember feeling nauseous and patting my stomach, saying, "Come on, Emmeline. I know you're in there." I'd had her name all picked out for years -- it was my grandmother's grandmother's name, one Emmaline Cree, born August 16 (my own birthday) in the 1800s in Sailor Springs, Indiana. Naturally, when I found out that my due date was August 16, too, I felt obliged to honor this connection with my ancestor and made a slight update to the spelling of her name, ready to welcome the reincarnation of dear Emmaline.

Well, my Emmeline had ideas of her own. She waited and cooked and hung out until August 19th, sidestepping other family birthdays on the 16th and 18th, choosing her own day to be born (but still within the August Leo zodiac dates, a family tradition). After all of the care I took to choose her name and link her to my own family history, she prefers to be called by her nickname Emme, which suits her sunny, funny personality even better. And for her birthday, she chose to be surrounded by just two of her best friends, her sister Serena and me, going on a late afternoon trail ride up Old Topanga Road.

I should be sadder about my oldest child turning double-digits, but look at this kid. She is so happy and growing up so beautifully... how could I hold her back, even if I wanted to??

Happy Birthday, Emme!!

Creepy Crawly Nature

This is the creature that my kids saw on the street in front of my house. It's a tarantula.

I don't know about you, but when I think of tarantulas, I think of the fuzzy kind, like the one that crawled that menaced the Brady family on their big Hawaiian vacation. That kind, while venomous, has a kind of stuffed-animal appeal, almost like you could stroke its fur and it might become a pet. But this one, which I only deigned to see in a photo, looks like an alien head attached to limbs. It might even be pregnant and I shudder to imagine all its creepy crawly babies sneaking into any open doorways or windows while I sleep...

Years ago, at a yoga retreat in Ojai, I made peace with my fear of bees and my husband even jokes at how I can sit peacefully while they buzz around me, saying, "Hey there, little fella." Even looking at this picture of a gangly spider (taken by my 9-year-old girl, no less) makes my skin crawl, and I find myself wondering if, years from now, I'll have made the same pact with spiders and snakes as I've made with the bees.

Bees make honey, though. What have spiders done for me lately??