Belly and The Bug

Hello?

Is this thing still on? Check one.... Check one....

[Feedback.... then silence.]

Hi. My name is Rachael and I'm a terrible blogger. I make apparently-empty promises about writing more and say "yes, yes - I will!" when friends tell me then beg me to blog. It's not even that there's a lack of desire - I've just been busy. Really busy. Crazy-stressful-but-oddly-I-mostly-like-it busy. I think. So I'm not making any promises. But I'm here right now and this is what I got....

My lovelies - Belly and The Bug - turned four in October. They are more like me every day, which is both fascinating and horrifying, but each is like a different side of me. Buggy is the linear me. She's very organized and by-the-book and a straight-A student. Belly is the abstract artist me. She's free-form in thinking and behavior and lives for love. I mean, they are uniquely themselves for sure, but more and more, I'm seeing myself reflected back. It's a total trip. I remember a friend saying that having a kid was the most selfish thing he'd ever done. I didn't really understand that at the time, but now I do. I've recreated whole facets of myself, from looks right down to personality. Sometimes they even swear like me. That part is pretty funny (to me, not Dude). It's like I've said to the world, "Isn't it fun I'm here? Well guess what - here are two more of me! Wheeeeeeee!!!!!" The arrogance is astounding.

They're pretty dang cute, though. This was them on Christmas looking very Buggy (left) and very Belly and not very me at all (okay, that's a lie - they look like me)....

The girls started preschool in September and are totally loving it. It's six blocks away, so we can walk the commute easily. They have made new friends and bring home new art projects every day (it's an arts-focused school). They go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings - plus we still have our super Nanni come over two afternoons a week - and have begged me to go more. If only money was no object....

So I know you're wondering what I'm doing with all that free time. And I'm guessing that you're guessing cooking. And I'm not. I was totally tricked into a job. Like, a job-job. A real job. Back in early September, my mom invited me to come with her to a meeting that she had with some people who were starting a nonprofit (she does freelance grant writing). The scope and mission of the organization seemed very aligned with my interests (the arts and diversity) and Mom said that I could come with her to hear more about what they were planning in case I wanted to volunteer with them at some point or get involved in some other way. We were driving to the meeting and I said, "Do they even know I'm coming?" Mom said yes. Flash forward twenty minutes and we're all introducing ourselves to each other. Mom says, "And I should mention that Rachael is my daughter." The two (whom I will call K and L) said, "Oh! Well thanks for telling us. That would've been awkward to discover later." Um, what? Why would that be awkward? They continued, "So to whom should we direct most of our questions - you or Rachael?" To which Mom replied, "Rachael." And at that very moment, I realized that I'd been totally, completely, 100% set-up on a this-is-happening-right-now job interview to be the executive director of this fledgling organization. Excuse me, but WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! I wasn't looking for a job and didn't care if they liked me or not, but the project was certainly compelling, so I decided to be perfectly honest and frank and give the best advice I could and they could think whatever they wanted of me. It was supposed to be a 45 minute meeting and it lasted nearly two hours. About an hour and a half into it, K said, "Look, you are the first person we've interviewed and we agreed that we weren't going to care whether or not we liked you personally so much as did we think you could do the job.... but we REALLY like you AND think you can do the job. What will it take for you to work with us?" All the color probably left my face. Inside I screamed, "NOOOOOO! I DON'T WANT TO WORK AGAIN.... EVER!" And then inside I whispered, "Um, are they asking me to be the executive director of this really fucking cool organization that I can mold and shape and grow into my own?" And then outside I said calmly, "Let me think about it and I'll get back to you by Monday."

I was totally scared. I didn't want to make any commitments. I loved my life of leisure. The last thing I ever wanted to do was go back to the nonprofit world. I had to think about if not spending all my time with the girls was really what I wanted to do. And what about the private chef gig? Right about this same time, a woman who owns a restaurant four blocks from here offered me free use of her kitchen Monday through Friday - an incredibly, incredibly generous offer. I had to decide: path A, path B, or run away. Then my one cooking client told me that they needed to cancel my services. They loved it, but they needed to save money for one of their kids to take a class trip to Spain and my dinners seemed to be the easiest way to do it. Soooo..... be the executive director of something new and exciting or be a private chef who didn't have any clients.... I know that sounds like a no-brainer, but I was really torn. I'm not kidding. I finally decided that the private chef thing could be resurrected at any time, but the executive director gig wouldn't wait. So I did it. I accepted. And here I am, four months later, working like a crazy woman - while the girls are at school, nanny afternoons, late at night a few nights a week, a little on the weekends - squeezing in about 40 hours a week when I don't have 40 hours to give. That makes it stressful. And it's a start-up, which is stressful. And we're constantly trying to raise money to make the next move, which is stressful. But I love our mission and think that ultimately it will be more fun.

And then there are my bosses - K and L. L is a therapist and K is an actor/director and they are a couple and they co-own a corporate coaching consulting company. And they are wonderful. We click in a way that is crazy cool. I told K once that I very much appreciate that he swears as much as me and he said, "Please. I swear as much as you and three motherfuckers combined." Plus they coach executives (like at Nike and Intel) to be effective leaders and communicators. Do you have any idea how much I'm learning from them in that regard? They're basically training me to be a better leader while I lead them. We have a very open communication style and I think that, no matter what happens with this thing we're doing, we'll be great friends for a long time. They're flat-out awesome.

And on top of all of that, I'm feeling almost overwhelmingly creative lately. I know I don't really post them here (hell - I haven't been posting ANYTHING here), but I take a ton of iPhone photos and then do cool things with them - editing and such. I'm sort of really good with the iphonography sort of.... It would be fun to DO something with the thousands of pictures I have. I just don't know what. I've had a fair number of people (5ish) tell me that I should publish a book. That seems so.... foreign. And Dude has said forever that I should make prints and get a coffee house to display them for me (with those cute little price tags next to them). I don't know. I gotta think about this some more.

And that's it for now. Whew. Okay. That felt good. I kind of forgot that I like this whole blogging thing and that's why I started doing it in the first place. Maybe I'll be back here again soon.... In fact, I can pretty much guarantee it because nowhere in here did I mention my big trip to AFRICA coming up. Oh, and that I have twenty-four hours in PARIS on the way home. I'm so not even kidding. I'm so excited, I almost puke every time I think about it. And thanks for hanging with me. You really are fab. Peace out.

Quelles des vacances! And, um, sleeping with my husband just isn't working out.

A week ago, I packed a hanging bag with only items belonging to me, drove my fast car to the airport, handed my passport to the appropriate TSA people, and boarded a plane to Montreal. How grown up! How fancy free! How.... needed.

My brother-in-law, Billy, had a film, The Suicide Tapes, in the Fantasia Film Festival (the largest genre festival of its kind in North America, I might add) and I went to support him. And to hang out with my sister, Erika, because we like each other and we like to eat a shit-ton of good food when we see each other. Always fun. Always.

Let me back up a minute, though, and make something perfectly clear: I hate being scared. I can't understand the logic in wanting to be scared. I don't do haunted houses or scary books or, worst of all, horror films. I have the scare-factor of a little kid so I just avoid that stuff altogether. I'm 36 years old and I have done a pretty good job at this avoidance.... until now. This "genre" film festival was all scary movies. I mean, everything from psychological thriller to slasher to whatever other kinds there are (I don't know because, again, I avoid them). I figured that I would watch Billy's film (it was my understanding that it was creepy, but not really scary, per se) and that would be it. Well, the first night in Montreal, we attended a "filmmaker dinner" before the screening with the guys who made the movie to which Billy's was attached, Absentia. Billy's film is a short and theirs is a feature. Everyone was excited because the screening was one of the few at the festival that had sold out in advance. The Absentia guys were really nice and as we got to know each other a bit, I blurted out, "Hey, listen. I hate scary movies. I get scared really easily - like, REALLY easily. I was planning to cut out on yours, but now I feel a little guilty about that. I'll try to watch it, but I might need to leave. It's nothing personal. But tell me about the movie. Is it gory? Bloody? Are there ghosts? What?" They couldn't believe I was at a horror film festival and hated horror films. But you know, whatever. Technicalities. They assured me that they wouldn't take it personally if I left halfway through the movie. And if I had nightmares, I had permission to slap the filmmaker (there was a second screening of the movies together the following afternoon, so I'd be sure to see him again). It all sounded reasonable to me, but I was still nervous.

We got to the theatre and the crowd was awesome. Packed! The seven of us attached to the films sat on the steps, along the wall - Erika in front, then Billy, me, and the four Absentia guys. It was terrible. And by that, I mean terrifying. I was so tense. I had to keep my eyes covered for a lot of it, but I couldn't block the sound. Ugh. About halfway through the movie, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Good thing I'd slipped my heels off, because I jumped up and practically flew over the others behind me as I bolted out of the theatre doors.

Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the cold floor with two security people standing over me, freaking out. Everything was spinning. I hadn't puked, but I'd most assuredly fainted. They told me not to move. They called paramedics. I insisted on sitting up. The paramedics were there quickly and at first they thought I was drunk; then they thought I was on drugs; and then maybe crazy. As time (minutes) went by and I felt better and better, and let them take my blood pressure, etc., they decided that I'd been so stressed out by the movie that I must've been holding my breath, blocking the flow of oxygen to my brain or something like that. Yeah. Great. Because THAT wasn't embarrassing! Once I drank some water and felt fine again, I went back in the theatre. I sat next to Erika and told her what happened. "What?!" She whispered to Billy what had happened, who whispered to the Absentia guys what happened. Erika also mentioned something about me smacking the shit out of those guys. Again, that sounded reasonable. I kept my eyes averted for most of the rest of the movie.

Finally both movies were done and we went out for drinks as a group. The Absentia guys felt bad, but when they realized that I really was fine, they thought it was super cool that I fainted from fright. I guess that's a pretty good compliment. I guess. I don't know. I can't imagine I'll be watching another scary movie for a long, long time. If ever.

The rest of the vacation was pretty great. We had amazing Japanese food for dinner one night at a teeny, teeny, tiny restaurant named Kazu. The next night we had incredible French at L'Express. We walked all over from downtown to the old city and up to Mont Royal. We went back to Kazu for ramen (only served at lunch). We had poutine. We had crepes - twice. We found a place that made the best iced lattes in the entire world. We ate and ate and ate and ate. It was four full days of being tourists and it was glorious. It was also the longest I'd ever been away from my peeps. I missed them. I was ready to come home and cover them with kisses. Which I did.

Oh! I almost forgot! The second night we were there, our hotel phone rang around 3am. I don't remember it, but Erika says I jumped up in bed but didn't answer it. The next morning, our message light was flashing. Someone had left us an obscene message. It's not totally, totally nasty, but it's pretty bizarre - almost clinical. Here it is, if you're interested (but consider yourself warned that you shouldn't play this at work or in the presence of children):

Changing subjects abruptly, because there is both a) nothing more that can be said about that, and b) there's not an easy way to open this next part (although I realize this is not the most appropriate way, either, for which I'm truly sorry).....

Two nights ago, right after dinner, my husband received a call informing him that his uncle had died in a car accident. Naturally, it was very upsetting. I wanted to be there for Dude. I wanted to offer as much comfort as I could. We put the girls to bed. Dude washed the dishes and went to bed. I stayed up and watched tv, falling asleep in the family room and waking up at 3am. I started to do the usual routine of taking Belly out of my bed (she goes in there sometime around midnight every single night) and putting her back in her own. I then climb in between her and her sister and Dude gets our bed all to himself. That night, though, I thought Dude needed my snuggles more than the girls, so I slipped in next to him. The miracle was that neither girl woke up until 7am, at which time the Bug bounded in demanding to know what was going on - "Why are you in this bed??" The very, very unfortunate turn of events was that neither Dude nor I could sleep. It was fairly uncomfortable sleeping in our bed together. He was hot next to me. And I guess I was a hot lump next to him, too. We're not used to it anymore. There was once a time when I couldn't sleep if he wasn't lying next to me. Now? Forget it. I need two girls who toss and turn throughout the night or no one. What a difference four years make, huh? Dude said it was a nice idea, but maybe next time we try it, we should wait for a weekend when he doesn't have to work the next day. Sigh. This whole situation honestly has me thinking, "What the fuck?"

It's 8:27am

And these are a few of the funny little things my daughters have said already this morning:

"Mama, you have the prettiest, skinniest, best wrists I've never seen." Gee. Thanks.

"Ask me how many children I have." How many children do you have? "Five. I've been busy." Damn! I'd say!

Belly to Buggy: "Please call me Little Rachael. If you call me Michael again, I'm not going to be your brother anymore."

"Excuse me, but I can't help you because I have to nurse my baby. Sorry, Mom. You can clean up by yourself, though."

"I'm on the phone. Please shhhh. Thanks." No response from me. "I said be quiet." Silence on my part. "For real, Mommy. If you can't be quiet than I'm going to have to put you in your room." Blank stare from me. "If you'd be quiet, than you'd hear me." We just looked at each other. "Fine. I'll take it in the other room."

Who are these people?

Some things require very few words

Like this that I made. Yum.

Camping: Rachael-style

You know, I loved camping when I was growing up. My family never had any money, so camping trips were our family vacations. I loved the ride in the family vehicle - making a nest in the back with blankets and pillows and listening to cassette tapes in my walkman. I loved the tent and the being outside and the lack of rules and the fact that my dad had a penchant for packing a gallon of salsa and giant bags of tortilla chips. I really, really loved all of it. As I've gotten older, the shine has worn off a bit. And since I've had kids, I downright dislike it. I don't like all of the logistics involved and the bugs and never being warm enough. I always wish that I was in a hotel or back at home. I've decided that I loved it when I was a kid because I didn't have to do anything but show up (and really, I didn't even have a choice in the matter). Adult camping is laden with responsibility and that just doesn't seem like a vacation to me.

Dude and the girls, on the other hand, absolutely adore camping. They have gone on several daddy-daughters trips and I always manage to beg out of it. We spent a night camping on a friend's farm about a month ago and that was mostly fun, but I still found myself annoyed with Dude's needing to have the girls' feet clean before they crawled into the sleeping bag. So petty. So trivial. But really, it was a reminder that there are rules and just because you're camping doesn't mean that you can overlook them, not even for a night. Sigh.

Fast forward to a few days ago. Dude really wanted to take the girls camping at some place he'd read about that was supposed to be super cool - up on one of the mountains in the coastal range. He said that I didn't need to feel obligated to go but was welcome to if I so desired. I didn't desire. Not one bit. But I'm going to Montreal on Wednesday for a long weekend and I felt guilty that I would be skipping out on this family outing. So I said I wanted to go. I even smiled when I said it. I just couldn't live with the guilt if I didn't go. Besides, there was the promise that we were going to go to the beach, too. THAT I love.

Dude took Friday off work and we set out midday toward the Pacific. The girls napped in the truck and all was well when we made the turn-off up to Saddle Mountain State Park. It was beautiful. Except the road was seriously twisty-twervy and I started to feel like I was going to puke. And the temperature was dropping at an alarming rate. And it looked like it had just rained. Uh oh. Cold, wet, and pukey - this was starting to be a recipe for me being a complete bitch, try as I might to reel it in. We finally got to the parking lot and Dude got out to see if there was a campsite available. The girls woke up and had to pee. I got them out of the truck and headed to the bathroom, both girls whining and crying that they were freezing cold. Such fun this was gonna be! Dude was walking up when we got back to the truck and I said, trying not to sound hopeful, "Are the campsites full? Or is there one for us?" He sort of laughed as we loaded up the little crabapples back into their car seats. "Let's head down toward the beach and to another campsite down there. This is obviously too cold." YES!!!! I mean, that sounded like a solid plan. It was 1pm. The temperature was 55 degrees on that mountain. Dude, being a smart man, knew staying was asking for trouble.

Back down in warmer weather and on a less windy road, I called the other campground. They were full for the weekend. We looked on the map. Dude called another place or two. Everywhere was full. So fine. It would be a day trip to the beach. I was pleased. The girls were aching to play in the sand. Dude was happy that we were happy. We found a cool beach north of Seaside where you can drive right out on it, meaning we didn't have to be pack mules and could have our snacks and towels and toys and EVERYTHING right there. Golden! And we had a ton of fun. Belly and Buggy would happily spend all day every day making sand castles, so they were filled with pure joy. I got nicely sunburned, which means I will be nicely tanned by tomorrow. Dude frolicked in the freezing ocean a bit, which made him happy. In fact, we were having so much fun, that Dude suggested we see if we could find some cheap lodging for the night. Um, no argument from me!

We ended up staying in a one-bedroom condo just over the grassy sand dune from the beach we were at. And had dinner at the restaurant across the street. The condo complex had a pool and a hot tub, so we played around in those before bed. It was all just.... perfect. And this morning we got up, ate breakfast (so convenient that we had all that food packed for camping), and made our way back down to the beach for several more hours in the sunshine and sand and surf. We packed it in at lunchtime and headed back to Portland.

When we got home, there was a box waiting on the porch: two Le Creuset baking dishes that I'd forgotten I'd ordered. This was the best camping trip ever. EVER! But Dude says I'm not invited on the next camping excursion because suddenly it becomes expensive. And really, that's fine with me.

Now for the onslaught of pictures.....

Buggy and Belly in sand heaven