Geekymummy

What I wore Wednesday (or "i'm too old for stripper heels")

2011-12-29T19:25:00.000-08:00

I just discovered a great blog by an American mum and feminist living in the UK.

She has a linky for "what I wore Wednesday" (because even feminists care what they wear).

I'd been looking for the opportunity to blog about my outfit choice for our company holiday party, and couldn't resist joining in.

I have become completely addicted to the classic Diane Von Furstenburg wrap dress. Thanks to a steady supply of barely worn ones showing up on eBay I now have quite a collection, and I chose this racy little backless number for the work party, (with strategic spanx and a solid backless bustier for added dancing confidence). Going backless to the party was a last minute gut decision. I took a chance that I am now well respected enough at work for my scientific and strategic insights to reveal to my peers and superiors that I have a large tattoo of the San Francisco skyline across my shoulder blades.

To complete the look I picked up this seasons must have; spangled platform stiletto heels, footwear that can only be described as 'stripper shoes'. It was a good do, and as the wine and music flowed I shook my stuff out on the dance floor as if I was twenty five again. My knees, however, are forty one, and ever since the party they have been feeling rather decrepit. I am rather annoyed with myself for tweaking my knees before ski season has even got started and I suspect knee injuries are an occupational hazard in the world of the exotic dancer.

I got so many compliments though, including a heartfelt expression that I looked way too glamourous to be a pharmacologist, that it may have been worth it.

Looks like we made it

2011-12-24T21:53:00.000-08:00

I wasn't sure, this year, if we would get here. To a peaceful Christmas eve in the mountains, with the presents found, bought, delivered, wrapped and waiting to be put under our eclectically decorated tre.

With two cats and a dog and two kids all safely transported across California to the beautiful, though almost snowless mountains.

With gifts from from us to others actually chosen with thought and care, though mainly shipped by amazon, nestled under other people's trees. Although the photo books I made well advance for shipment to the Grandparents mysteriously disappeared, leaving me digging though ever more bizarre places (my company's dry cleaning closet being the most recent) as I began to believe I had only imagined that I had ever even seen them. They finally appeared last night as we packed the car, in a hidey hole beneath the extra set of back seats. They will not be arriving until the new year.

With a dare I say almost perfect fruit cake sitting proudly on the counter.

The marzipan figures are rather amateur compared to to the creations of some of my facebook friends (seriously, some of you should bake for a living), but the kids are quite happy with my creation, especially the tiny marzipan avatar of the dog gamboling in the snow.

Our tree, however, is a perfect story book fir, a thickly prickly deep green cone. It is decorated with a mixture of gorgeous danish filigree ornaments (thanks to my mother-in-law's excellent Christmas taste), and a hotchpotch of other items; precious preschool offerings, some wooden jungle animals, the mini mirrored disco balls I picked up in the Haight a few years back, my beloved disembodied cat heads, a variety of spangled vehicles and, the new additions, a couple of crocheted octopi from a recent craft fair.

The children love the tree so much. Already they remember the familiar ornaments from years past, unravelling the paper towels I wrapped them in the previous January with delight. Geekygirl is now a very opinionated decorator, and Geekyboy, just shy of four, looks at the tree reverently, and says "it is so beautiful, mummy".

The past few months have been so very busy. A new job for Geekydaddy has meant he is home past eight every might. Real school for Geekygirl is bringing homework, PTA and other obligations. Stressful changes at my work have been occupying my mind and my time.

Halloween hit, and since then I have barely had time to breathe, slamming things into my to do lists and checking them off, hardly gaining satisfaction from completing one task as so many more were waiting, but snatching breaths of pleasure and tiny moments of zen, along with family photos, whenever I could.

It seems that we have made it here, intact, to the end of the year. The last window of the advent calender has been opened (the fact that I remembered to bring it up here a miracle in itself), the rice pudding portion of the Danish "ris alamande" is prepared, waiting to be whipped into a fluffy delicious dessert that is unrivaled by any English pudding. A slice of cake, satisfyingly moist and perfect at that first cut, is waiting for Santa. The children, thrilled to have a seemingly endless eight days free from their regular routines. have made paper chains which are cheering our windows (Thanks Grandma and Grandad) They were so happy and relaxed today that they actually asked to go to bed.

And I have even completed this blog post, which feels in itself like a great big sigh of relief.

Happy Christmas, everyone.

Sayonaru Scoobaru

2011-11-17T17:09:00.001-08:00

Last week I had a bittersweet day. I replaced my car. It seems peculiar to be sentimental about a vehicle, but Scooby, the 2002 Subaru Outback wagon, has been such an integral part of our lives that its hard to imagine life without him. We bought the car, shiny and brand new, before we were married, before we had the dog or the kids. Before I even had a proper job.

The 202,000 miles on his clock delineate the great waves of life we have lived since then. A measure of the life of a family in miles.

I watched my brand new sparkling diamond engagement ring cast rainbows on his dashboard as I drove to my first proper job.

We sat in his warm leather cocoon as we debated whether to buy our Tahoe cabin.

We filled his trunk with cases of wine as we scoured the wine country planning our wedding.

We collected Geekydog from the animal shelter, her happy dog laugh misting up the windows as we transported her to a new life of dog luxury.

I screamed through the last part of labor with Geekygirl as we hit every red light crossing town, fearing that she would be born right there on the back seat.

I nursed both kids (pulled over and stationary of course), in his passenger seat on many a trip to the mountains.

I locked two year old Geekygirl inside, prompting the most critical test of my negotiating skills to date.

We transported cribs and changing tables, then toddler beds and sectional furniture back from Ikea in his spacious interior.

We transported a dazed and pathetic Geekydog to and from not one but two knee ligament surgeries.

We negotiatied rain, hail and snow storms with sleeping kids and pets all held safe in his steel embrace.

The miles represent hundreds of ordinary journeys to work, to get groceries, to get up and down from Tahoe. Some of those miles were the extraordinary moments; first days at school, interviews for new jobs, unexpected trips to the ER, and bringing new babies home.

I drove the car for the last time last week, down to the dealership, where we left it to its fate. It was a sunny day, and the wood and leather of the steering wheel felt warm, worn, and oh so familiar under my hands. 202,000 miles of hands sitting at ten to two. I felt disloyal, as if I was taking a beloved old dog to the pound. I started to understand why some people keep old cars on blocks in their driveways forever.

We traded it in for a brand new Subaru Tribeca SUV. It is fantastic. A sleek dark indigo blue, with a pristine rich smelling cream leather interior (Though cream may not have been the best choice for a family car, I am already realizing). It is eerily quiet and rattle free, the engine smooth and powerful and the stereo as clear as a bell. I think we are going to have a beautiful relationship. But I'm still not quite over the other guy.

This isn't really a Thansgiving post, its just that the holiday has given me time to write. There's nothing like mulling over ten great years though to feel almost overwhelmed with things to be thankful for. The least of these being really good cars.

the holidays begin wth halloween

2011-11-13T14:15:00.001-08:00

Halloween heralds the arrival of the whole holiday season here in the USA. Fall and winter and their collection of holidays just run right along into each other without stopping for breath. The orange of fall slowly deepens to the red of Christmas as the pumpkiny-ghostly themed tableware and knickknacks morph into the pumpkiny-pilgrimy items only to be supplanted in the aisles by poinsettas and snowflakes. When I'm feeling happy and energized I love the costume hunting, the various parades, parties and community events. I enjoy the holiday card making and the anticicpation of special food and presents. When I'm tired, all of this seasonally prescribed fun seems to expand into into a relentless list of 'to do items' to be stuffed into the giant gant chart in my head. Perhaps I should start making actual gant charts for the holidays, that way I might avoid paying rush shipping for last minute presents and everyone who should get a present or card from us might actually receive one before January. Anyone know of a good "microsoft project for mothers" iphone app?

This halloween, however, I exceeded even my own expectations by getting the kids costumes well in advance and getting everyone to their various events and parades with all costume bits intact. Nobody got sick, and Geekygirl obliged me this year by choosing her halloween alter ego (Tinkerbell) many weeks in advance of the day, and for possibly the first time in history not changing her mind at the last minute. Geekyboy got it into his head that he wanted to be "max's red robot toy from max and ruby". Of course the creative mum who prioritizes her children's wishes over her demanding schedule (my alter ego) would have jumped to this challenge. The mum who prefers to order costumes online while sitting in her office (the actual me) suggested to Geekyboy that he be Plex the Robot from "Yo Gabba Gabba" instead, since this costume could be conveniently purchased with a single click.

I'm always rather jealous of families who manage to persuade their kids to take part in a themed extravaganza. One of my friends boys was an incredible miniature Elton John,and she, in an amazng feat of creativity, was his piano. My kids were delighted with their off the shelf costumes though, so I should quell the "I'm not superhalloweenmom" guilt. In fact Geekyboy so embraced his robot persona that he would answer only to "Plex" while in costume, and insisted on walking in a special and rather adorable robotty way for the entire parade. I suspect the boy may end up on the stage.

Selfishly, I ended up reviving my long dormant creative talents for my own costume. We have a party at work every year with prizes for creativity. We have a fun crowd, but recent changes have left people rather despondent. Our group decided to try and bring back a bit of the fun. Inspired by this brilliant video (warning, it may only really resonate with you if you spent six years of your life as an impoverished graduate student or postdoctoral research fellow), we did our own "lady gaga wears lab wear" team extravaganza, complete with dance routine. We won. I was really quite pleased with the way my latex lab glove dress came out. It made me a little nostalgic for times when my actual hairstyle was not dissimilar to this wig, and when I went to clubs wearing outfits that were not all that different either. I was also very grateful, as I wandered the neighbourhood trick or treating event that evening, still in costume, to live in warm, accepting San Francisco.

Happy belated Halloween!

Cabernet, Callouses and Contrast

2011-10-22T15:05:00.000-07:00

We are well into the school year now. Geekygirl has settled in remarkably. Most days her dad drops her off, and I pick her up from the afterschool program. We have fallen into a new routine, and are moving though our days with calm competence again. Mostly. Our little schoolgirl has become very goal oriented. There seems to be fierce competition amongst the little girls to get across the monkey bars on the playground climbing frame as fast as possible. The advanced kids, I'm told in awed tones, can even skip every other bar. To this end Geekygirl has developed thick callouses on her palms, and assures me that she is one of the best at the bars. I'm glad all those gymnastics classes were good for something!

Our school places a lot of emphasis on reading and writing in the early years. As a school that is struggling with test scores still, they need to focus on the basics. Every morning they have a 'writers workshop' and these efforts, a picture described in the child's own words, are put together to make a book. Geekygirl is an academically inclined child, she loves to read and write and will spend hours with markers, paper and stapler making her own little books even at home. I noticed an additional callous today building on her index finger, from holding her pencil so often.

The first of these books came home not so long ago. I was proud of Geekygirls careful and descriptive illustrations, and glad to see how happy the representations of us family members looked in her pictures. Then I looked more carefully. On three of the five pages mummy looks particularly cheerful, and on each she has a large glass of wine in front of her, as exemplified below!

This started me wondering about all the details of our lives that the kids teachers become privy to. I can understand why therapists use art to find out what is going on in a child's mind. An observant kid like geekygirl puts so much detail into her drawings, and they give away all sorts of clues about our lives.

This past weekend we had a fundraiser for our school. I'm one of those "personality types" that gets seduced by an idea without thinking about the actual effort involved in pulling it off, which is why I and a couple of other parents ended up running a street carnival aided almost exclusively by some of the fifth grade kids.

Our school is undergoing a demographic shift; the younger grades are a mixture of "people like us" and poorer families, but the fifth grade is comprised exclusively of kids from the nearby housing project (council housing to folk in the UK, if it is even still called that). After the event finished, three of my helper team asked me to walk them home. Laden with pumpkins and other goodies that we gave them in thanks for helping, I walked the short few blocks with them enjoying their self satisfied happiness from a day of being both helpful and rewarded.

There is a dividing line in our neighbourhood that most of us don't cross. Charming tidy houses and clean tree lined streets streets abrubtly give way to rough grassland scattered with broken glass and ugly concrete barracks. The only thing we share is the million dollar view of sky and bay. As we crossed that line, my helpers called out to another kid, perched like a meercat on top of the hillside, "is it OK to go home?". He said that it was, so we continued down into the development, between washing lines and empty fast food bags, between cheery hellos from young mothers and scowls from sterotypical gangsters.

They pushed open a battered door, beckoning to me "Can you acks her if we can come back with you?" I had promised them earlier that I would take them back up to the street fair once we had dropped their loot at home. The tiny house had nothing. Bare kitchen counters, bare walls, bare lineoleum floors. A single couch in front of a huge flat screen TV, blinds drawn against the sun and the view. A young woman sleeping on the couch with three young kids bouncing all over her, the kids happy to see their sisters and a visiting stranger. I asked her if the girls could come back with me, and she raised her head an inch, asked them not to be too long, then lay back down. My kids offered me a soda, and we headed back out together. I wondered, after seeing their home environment, what kinds of pictures they drew in school.

I hoped that by going to our local public school we would get a chance to help the kind of people that I don't usually meet. America, perhaps more than Europe, becomes very socioeconomically segregated as we move through life. I know people with all sorts of origins and ethnicity but almost all of them went to college and most to graduate school. I don't think I know anyone who grew up in a housing project. There are two Americas, and one of them is not a place where you would want to be. Here in San Francisco they are right on top of each other, and one of the only places they do meet is in our public schools. I'm glad I took those girls home, but I'm discomforted by the stark contrast between their lives and ours, and fear that the gulf is to wide to be bridged. How do we, as a society, get bright kids like these out of there?

I'm not really asking you for answers, just sharing my thoughts, but if you have any, please do leave a comment.

Silent Sunday

2011-09-18T10:47:00.001-07:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop

the tyranny of time

2011-09-16T19:20:00.000-07:00

Never enough hours in a day. Never enough days in the week. This sums up our life and I suspect the life of all working parents.

Today I was struck by the importance of even tiny increments of time. Fifteen minutes lost or gained can dictate the whole course of a day.

Biological science experiments are divided into precise chunks of time. Experimental protocols state precisely how long cells must be incubated with test drugs, how long they must be spun in the centrifuge, how long a reaction must proceed for before it is stopped and the result read out. If you ever visit a biology lab you will see harried scientists with timers clipped to their jeans chugging down too hot coffee during the precise 5 minute break they have between steps in an experiment. Once you start your experiments you can't just stop half way through and continue the next day, either, so if something is going to take four hours from start to finish you need to organize your day accordingly.

On Thursdays I take the kids to gymnastics class. It is one of the high points of their week, and mine too, but it starts at 4.30pm. With our new double drop off kindergarten and preschool schedule this requires me to leave the office at or before 3.55pm at the very latest to arrive at class almost on time. My working days are split between desk work and lab work, and my experiments sometimes fall on gymnastics days. Seemingly insignificant issues can throw the whole day out of whack. Needing a sharp pair of scissors to open the box of 96 well plates, and taking five minutes to locate one; needing to restart the computer controlling a critical instrument, there is ten minutes lost; having an urgent email to answer, that's twenty more minutes gone....

Today at 3pm I realized that this dribbling loss of little bits of time meant that I no longer had time to run my experiment and get out in time for the gymnastics class. The experiment was very important for a project, a project with its own timelines and deadlines, and it also utilized a very precious human tissue sample, one that had been donated by the family of someone who had died, so I felt a strong obligation not to waste this gift. I had to do the experiment, and if I did there was no way I could get the kids to the class any less than twenty minutes late. I tried to justify that missing one gymnastics class isn't a big deal, but to them, it is. I have disappointed them before, showing up at school and having to tell them that actually, mummy is too late to take them to class. They struggle to understand what I could have been doing that mattered so much. I send a message that I don't want to send; that my work is more important to me than they are.

The story has a happy ending. I don't work in a vacuum, I work with a team of other scientists, most of whom are also parents. I've learned, rather belatedly in life, to ask for help when I need it. My coworker finished my experiment for me, and I made it to class.

I'm blogging via the free wifi at gymnastics class now, watching the kids with half my brain, blogging and responding to the ping of my work email with the other. Stealing a fragment of time back for me.

Ten years

2011-09-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

I heard about it from Geekydaddy. Back then we were cohabiting, not yet married, though we were already living in the home we still have here in San Francisco. He called me from his drive to work, and I turned on the TV in time to see the second plane hit. My mum and dad were visiting from England that week, and on the morning of September 11th 2001 they were at the San Francisco Airport, waiting for a flight to Las Vegas. They watched the events unfold on the airport TV monitors. They were efficiently bused back to an eerily quiet city, and wondered about the wisdom of being dropped off downtown amidst San Francisco's skyscrapers. I took the shuttle to work, everyone sitting on it in uncustomary silence, watching the sky, waiting and wondering whether our iconic American structures too were destined to burn.

Sometimes it doesn't feel as if ten years have passed since then, but other times it feels as if we live in a different world. Especially when traveling by air. International travel always had fairly rigorous immigration and security, especially at Heathrow, but do you remember domestic US air travel before 9/11? When, if you didn't have bags to check, you just walked into the airport and strolled right up to the gate to check in? There were no security checklines, and you could carry whatever you liked in your carry on bag. Your non traveling companions could walk you to the gate and kiss you goodbye right as you boarded the plane. Geekydaddy would meet me at the gate, often with flowers hurriedly purchased at the airport shop designed for just that purpose, when I arrived home from a conference.

When I moved out to San Francisco back in 1996 I was invited to ride in the cockpit for part of the flight, courtesy of a friend of my fathers who worked for the airline. I can't imagine my children will ever get to do that. The children are seasoned travelers though. For them it will always be normal to remove your shoes at the airport, to walk through body scanners and to pack tiny ziploc bags of miniature toiletries. We all moan about the inconvenience, but to be honest, I have got used to it. Perhaps it has already saved us from other acts of violence. We probably never hear about many of the near-attacks that are prevented.

No amount of security can protect us from idiocy though. Southern California should have been on a code red idiot alert last Thursday, when someone flipped the wrong switch and inadvertently sent the whole of SoCal into the dark ages. We are so dependent upon the flow of electrons through our world. When there is no power there are no ATM machines, credit cards are useless, cell phone service is patchy and gas pumps don't work. I was standing at the self check in machine, ready to fly back home from what was supposed to be a day business trip to San Diego when the screen went blank. A long line began to form behind me. My scheduled flight time came and went. People started to mutter and wonder if something more ominous than a simple power outage might have occurred, this anniversary being forefront in everyone's minds. Twitter reassured me that there was no foul play, so I found a taxi to take me back up to my company's office in La Jolla so that I could join the rest of my stranded colleagues. Our admin staff back in SF got us booked into a powerless, but fortunately not drink-less hotel, but there was no way to get flights rebooked while the airport was still without electricity. I was fortunate to be with our company president, an amazing woman who I always want to be with in any crisis situation. She found a cab with enough gas to drive us to LA, and had enough cash on her to pay the fare. The amazing admin staff, working overtime back at mission control in our SF office, got us booked into the LAX Hilton, and on flights back to SFO the next day.

This was a minor crisis, a mere adventure in the grand scheme of things. Even the children were unphased by the news that Mummy would be back a day later than expected. I showed up at work the next day in a snazzy LA souvenir T shirt, having been reminded that so much in our lives is beyond our control, and is instead in the hands of the randomness of chance. From now on though I will always carry cash, and have spare pair of knickers in my handbag.

clothes maketh the woman

2011-09-05T15:21:00.000-07:00

I consider myself a feminist. I like to be admired for my intellect, my scientific insight, and my hard work. Often I find myself wondering why I also care so much about my appearance. I worry too about projecting this onto my daughter. Geekygirl is a gorgeous kid, and people tell her so. Peggy Orenstein in "cinderella ate my daughter" raises concerns about teaching our daughters that their value lies in part or at all in their looks, that this will set them up for eating disorders and poor self esteem, but the ugly reality seems to be that no matter how much we wish it were not so, looks do matter.

I'n my profession, I'm a scientist in the biopharmaceutical industry, looks are probably less important than in many others. There could even be a downside of appearing too "bimboey". I wonder sometimes whether I should cut my hair, embrace my natural brown locks rather than spending a fortune on blond mane maintenance at the salon, and relax my rigorous figure-maintaining salad eating and exercise regimen. Science is a forgiving career, personal grooming wise. I was recently at a party filled with the other, more glamorous bookend of our industry, pharmaceutical sales reps, and felt distinctly dowdy, though I was secretly delighted to be proclaimed by one "way too fabulous to be a scientist".

Finding that balance between looking both attractive and intelligent consumes far too much of my energy and money. Before business trips, mental energy time that should be spent pre reading slides and brushing up on science is devoted instead to preparing what to wear, down to what type of underwear will provide smooth support for my aging bum under my nicely fitted but not too tight slacks, without causing me to have to keep adjusting them all the time (these are great, in case you are looking for such an item). I spent far too much time coming up with a formal yet feminine style for my trip to Japan last year. I was pretty happy both with how the trip went professionally and with how I looked though, I have to say. So much so that I snapped this shot of myself in the hotel room mirror!

It was with great interest, that I read this quite old article, which points out that there is no neutral work ware for women. hair up, hair down, short, long, every style says something about you and how you see yourself. High necks, a touch of cleavage or an eye popping bustier. Make up or no make up. Everything makes some kind of statement, whereas a man in a pair of grey trousers and a blue or white shirt, as long as both fit him and are vaguley clean and pressed, blends in to the background. Men can choose to stand out, of course, with jewelery, exposed chest hair or flashy shirts and ties, but most don't even have to think about the image that their clothes project.

Changes at work leave me back in the world primarily of men. Nice men, don't get me wrong, but people who tower over me, leaving me with the dilema of whether to wear comfy flats that leave me a head and a half below the conversation, or to rock shoes like these babies, which give me an almost eye level experience with our senior team, but walk a fine balance between 'executive' and "stripper".

It took me about 27 years to even come to terms with my own looks. I spent most of my teen years designing elaborate hairstyles and eye make up techniques to detract attention from my too large nose, and most of my twenties worried about my weight, despite only ever skirting the edge of the overweight BMI category. Now I've hit my forties the brief period of being vaguely satisfied with my appearance is passing, as the spectre of aging looms and lures me, a scientist who really should know better, to spend stupid sums of money on tiny pots of expensively packaged face cream. I run and do pilates, not just to keep my blood lipid profile healthy, but to ensure I still fit into my slim pants. I get great satisfaction from looking slim, pretty and sexy, and feel miserable when my skin flares up in dry scaly patches, when the bags under my eyes reveal my age or when my tummy wobbles over the waistband of my skinny jeans. I really don't understand why I feel this way, since what I look like has no bearing at all on how well I parent my kids, do my job, or live my life.

In hope of understanding more about this issue, I picked up two books exploring this very subject. The first, The Beauty Bias : The Injustice of Appearance in Life and Law, by Deborah Rodes, explores the unpleasant reality that attractive people are more successful, especially women. The author speculates that this is a form of discrimination that should be legislated against, and exhorts women not to buy into it, to stand firm and age gracefully. She also accepts that there is an uphil battle for change while men are in charge, since men just seem to prefer pretty women. The second, The Erotic Capital: The Power of Attraction in the Boardroom and the Bedroom by Catherine Hakim takes this thesis further and offers a different solution, accepting it as brute fact of life and encouraging women, indeed everyone in all walks of life to use their looks, their "erotic capital" as she coins it, to get ahead.

I'm still distilling my thoughts on this complex topic, but I would love to hear yours.

The first week at Elementary School

2011-08-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

It seems like just yesterday I blogged about embarking upon the dreaded San Francisco Unified District school tours. We found out which school we got into back in March. Then the rest of the year frisked right by and the beginning of the school year hit us. Geekygirl is a kindergartener, with two full weeks at her new elementary school under her belt. She loves it. She loves her uniforms, navy and white, though I failed to calculate the number of possible permutations and combinations a creative girl can consider when she has five different bottoms and three different shirt styles to choose from in the morning. When you add in the fact that they are allowed to wear legging or tights of any color under their skirts we still end up taking quite some time to get ready of a morning!

She has made new friends already, and she loves her teacher. She even loves the afterschool program. I was a bit worried about this. In her daycare/preschool all the families had working mums (or two working dads), so I had comfortably avoided making her aware of the concept of a parent who stays home and picks up the end of the school day, which is early afternoon here. A lovely friend who also has a kid in her class, and has a more flexible schedule than mine is going to take her home one day a week though (thanks P!), to give her a bit of a break from school.

Which brings me to why I'm loving the school. The community. One of the reasons the district changed the application policy for the schools this year was to try and make them more part of the communities they were located within. Not everyone has been delighted with this new policy, but I love that when I drop off at school I see the same families we play with in the playground, kids that I went to mummy and baby classes with, and mums I remember being pregnant at the same time I was. There are also families who live in the less affluent part of our neighborhood who we otherwise wouldn't interact with. I love that the school is so close to our house.

Admittedly, most of the families I know are in the much lauded Spanish language immersion path at the school. We are not in that program, we are in the regular General Education English language track. I did a fair amount of outreach into our parent community over the past year, and for the first time a decent proportion of this class also is from "our side of the tracks". A bonus of this not being one of the popular schools in the city means that there are only fourteen children in Geekygirl's class.

As part of my rallying effort I had asked the kindergarten teacher at the time to meet with prospective parents. This lady, a thirty year veteran teacher, spoke about assessing each child's needs and grouping the children according to ability to ensure all children progressed, rather than teaching to the lowest common denominator. This gets called "supporting differentiated learning" here, and apparently it isn't philosophically supported by all schools. The teacher we met with retired over the summer though, and the teacher of this years K class is new.

The only nagging concern I have is whether she will be able and willing to meet the needs of all the kids in the class. There are kids who have had no preschool, kids who don't speak English well, and kids like Geekygirl who can read and write already. She seems really lovely, but I would like to have a conversation with her about this concept without sounding like a pushy parents who is convinced her child is a genius. Any suggestions?!

Happy back to school, everyone!

Silent Sunday

2011-08-27T19:54:00.001-07:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Silent Sunday

2011-08-14T08:21:00.001-07:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen

2011-08-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

Despite never having lived in the country, Geekydaddy is Danish, courtesy of his Danish mother, and of the queen of Denmark who granted his citizenship plea when he turned 18. His mum and dad have a cottage on the coast, an hour or so from Copenhagen, and that is where we spent a week of our vacation.

Rural Denmark must be the greenest place on earth. The grass, when examined closely, proves to be interlaced so thickly with leafy chartreuse moss that it is more moss than lawn. Mushrooms sprout in the shadows. It is a damp country. For the week that we were there though, it was glorious. The white sandy beach with its shallow gentle water a veritable Danish riviera. Every day the kids frolicked in the sand and water. "The sand is as soft as snow" Geekyboy exclaimed on his first trip down to the sea.

We consumed our annual supply of omega 3 fatty acids with a daily herring lunch. As I posted on Facebook, you know you are in Denmark when lunch consists of pickled herring, smoked herring, herring salad with some smoked mackerel to add variety. The children didn't touch the herring, I hasten to add. In fact they universally turned their noses up at lovingly prepared food on both sides of the North Sea. Thank goodness jarred pesto sauce and dried pasta are internationally consistent products, otherwise they may have starved. They did relish their "frigadella" (Danish meatballs) and British sausages, at least.

A trip to Denmark wouldn't be complete without an outing to Tivoli, the wonderful old theme park right in the center of Copenhagen.

Geekydaddy turned into a child as soon as we walked through the gates. This was a paradise from his own childhood, and he couldn't wait to share it with the kids.

Our kids hadn't even been to a theme park before. We haven't made the trek to Disney or lego-land. We may have to now, because they loved Tivoli. Even Geekyboy, usually cautious, wanted to go on the rides. Our favourite was a peculiarly Danish ride "the magic Suitcases". Riders sit in a car shaped like an open suitcase and are carried through animated scenes from Hans Christian Andersen stories, some rather strange and sinister, others very beautiful and charming. I noted that the lovely "little mermaid" scene consisted of several stylized topless mermaid statues complete with round perky boobs with bright red nipples. Can you imagine such a thing in Disneyland in a ride intended for preschoolers?! I do love the Scandanavian attitude to the human body. We had planned a sensible early exit from the park, but Geekydaddy begged and pleaded to keep the kids up too late and to stay for longer, so we fed the kids some more sugar to keep them going long past their bedtime.

This trip is probably the first that Geekygirl will really remember well. She was only three the last time we traveled with her, and she has some flashes of recollection but not many. At five, this trip will be written into the mystery that is permanent memory. Holiday memories burn brighter than others, I think. Maybe because they are more photographed and talked about. Maybe because we pack so much experience into those few weeks away from our usual routines. I have vivid and happy memories from my childhood holidays. This trip is the beginning of a holiday memory collection Geekygirl will carry with her forever. I'm glad it was such a good one.

The squeaky stair

2011-08-06T20:53:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure when the second from bottom stair in my parents house started to creak, but it has done so for as long as I can remember. My mum and dad purchased our family home brand new, in 1973. At the time the little estate was at the very edge of the small and rather shabby market town, built on the first of many farmer's fields sold to developers. They still live there; its now much farther from the edge of the town, and the town itself is now an attractive local destination filled with gastro pubs and designer shops. The interior of the house is much tidier and more stylish too, and the garden a veritable magazine piece. The stair still creaks though.

My mum's footfall on that step, bouncing up and down those stairs, epitomizes home to me. I have lain in bed, upstairs, waiting to be kissed goodnight, for a glass of water, to be roused for the school bus, illicitly with a boyfriend or just innocently drifting off to sleep alone, and that creak has meant mum or dad were on their way up or down. I jumped over that creaky step if I came home late, trying to be quiet, though I'm sure mum was still awake, she never slept until we were all safely home.

Our first port of call on our recent holiday to the UK was mum and dad's house. Warmly welcomed, the children were cool. They don't know their grandparents well, how could they really with the miles that separate us? Geekygirl especially can tell how much I want her to like them, and being her contrary self decides that therefore she won't. I was sad that they didn't show their adorable selves very often, but instead met my parents kind efforts with a sullen, grudgy compliance. Still, we explored my childhood haunts and many wonderful attractions that didn't exist when I was a child, and they had a wonderful time. England has become so child friendly, even child centric, it seems, since I left. Family farms and adventure playgrounds galore.

The wall next to the staircase in my parents house is a family gallery. Arty shots of me and my siblings, wedding snaps, and precious portraits of long passed family members, some perhaps the only photos ever taken of them, and certainly wearing the only shoes they owned, adorn the walls. Geekygirl, her ascent halted by the disconcerting squeak of the stair, stopped to look at them and was fascinated by a sepia picture of two curly haired toddler girls and a baby boy. She was incredulous when informed that one of the pretty little girls was Grandma. It seemed almost impossible to her that Grandma used to be a little girl. That I used to be one too, a skinny gap toothed creature in the gallery, she can barely grasp. This sense of continuity, this home with its trail of family, is one of the reasons I wish we could bring the kids 'home' more frequently.

That, and to preserve the lovely English accent both kids seem to have adopted during the trip.

Silent Sunday

2011-08-06T20:15:00.000-07:00

for more silent sunday entries go here

Vacation

2011-07-31T00:24:00.001-07:00

We are on holiday. You would think that would give me the luxury of lots of time to post, but contrarily the whirl of events and family catch ups combined with disoriented children and the fact that I can't seem to stop logging on to work have left me blogless.

We are having a lovely holiday. Just not finding a lot of down time. The trip is almost over and I have only read one of the nine books I optimistically loaded onto the kindle.

I have many blog posts forming in my head, including how I learned that I would rather take a transatlantic flight with a chimpanzee or a baby goat than with a three year old boy.

The trauma of the long flight is fading, though the return journey looms closer. We are currently in Denmark, a very green, quiet and deliciously relaxing place. If only someone would tell the children that.

Normal blog posting will resume when I return to real life and ironically will have more free time!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.

Silent Sunday

2011-07-31T00:14:00.001-07:00

For more go here

http://www.mochabeaniemummy.com/blog/2011/07/31/silent-sunday-60/

Junior Genetics

2011-07-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

One of the challenges of having two full time working parents is finding time for all of the enriching activites that kids seem to require these days. One might argue that children don't really need to learn kung fu, ballet, softball, Chinese calligraphy, flower arranging and soccer at the age of five, but as we all know, this is the norm these days. In fact even when I was a kid my parents signed us up for lots of extra curricular classes. I took ballet, modern dance, brownies (girl scouts for american readers), flute, piano, band, swimming (stroke classes and synchronized) and horseriding as a kid and I enjoyed it all very much. I would like to offer the same to our kids, but most of these classes are in the early afternoon, not conducive to working parents schedule. Preschool offers music class, soccer and zumba which helps assuage the guilt a little. I confess though that I do not know what zumba is. I must be the only mother on the planet who hasn't tried it.

We can manage one activity a week. When geekygirl was small I braved a music class. We toyed with ballet and with swimming on the weekends, but have now settled on gymnastics. This is for purely practical reasons. The gym is 2 minutes from home, and on the route home from preschool, and they have concurrent classes for toddler boys and five year old girls. I leave work early every Thursday and sometimes we even make it to class on time and remember the bag with their gym clothes in.

Both kids love it. I enjoy watching them too. It soothes away the stresses of a work day to sit and watch the kids concentrate on their tumbling and jumping, looking so proud of themselves when they achieve something spectacular, like a swing or a somersault over one of the bars. I have noticed improvements in Geekygirls strength and coordination since she has started the class too.

Geekyboy also seems to have fun with it. He can't, however, pronounce the word 'gymnastics'. He calls it "genetics".

I can't help but wonder what other parents must think of me when he proudly announces that he is going to genetics class. I'm secretly waiting for an over eager mum or dad to ask me where one can sign a three year old up to study advanced biology.

I love to ride my bicycle

2011-07-12T21:32:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid a bicycle was my firsttaste of freedom and independence. All the children who lived in ourcu de sac would gather on our bikes and ride around our streetsengaged in elaborate games. It took me a while to learn to ride abike, though. It wasn't until Father Christmas clanked in a couple of brandnew shiny bicycles for my sister and I one Christmas eve, the kindthat folded up in the middle with a hinge for easy transport, (Iguess this was before people invented bike racks?), that I masteredthe art of riding without stablizers. I must have been at least 9years old.

Our San Francisco home, being situatedon a hill so steep that it is used for the 'street louge' event whenour city hosts the “X games”, is not an ideal place for teachingkids to ride bikes. Our Tahoe place however is perfect. We have along, smooth wide tamaced driveway ideal for bike practice, the streets are quiet, bikes, pedestrians, dogs and kids have right of way over cars. Thecommunity up here feels a like going back in time, to how I imagineAmerica was back in the 1970's. It isn't unusual to see a bunch of dustychildren, not much older than 7 or 8, flying around on bicycles,unsupervised except by a galumphing golden retreiver with an American flagbandana around its neck.

I've documented here our struggleshelping Geekygirl learn to ski. Our first attempts at teaching her toride a bike were similarly difficult. I optimistically bought a cheap little bikewith stablizers last year but she showed little interest in it. Geekygirlis not a child who can be persuaded to try something difficult if shereslly doesn't want to, so the bike languished in the garage. Thissummer I was determined to get the kids velocepidal. We splashed outon a decent brand of kid bike with smooth pedalling action.

Shopping forthese bikes made me wonder about the 'genderization' of everything.When I was a kid I don't recall bikes being quite so obviously “Girl” and“Boy”. As a parent with a child of each gender I would very muchlike to be able to pass down these expensive items, but we ended upwith a purple bicycle with a basket and pink handlebar streamers forGeekygirl (it is at least decorated with dragonflies rather than princesses, and Geekyboy is quite envious of the streamers) and a black and white motocross style one for Geekyboy.

Geekygirl was thrilled with the bike, but still unsure about riding it, and as usual our efforts at encouragement caused her to become self concious and refuse to try. I decided just to sit out in the driveway, reading and half paying attention to her. I love to watch geekygirl play. She takes off into imaginary worlds, narrating out loud the story that she is participating in. She was on some kind of mission that involved climbing the rocks when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was on the bicycle. "The girl needed to take some cookies to her friends house, so she got on her bicycle and zoomed there" I heard her say. Sure enough she got on, pedalled a few feet then hopped off, parked it and skipped off to the imaginary friends house. She came back, rode a few more laps of the driveway, then hopped off again.

I remembered, watching her, how my own childhood bicycle doubled as a pony, a broomstick, or a magical silver deer. Seeing her incorporate hers into into her games reassured me that she would come to love riding it.

Sure enough, by the end of the weekend she was even confident enough to ride in the 4th of July bicycle parade, an event of such wholesome, sweet all-Americanness that it makes me nostalgic for the American childhood that I didn't even have.

Guest posting at "book week"

2011-07-06T20:57:00.001-07:00

Please pop over and read, and do read all the other wonderful posts that Tasha has gathered together.

Silent Sunday

2011-07-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

For more go here

potty powerless

2011-07-02T11:58:00.000-07:00

Geekyboy has discovered irony. He must have done, or why else would he have peed on the couch while watching "Potty Power"?

I was warned that potty training little boys could be hard. I had been under the impression that Geekygirl had been quite difficult to train in this respect, and that I was now an expert in these matters, but I now take all my complaints back. If you ever think you know anything about kids, just have another one. This will set you straight and remind you that children are individuals, damn them, and they can't be reared to any kind of formula. When it comes to potty training, Geekyboy has proved to be recalcitrant.

He can recognize California, Texas, Nevada, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Maine on a map of the USA (he and I are about on par with our recognition of the states. The squareish states in the middle of the union all look the same to me.) He can spell his name and count to twenty. He does still think one and one make eleven, so we have some work to do there, but he is clearly a bright boy.

He doesn't understand his own body though. He can sit on the potty for twenty minutes, and three or four stories (which makes it just about impossible for me to get in to work at 8.00am these days), with nary a trickle produced. Three minutes later we will find him standing in a lake of pee. "Make it come out Mummy" he shouts with frustration while sitting on the loo.

I had an escape from this madness with my annual trip to the American Diabetes Association scientific sessions last week. This year it was in San Diego which is one of my favourite conference locations. A short hop from home, but with much warmer weather. I broke out my summer dresses and strappy sandals, guzzled cocktails with abandon (not during the conference sessions, I hasten to add) and probably to the bemusement of my co workers I was as giddy as if I was on a tropical vacation. A full time working mum has to get her kicks where she can find them.

This was my first business trip with my newly acquired Kindle. The only downside of traveling with an electronic instead of a paper book is that it has to be turned off during take of and landing, leaving me itching for any kind of reading material. Browsing that catalog of the bizarre that is United Airlines "Sky mall" magazine. I came across this.

I am not sure whether to be encouraged or depressed that people can potty train cats more easily than I can potty train a three and a half year old.

On returning from my trip (I'm not sure who is more delighted to see me when I get back from these trips, the kids, the dog or my husband) a victory had been reached. Geekyboy's patient and ingenious preschool teachers devised a strategy. They sit him on the toilet with his feet in a bowl of warm water, and simultaneously give him a cup of water to drink. A full week of this ritual and he seems to have got the hang of actually peeing on the loo.

He still doesn't seem to recognize when he needs to go, so we need to be vigilant, and as for pooping, lets just say we won't be getting rid of the diaper pail any time soon. Any other potty advice very much welcomed, wise blogosphere (and of course wise family members!)

Nobody's city but our own

2011-06-17T19:31:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time a twenty five year old post doctoral scientist arrived in San Francisco, a city she had never before seen, with all her worldly belongings in two suitcases. She had a university research position lined up, just enough cash to cover her expenses for a couple of weeks and a bed in a roach infested youth hostel. Her first few days in the city were spent apartment hunting. She got fantastically lucky. You see she didn't just find a place to live, she found a home. She found the kind of friends that are like family. Friends who became connected to each other the way the rickety back stairs connected their apartments. Friends who got to know each other the way you can only when you are young, unencumbered and have hours to lose drinking and laughing and telling stories.

There is a new musical playing in San Francisco, a show based upon the "Tales of the City" novels by Armistead Maupin. The opening scene, set in 1976, introduces us to twenty five year old MaryAnn, from Cleveland Ohio who is seeking an apartment. She finds a home, and a group of friends at 28 Barbary lane on Russian Hill and the show tells the entwined stories of these fascinating people through some quite brilliant songs, including "Nobody's city but my own".

My only experience of the city before moving here was through this series of novels. They have a special place in my heart, maybe they even drew me here. The friends I found, the life we led back in the late 1990's in our cool but tatty victorian apartment building paralleled that of those fictional characters. Not just in the partying and dating, but in the warm and genuine nature of the bond we shared. I love my city. Despite being far too far away from my family in England, it is truly my home.

I bought tickets to the musical as soon as they went on sale. I blogged about my anticipation. Last weekend we went to see the show. Followthatdog and her family came down from Seattle, as did our friend Chihuahua. Work and family took them both up to the pacific northwest a few years ago, but their hearts are still in San Francisco. Stan still lives here. We went out for a fancy dinner, and then we went on to the show. Gussied up and liquored up, it felt just like old times. We felt like old timers when we realized that the last time we had been to this restaurant together was when it opened back in 1998. Over fine wines and gourmet seafood we rehashed our own beloved stories. Legends of memorable nights whose details I will not embellish here on this public blog.

The show was perfect. The company even better. My professional and parent circles are great, but I put up a little barrier with people I have met later in life. There is a lot that my newer friends don't know about me. I temper my language, and think before I throw out a caustic barb (well sometimes!) There is something so wonderfully rejuvenating about being with people who know each other through and through. People who will always love you, no matter what you do or say.

Followthatdog and I put our grown up parent personas back on the next day and extended our homage to San Francisco by taking the children to visit Alcatraz. It was a picture postcard day, all the more perfect since we have had unseasonally appalling weather this spring.

Chugging across the bay, the familiar yet always breathtaking views of city and bridges surrounding the ferryboat, Geekygirl announced with certainty "Mummy, We live in the most beautiful city in the world." I realized what a gift I have given them. The city of San Francisco, to make their very own.

Little Dog, Geekygirl, Big Dog, Geekyboy.

Made in San Francisco.

Silent Sunday

2011-06-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

Tea Party

2011-06-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

My blog has always been just a place to write. I'm very fortunate in that I have a great day job and that blogging can be purely a hobby. I have no need or desire to make money out of it. But we bloggers are apparently "new media". We are influential in our little spheres. I have personally checked out products recommended by other bloggers, even purchased things, so I can see how this is changing the marketing world. Last week I got my first invitation to a press event. It was for a local children's clothing company, one which happened to have been started right in my own neighborhood, and one that I already know and love.

I couldn't resist the opportunity, so I persuaded Geekydaddy to take the kids to their gymnastics class and I went along. I felt a little weird with my "Geekymummy" name tag plastered across my chest. At "official" events in my professional life I usually I have a badge with "Dr My Real Name" on it, so I was a little unsure of how to project myself publicly in my alternative identity and without my scientific credentials to hide behind. I got the hang of it though, and met some lovely and interesting people, like Normalarkey, the Drifter and the Gypsy, and FrogMom.

Tea Collection make gorgeous children's and women's clothes. I first came across them years ago, when looking for a baby gift for a friend. Our little local florist also sold trinkets and select children's clothing items. She stocked items from Tea, and I was always drawn to them for their interesting prints, the use of colors other than pink and blue and their use of soft, natural fibers.

I learned at the event that the florist store was actually their very first outlet, so I must have been one of their early customers! They are now featured in Nordstrom department stores, so have clearly come a long way. I also learned that the company is called Tea because Tea is something that is universal across cultures. One of the unique things about the collection is that each season they pick a country, visit it and use the culture as inspiration for the prints and styles of the clothes. This fall's collection was inspired by Mexico.

The clothes were just gorgeous. I love that Tea choose a wide color palate for their girls clothing rather than relying on pinks and purples. Their T shirts and hoodies are even, gasp, unisex! The outfits are perfect for San Francisco because they are made for layering. Geekygirl always mixes and matches clothes, wears her dresses over the top of shirts and leggings. She will also only wear soft stretchy things with elasticated waists. Obviously she is not alone since Tea tailor their stuff to exactly this type of kid. The boys clothes also draw from a wider color pattern than is usually seen for boys and again I found the essentials for my sensitive little flowers; soft fabrics and elasticated waist pants. Pants that your kid thinks are sweatpants but that a mother isn't ashamed to put on him for a fancy party.

When I got home Geekygirl tore into the swag bag. She loves this soft cotton jersey sun dress that was inspired by a piece of Mexican pottery.

This was my first official event as a blogger, and I really enjoyed it. Thanks to the lovely women at Tea for inviting me. This post isn't sponsored, but they did give me a bag of free stuff! You can find them here, on their facebook page and they even have a blog. How can a British expat not love a company called Tea?!

Silent Sunday

2011-06-05T14:19:00.000-07:00

old lady

2011-05-26T19:42:00.000-07:00

Geekyboy has taken to calling me "grandma". "I'm pretending you're my grandma" he tells me, then proceeds to yell "Grandma" across the playground.

Our choice to live here in San Francisco means that the kids don't get to see either of their actual grandparents very often. Perhaps the poor child is grandparent deprived. His obsession with the TV show "Max and Ruby", in which the grandma (a bunny) is a featured character and the champion of the little boy bunny Max may also have something do do with it.

Whatever the reason, I'm getting a bit pissed off! I have seen a few heads turn, probably wondering, since he is calling me "Grandma", if I was a teen mother when I gave birth to his mother or father. Well I hope that's what they are wondering, maybe I look plenty old enough to be his grandma. After all, it is biologically possible and there are forty year old grandmothers aplenty.

Insult is being added to injury by my new "Kindle". I have the version that is super cheap because it displays advertising when you are not reading on it. It keeps showing me adverts for anti aging face potions. Maybe this just reflects the target market of a generic Kindle reading demographic, but I'm taking it personally. And wondering if I should invest in some. The sands of time seem to be catching up with me.

Mystery Blog Swap

2011-05-19T21:06:00.000-07:00

Julie, over at "The Sardine Tin" put together a "Mystery blog swap". Pop over there to see who else is participating.

My mystery guest wrote a wonderful evocative post. Can you guess who it is? Can you find my post on someone else's blog?

Even if you don't want to play, do enjoy the guest post, I know I did:

Guess who? A memorable day in the life of a mystery blog swapper.

Climbing out of our beds very early, my husband and I really couldn't help grinning like idiots at each other, we were on the holiday of a lifetime and this morning we were booked on a heli-hike across the Fox Glacier. Gathering at the shop in town we were shepherded to a creaky old bus and taken to the yard where two helicopters stood waiting. My first time in a helicopter! My stomach coursing with butterflies we were all given nailed boots to wear which were seriously heavy and everyone tramped out in a clatter to the helicopter. Our guide Jason, who honestly looked about 16, helped the pilot allocate our seats in the helicopter, I was placed in the front and my husband behind me and we were off.

Rising up into the air looking over the stunning countryside of South Island New Zealand, Mount Cook gracefully towering over the Southern Alps, word fail me as I try to describe how I was feeling, anticipation, excitement, yes but they really don't cover it. As we followed the river up into the mountains they opened out into a valley displaying the bright teal glacier glinting in the sunshine. It was at this moment that the pilot decided to do a left hook to show us the valley at close hand and I really do mean close hand, suddenly we were almost upside down, I honestly thought my time had come and we were going to crash into the rocks below! From behind me a hand gripped my shoulder, yes, the other half thought so too.

The end however, was not nigh, the helicopter straightened out and the guide was wittering on in my headset about some waterfall or other whilst I fixed a smile on my face which was closer to a grimace but served it's purpose in keeping my breakfast in my stomach, a useful tip I learned from watching CIS. I had my eyes shut for the rest of the flight and when we touched down on the glacier a matter of minutes later it took every ounce of will power I possess to make my legs move out of the helicopter down onto the treacherous ice.
Hunkering down on the ice next to the other half whilst the helicopter left my eyes were streaming with silent tears, he gave me a big hug and we pulled ourselves together enough to listen to Jason telling us about the glacier and it’s movements, his hopes of finding us an ice cave. We set off slowly, 15 extra pounds of boot on your feet and legs that feel like jelly don’t make for fast movement when the floor is solid ice. Picking our way along, making sure each foot has a grip before you move the next one, the silence and majestic beauty of the glacier can’t fail to touch you even whilst you are quaking in awe, slowly my legs shored up and my trembling became minimal enough to enjoy our surroundings, the beautiful deep teal blue of the glacier is still one of my favourite colours.
We walked along an ice ridge high between bottomless crevasses and waited whilst Jason cut stairs in the ice to help us down to an ice cave which we took it in turns to peer into and take photographs, we chatted to a couple from Australia about the flight and they confessed to have been scared ridged too, it is a relief when you realise it wasn’t just you and I got my dare devil mojo back just in time to have a good clamber around in the blue ice tunnels before we had to slowly make our way back to the landing site, hunkering down again whilst the helicopter landed to take us back to solid ground.
I did think once we returned to the town of Fox, that I might never get in another helicopter again, a week later though we were once more in the air being thrown around by another pilot who thought it was funny to scare the tourists rigid as part of the Queensland triple, Heli, jetboat and rafting day and guess what – we both laughed in the face of the assumed danger...

waxing lyrical

2011-05-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

The kids are starting to listen carefully. I now understand that old adage "little pitchers have big ears".

We watched Mamma Mia for mothers day.

"How come she doesn't know which of those three guys are her daddy?" asked Geekygirl.

"Oh, her mummy liked them all a lot, they were all such nice guys, that she couldn't tell" I scrambled in reply. Which was a bit of a cop out, but better than saying "well her mum was a bit of an old slapper".

I guess that is why the movie is rated PG13, but I had assumed that the actual plot would fly over the kids heads and they would just enjoy the music. Note to self, more careful vetting of movie plots in the future.

I have been running into the same issue with song lyrics. I prefer not to listen to kids music in the car so I have put together an eclectic playlist of things I like, things they like, and things I thought I liked until I had listened to them 200 times and would now rather chew off my own hand than listen to again ("party in the USA", I'm talking about you.) The list includes several numbers from "Glee" including that great Journey cover "Don't stop bleeding" - as it is sung in our car.

I have a bit of Lady GaGa, some child friendly JayZ, the aforementioned Miley Cyrus number, some Train, some Abba, but the Glee covers are the favourites. The songs have caused some interesting conversations, a memorable one being "Mummy, why does he want 'Jessie's girl'?"

The latest was

"Mummy, why does he like 'fat bottomed girls'?"

We have done a good job so far of teaching the kids that people come in all sorts of sizes, so I wanted to be positive; "Maybe because they are squishy?"

Geekygirl: "Mmm, maybe fat bottoms are nice and soft. Mummy, I have a tiny bottom and you don't have a fat bottom, but P's mummy has a really, really fat bottom"

The lady in question does indeed have a spectacular rear. She is also a friend of mine. She is a woman confident in her shape and appearance, but I am crossing every finger, indeed every bone in my body that Geekygirl does not serenade her with an A Capella version of "fat bottomed girls" the next time we see her at preschool.

Silent Sunday

2011-05-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

More silent sunday here

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

ambition

2011-05-14T10:14:00.000-07:00

One benefit of being a mum with a job is that the example that I set for the kids. Geekygirl has always assumed that when she grows up, she too will have a job. For the longest time she has had one particular career in mind.

Her dream started one Sunday morning while we were eating our ritual "Home baked from Trader Joe's" chocolate croissants. If you have never tired these breakfast delicacies, I highly recommend that you do. We threw them into the shopping cart one day, doubtful that a frozen pastry could conjour up the true deliciousness of a genuine "Pain au chocolat", but once I tasted their puffy, crumbly bittersweet chocolatiness I was transported back in time. They evoked mornings in French campsites, when two little girls would get up early to run to the bakery van, practicing their French by ordering "un Baguette, deux croissant et trois pain au chocolat, s'il vous plait".

One morning, with a mouthful of chocolaty crumbs, Geekygirl asked us "Who makes these? I want a job where I can make these for people". There began her dream of becoming a pastry chef with her own patisserie. Over the past few months it has become quite elaborate. She will have a small shop, which she may or may not live above. Her brother will have a restaurant next door that serves only vegetables, to counteract her sweet offerings. Customers will have to go there first, eat vegetables, and only afterwards will they be allowed a pastry. She will drive to her pastry shop in a yellow "smart car". She will serve dog cookies and dogs will be allowed in (I didn't break the news that the California health code doesn't allow dogs in establishments that serve food). She will be serving these cookies, our house specialty since my trip to the "Sanrio" store in Tokyo, so we had better start negotiating a licencing deal.

As suddenly as it arrived, Geekygirls ambition switched gears. She developed her first cavity, an event perhaps not entirely unrelated to her love of chocolate. Her dentist is a fierce, fabulous woman with a deep compelling voice, a pristine office filled with toys and state of the art electronic entertainment, and a tiny fuzzy, impossibly adorable little dog who sits on the kid's laps. Overnight, Geekygirl decided that she wanted to be a dentist instead of a pastry chef. I'm trying to persuade her to keep the patisserie business too, if only to drum up customers for her dental practice.

What do your kids want to be when they grow up?

Silent Sunday

2011-05-08T14:05:00.000-07:00

a Silent Sunday post

helter skelter

2011-05-07T10:21:00.000-07:00

"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride." (Helter Skelter; Lennon McCartney.)

The days and weeks are going past too fast. California winter to California summer in one week with a trip to Chicago slammed into the middle of it. I'm all discombombulated.

The Easter weekend summed up the entire season in Tahoe by being cold and stormy. We braved the lifts, since we had guests determined to ski, and were glad that we did. Despite blizzard visibility at the end of April when we were expecting sunshine, beers and bands on the deck and the sight of teenagers skiing in bikinis, the fresh powder made for nice skiing. Geekygirl has transformed into a skiing daredevil, seemingly overnight. "I am faster and better than you, mummy" she informed me casually.

Monday was our semi annual advisory board meeting at work, and I was presenting data for the first time since I've taken this new job. I was almost hobbled by a dysfunctioning Maddona style headset mike, but I think I did a reasonable job. Tuesday I headed out to Chicago for the second time in a month. You know you are traveling a bit too much when the guy in the O'Hare airport gift shop recognizes you and points out which items in the store are new. Around midnight on Wednesday I was back at SFO, and Thursday, despite mentally being somewhere between Central and Pacific time, I was back in the office.

Sunday was the day of the Big Sur Marathon Relay, an event I had signed up for months ago as part of a team of coworkers, so we garnered enough energy to pack up the car and head down the coast on the Friday night. In startling contrast to the previous weekend this one was stunningly bright and warm.

We stayed in Monterey, and took the kids to the incredible Monterey Bay Aquarium for their first time. It turned out to be a wonderful family weekend. I'm not sure which the kids enjoyed most, the aquarium with its sea horses, sea otters, sharks and jellyfish or the motel room with its two double beds, close enough together that they could leap from bed to bed squealing hysterically when they should have been sleeping.

On Sunday I got up at 4.15am to be bused to my relay start point along with several hundred other equally insane individuals. I ran 6 miles along the most beautiful stretch of coastal road in the world, and felt on top of the world.

We all slept extremely well back in our own beds on Sunday night, despite the kids plotting to move some of our beds closer together so that they could continue their bed bouncing fun. You can only imagine how big the laundry pile was after a week like that. I think this weekend I might just crawl into one of those solitary flotation tanks for a day, especially if I can find a volunteer to come round and do my washing.

the hairdog

2011-04-20T07:23:00.000-07:00

A post for The Gallery

When I first started this blog it was called "the hairdog chronicles", because we live our life in a fine miasma of dog hair. Geekygirl as a baby called it "hairdog" whenever she found it wound around her pacifier or hiding in her rice cereal. I changed the name to "Geekymummy" which had always been the pseudonym I used in the blog, and had become an identity of sorts, but kept the hairdog reference in the subtitle.

The blog is about us, the geekyfamily, an ordinary mum and dad with two kids, two cats and one hairy dog, living in an extraordinary city, San Francisco. Geekygirl will proudly tell you that we live in the most beautiful city in the world.

Before children, the dog herself used to be a bigger feature in our lives. Weekends were devoted to doggy activities, taking her to socialize and play with canine friends, long walks, even dog agility training classes. In retrospect it is a good job I had kids as I was well on the way to becoming a crazy dog lady, thought it is a role I think I would have played with aplomb.

We are lucky enough (at least at the moment, the rules are in being questioned) to have a beach in San Francisco where dogs and children are both welcome. It is a busy place on our rare hot days. Children and parents paddle and play. Achingly fashionable young people lie around and snog. Elderly folk watch the scene. The dogs gambol in the surf, explode the odd sandcastle, run off with children's shovels, and occasionally drench an unaware sunbather with a vigorous shake. I love it there.

People who don't have dogs can find it hard understand how much a dog is part of a family. Being able to take Geekydog along and to see how much she enjoys herself, being with her people and having the sand and water to play in makes for such a lovely time. There is nothing quite like a happy dog to put you in a good mood. This picture is from the last time we took the whole family to the beach, the hairdog in her element.

Blog Pimping

2011-04-17T15:05:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the blatant self promotion but its time for the annual MADS UK blogging awards.

If you like reading mine, I would be most grateful for a nomination in the Best MAD Blog for Family Life category. Or in any of the other categories if you think I'm eligible.

Click on over here to nominate me. The different categories are at the bottom of the page.

Browsing through the blogs that have been nominated is a great way to find new blogs to read, too.

Awards aside, thank you just for reading, I'm always a bit surprised at how many people come and read my little blog, and I'm very grateful.

Silent Sunday

2011-04-17T10:25:00.000-07:00

For more

The girl with the golden gate bridge tattoo

2011-04-16T21:19:00.000-07:00

We contemplated leaving San Francisco for a career move a few years ago. Faced with the prospect of leaving my beloved city, I decided that should I leave I would get a tattoo representing it somewhere on my body. Though we ultimately ended up staying here, the idea of making my city a permanent part of me remained. Years passed, San Francisco remained my beautiful home, but I never found the time to actually get the tattoo.

Every now and again I would catch a glimpse of skyline in my rear view mirror, a picture postcard on a taqueria wall or a cityscape screen print on a T shirt, and a tattoo started to take shape in my mind. I began to look at my body in the mirror and think about where best to put it. I like the way my body looks. Like most women, I haven't always felt this way about my face or figure but after having two children and approaching forty I developed a new appreciation for my compact, slightly sturdy yet pleasantly curvy frame. A tattoo felt to me like a stamp of approval. An outward expression of the way I feel on the inside. A gift from me to my body that says "you and I have been through a lot, and I like you". After all, at forty years old the worst that can happen is that I may really regret it when I'm eighty. Maybe I'll get some funny looks in the nursing home. Maybe I'll struggle to find one that admits tattooed octagenarians. Of course my parents might be a bit baffled by my decision, but given that I have a PhD, a fine husband and two lovely kids, I think they will forgive me.

I've always been the good girl type, but I secretly wanted to be a wild child. I did very well in school and in university. I wasn't the kind of teen who got into any kind of trouble. I even went to church every Sunday when I lived with my parents. I have smoked about four cigarettes in my entire life. (I have had quite a lot more alcoholic drinks though!) Still, ordinary as I was, I always loved to create original outfits from second hand clothes, and tried to look interesting without being brave enough to deliberately cross over the fine line into freakish. For a while in my mid twenties I had a striking platinum streak in my long, straight hair, and had my navel pierced with a sparkly stone. Hardly exotic in San Francisco, or even in England in the 1990's, but it was the "look" I liked the best of any that I have had, and is still the way I see myself in my minds eye.

If I actually look at myself objectively now I am a tidy, respectable looking woman who favours conservative pant suits or plain jeans and T's. Work doesn't give me much opportunity to show my personality in my outfits. I gave my short leather skirts to Goodwill sometime ago. Feeling the need to get back a bit of the girl I used to be, I decided last year that I would commemorate my ~~midlife crisis~~ 40th birthday by finally getting that tattoo, and thereby putting some of that inner freak back on the outside.

I've talked before about the wonderful parent community we have here in our neighborhood, and how useful its email group is. So, much as if I needed a plumber, accountant or jewelry repair recommendation, last fall I posted an "off topic" request to the group asking for tattoo artist recommendations and I got several glowing referrals. Our parent community is truly an amazing resource.

Getting a tattoo is traditionally thought of as a spontaneous, madcap decision. The result of too much tequila and a bad dare. I treated it more like choosing a wedding dress designer or buying a house. I did extensive internet research, met with artists, and eventually I made an appointment. The artist I selected was so sought after that the appointment was eight months in the future. Finally, last night, six months after my actual birthday "T day" rolled around.

My dear friend Stan, companion on so many San Francisco adventures, came along with me for this one. Way out by the beach in a quiet, bohemian neighborhood that smelled of coffee and of the Pacific Ocean I finally sealed my love affair with the city in ink.

When I returned to my car, sore and saran-wrapped I turned on the radio. The song "Save me San Francisco" by Train came on. I love this song, and in the warm endorphin haze created by the past two and a half hours of needling, I realized that San Francisco has saved me. I'm not sure what from, exactly, but when I think of all the other lives I could have lived and all the fates I didn't meet I'm pretty sure that by coming to San Francisco I sealed for myself the very best of them all.

And now, with my love for the city written across my body, If I ever wash up on a boat with complete amnesia, a la Jason Bourne, my rescuers will at least know where I should be returned to.

If you want to see the result, go here.

by jove I think she's got it.

2011-04-11T20:55:00.000-07:00

IT has been quite a journey. It has taken a lot of false starts, much crying, growling and whining, a lot of crashing, falling down and getting up again, and a fair bit of chocolate consumption (and that was just me), but I think Geekygirl has actually mastered the basics of skiing!

Go Geekygirl!

Grumpymummy

2011-04-10T14:13:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to shake my bad mood off this weekend. Usually I bounce from work to home and back, checking items of my to do lists, feeling productive and energetic. I remember to put make up on both of my eyes most mornings, and take pleasure in choosing something nice to wear. I'm productive, I work hard, and am pleasant and friendly to my coworkers. I care about the people who report to me, and try to support them and create a happy work environment. The children eat almost healthy meals almost every night, their clothes are clean if not ironed, they are healthy and are even quite well behaved most of the time. In the evenings after work I read to them, and get on the floor and do puzzles when often I would rather be flatlined on the couch hooked up to a wine IV.

I think of our life, indeed describe it to others as exhilarating, everything I have ever wanted. If pushed I'll admit to it being challenging, even rather tiring. Sometimes though another word keeps forming itself in my mind when I describe my life to myself. Relentless. It just keeps on coming; work, home, work, home; proving myself in the new job; keeping on top of email and experiments. Always busy at home: the never ending mounds of laundry, the hurriedly eaten meals, the constant picking up of tiny bits of plastic, the daily battles to brush someone's mass of curly hair. The sense that nothing is ever as well organized as I want it to be.

Even our weekend trips up to Tahoe can start to feel like a drag. A frenzy of packing to get up there, too late to bed after the long drive then woken too early by the kids; the lovely loft style of the home proving uncondusive to mummy or daddy sleeping in. Getting everyone out of the house to a ski resort the next morning is such an effort. Lunch to be packed, coloring books and toys too, hats, goggles and gloves, skis and poles, big and small, cash and cameras and phones. I've resorted to a check list on my phone to make sure everything gets there, which of course only works if I actually remember my phone. Kids need to be wrestled into ski gear, pinned down for the application of the aptly moniker-ed "sun scream" lotion, bustled into the car and our again. Then there are tickets to buy, gear to be schlepped across the parking lot, a table to be found in the heaving lodge....and then we have to get all of our belongings back home again afterwards too.

Despite all this effort Geekygirl is a reluctant skier. I confess that this is a great frustration to us since I dream of us being a family who loves to ski together. This and Geekyboy's complete disinclination to potty train are my great parenting woes at the moment. I am so tired of poopy diapers. I was so grumpy this weekend that I ended up getting cross with Geekygirl. She was whining about skiing, falling down on purpose if I didn't physically hold her up, and I yelled and told her that I didn't want to teach her if she wasn't even going to try.

Geekydaddy sent me away to blow of some steam on the slopes, and after a few runs by myself, a few deep breaths of calming mountain air and a couple of contemplative lift rides I gave myself a good kick in the pants. If the only things getting me down are that my son won't poo on the loo and my daughter isn't much of skier then I should be extremely grateful. My children are healthy. My husband is wonderful. My family wasn't wiped out by a tsunami and my drinking water isn't radioactive.

Still, its OK to get grumpy every now and again, surely, even if my life looks pretty enviable on paper?

Silent Sunday

2011-04-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

For more Silent Sunday

learning to read

2011-04-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

There is probably some proud parental exaggeration in the tale, but apparently when I started school I had already read most of the reading books the school offered to the reception class (as kindergarten was called in the UK in the 1970's). My mum, an elementary school teacher, had already taught me to read before I started school. I was only four. It is true that I don't remember learning to read, I can't recall a time when I didn't know how to.

I have always loved reading. I'm a fast reader and a prolific one. I used to get a little disoriented by my reading speed when I would digest a mighty tome spanning several generations in an afternoon. One of the things I miss the most in my working mother life is the luxury of time to read for pleasure, and I relish my business trips. Those nice quiet plane rides are perfect places to climb into much anticipated new novels, carefully selected weeks in advance. I get inordinately disappointed if a book turns out to be rubbish, my reading time is so very precious now.

I'm the one showing off now, but of that BBC list of books that is often linked on facebook with the tagline "the BBC thinks that the average person has read 6" I have read 79. I've put the list below just in case you haven't seen it before.

I have assumed that my children will "inherit" my love of reading and my ease in learning how to. I should know better since I'm a biologist and I know that genetics is far from simplistic. Geekygirl is five and a bit, and will not start school until this fall, as the American school system starts a year later than the UK. I started to get anxious that she would be late in learning to read. One of my friends kids, the same age, is quite proficient at reading already, her mum and grandparents having taught her themselves. I felt a twang of envy when I heard her rattle through her simple books. Geekygirl, though she loves books and being read to was not at all interested in learning how to read herself.

This friend had used a system of reading books from a company called "starfall" which have a phonics based approach that also manages to create books with a semblance of stories, Though it made me feel rather like an overachieving pushy parent, I ordered them. (This is not a sponsored post, I just liked the books!)

Geekygirl loves them. With these books, and a set of plastic letters that link together, she is mastering reading. I am getting such pleasure from teaching her, seeing her pride in herself when she sounds out a brand new word. I can glimpse the many many years of reading pleasure ahead of her. Books that haven't even been written yet await an audience of today's five year olds. Just think how much they will be able to cram into those little brains, all from reading. I wish I had more time to work on it with her though. She always seems to ask me "Mummy, make some words for me to read" when I'm in the middle of something. I don't feel like the world's best mum when I say "Not now dear, why don't you go and watch TV?"

Still, her begging me to teach her to read is better than me forcing her, so perhaps I have inadvertently created a good learning situation, since she has never been the kind of child who just does as she is asked! Even Geekyboy is getting on on the act. He has memorized several of the books and "reads" them to me with the same stilted manner as Geekygirl has when she is sounding out the words.

So be it nature or nurture, I'm hopeful that we will have a household of readers. I may be less delighted about this of when I can't get anyone's nose out of a book to help me out around the house, and when the kids lock themselves in their rooms with books whenever guests come over, mind you.

The book list. Let me know your favorites!

BBC Book List
Apparently the BBC reckons most people will have only read 6 of the 100 books here.

1) Look at the list and make those you have read bold.

2) Star (*) the ones you LOVE.

3) Italicize those you plan on reading

1. Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen *

2 The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series – JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee

6 The Bible (most of it; catholic school)

7 Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte *

8 Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman*

10 Great Expectations – Charles Dickens

11 Little Women – Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 – Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (I've read a few)

15 Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier*

16 The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks*

18 Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveller’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger*

20 Middlemarch – George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell*

22 The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald*

23 Bleak House – Charles Dickens

24 War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy*

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams*

26 Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh*

27 Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy *

32 David Copperfield – Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis*

34 Emma – Jane Austen*

35 Persuasion – Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis*

37 The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini*

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Berniere*

39 Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden*

40 Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne

41 Animal Farm – George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez*

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving*

45 The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins *

46 Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy*

48 The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood *

49 Lord of the Flies – William Golding

50 Atonement – Ian McEwan*

51 Life of Pi – Yann Martel

52 Dune – Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World – Aldous Huxley*

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Mark Haddon*

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck*

62 Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History – Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road – Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding*

69 Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie*

70 Moby Dick – Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens

72 Dracula – Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses – James Joyce

76 The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath

77 Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal – Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession – AS Byatt *

81 A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell*

83 The Color Purple – Alice Walker*

84 The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro *

85 Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web – EB White*

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection – Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory – Iain Banks*

94 Watership Down – Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice – Nevil Shute*

97 The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet – William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Roald Dahl*

100 Les Miserables – Victor Hugo*

Spring Bling

2011-04-04T20:44:00.000-07:00

Spring came late to the bay area this year, but when it arrived it was like a sudden warm hand rubbing your back on an icy night. Drear and rain made way for heat and bright California sunlight. The sun coaxed sweet perfume from the jasmine in our backyard, the hummingbird arrived on his daily rounds and the children looked overdressed in their socks and sturdy winter shoes.

The first sign of spring in our house is the annual family trip downtown for new sandals.

Geekygirls brand loyalty to a certain sparkly line of children's shoes seems sealed. For the third year in a row (for proof read here and here) she selected the seasons sparkliest offering. She always tries on a couple of more mundane designs to indulge us, but her mind is set. After a quick pretense of testing a less ostentatious brand, she declares the sparkly ones the most comfortable, the best for running and jumping, and as an aside, well they are the prettiest ones too, aren't they daddy?

Geekyboy was again disappointed that boys sandals don't come in purple (why not?), but accepted a pair with flashing orange lights in silver skull logos, the blingiest boy shoes we could find.

My own footwear collection was also feeling decidedly wintery, so with the children still behaving in a vaguely acceptable manner for the shopping mall I risked a trip into the women's shoe department.

Geekygirl thought that I should get these for work.

Geekydaddy wondered out loud whether I had taken on another 'job' that I hadn't told him about. I haven't, for the record, and I can just imagine the look on my coworkers faces if I sashay into the lab in those on Monday morning.

I settled for a more staid and practical shoe. But secretly, I'm trying to think of an excuse to go back and get those glitter stripper heels. Why should preschoolers be the only ones to have spangly footwear? We all need a little spring bling, after all.

Silent Sunday

2011-04-03T14:20:00.000-07:00

For more silent sunday pop over to mocha beanie mummy.

Silent Sunday

2011-03-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

Education

2011-03-24T22:12:00.000-07:00

a post for the gallery

March 18th was an itchy day for San Francisco parents. It was the day the school assignment letters were mailed out. Geekydaddy and I had filled out our form a month before, and we made an important decision. I explained the school assignment policy in a previous post (if you are suffering from insomnia do got and read it now, it will knock you right out), but in a nutshell priority for a school, in the event it was over requested, goes to siblings, then those living a predesignated "low test score area", then those living in the neighborhood of the school, then everyone else. By virtue of our address, which is close to a large housing project, we had one of these low test score area "golden tickets" but we decided not to use it.

I call it a golden ticket because every year 50% of applicants to San Francisco elementary schools list the same 14 schools. There are 70 schools to choose from. We rant and moan about the system, but the problem is one of supply and demand. There are only about 14 schools that most middle class parents even consider applying for, the ones with the top API scores, and not everyone who wants them can get into them. The problem is how to make the rest of the schools attractive to people like us. It isn't location, there is an elementary school located smack in the middle of our very desirable neighbourhood, but it has never attracted the people who live here. Middle class families like schools that have a reasonable representation of people like us. Since API score correlates directly with socioecomic status, and with the educational level of the parents, the best way to get a schools API score up is to get middle class families to attend. It is a chicken egg kind of situation. Turnarounds have happened at several schools in the city already though, so we are confident that it can be done with our school.

With this in mind, we picked one of our local schools. This school is already on the up and up, though it came from a pretty low starting point and is a long way from making into the haloed 14. It has two tracks, a regular English speaking one, referred to as "General Education". and a Spanish Immersion program.

The immersion program means that the day is taught 90% in Spanish in Kindergarten, with English being introduced more and more as the students approach 5th grade. The class is made up of a mixture of native Spanish, bilingual and native English speaking children. The Spanish speaking kids get the opportunity to learn in their own language, gaining a broader education than if they had to get fully fluent in English first, and the English speaking kids become bilingual in Spanish, with the many benefits that offers. The immersion programs are popular with the middle class, and the addition of one to this school has dramatically increased the proportion of highly educated families enrolled there. A school that had no PTA four years ago now has a very strong one.

We decided that the Spanish program wasn't for us, but we wanted our daughter to attend the local school. The general education program has historically been shunned by the higher income and paler skinned portion of our neighborhood. We decided to change that this year. We like the teachers and the school principal, and we love the community spirit of the school. We believe that our daughter will do well there, and also that by sending her there we are doing good by our community. We committed to sending Geekygirl, and a few like minded neighbors joined us.

When we opened the letter we saw that we had indeed been offered our place at the school.

A neighbour, also in the low test score zone, got a coveted place at Clarendon Elementary. Clarendon is the cream of San Francisco elementary schools, with a PTA budget of $400,000 a year and is invariably the most desired school in the city. This year it got 1797 requests for its 80 spots. When I heard this I considered whether I had any regrets. Maybe we too could have got into Clarendon.

I can't find a grain of regret anywhere, though. I'm excited that our daughter will be going to a school in her community. A place she is already familiar with since we often attend fundraisers there. A place where she will be in school with kids who she has known since she was a baby, and where she will mix with children of different races and backgrounds. I know that Geekydaddy and I will be digging into our pockets and into our time to support the school. But I can't think of anything I would rather do with either money or time than to work together with other parents to improve the educational opportunities for all our children.

And I can't believe that we have a daughter old enough to start Kindergarten!

This is supposed to be a picture post, so here is a scene from the brand new mural on the wall of the school. Isn't it lovely?

If you want more information about San Francisco schools check out school board member Rachel Norton's blog

And for an interesting article about race, socioeconomics and test scores check out Bob Herbert's Editorial in yesterdays NYT

Momma guilt

2011-03-22T21:53:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I have my working mummy guilt under control, something happens that makes me realize that it is always there, just under the surface.

Last week I checked my calender for the week ahead, and noticed that a long scheduled dentist appointment for the kids now fell on a day that I was supposed to be in all day management training.

"I'll have to reschedule" was my first thought. This particular pediatric dental office, with its TV above the chair and big chest of toys to take home after a successful visit, is heavily used and very difficult to get an appointment with, too. Just before I picked up the phone I had an afterthought. Maybe Geekydaddy could take the kids. I checked and he could, but instead of feeling satisfied that I had successfully sorted out a scheduling conflict I felt conflicted. Guilty that I wasn't the one taking them to the dentist. Surprised that I had almost not even considered asking my husband to do it.

It is such an irrational feeling. When two parents work it makes sense for them to take turns with appointments and staying home when the kids are sick. Geekydaddy is perfectly amenable to sharing, the guilt is all internal. Where does it come from, this message that "good mummy's take their kids to the doctors/dentist/hairdresser"? I know that Geekydaddy, though he was quite happy to take the kids to their appointment, would have not have felt a whet of guilt had he been the one with a clashing work commitment.

As it happened the kids had a very successful visit to the dentist, but, like a knife twisting in the already deep stab of guilt, Geekygirl was found to have a small cavity.

At least my calender is clear next week, so I will be able to go with her for her first filling, and the fact that Geekydaddy took them to this first visit means that I do not look like a "slacker mum" at work for taking of two Tuesday mornings in a row.

After reading "Cinderella Ate My Daughter"..

2011-03-20T11:16:00.000-07:00

by Peggy Orenstein, I found my thoughts rambling through all sorts of questions about gender and identity. Like a good book should, this one got me thinking. I have a particular interest because it isn't just my daughter that Cinderella has eaten, it is my son too. Geekyboy, pictured here with just his toes showing to protect his identity from posterity, loves to wear dresses and play with fairies.

The book is about the "girly girl" mass market culture, and how it grabs hold of our little girls during the preschool years and fills them with the dubious message that being pink and frilly and beautiful is what defines them, leading them into their tween and teen years with the overriding message that being 'hot' is the way to become valued. It is a great read, and I found myself nodding in agreement with many of the authors observations and conclusions. I also found that the book raised a lot of questions.

Why, for instance have we become so comfortable as a society with traditionally 'male' roles and behaviours for women, but not with traditionally female roles and behaviours for men? Indeed even when you look at us left coast feminist types so filled with pride in our girls when they are break gender stereotypes and eschew frills for jeans and dolls for trains, we are much less comfortable when our little boys want to wear dresses and play house with Barbies. Celebrity watching society thinks it is a little odd, but within the realm of normal that superstar preschooler Shiloh Jolie Pitt dresses in lumberjack trousers and truck emblazoned sweaters, but just imagine the furor in the gossip magazines if one of the boys in the family was regularly photographed in a tutu and tights? The same lack of logic applies to toys. Hands up anyone with sons but no daughters who has actually bought their little boy a Disney princess doll, a 'my little pony' or a tiara. Hands up those of you who have girls but no boys who have nonetheless bought a train set, a toy tool bench or a meccano construction crane?

When considering whether toy preference, and other behaviours like these are hard wired by gender, or shaped by the whims of society Orenstein raises asks "As long as we don't consider the behaviours and interests of one sex as inferior to the other's who cares".

The trouble is that as a society we do consider feminine behaviour to be inferior. When girls play with "boys toys" and dress like little boys we think "future engineer, future doctor, future strong woman who cares more about her work than her appearance, who doesn't get pushed around by men".

When boys wear dresses and play with pink ponies and the cute little hairbrushes that come with them we, and I mean the collective "we", not me personally, think "future gay aspiring fashion designer destined for tortured life of misunderstanding". We don't think "Future great father and caring husband, future nurse or teacher, poet laureate, director of a charity or tireless advocate for the homeless". Just take a look at the controversy created by this blog "raising my rainbow" written by a mum raising a 'femininely inclined' little boy, for more examples of our double standards. I hasten to add that I will be delighted and proud if my son becomes a gay fashion designer, by the way. I just don't think that his preference for "littlest pet shop animals' over superheros and monster trucks is an indicator of his future sexual orientation.

Though they are pushed relentlessly onto our daughters, these traits of femininity; the nurturing, the obsession with pinky colours and sparkly textures, the seeking of that "happy ever after" in a relationship, they are at the same time not considered valuable. They are seen as weaknesses, often by women as well as by men. When observed in our male kids that view is only amplified.

I agree with the author in that placing so much emphasis on appearance, allowing beauty to become so irrevocably entwined with self esteem is unhealthy for either sex. That subject deserves a blog post all of its own, as its an issue I find hard to examine dispassionately. You would think that as a Ph.D scientist with a serious intellectual career I would be sanguine about my own looks, but that is not so, I am pathetically shallow about my own appearance and worry about how I will avoid projecting this onto the kids.

Obsession with looks not withstanding, perhaps we should take a step back when we think about gender and our children, and think about changing the roles prescribed by society for both girls and boys. I think the world of the future will need men and women, straight and gay, who have been encouraged to develop both their emotional and their practical sides, who have an eye for beauty, who have developed compassion, and who take pleasure in clothing and cooking as well as trains and building. Adults of both sexes who grew up longing for a life partner to live happily ever after with. The Cinderella dream is one of being swept out of a life of drudgery by nothing more than ones natural charms. It is just a fantasy, and we all need to lapse into fantasy occasionally, even grown up women and men. Maybe the problem isn't that we encourage our little girls to embrace the fallacy of the dreamy life partner swooping in and handing them their "happily ever after", but that we deny this comforting fantasy to our little boys.

Silent Sunday: big snow

2011-03-19T17:40:00.001-07:00

click here for more Silent Sunday

The "green"eaology of a relationship

2011-03-18T17:48:00.000-07:00

Picture courtesy of this site

One night in bar we traced out the connections between our group of friends. Someone probably still has the cocktail napkin that we used to connect the dots. We realized that for several of us there was a single event from which all of our romantic relationships had sprouted. Our 'big bang'. So to speak. It was the evening of St Patrick's day, 1995. A crowd of likely lads, one of whom was Geekydaddy, just graduated out of various Stanford masters programs and newly resident in San Francisco were out on the town. I will use pseudonyms here to protect identities, so lets call the protagonists "Shane" and "Wendall". Buoyed with the confidence only green beer can give, young Shane caught they eye of a pretty young woman. Lets call her "Julie". Julie was also newly arrived in the city, along with her lovely high school friend "Alice". Shane put the moves on Julie, and Wendall, acting as wing man, swooped in on Alice. Right there in that moment, in a divey bar on Polk St, a social network was born.

Wendall and Alice became a couple, one of those couples who anchor a group of friends together. Alice's internet start up crowd (these were the frothy days of the dot com boom), Julie's fashion industry crowd and Shane and Wendall's oddball bunch of engineering graduates formed a close circle of friends who whiled away the late 1990's in bars and restaurants, at movies, house parties and in ski cabins. Remember those days? Back when we used disposable film cameras to take pictures of our antics, and only the most sophisticated of us sent them to 'snapfish' to be turned into electronic files to email around? Back when "the real world" on MTV was the only reality show.

Alice and Wendall were the keystone of the group, while everyone else lusted and dated, hooked up and broke up against the backdrop of the San Francisco technology bubble. Can't you just see the photo montage flying past you now? Add a sound track by "Big Head Hootie Matthews and the Traveling Crows" and you will have a perfect picture flashback.

Meanwhile, across town, a young research scientist, lets call her Geekymummy, though she was a long way from being a mummy at this point in time, was also gallivanting about the city from pub to party with her own gang of friends. Her crowd included a young man from the lab next door who we can call "Dennis". Dennis had recently returned from a stint in the peace core in Fiji, where he had met another chap, lets call him "Mick". Mick was California born and bred, and had a high school friend also rather confusingly called Julie, lets make her Julie II, who worked at the very same internet start up that Alice was employed by. This Julie was part of that social network brought into being by the 'St. Patrick's day liason'. I hope you are still following. Maybe I should have scanned a copy of that cocktail napkin.

Julie II had a birthday party in 1998, a large, raucous affair in her Mission district apartment filled with her friends and acquaintances. The network formed by Shane and Julie's hook up and nurtured by Wendall and Alice's relationship were there. The group bound by Dennis and Mick's peace core experience were there too. Two orbits finally collided. Geekydaddy and I met and our history began. We didn't know it, but our trajectories had started moving towards each other on that fateful St Patrick's night. If Shane hadn't hit on Julie in that bar the chances are that Geekydaddy and I would not have both ended up at that party three years later. Ours is not the only story that began that St. Patrick's night. There are now at least four marriages and seven children who owe their existence to that brief encounter, each with their own unique story. All from an encounter that happened in a bar who's motto is 'Have a good time tonight! Don’t worry about tomorrow!"

It has been a while since I have partied on St. Patrick's day, but I'm sure somewhere in the city last night another couple hooked up for the first time. Maybe they will even remember it. Maybe thanks to their encounter, other peoples relationships are already being written, and new children are twinkling on the horizon.

Happy St Patrick's Day.

Prayer Tree

2011-03-15T21:31:00.000-07:00

This tree is part of the Meji Shrine in Tokyo, a Shinto shrine devoted to the spirits of the Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken. The wooden plaques surrounding the tree contain prayers from visitors, written in thick black ink in many different languages. The vast predominance of those I could read prayed simply for peace in the world.

I visited Japan for business, just a week before the devastating tsunami and earthquake. I am so very grateful that I was safely back in San Francisco with my family before it happened. Had the fault slipped just a few days earlier I could have been stranded on the freezing streets of Tokyo, armed only with my four words of Japanese (Hello, Excuse me, Thankyou and Beer). I'm sure I would have been fine, I know that the lovely people of Tokyo would have taken care of me, but it could have been a very anxious time for me, and for Geekydaddy and the kids back here with no way of knowing if I was OK.

I'm also, rather selfishly, glad that I got to go. Had this happened before my much anticipated trip I would not yet have visited this incredible part of the world.

Living here on another faulty part of the earth's crust, us Californians feel a kinship with those in Japan, and a collective fear that something similar could, indeed probably will, happen here in our lifetimes. The earth seems to have been awfully angry recently. I really should get that emergency kit prepared.

I didn't add a prayer to the tree when I took this photo, though I felt very contemplative as I wandered around the beautiful shrine. When I go back to Japan I will return to that tree and add a prayer that all those who were lost, or who lost someone they loved will find peace. And I'll pray that the earth stays quiet for a while.

if you want to donate to Japan this is a good resource for identifying the most effective charities. I donated to 'doctors without borders'.

This was a post for "the gallery". The prompt was trees.

Silent Sunday: Thankyou

2011-03-13T12:42:00.001-07:00

Look here for more Silent Sunday

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

All mothers should be executives....

2011-03-12T15:11:00.000-08:00

....for one very simple reason. International business class travel. No one appreciates it like a mother does.

Most execs I know complain about having to fly for business, they groan about the jet lag, about the inconvenience of being away from the comforts of home and office, about airplane food, security lines and lack of space for carry on luggage.

Mothers see it differently. I should point out that I am not an executive, I'm a mere middle manager, but I had accumulated enough frequent flier miles to get myself upgraded to the business class cabin on the return flight during my last trip.

I stretched out in my little pod under a feather soft duvet. The noise cancellation headphones created a private world, which I filled with "The Kings Speech" on my personal LCD screen. I was served warm towels, hot food and crisp cold white wine. Perhaps just a little too much wine, which is what started my flight of fancy.

No one interrupted my reverie to ask me to guess what kind of animal they were pretending to be. Nobody needed me to untangle three precious home made necklaces that had engaged in an intricate bondage marriage at the bottom of the dress up box. Not one of the people around me suddenly erupted into hand to hand warfare, there was no one thumping anybody else while trying to take their toys. Even if there had been, it would not have been my responsibility to intervene. I wasn't staring at a pile of mail on the table that needed to be sorted, I wasn't feeling guilty about sitting down and relaxing when I could have been folding laundry. Disconnected from the internet I couldn't even check my to do lists or my twitter feed.

The only decision I needed to make over the next ten hours was was whether to read my novel before watching my movie, or to watch the movie first and then curl up with the book. I suppose I could have done some actual work, considering this was a business trip, but the generous wine pouring put pay to that idea.

The constant stream of mild anxiety that constantly churns in the middle of my mind, which prioritizes and reprioritizes the way I am utilizing every waking moment of my time, was silenced. It was slightly disorienting. There was no point in thinking "Should I be checking when the first gymnastics class of the session starts, writing minutes for the parent steering committee meeting, looking up the latest publications of a new scientific advisory board member on PubMed or checking our inventory of diapers, shampoo and medications while making my Target shopping list?"

I lay back in my pod, closed off from the world and all my worries. Maybe the airlines could offer a business class service just for mothers. We needn't actually go anywhere, even, just up and around for a few hours and back to where we took off from. Or maybe I should install one of these cosy little cabanas in my basement, and just hide in there every now and again.

This post wasn't sponsored by an airline, but if any of the major carriers want to offer me unlimited business class travel I will happily take it up!

The Gallery: Japan

2011-03-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

This week's gallery asked for a post based on a single word of our choice.

The Gallery is a weekly photo prompt, do go over and check out all the other wonderful entries.

I picked the word "Japan", since I was looking for an excuse to share photos from my recent trip. Thanks Tara for such a flexible idea.

Mt Fuji from my hotel in Yokohama

I had always thought I would travel more. In my youth I did the standard interailing round Europe. I went a little further afield to visit a friend who worked in Cairo, and of course I ended up living and working here in San Francisco, but I had not really intended to stop here. San Francisco was supposed to be the launch of a life lived in stages in every country of the world. Real life got in the way, so here is where I have remained for fifteen years.

Last week though my company sent me to Japan for a few days. I had forgotten how much I love to travel. I soaked it up. The challenge and the satisfaction of negotiating the Tokyo metro system all alone. The gamble of ordering a completely random item for lunch based upon a picture in a menu written entirely in Japanese. It was exhilarating. I love new places because they remind me of how similar we all are in the world. Tokyo is like London and New York but yet at the same time so different and so unique. Surrounded by symbols that were incomprehensible to me, but yet familiar and meaningful to everyone around me was a thought provoking experience. Written language is so powerful, without it I felt disconnected from the city in a way I didn't in Paris or Barcelona, or other cities where at least the symbols of the language, if not the words themselves, are familiar. Is this how our preschoolers feel as they try to learn to read?

This is supposed to be a picture post, so I will let my pictures tell the rest of the story:

little girl in hello kitty face mask; I'd never get my kids to keep one of these on, hello kitty themed or not

Tokyo from the Asakusa view hotel

Asakusa at night

Sensoji Temple, Asakua

More Senoji Temple Views

Shinjuku (by the red light district). I wonder what these say?!

Early Cherry Blossoms in the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden (新宿御苑)

Over at Pond Parleys Mike reminded us of this wonderful quot, which rang so true for me on the trip.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime".

– Mark Twain

undomestic goddess

2011-03-06T14:55:00.001-08:00

Geekygirl was given a box of "hama beads" as a birthday gift. For those unfamiliar, as I was, these are little plastic cylindrical beads that you use to make a pattern on a shaped, spiked frame. They can then be melted together using an iron to make a two dimensional plastic ornament. They are Danish in origin and Geekdaddy recognized them instantly from his youth. He loved them.

They make a wonderful rainy day activity, and we have had a lot of those this winter and spring. Geekygirl pulled the box out a couple of weekends ago and busily removed all of the contents. She looked at the back of box then over to me, seeming worried "Mummy, we can't do it. We need to buy one of these". I inspected the contents and the instructions, ready to be annoyed that a critical component had not been supplied with the kit, but everything seemed to be there so I assured her that we had all that we needed; the beads, the frames, and the ironing paper.

"No, Mummy, but we need one of those irony things" she insisted, pointing at the picture of the iron.

Apparently, my daughter, in her five years of life, has never seen anyone in our house use an iron. This is actually not all that surprising because I have hardly ironed anything since she was born. When two people work full time and have two kids, something has got to give. For us it was ironing. We quit.

The first time Geekygirl saw a play iron in a pretend kitchen she had no idea what it was a facsimile of, but since then, thanks to books and television, she is at least aware that some people use a heated metal device to smooth wrinkles from clothing. In our house, instead of ironing we wear a lot of cotton jersey and have a healthy relationship with the dry cleaners.

I found our iron buried underneath a pile of wrinkled shirts in a plastic basket in the basement. The shirts were gap circa 1994. Items that I haven't worn since becoming a mother and had forgotten that I even owned. Fortunately the iron still functioned, so I was able to use it's hot smooth power to put the finishing touch to Geekygirl's carefully constructed masterpiece. I'm in no hurry to rebuild my relationship with the appliance, so that is probably all it will ever be used for from now on.

Shinjuku in the rain

2011-03-05T16:17:00.000-08:00

A Silent Sunday post

pop over to mocha beanie mummy for more silent sunday

The Optimistic Party Planner

2011-02-27T14:50:00.000-08:00

Plans a garden party for her children's birthday in February. Even in San Francisco February is one of the soggiest months.

After days of rain, she refuses to cancel the much anticipated bounce house, even though every other client of the company has done so. She believes the single weather forecast that predicts scattered showers over the four that say it will be raining stair-rods all day. She wakes to the sound of birds tweeting, sees a sliver of blue and feels sure the weather will change. Much like her cat, who tries every window and door, seemingly believing that surely one of the windows in the house will miraculously exit into a dry world, she ignores the overwhelming evidence pouring from the sky.

With just hours until party time she becomes despondent and angry at the weather. She wishes she had insisted upon renting an indoor party space instead of going to the effort of having people to her home. The kids, already anxious that their party will be spoiled by the rain now have a grumpy, snapping mother to contend with too. Then the cupcakes arrive. She puts them out on the table, along with the big cakes. Her coworker surprised her with two beautiful home made cakes for the party, and just looking at them, she is floored by the kindness of others. The children are so excited about the cakes, the balloons and are eagerly anticipating having their little friends to visit. She pulls herself together.

The optimistic party planner sends a note to her guests that the party is on. She takes up the carpets and sends her husband out for a giant tub of play-do. She sets up activity stations around the living room and hopes that this will entertain fifteen children in her 1600 square foot house.

And it does. She learns that all children really need to have fun is a bunch of other children and a hefty dose of pizza and cake. Watching geekygirl give her best friend Will a tour around the house is priceless; "this is our bathtub, we take baths here with all these bath toys" she tells him, very seriously. She is grateful to be in her own home, glass of wine in hand. The indoor party places frown upon bringing in beer or wine for the adults, I suspect, even though it goes so well with a slice of cake. There is a cozy intimacy as parents relax while children play cacophanously, the rain still hammering down outside.

Geekygirl and geekyboy had a wonderful birthday party after all, and the optimistic party planner collapsed with relief after pulling it off. She may have downed a couple of extra glasses of wine after everyone went home, too. I fully expect she will cross her fingers for fine weather, and do it again next year.

Silent Sunday. Pig in translation. So cute, so delicious, so not vegetarian

2011-02-27T03:57:00.000-08:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone after several cocktails in Tokyo

Three

2011-02-22T22:02:00.000-08:00

Geekyboy turned three on Friday.

My little baby has irrevocably turned into a little boy.

You are such a personality. Everything you say is delivered with a comic head tilt or dramatic gesture. Your range of expression, both in your vocabulary and your mannerisms are so mature now, and so funny. I see the spark of a comic actor in you, you love to see a reaction to everything you say and do.

You are exploring language with more sophistication every day. Asked which pajamas you would like to wear, you rejected your 'monkey pirates' ones as "too piratey". Inventing your own adjectives at three is an impressive feat, and the pride with which you delivered this pronouncement, knowing quite well it would amuse me, was just delightful.You delight me every day.

You are still so untainted by the world and its expectations. You like nothing better than to wear a dress and some pink high heels. "Today I am going to be a girl" you declare. Or sometimes "Mummy, today I'm a boy in a dress".

You are my cuddler. Your hugs are increasingly being delivered battering ram style, but despite your now advanced age, you still love to be kissed and smooched. In times gone by I would probably have been accused of babying you and turning you into a mama's boy. I'm so relieved that we live in times where I can adore you openly rather than withholding my affection for fear of doing you some kind of mysterious psychic damage.

Three can be a tempestuous age. I see your fierce temper and stubbornness getting stronger along with your study legs. Yet you still have a sweet compliance running like a seam of gold through your personality. "NO!" you will declare, when asked to wash your hands or clean your teeth "But you have to get the germs off" I reason, and most of the time you will tilt your head, reconsider and sigh "Ok, then".

You are growing up and away every day. I was reminded just this weekend that tiny boys grow too fast; the father of one of Geekygirl's classmates was playing with you, and remarked on your sweetness, remembering the days when his boy, now five, was as small and cuddly.

I hope your sweet nature carries into your adult personality. I worry about how hard it must be to transition from being a little boy to being man, with all the responsibilities and lack of support that can come with adulthood. I think adult men sometimes get a rough deal, they carry a large weight of expectation as they grow up; to be providers, to shoulder burdens and not to show weakness. I know that you are going to be a wonderful man, funny, kind and very handsome. For now though, I'm going to enjoy every moment of your being three.

Happy Birthday Geekyboy

After the rain

2011-02-20T15:46:00.001-08:00

A silent Sunday post

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop

love for sale

2011-02-17T21:30:00.000-08:00

No sooner have I got through the nagging anxiousness that permeates Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas yet another holiday creeps up on me. Maybe I find the Valentines madness excessive because its mid February arrival coincides with both of the children's birthdays, or maybe it is just because it feels like another excuse for the card and candy companies to hoodwink us into yet more wasteful spending. I suppose I should be thankful that we are not Chinese, at least we don't have the lunar new year celebrations to throw into the mix.

Still, I'm a joiner and not a renegade when it comes to this type of thing, but I just couldn't bring myself to endorse the packets of Disney or Nickelodeon preschooler themed cards for the preschool classroom card exchange.

My long buried inner artist was channeled, and we cut potatoes into heart shapes, and stamped out some home made cards. I was amused to see Geekygirl carefully select a card with the most hearts, five, for one little boy in the class, and equally carefully ensure that another boy got a card with only one. I'm hoping the recipients didn't notice this subtle declaration of preference. Geekyboy's cards I wrote myself, though he did put the glitter on them, and over most of the surrounding area.

Geekygirl actually wrote the names of all her classmates and signed her own name on all fifteen cards. There may have been cupcakes and bribery involved in that achievement, I must confess. I wasn't sure how many of her classmates would be writing their own cards, but I sure didn't want Geekygirl to be the only one who didn't. As it turned out many but not all the kids signed their cards themselves, but very few kids wrote the recipients name too, so I think we overdid it a bit with our home made, child written cards. I confess that I compare the handwriting of the other children to Geekygirl's whenever the kids exchange cards like this. I was ridiculously and secretly gratified to see that she seemed to be one of the best.

Her cards were at least presented in a plain old ziploc bag with a drugstore Hershey candy. If I had gone the whole hog and offered organic home made free trade carob cookies in valentine cellophane I may have faced ostracization from the other parents for overreaching.

On valentines morning I arrived at preschool with two children, two sweaters, two sheets and blankets for naptime and no valentines cards. I had carefully put them right in front of the door the night before to make sure they didn't get forgotten, but I must have stepped over them when I put the kids in the car, since when I drove us all back home to fetch them they were still sitting right there.

When I picked the children up they had big papers bags that they had decorated with hearts filled with valnetines from their friends. At home Geekygirl pored over them, telling me who gave her which one, so excited by the little pictures, pencils, stickers and of course candy. The cynic in me I softened a little. Preschoolers get pleasure out of such simple things. I pinned all the little cards to a ribbon and festooned our mantle with them. They look rather sweet alongside all of the Chinese New Year crafts that came home last week, I have to admit.

Five

2011-02-13T14:42:00.000-08:00

Today our little girl is five years old.

Geekygirl, you are amazing and precious. The little girl I always dreamed of. So very much your own person now, I cannot imagine ever being without you. Our house, our whole lives really, are now merely a stage for you and your brother to learn and grow within.

Such a presence. So self contained. Full of questions, but also full of facts and ideas that you have sopped up like a sponge, and confidently spout back to us. Stuck in a snowy traffic jam for two hours a few weekends back, you managed to talk non stop for the entire time. You have such a command of language, we love to listen to you narrate as you play. Fairy or princesses; paleontologist, alien, spacegirl or explorer; superhero, horserider, scientist or pastry chef. You seem so free from limitations, so creative in your dreams.

Every time I watch the movie "Mamma Mia" , one of my favourites, I reach the scene where Meryl Streep sings "slipping through my fingers", on her daughter's wedding day and I expect to be irritated by the maudlin new song, but every time I find myself in tears of recognition. How can you be five today, my little girl? A quarter of your life at home with us is passed already. Ten, fifteen, twenty, and you will be off into the world. I hope we have done well by you so far, have given enough of ourselves to you, by bringing you into our hectic lives.

I hope you will always be as curious, confident and as joyful as you are today at five years old. I know you will be as smart and beautiful. And judging by our ritual birthday shopping trip, where you rejected your former favourite store, cheap and cheerful "The Children's Place" for the sophistication of Nordstrom, you will be very well dressed.

Happy birthday, darling girl

february magnolia

2011-02-13T11:05:00.000-08:00

a silent sunday post

Contagion hits San Francisco

2011-02-10T15:36:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered what your neighborhood would look like after the outbreak of a lethal virus pandemic?

We got to find out today, since the movie "Contagion" was filming on our street!

The crew covered the streets with fake garbage. I have a tatty old chair in the garage that I've been longing to chuck out, Maybe I can add it to one of these garbage piles?

Apparently all the children in our neighborhood school have been wiped out. I got a little teary looking at the fake memorial wall. I don't think this is going to be a feel good movie.

Don't you think Geekyboy would make a great extra, as the plucky sole surviving street urchin?

You can see why our neighborhood gets chosen for the movie scenes, we do have a stunning view, which contrasts well with the mounds of infected waste.

you never see all these overhead wires in the film scenes though, maybe they edit them out?

I missed the actual shooting of the movie scene and apparently Jude Law, Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow and Kate Winslet are starring in the film, and were here today. Still I was lucky be to be home at all. I'm staying with Geekyboy, as he is a little bit sick.

After being on that set amongst all the memorials to little children, I keep taking his temperature and hoping he doesn't have a lethal pandemic virus!

They are still clearing up the mess.

Lessons from Mary Poppins

2011-02-08T21:16:00.000-08:00

I bought the children the DVD of "Mary Poppins" for Christmas. The movie has since taken over our lives. So captivated by the music, the story and the characters, they insist upon watching it almost every weekend, and given that it guarantees us almost three hours of peace, I indulge them. I downloaded the soundtrack too, so we listen to those wonderful songs every day as we drive to and from preschool.

I've always loved the film, a BBC staple over the Christmas and Easter Holidays and I have seen it many many times. That film, "The Sound of Music", and "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" must have been the only films that the BBC had the rights to back then, they were played so often. Still, getting reacquainted with Mary and Bert, and Michael and Jane and their gloriously neglectful parents has been fun. The movie has prompted all sorts of wonderful questions from the children.

They are fascinated by the fact that all the characters are played by real people; almost all of the movies they have seen to date have been animated. I have been explaining the concept of acting; that the person on the screen is a real actual human (in these days of sophisticated computer animation it can be hard to tell, when you come to think about it), but that "Mary Poppins" isn't a real person. She is an imaginary character played by an actress called Julie Andrews, who has been in lots of other films, playing other characters. I look forward to when they are old enough to watch her as the lovely flippertygibbet Maria in, "the sound of music". Though I remember as a child myself not quite believing that she was the same person as Mary Poppins.

They are intrigued by the clothes that the characters are wearing. I've explained that the movie is set in England a long time ago. I decided not to go into the deeper details; that it was made in 1964, but set in 1910. Considering this made me realize how time compresses as we spiral away from it. 1910 and 1964 are such distinctly different times, but, historically challenged as I am, I would struggle to define the differences between the years 1810 and 1864. I expect the early part of the twentieth century will merge into a muddle of flappers, hippies and yuppies in the minds of the generations to come.

They are baffled by Dick Van Dyke's accent (as is almost anybody who watches the film, really), conscious as they are of the differences between how I speak and how they do. Geekyboy, who had already been channeling his inner cockney, has perfected Dicks rendition of "Its a Jolly 'olidaiy with Mairy", adorably apalling accent and all.

Geekygirl is becoming very interested in aging and the cycle of life and death. Is "Mary Poppins dead in real life" she asked me. I had a quick google, then reassured her that Dame Julie Andrews is a sprightly 75, still alive and kicking. "What about the children?" she asked, and I realized that those sweet young actors, immortalized in film, must be adults in their fifties now. I wonder what they are doing now?

The kids have memorized the music, and can often be found marching around the house using one of my scarves as a sash, singing

"Cast off the shackles of yesterday!
Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!
Our daughters' daughters will adore us
And they'll sign in grateful chorus
"Well done, Sister Suffragette"

Which has afforded an excellent opportunity to teach them about the rise of women's rights. That Mrs. Banks left her kids with a strange chimney sweep while she went to her rallies doesn't sit quite right with me, but it does illustrate the ongoing issue of affordable, flexible childcare. The movie was way ahead of its time, really. The father gets the weight of the movie's disapproval for not spending enough time with his kids, whereas the mum, fighting the good fight for future generations, is treated much more kindly. In fact it is probably one of the least sexist Disney movies made, despite being filmed in 1964. I wish they would sell Mrs Banks dolls in her "votes for women" banner, alongside the ubiquitous princesses.

Silent Sunday: The Sledding Hill

2011-02-06T11:38:00.000-08:00

Check out other silent sunday posts

Silent Sunday: la Mission

2011-01-29T17:10:00.001-08:00

The Mexican wrestling mask store.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop

imaginarium

2011-01-29T13:15:00.000-08:00

Recently the kids have starting asking me one question over and over again. Whenever they are confronted with an animal in a story book they ask me "Is it real, or imaginary?"

At seemingly random moments throughout the day I hear

"Mummy, are armadillos real or 'magin'ry?"

"Mummy are dragons real or 'magin'ry?"

Ditto for unicorns, meercats, tarantulas, vampires, red eyed tree frogs, narwhals and all manner of fantastic beasts that they have encountered in books and films. Over Christmas they were constantly probing me about whether reindeer were real or not. I was able to answer this one honestly, relieved they never asked me directly about the status of one particular reindeer and the driver of his sleigh.

It is quite a reasonable question, when you think about it. We do take trips to the zoo, but ultimately many of the animals that populate their books are exotic beasts that they may never actually see in the flesh. Geekyboy was quite convinced that the armadillo was a made up animal. It took some argument on my part that though they are quite peculiar looking things, they do in fact exist in the world. Contrarily, unicorns, so like horses but with that fine single horn, seem quite consistent with the realm of the real.

Even as adults, I realized, there are many things in the natural world that we know to be real but have never actually seem ourselves apart from on nature documentaries. Those bizarre deep sea fish with the huge jaws spring to mind, the giant quid and the coleacanth, the pangolin and the blind mole rat. Then there are those persistant mysteries; the yeti or bigfoot, and the loch ness monster. Perhaps the realm of the imaginary and the real overlap more than we think. Then of course there are those creatures that once existed but are now long extinct. Dinosaurs feature heavily in our literary repertoire and they defy definition. Real, yes, but now long extinct, and the depictions of them even in scientific texts owe much to the imaginations of palaeontologists.

To be on the safe side, we have now added a third category to our classification system; "real, 'magin'ry, and 'stinct". I think I'm ready for the next barrage of questions!

snow leopard mother

2011-01-22T09:54:00.000-08:00

In that time before we had our children, but had decided to have some, I would watch the little kids hurtling down the ski slopes and dream of the days our own offspring would effortlessly imbibe the ability to ski. I realize now that I drew the conclusion that all three year olds could learn to ski from a skewed data set. I wasn't looking at all the kids sitting in the lodge with their nintendos, or the ones howling in the lift line, just at the tiny, fearless superstars.

Geekygirl is struggling with skiing. She had a disastrous lesson last year, too many kids, too close to nap time, she didn't want me to leave, and it was just too much all around for a just turned 4 year old. She gave up after a few minutes, took off her skis and begged me never to send her to ski school again. She finds it very difficult to get her feet into the essential "snowplow" position, so though she has good balance, and enjoys sliding down the hill, she can't stop herself and instead relies on the harness we guide her with. Given that the poor kid has a mother who didn't learn to ride a bike or to swim until she was about nine, and who still can't dive into a swimming pool it's hardly surprising that she doesn't have the best mind over muscle control, I suppose. We are not all destined to be athletes.

We tried ski school again a couple of weeks back with a cohort of friends and their kids. She managed about forty minutes of the three hours we paid for this time, which was an improvement. She managed a 'snowplow' under the guidance of the teacher. I observed the kids for a while, trying but failing to avoid comparing Geekygirl to my friends little girl, the same age, who can already ski quite competently. It isn't a pleasant feeling, the realization that you are envious of the abilities of someone else's child.

Geekygirl seemed happy and engaged though more cautious than the other kids. I didn't think she would notice, so I slunk away to get a bit of skiing in myself. One run later I got a call. Geekygirl had removed her skis and was most emphatically done with the class.

"mummy, I noticed that you left without telling me. That was sneaky" she told me when I quizzed her about the class later in the evening.

It was, rather, I have to admit.

We have been wondering what to do next. We very much want the kids to enjoy skiing as it is such a big part of our lives, but we are realizing that we can't force them to like it. The infamous "tiger mom" article got me thinking. About my needs versus Geekygirl's. About the value of overcoming difficulties. Though I was just as horrified by the article as the majority of the commenting public, a little of her philosophy resonated with me. This was the concept that many worthwhile pursuits are hard to learn, and easy to quit and that it takes a parent to push a little, to get over that initial hump so that the child can ultimately get that wonderful validating feeling of achievement .

Geekygirl was very proud that she managed to snowplow, and that she made it through at least some of the ski class.

We've signed her up for another session tomorrow. I've promised to let her know if I plan on leaving, no sneaking away this time. I'm cautiously optimistic that even if there are tears when we leave her in ski school, she will learn eventually, she will love it and she will thank us for persevering. We're trying a little bit of "snow leopard" parenting. I'll let you know how it goes.

Silent Sunday: not a bad spot for a business trip.

2011-01-15T18:05:00.001-08:00

Leaving

2011-01-12T16:13:00.000-08:00

It's time for my annual escape; ski conference time. This year the Keystone symposia for diabetes is actually in Keystone itself, a lovely resort in Colorado. I started writing this post from united flight 144, and am finishing it up in my cosy studio beside a frozen lake. I eagerly anticipate this meeting, not just for the science and the skiing but for the five days of respite from the emotional and physial demands of motherhood that it affords me.

There is no true respite of course. It isn't possible, or even desirable to recreate a pre-parenthood self simply by getting 5 days of adult company and a room of ones own. I feel adrift when I go away, torn between enjoying being able to please only myself and missing home. I admire the new children's play corner at the airport, remembering its location for future reference, I smile at other peoples little ones on the plane and I spend far too much time agonizing over the gifts I will buy for my children. What item will perfectly convey how much I missed all the intangible little things about them, can assuage my guilt over leaving? I buy too many things, return some, second guess myself and become a dithering idiot over a set of playmobil people or a magnetic game. The items do have significance though, geekygirl remembers still which item came back from each trip. I still remember some of the souvenirs my dad brought back from his conference trips long ago.

We talk a lot about how much we love our kids, but not as much about how much they love us. Sometimes it scares me how very important I am to them. That lovely quotation "To the world you might be one person, but to one person you are the world" carries a weight of responsibility. Whenever I get on a plane alone a tiny, unbearable thought nags me. "What if I don't come back?" Of course my rational side realizes that mothers can't wrap themselves in cotton wool and never leave the house for fear they die and leave their small children motherless, but I'm not the devil may care person I was before; there is a reason I'll be skiing with a helmet on.

Geekyboy at almost three really understands this time that I'm going away. Last night he wanted me to hold him, snuggled in his towel and sing "Old McDonald" in front of our picture of the song, something I used to do nightly when he was less of a hefty armful, but that we haven't done for ages. Six verses and still he wanted more. The tantrum when I put him down was less about the songs and more his way of telling me that he doesn't want me to go, I think. I sometimes try to guess what the kids are feeling and give them the words to describe it. I asked him if he was worried about Mummy's trip and the saddest little face in the world nodded emphatically and said "Mummy, don't go, don't go".

Geekygirl is a passionate child, almost operatic in her emotional swings. Lately she likes to hold my face close to hers, hold my gaze with her blazing green eyes and say "look at me for ever, only me, and don't ever look at anything else". She's used to my traveling now, and seemed to be coping with my impending departure wel, excited about the rituals of a sticker chart to track the days I'm gone, the TV dinner with its side of microwaved chocolate pudding, and the present I'll bring when I return. She knew that I would be leaving early this morning, my taxi was ordered for 5.45am. Usually a sound sleeper, she woke when I crept up. I think she was on alert, much as I, also a habitual deep sleeper, awoke a couple of times last night from fitful dreams of being lost in conference resorts and running into out of context friends, anxious that I not sleep through the alarm. I had a few minutes before the taxi arrived so we sat together and cuddled for a while. She burst into such howls of despair when I had to go, the last thing I heard as I clicked the door closed. Selfishly, I had been hoping to slip out unnoticed.

The kids have their new addiction to Mary Poppins (which will yield a good two hours of peace for my hero in parenting partnership, Geekydaddy), a week of planned meals and well stocked cupboards and closets full of clean and acceptable clothes. I'll be back on Monday. They will all be fine. Right?

Freckles

2011-01-11T22:25:00.000-08:00

A post for the Gallery

The prompt was "body parts".

These probably mean I should put more sunscreen on Geekygirl. But I love them!

the other side of the bay: Silent Sunday

2011-01-09T12:12:00.000-08:00

View of Oakland from the playground

The best laid meal plans

2011-01-04T21:29:00.000-08:00

I'm going into 2011 with just one simple resolution. To plan the family meals every week.

We have two evening mealtimes in the geekyhousehold. I know that having the whole family round the table is supposedly important for family bonding, developing conversation skills and keeping your children out of prison, but when one person in the family has a 60 mile commute and gets home at 7.30pm that just doesn't seem to work. I also secretly quite enjoy the relaxing, conversational dinner Geekydaddy and I enjoy if the kids have gone to peaceably to bed. We eat all together on the weekend, a ritual that has its good parts, but is still not exactly leisurely

It falls upon me to plan and prepare the children's evening repast every day. In the car on the way home from preschool the kids start to ~~discuss~~ argue over what to have for dinner. If I'm lucky my memory of what is in the fridge or freezer is accurate and I give them a couple of viable options. By the time we get home we usually have a stalemate situation and I will be forced to choose one child's request over the other, thus assuring that the loser will at best refuse to eat whatever I prepare, or at worst hurl it on the floor (thank goodness for the ever hungry dog).

The only thing they both regularly agree upon is boxed Mac and Cheese, of the 'Annies organic' variety, though even then a fierce battle can ensue over whether to have "Arthur" shaped pasta in orange cheese sauce or his compatriot "DW" in white cheese alfredo. Sadly the differing shapes of the pasta and the colour of the sauces is what passes for a varied diet most weeks. (This isn't a sponsored post, but if anyone from "Annies" is reading, a years supply of your boxed pasta, rabbit shaped crackers and gummy bunnies would be most welcome).

Exhausted from the effort of deciding what to feed the kids, then making it and persuading them to eat it, I am then faced with thinking of something for Geekydaddy and I. This often coincides with his phone call from the drive home, and more frequently than I would like we both fail to summon up any ideas for dinner and I divert him to pick up take out. The lovely fresh produce he bought so optimistically at the weekend languishes in the fridge thanks to our exhaustion and lack of imagination.

It didn't used to be this way. I'm a pretty decent cook, and so is Geekydaddy. I got an 'A' in my O level food and nutrition class, thanks to my biology teacher, Mr. Singleton, who very generously snuck in and ate the evidence of a small measuring error that resulted in a double quantity of orange mousse. I realized over the holiday that it wasn't the act of cooking that was daunting me, but the opening of the fridge, staring at a mound of food and wondering what on earth to make with it.

This has not been helped by the demise of our oven. When we remodeled our kitchen back in 2004 we replaced the ancient 1950's gas stove, a stove which upon reflection had never given us a days trouble, with a modern and quite expensive Bosch double oven. This piece of overpriced crap broke down for the first time in 2006, just before Thanksgiving and just after its warranty had expired. We had it fixed (though not until well after thanksgiving), and it lasted until this summer, when the thermostat failed again. The problem is that the hinges on the doors are not strong enough to withstand daily opening and closing. Apparently, despite its hefty price tag, this is a purely decorative appliance that isn't suitable for every day use. The door no longer closes properly, heat leaks out and the oven struggles to maintain temperature until it simply refuses to heat up. Though to fool you, its display tells you that it has reached temperature, it isn't until you poke at your cold casserole that you realize that the temperature dial is lying.

We are so mad at the damn thing that we can't bring ourselves to actually deal with the situation and cough up the cash for a new oven. Instead we resurrected Geekydaddy's old countertop toaster oven, a twenty year old relic from his single days, for anything that needs to be baked.

I started the meal plan resolution this week, the menus decided in consultation with the rest of the family, and so far (two days in!) it has been a resounding success. I came home from work knowing exactly what I needed to do, and set about steaming rice and frying tortilas with gusto. Geekyboy, upon seeing the quesadillas I was frying in the pan, burst into his usual wails that he wanted Mac n Cheese, which he had yesterday. I picked him up and pointed to the meal chart I have stuck up on the wall. "Look, you had Mac n Cheese yesterday. Today is quesadillas with peas, and tomorrow is sausages, spaghetti O's and carrots. We will have Mac n Cheese again on Friday."

"Oh" he said. He seemed impressed and disarmed by my decisiveness. "I like quesadillas."

He ate them up too, with two helpings of peas. I was quite stunned.

Next week I might even try to create some meals for the kids that don't involve cheese!

Suggestions welcome.

Snow, Sand and Bounce Houses: Reflections on a year

2011-01-02T15:05:00.000-08:00

Every year I make a photo book family album. Given that we spend most of our leisure time up in Tahoe, this years offering showed beaming children posed in the snow, frolicking in the sand and water, then back to snow again. The new camera that I got last year for Christmas has given me the chance to stretch my photographic skills, and I was really quite delighted with how the book turned out. Browsing through it you would be forgiven for thinking that our year consisted entirely of joyful snow play, sunny beaches, mountain hikes and a surprising number of bounce house parties.

The continuous mode on our digital cameras allows us to select only the perfect moments and discard the rest. For every cute picture of a child on a sled there were probably three or four thirty minute tantrums getting the snow suits on. For every gleeful splashing beach picture, an afternoon punctuated by children throwing sand in each others eyes.

The sheer effort of getting out of the house to create these magical moments is missing from the finished glossy product. The blood curdling screams of protest at putting on sunscreen, the almost perfect days marred by a forgotten glove, diaper, snack or change of clothes, the miles hiked with a howling child in a backpack that situates that child's mouth far too close to a parents ears. those moments don't make it into the album. Only I know that a split second before or after that perfect shot, the seemingly angelic child was hurling rocks or smearing snot on my jeans.

Writing this, I was reminded of the graph shown by Rufus Griscom and Alisa Volkman in their TED talk about parenting. As you can see, being the parents of a young child coincides with some of the lowest overall reported periods of happiness in a persons life. The flip side of this is that the peaks and lows are more extreme. My photo album only shows the peaks. Those peaks are real and beautiful, and since the children seem to remember the high points more than the lows, it is my challenge as a mum to find that zen, and live in those moments.

2010 has been a good year with many of those high points. The children are growing and learning. They are strong and healthy. We have work and health and love, and are very fortunate.

It is interesting to have the blog to go back to and reflect upon how our lives are slowly moving along.

Geekygirl, though still emotionally demanding, is so much more mature now at almost five. We haven't had a night like this for a very long time. She and I took a trip to visit my family in England, just the two of us, and had a wonderful experience. Geekyboy is a little boy now, not the baby. His toddler years have had a few of the expected challenges, but he is emerging into a sweet and funny little boy. The children's room reflects that we are now the parents of big kids, not babies.

This year I managed to get the kids to the dentist for the first time, thus alleviating a huge burden of motherly guilt that had been following me around. We made some new friends. I got a new job. The terminal exhaustion of the baby and toddler years now subsiding into a more manageable motherly malaise left me with just enough energy or insanity to take on a new challenge, career wise. Just when I really needed to be impressing my new bosses, and didn't need to be taking a lot of time off, we got nits . We had visits from both sets of Grandparents, and we got the whole family dressed up for halloween . It was also the year that I and one of my dearest friends turned forty.

I took blogging to another level, and met up with some cyber friends, fellow Brits in the USA; (iota, Nicola, expatmum, nappyvalleymum, and Califlorna) in Chicago on a chilly winter weekend filled with stories and warm spirited chatter

2011 is going to be a big year for us. Geekygirl will go to Kindergarten. The whole Geekyfamily is going to visit family and friends in England and Denmark in July. I'm going to get my first mammogram, and perhaps not coincidentally, my first tattoo. And that's just what is planned. Who knows what else will be thrown at us this year? We're bracing ourselves for another wild ride.

Life is like sledding. You only think you're in control.

Lake Tahoe from Alpine Meadows

2011-01-02T09:06:00.001-08:00

A silent Sunday post

Intertwined Tales.

2010-12-27T21:36:00.000-08:00

I first read "Tales of the City" by Armistead Maupin when I was living in Birmingham (UK, not Alabama). The series of novels was avidly passed around our group of graduate students, initiated by the one gay man amongst us, a man who just happened to be called Michael, like Michael Tolliver, a hero of the novels, who remarks in one of them that half of the gay men in the world seem to be named Michael. The stories, with their mixture of madcap adventure, bizarre coincidences, and poignant dialogue all set against a San Francisco that fairly glittered out of the pages, were a breath of fresh air to us, slaving over our lab benches in the dreary Midlands winter.

Three years later, when I was myself boarding a plane to San Francisco with my worldly possessions packed into two suitcases I had those books etched into my mind. I had them in my suitcase too, come to think of it. It hadn't escaped my literary imagination that I was twenty five years old, the same age as Mary Ann Singleton, one of the stories central characters was when she took a two week vacation to the city and decided, on a whim to stay. As it turned out I went to San Francisco on a two year visiting academic visa and fifteen years later I am still here. I lasted longer than Mary Ann, come to think of it.

People tell me I was brave for taking a job in a city, indeed a country where I didn't know a single soul, setting out there alone to embrace whatever befell me. I brush it off, remarking that there are five flights back to London every day, I wasn't exactly on a one way ticket to nowhere. There was more to my confidence though. I knew, somehow, that San Francisco would suit me. My only experience of the city was through those books, but the characters resonated so strongly with me, their experiences seemed so authentic, that I felt that I already knew how the city would feel. I was right too. This was 1996, not 1976, but the essential essence of San Francisco, as I'd imbibed it in Maupin's books, was still there waiting for me.

That essence was not just the blue skies, dense fog, the tumultuous hills, or the mix of glass towers, pink stucco and shingles. It was the people. San Francisco is best known, of course for the way it embraces gays and lesbians, but that is just the most obvious manifestation of a deeper attitude. There is something in the water here that lets you be who you are, and accept other people for who they are. We are long haired computer geeks, corpulent belly dancers, lesbian plumbers, bisexual teachers, gay accountants, childless cat lovers, rehabilitated alcoholics devoted to pitbull rescue, single mums by sperm donor, foster parents to disadvantaged kids. We're ordinary English girls who love science, literature, skin tight clothes, red wine, and blogging. We're comfortable in our own skins, and we don't expect everyone else to fit any particular mold.

I found my home in a six unit building in Duboce triangle. We were a bunch of twenty somethings, from all over the USA, with me as the token European. We were white, black, Asian, Hispanic, gay, straight, lesbian, or at various levels of working out exactly what and who we were attracted to. We looked like a GAP commercial. This was no doubt enhanced by the fact that several of the gang worked for GAP corporation at the time, and were generous with their corporate discount. We threw great parties. We went to all the coolest bars. We gathered in each other's living rooms around giant take out pizzas or moo shoo vegetables to to watch Seinfeld, Friends, Melrose Place, Buffy and Party of Five. We went on terrible dates. We got horribly drunk and helped each other home. Belatedly. sometime around the turn of the century, we grew up and moved apart, much like the characters in the books.

Maupin released a new book in the series this winter. Coincidentally, the first books are being made into a musical, to be premiered this summer, where else, here in San Francisco. I just booked tickets for Geekydaddy and I and several of our dear San Francisco circa 1998 friends; our 'logical family', as Mr. Maupin would say, and I can't wait to see it, my favorite stories embellished by my favorite art form, musical theatre, what could be better?!

Geekydaddy bought the book, "Mary Ann in Autumn" for me this Christmas and I am waiting for the perfect uninteruptable moment to crack it open. In anticipation, I have just re read the entire series for what must be the hundredth time. I was reminded again that the now so familiar and beloved streets and locations described in the tales were once just a fairytale to me, San Francisco being as far from Birmingham as the lost city of Atlantis.

Is their anything better than reading that first page of a much anticipated novel? Now that I've got this post off my chest, I think I am ready to dive in.

The Year of the Great School Hunt

2010-12-26T14:39:00.000-08:00

As the year draws to an end I am hit with the realization that next year we will send our firstborn off to "real school". At the forefront of my mind every waking moment these days is one burning question. Where will we send Geekygirl to Kindergarten next fall?

There are more than seventy elementary schools in San Francisco and anyone can apply to any of them, irrespective of where they live. Some schools are vastly more popular than others. Predictably, these have a student body that score highly on the state standardized tests, and a PTA that raises several hundred thousands of dollars a year to cushion the impact of budget cuts and pay for class size reduction and enrichment programs. At the other end of the scale there are schools that have been taken over by the state in order to rectify failing performance on the standardized tests. There are lots of schools that fall in between, and on the whole schools in the city seem to have been steadily improving over the past five years, from an admittedly rather low starting point. Even so, many San Francisco parents find their liberal sensitivities running up against the realities of the public school system and flee to the highly competitive and horrifically expensive private sector, or flee the city entirely.

Apparently "San Francisco Unified School District is the top performing large urban school district in the state of California and one of the top performing urban districts in the country", which is rather like being, as was an old co-worker of mine, the best 400m runner in the Philippines, but still, it is somewhat reassuring given all the negative messages we get about the state of California's education system.

The student body of San Francisco is very ethnically and economically diverse. Approximately 25% Hispanic, 30% Chinese, 10% African American and 20% white, with the remainder representing people from South East Asia, India, Japan and the South Pacific. In common with many other large urban areas, we have a high percentage of kids qualify for a free school lunch. The very high scoring schools, of which there are about eight, get hundreds, even a thousand applications for the thirty or forty slots they have for incoming kindergartners. Some schools get almost no applications, the families who live near to the school simply show up when school starts without bothering to apply.

Until this year the San Francisco Unified School district had perhaps one of the most complex admissions procedures ever devised. Families listed seven of the more than seventy elementary schools on their application form, a form that required answering detailed questions about the educational background of the parents, languages spoken at home and whether they were on any form of public assistance, among other things. In the event that a particular school had more applicants than places a complex algorithm called the "Diversity Index", based on the answers to these questions, was applied by computer. Or possibly a bunch of school administrators got drunk and threw darts into the applications. If you want your head to start spinning read a little of the document below.

Though well intentioned, the two main problems with the system were that most of the low income people it was intended to help didn't even fill out the forms, and that many middle class people who had a lovely school right beside their house but didn't have a hope of getting into it got very annoyed. To put it bluntly, in any society some people have more choice than others, and many San Francisco families would simply "play the lottery", applying only to two or three of the "top" public schools, then send their children to private school if they were not one of the lucky "winners".

An unintended result of the system was that schools became separated from the communities they were located within. Middle class families left the city in droves and since families with the option to choose private school or to move away simply refused to attend the schools they were assigned to by the diversity algorithm, the schools still remained polarized between the high achieving middle class dominated and the low achieving low income dominated. It worked only in one direction. Motivated poor families could get their kids into high performing schools, but the system couldn't force other people to accept an assignment to a poor performing school.

Recently, though, the tide has started to change. Groups of parents banded together and decided to send their kids to their nearby yet under performing schools, with remarkable results. These parents were motivated by research that suggests that children of engaged and educated parents do well in any school setting, and that the "API' score, the California standardized test, tells one more about the socio-economic make up of the student body than the quality of the teaching. Indeed when I plotted API against % of kids on a free school lunch for the schools we are looking at I noticed a near perfect correlation between these two sets of data.

Without any change in teaching strategy, or in the teaching staff, the test scores of these schools started to rise along with the increase in the percentage of middle class kids, and the culture of parental involvement with schooling that they brought with them. Some schools became victims of their own success, they become so popular that they too became increasingly difficult to get into. These success stories have inspired more and more grassroots efforts though, and our schools are getting better for it.

For the class entering in 2011 they have completely revamped the placement system, and given each school an attendance area, but we still have a 'parent choice.' Now we can apply to as many schools as we want, but the tiebreaker is decided without the diversity index algorithm. First prioity will go to siblings of current students, second to families living in areas of the city that had the lowest test scores on last years standardized test, and third to those who live in the schools designated attendance area. Families will be assigned to their attendance area school, or if that is full, to the nearest school with open places, if they do not get into any of the schools they apply for.

Applications are due February 15th. I have generated a monstrous spreadsheet with information about at least 15 schools in 24 columns. We have toured nine (eight public/state and one private), my boss becoming ever more incredulous as I take yet another morning off work. By tour nine I fibbed, saying I had a dentist appointment. I probably should have removed the sticker bearing my name and "Grattan School Tour" from my jacket on returning to the office had I expected the lie to fly though. A group of fellow parents and I have formed a casual collective to share school reviews, discuss options, and more often than not, drink and panic. If it hadn't already been done, I might have started a blog about it!

Is anyone else going into the new year with this level of school related stress, or is this unique to San Franciscans? Remind me again why I love this city......

Silent Sunday: Waiting

2010-12-26T08:58:00.000-08:00

the sugar plum fairy

2010-12-21T22:17:00.000-08:00

The Nutcracker Ballet is an American Christmas tradition, one that was started by the San Francisco Ballet in 1944. In a combined fit of "getting into the holiday spirit" and "we must take advantage of living in the city" I bought tickets when they first went on sale back in October. With the production looming, I checked the website for the time and location, not only discovered that the production is staged at the very lovely "War Memorial Opera House" and not at the Ballet itself, which saved me a panic attack on arriving at the wrong location, but I also noted the statement "Any child, who can quietly sit in their own seat and happily observe a two-hour performance without questions or talking, is welcome at San Francisco Ballet. To ensure an enjoyable and relaxed experience for everyone, SF Ballet recommends that children be at least 5 years-old to attend Nutcracker"

Since Geekygirl and Geekyboy are almost five and almost three, respectively I felt a knot of anxiety forming. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. I took the kids to the playground with a friend to run off some energy on the morning of the performance, but my anxiety was only heightened when my friend informed me that her little girl, also only 4, had been coached by her grandparents to tell the ballet ushers that she was five, since they were under the impression that under fives would be banished from the theatre.

We set off anyway with our underage companions. The children, prepped for several nights now with a lovely story book describing the plot of the ballet, and having enjoyed several evenings of dancing round the living room to the music, looked adorable and were full of anticipation. Geekydaddy and I also dressed for the occasion, and it felt so lovely to be all gussied up, in the glossy crowd of excited children and parents. There were plenty of under fives, so we didn't need to teach the children to fib. Of course, as seems to be the case in almost any major city, the fanciest theaters are steps away from the sketchiest neighbourhoods. We were faced with puddles of human urine in the alley where we parked the car, and smiled shamefacedly at homeless people as we walked up the guilded steps. Ah San Francisco, city of contrasts.

The performance was magical. I'm glad we had read the storybook, mind you, as I'm not a ballet buff myself, so it helped me to understand what was going on. Geekygirl, ever the authority once she has even a scrap of knowledge on a subject, kindly, confidently and maybe a tad too loudly, explained to me what was happening. Geekyboy, kneeling on his plush seat was enraptured by the music and the dancing. However every five minutes he loudly whispered to me "Mummy. Is that the sugar plum fairy? Mummy. When is the sugar plum fairy coming?". Mindful of the age advice, I tried to keep him quiet out of consideration for the childless folk in the row in front, but when the lights came up for the interval they remarked on how sweet he was and how they used to bring their own, long grown up, kids to see this ballet. People can be so kind.

Here's a clip from the show (I didn't film it)

Still, during the second half Geekyboy wanted to dance along with the performers in the aisles, which I felt was pushing the tolerance of the more mature audience members so Geekydaddy extracted him. Geekydaddy wasn't all that impressed by it. He was reminded of the spoof scene in the movie "top secret", where the female dancer balances on the unfeasably large 'package' of the male in very tight tights! Geekygirl remained entranced though, and watched the entire performance through to its beautiful finale.

Now, every evening when we get home from preschool, Geekyboy wants to be the sugar plum fairy. Here he is in his sisters fairy dress, isn't he precious? I've taken a video too, to preserve these moments for posterity and to show to him when he's a linebacker on the football team. Or the lead in the all male version of swan lake.

my city, my heart.

2010-12-20T21:36:00.000-08:00

I took this picture while walking my dog early one morning. When I look out at the city my heart always pounds just a little harder than usual. Can you fall in love with a city? Is it just the beauty of the place, or is it more? The mindset of those of us who live here? A way of being that just happens to be part of this perfect jumble of architecture and nature?

I love this city. I fell in love in this city. I fell in love with a man who loves this city as much as I do.
My heart will always belong in San Francisco.

A post for the gallery. The theme was "Love"

Silent Sunday: Cupcakes

2010-12-19T10:56:00.000-08:00

A photo for Silent Sunday at MochaBeanieMamma

Last Christmas

2010-12-18T09:32:00.000-08:00

This is a post for Josie's writing workshop at Sleep is For the Weak. I chose prompt 4. Become the ghost of Christmas past – share a story from a childhood Christmas.

My Christmases past all seem to distill themselves into 1984. The year that Band Aid went to Christmas number one, Last Christmas by Wham came second, and I was fourteen. Maybe it is because these songs endured so well that I am so often transported back to that time during the Christmas season.

I had started a new school that year, and I bought my new friends a wall calender of the Band Aid group as a present. I had rushed to Woolworths to buy the single the minute it was pressed, and actually have a very early edition of it that lacks the group photo on the back. I watched the video again today to enhance the nostalgia, and instead of the warm fuzzy feeling I expected, instead I noted for the first time how few women were involved. If such an effort happened today it would surely have far more female artists. I was struck by how times have changed, and how long ago 1984 really was. On the other hand if it was made today many fewer of the men would be wearing full make up. Whatever happened to the concept of eyeliner for men becoming mainstream?

I forget now exactly when my sister and I were deemed old enough to attend midnight mass on Christmas eve, but I'm guessing that by 1984 we did. I was never a particularly religious kid, but I loved singing. My sister and I would get lightheaded trying to sing "Gloria in excelsis deo" without taking a breath, or attempting the soprano harmonies for the "sing choirs of Angels" verse of "oh come all ye faithful". Furthur into the decade we would hit the pubs before mass, no doubt enhancing our vocal skills.

Though old enough to have a little sip of baileys after mass in 1984, I was still young enough to hang up my stocking. When I say stocking I mean an actual sock. No custom made velvet sock shaped bags entered our home, Father Christmas stuffed gifts (always starting with a satsuma orange deep in the toe) into a woolly 'over the knee sock'. Do you remember those impractical items? For some reason we were not allowed to wear tights with out school uniforms, so we wore long socks held up with an elastic band around the thigh, the chilled and blotchy upper portion of which was displayed between one's hitched up school skirt and the top of the sock. I hear parents today dispairing of their teen daughters clothing, but really parents, do you remember how we used to dress in the early 1980s? New clothes featured heavily in our Christmas gifts from our teen years onwards. I remember a soft jumbo corduroy pencil skirt in black that I wore with a fushia printed black jumper, and a pair of winkle picker toed black suede stilletos. Lovely!

My mum and dad still live in the home where we grew up, but since living in America these past fifteen (really, how can it be fifteen)? years I have been home for the season precisely once. It is a time of year when I wish that I could just pop back for the day. I would show my kids the remaining tree ornaments that have survived from my youth, the ones we would carefully unwrap with excitement year after year, arguing over who got to put the long, delicate pink one on the tree, while we played a mixed Christmas tape, recorded from the top 40. I'm wondering now if my mum's carefully made starfall decorations, the ones with threads of foil stars handing from a cane circle that hung from the light fixtures in colours that perfectly matched the purple, turquoise, silver, red and gold carpets we had back in the 1980s, are still around in any form. Bringing out these ornaments was the mark of the beginning of the season, they gave the house such a festive feel and we always felt so sad when the house was returned to its ordinary unsparkly form on January 6th.

Mum and dad's home contains the ghosts of so many wonderful Christmases past. One day I will take the whole family home to share my childhood memories with them. On Christmas morning (after breakfast of course) we will let Grandad lead the way into the closed living room. He will carefully open the door while the children gather behind. They will be so excited, trying to peak, just slightly worried that Father Christmas may have forgotten them this year, and just when they can barely contain their anticipation he will throw open the door and shout "he's been"!

a moment to breathe

2010-12-14T20:58:00.000-08:00

Today we got a day off work. Well, our department had a holiday outing in the late morning, so after a couple of hours in the office we headed over to "the palace of the legion of honor', an art museum in the city to look at the "japanesque" exhibit, featuring works on loan from the d'Orsay in Paris. What a treat, to wander around a gallery admiring intricate woodprints form centuries ago.

After a civilized lunch the rest of the day was our own. I decided to pop over to the little British Grocery store that lurks behind Safeway, next to the city pound. The basement of a small house, it is one room that stocks everything the expat Brit needs, from baked beans to marmite to double deckers, hobnobs, lucozade and robinson's barley water. Of course at Christmas it also has mince pies, pud and birds custard. We have a potluck party at the office on Thursday, so I thought I'd treat them to some Mr Kiplings mince pies, my oven being broken, I have a perfect excuse not to attempt to bake any myself.

I then went to the post office to mail my gifts to family in England. The queue was winding out of the door into the somehow festively drizzly street, but since I was, remarkably, in no hurry, I quite enjoyed my wait. There was a camaraderie in the disparate crowd, united by the need to send gifts to loves ones far away. I saw packages addressed to Brazil, to Paris, to Beijing. Maybe I was under the influence of my recently dowloaded Glee Christmas album, but as I stood there I pictured people all over the world opening gifts, knowing someone here in San Francisco was thinking of them, was prepared to stand in the rain for half an hour to make sure that gift made it to its destination.

Christmas can take a working mum to breaking point. When life is a carefully balanced house of cards the extra demands of the season can feel overwhelming. Even a supposedly pleasant thing like a holiday party invitation becomes simply more items on the to do list; book babysitter, buy tights with industrial supportty top so that party dress fits, get hair done....

I'm almost there though. I've reached the point where I can listen to my holiday music in the car without it bringing on feelings of panic. The cards have almost all been posted, the gifts almost all purchased. Just the daycare party and the work white elephant potluck to go, and maybe I can even relax.

How about you. Are you ready?

I'll leave you with my new favourite Christmas song of the moment; Mercedes from Glee singing "Angels we have heard on high".

picture perfect

2010-12-08T21:14:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, on a wonderful trip out to Chicago I was chatting with fellow bloggers Nappy Valley Mum, Iota, Nicola, ExpatMum and Califlorna about Christmas cards, and a question came up. "do you make one of those 'American' photo cards of your family, and if so, what do your British friends think of it? Is it considered horribly naff?" I confess that I do make such a holiday card. I posted about last years here. It had not, until that moment of conversation, ever occurred to me that this was an American phenomenon, or that it might be considered tacky and narcissistic.

I personally love to receive such cards, or a school photo enclosed in a card, or a even a round robin letter (especially those unintentionally amusing ones!). Kids grow so fast and we live so far away from friends and family. Thinking back over the years, I realized that I was an early adopter of the concept. Long before there were multitudes of online photo companies offering competing card designs, and before we even had kids, I turned a photo of Geekydog in the snow into a holiday note card using the then brand new "Snapfish" web store.

This year we had a November snowstorm up in Tahoe. Perfect for getting cute seasonal pictures of the children for the annual card, I thought. I was thwarted however by Geekyboys distaste for being outside in it. Thirty minutes of snow play later I had a reel of lovely shots of Geekygirl, and this single sorry picture of geekyboy!

The following weekend, with a little puruasion and some sledding, he adjusted to the snow and I managed to get a couple of decent shots. Then, that same evening, overtired and amped up, Geekyboy slipped in the bathroom and blacked his eye on the side of the tub. Once I realized that he was OK, just very bruised up, my first thought was "Thank goodness I got one decent picture for the card before he looked like a battered child"

Here is a preview of the card I made this year, with the help of the 'tinyprints' website. I put quite a bit of time into selecting the photos and choosing the card, and I have to say I'm quite pleased with the result.

Do you make cards like this? I'd love to do an informal survey!

PS, this is not a sponsored post but I do know someone who works for tinyprints, and I was very happy with their product.

Fowl Feast

2010-11-26T16:48:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving. For us it is the low stress holiday. A four day weekend with no presents to buy, and nobody to please but ourselves. We're a first generation American family, so Thanksgiving is just for us.

Over the years it has been marked by feasts with friends, or vacation trips, including a memorable visit to Orlando. There, instead of testing out the well trodden attractions, we went instead to the "Crashorama", a demolition derby, the highlight of which was the 'figure eight school bus race'. You can use your imagination to envision how thrilling that was (no children were involved, I hasten to add). Once, back when I was a single hardworking postdoctoral researcher, I even spent the day in the lab and had lunch at a Chinese restaurant.

But now that we have our own little family we celebrate together, in our own idiosyncratic way. I don't eat meat, so we usually roast a fish. I don't like cinnamon, so we don't eat pumpkin pie. We invariably go up to the mountains and have a nice relaxing day topped with a slightly more special than usual meal.

This year though, we experienced cultural peer pressure for the very first time. Geekygirl is learning about Thanksgiving at preschool. The children are sharing with each other the way each of their families celebrates the holidays. Considering how many other first generation American families there are at preschool I was surprised at the universality of the "Turkey and pumpkin pie fest" that all the other children described. I bought the kids some pumpkin pie at the school bake sale and they absolutely loved its creamy cinnamony goodness. After years of skimming the surface of the holiday, I could feel its cultural gravity dragging us in.

"Why don't we eat turkey at Thanksgiving?" Geekygirl asked. She was unimpressed by my explanation, and by the promise of delicious roast halibut and said "How about we have chicken drumsticks for Thanksgiving?" On reflection this seemed like quite a good idea, and I'm all for encouraging Geekygirl to think for herself, so I promised that chicken drumsticks would be added to the menu.

The anticipation of the chicken drumsticks filled our conversations on the way home from school for subsequent days. "I'm going to hold the bone and gnaw the meat", Geekygirl told me. She has quite an obsession with carnivorous animals and this seems to have carried over into her cuisine choices. During one of these conversation I realized that Geekygirl had never actually eaten a chicken drumstick. Chicken nuggets, chicken sausages and chicken stew are part of my repertoire, but I could not recall ever before having given her a chicken's leg.

"What made you suggest that we made chicken drumsticks?" I asked her during one drive home. "The shopping game" she replied. And then the penny dropped. We love to play "Orchard Games" shopping cart game, and one item on the list is a roasted chicken. When we play we always mime eating or using the various items on the lists, and Geekydaddy would wrest an imaginary drumstick from the picture of the chicken and eat it lasciviously. Geekygirl loves to mimic him, and I guess he was so convincing in his acting that she wants to try one!

We braved the stores on Wednesday night before trekking up to the mountains, adopting the "divide and conquer" approach; geekydaddy did the bulk of the shopping at Trader Joe's, the kids and I picked up specialty items at Whole Foods. As well as a fine slab of halibut, we got a packet of chicken drumsticks. I also decided to bake not one, but two pies, my very first pumpkin pie and a cinnamon free apple.

We have an early winter here in Tahoe, feet of snow already, so after a pre dinner outing to the sledding hill we returned to a house warmed with the smell of baking bird, overlayed with pumpkin and, yes even my bete noir, cinnamon. It smelled wonderful.

Despite carefully marinating the drumsticks in an orange/olive oil glaze, and going online to remind myself how to cook chicken, I fully expected that when presented with an actual meat and bone drumstick Geekygirl would turn up her nose at it. Far from it. She dug into that bird with lipsmacking gusto, as did her brother. They made short work of both the pies too.

I'm finding that it is the children that ultimately drag you fully into your adopted country's culture. Today I'm thankful for our family, our lovely homes, and for the fantastic opportunities and friendships I have found in this great country. Happy Turkey (or Chicken Drumstick) day!

Snow White and Dog Black

2010-11-23T21:39:00.000-08:00

A Gallery post, for theme "Black and white "

This isn't actualy a black and white picture, but it felt like the perfect shot for this weeks theme.

The sheer quantity of snow that falls in a Sierra storm has to be seen to be believed. This one dumped a good six feet over a twenty four hour period. Winter is officially here, and Geekydog is in heaven.

Before and After

2010-11-20T14:02:00.000-08:00

A belated post for the lovely Gallery

This is how the kids room looked before and after a trip to Ikea last Spring.

When we transitioned Geekygirl into the side-less crib/toddler bed in the top picture, just before her brother arrived, we did it gently. She had a full month or so of choosing between her familiar crib and the new bed. We, or at least I, was very anxious that she not feel replaced by the new arrival.

She outgrew that little bed she was was four. Geekyboy was two by then, and he had been climbing the crib rails and rattling it from its screws, so we decided it was time to graduate both into proper beds. I love these pictures but they touch my heartstrings. It still seems like just yesterday that we assembled that crib, bought with money generously collected by my coworkers, in anticipation of Geekygirl's arrival. I remember so powerfully just how tiny she and her brother seemed when we first laid them in its soft expanse.

Poor second child that he is, Geekyboy did not get a gentle transition to the world of the big boy bed. His crib was dismantled and the new bed installed within hours of returning from the store. We did try to explain the coming change to him, but I think it came as quite a shock. I will forever remember the look of horror on his little face when he walked into his room as Geekydaddy was in the midst of disassembling , and cried out "My bed. Daddy broke my bed".

Being the stoic little person that he is, he slept soundly thereafter in his new bed, but I still wonder if he was somehow traumatized by the abrupt removal of the only sleeping space he had ever known. To this day he points to the dismantled crib, which since it underwent three or four recalls in the four years we owned it isn't suitable to be handed down to anyone, and is stored in the garage, and says "That's my old bed. Daddy broke it".

two kids walking

2010-11-14T21:09:00.000-08:00

I decided this weekend that I have been pushing the kids around in the double stroller for too long. The age gap between them, twenty four months, meant that I needed a double stroller when Geekyboy was little. Geekygirl's reluctance to walk anywhere, combined with my inclination to acquiesce to her requests, and the rather child unfriendly topography of our neighbourhood has ensured that I have continued to push them everywhere, even though they are now not little at all. I had reached the point of driving to places within walking distance, because I was physically incapable of pushing the 70 combined pounds of child for any length of time. Those hills might be tough on a littler person's legs but they are tougher on a mothers gluteus maximus.

So when we decided to take advantage of an unseasonably warm November day and head to the playground I put my foot down. No stroller. We chose the closest and least vertically challenging playground option and got there without complaint, Geekygirl a skipping, sprinting sprite, waiting impatiently at the intersections for her steadily tromping little brother.

Getting home again was more challenging. The kids have become accustomed to riding home after their playground exertions. Relaxing in the McClaren chariot, eating crackers and drinking milk while their exhausted mother strains to push them home.

They set off in good spirits, climbing little walls and chattering away. We were almost home, and I could see poor Geekyboy was very tired, his eyes glazing over as he stolidly placed one little Croc'ed foot in front of the other. Geekygirl was still full of energy, and as we reached the final stretch, a steep downhill incline, she decided to run. She loves to run pell mell down the hills. I'm always in two minds as to whether to stop her, or let her enjoy it. It must feel a bit like flying to run into gravity like that. Back in my running days and before my knees hit middle age I used to quite enjoy it myself. I'm always in awe of her grace and bravery as she hurtles along, and I figure that the best way to learn one's limits is to push them.

Today she met them, she stumbled and fell. A split second later a howl bellowed out. When I ran to her picked her up, ensuring no serious damage, and intending to carry her the rest of the way, Geekyboy just sat down. I think seeing his sister being carried was just too much for him to bear after he had trudged for so long without complaint. It was one of those sudden moments in motherhood, when a lovely time turns in a split second into a stand off. A missed step over an uneven paving slab and suddenly the world goes wrong. I was left standing with two howling unmovable kids, within sight of our front door.

We got home, of course. Both children pulled themselves together remarkably well, and I remained calm too. I still think "operation walk on your own two legs" can be called a success. Anyone want a rather heavily used third hand McClaren twin traveller? Fingers crossed our double stroller days are done.

techorati test (ignore!)

2010-11-11T15:15:00.001-08:00

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Tales from the Academy

2010-11-11T15:00:00.000-08:00

The Academy of Sciences, that is.

Usually on days when daycare closes for holidays or staff training Geekydaddy and I cobble together a day of piecemeal hours at the office balanced with hours at home with the children, who watch too much television while the parent at home attempts to call into meetings and fights with VPN internet access to the office servers. Today, Veterans day, I decided to claim real vacation, and planned a nice day out. A day devoted just to the children. I left the big camera at home, since I have a tendency to boink the kids on the head with it by accident, so please excuse the quality of the iphone snaps illustrating this post.

We got to the museum right as it opened. We dove straight downstairs to the aquarium, usually very crowded but almost people free so early on, and delighted in prime time viewing of the reef.

We came across exhibits I hadn't found before, of water insects. The sight of the giant diving beetle sucking the liquefied innards out of paralyzed living goldfish, though quite fascinating, was unexpected, and did test my powers of description. I'm in the habit of slowly and loudly reading from the signs to explain things to the kids but my worlds trailed off as I realized that this was quite macabre for a toddlers ears!

We looked at the "living roof". I don't think I was the only person who kept expecting a Teletubby to appear.

This museum also has the classic "stuffed animal" exhibits, a legacy of any museum of Natural History of stature, but so at odds with the message of conservation and respect for nature we raise our children with today. The exhibit at the Academy, Africa themed, is very well done, the animals as sleek and glossy as the day they ~~were shot~~ died gracefully of old age, but it combines the preserved with the living, which makes for a rather odd feel to the room. There are some cases with live lizards and other reptiles, juxtaposed with stuffed lions and antelope. The crown of the exhibit is a colony of living South African penguins frolicking in a rocky pool contained behind floor to ceiling glass. Geekygirl ran from case to case shouting too loudly "Mummy, look, another dead animal! A dead Zebra! A dead Cheetah! Is this one dead, Mummy? This regarding the Jaguar posed in his tree overlooking the concourse, pictured below.

Keeping track of the kids in an increasingly busy museum started to get challenging so we listened to a children's author, Susan Stockdale, read from her books in a corner of the museum. Geekyboy's loud voice was the one raising eyebrows this time as he shouted out (accurately I must add) "Emperor Penguin", Coyote", recognizing the animals in her illustrations. I"d like to claim his exotic animal vocabulary comes from the kids National Geographic magazine we subscribe to, but I suspect it has more to with oversaturation with "Go Diego Go".

Reaching breakdown point we hit the cafeteria. The food offered is very nice, but poorly organized for a one adult, two barely obedient children kind of situation. If you want tacos, ribs and spring rolls you have to stand in three separate lines. At this point Geekyboy was lying on the floor under a whale skeleton, fighting off his sister's attempts to bring him back into the food line, and I wished I had packed sandwiches. I grabbed a plate of ribs ("I want to eat ribs and pretend I'm a lion eating a dead antelope" Geekygirl had told me. Not destined to be a vegetarian like her mum, clearly"), some roast potatoes and a pizza. Well, I had thought I had a good grip on the pizza but it flew from its plate and hit me splat in the chest before slime-ing cheesily to the ground by my feet. I apologized as it was cleaned up, dragged the kids to a table and made do with potatoes and chocolate milk for my own lunch.

We overcame the obstacles of toilets with automatic flushes and loud hand driers. I had cleverly put Geekyboy in one of those super absorbent night time pull ups for the outing so avoided having to diaper change on the run. I didn't lose the parking ticket, and the children both chose the same cheap toy, a bag of plastic ocean creatures, in the gift store thus avoiding fights with me and with each other.

Safely home they are now sitting and classifying their plastic sea animals. "Does it have fins? yes? Does it have a blowhole? Then its a whale!"

All in all a very satisfying day. We teetered on that knife edge between fun and chaos most of the time, but I seem to have got much better at coping with small children in large places without my pulse racing. I'm proud that I barely even flinched when that pizza hit me in the chest.

I'm looking forward to a nice restful day at the office tomorrow though!

snapshots of Halloween

2010-11-01T22:11:00.000-07:00

A little girl had an idea for a family costume theme

A busy mother stole time from work to trawl ebay and Amazon for costumes, and anxiously tracked their arrival, wondering if she should have paid for express delivery. Relief at their timely arrival outweighed the sheepishness she felt having to explain to the office purchasing department why she was overtaxing their delivery person.

A tired mother awakened her long dormant seamstress skills to adjust costumes to the exacting specifications of a very particular four year old.

A forty year old scientist and mother ended up having to create one costume for her work's team theme, and another for her family's. She started to get quite stressed about Halloween, which felt rather ridiculous.

A little girl woke screaming on Friday with a sore, sore throat. A little Aladdin participated in the preschool Halloween parade without his Jasmine.

A dad was concerned that the blue "genie" face make up, express shipped from Amazon, would not wash off and that it might leave him eerily blue tinged for a critical meeting the following day. A wife painted herself as a test of its permanency to help him resolve the dilemma of being a good sport dad vs. being a responsible business owner.

October 30th arrived, cold and wet. The little girl coughed and coughed. A mum faced the fact that all of the preparation for this years much anticipated family Halloween might be in vain. She pondered on exactly who was anticipating it so keenly, given how disappointed she felt.

October 31st dawns, clear and bright. The little girl is still coughing a little, but seems bright and healthy. She puts on her costume with blatant delight. Her mum is relieved that all the adjustments are deemed acceptable, and is resigned to the fact that her daughter insists on wearing a pink cheerleader shirt underneath it instead of a perfectly matching teal turtleneck. She's happy that her daughter at least accepts the suggestion that she wear tights under the flimsy harem pants. Mum puts on her second costume of the season (Raja, Jasmine's pet tiger), and then paints dad's face blue, confident now that the paint will wash off. The little boy protests donning his Aladdin outfit despite the bribe of a 'tootsie pop'. Mum feels like a selfish parent, should a two year old really be manhandled into his costume just so that the family looks good together?

Costumed children bounce.

Aladdin embraces his princely persona, reminding the Mum that a two year old's opinions are transient, despite their force. Neighbourhood parents delight in the intoxicating combination of good wine and bounce houses, and despite their best efforts not too, keep finding themselves in conversations about which Kindergartens to apply to next year.

The Genie uses his phenomenal cosmic powers to hold a glass of wine while simultaneously replacing Aladdin's shoes

A little girl, after bouncing for hours, and after being very brave in the face of oddly dressed adults and children, gets frightened by the full face masks and creepy houses once it gets dark and wants to go home after just a few trick or treats.

The family climbs home, and the city glitters them a backdrop of Halloween colours, (which just happen to be the Giants colours too!)

Happy Halloween! And yay, Giants!

Hawaii four O

2010-10-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I turned forty. I'm sure I'm not the first to observe that time compresses as we get older, but I'm certainly feeling that way on this milestone birthday. Where on earth did the last ten years go? The years from earliest memories through my teens and into my twenties seemed to stretch, long days, slow years. My memories of them still rich and vivid. Perhaps that is why those years are so formative. Maybe time is actually percieved differently through the different ages of our lives.The last ten of mine, though equally as event packed as the rest, seem to have flashed by.

When I was twenty, in the 1990's, the 1970's seemed eons ago, truly a different era. Now in the 2010's, the 1990's seem like just yesterday. I still think of music and movies from that time as 'current'. Children are often completely oblivious to times that they did not experience, kids asking their parents if they had cars or televisions in 'the olden days when you grew up'. My 1980's childhood, with its VCR's, boom boxes, walkmans and BBC basic computers is as much a museum piece now as my fathers childhood during the second world war. Everything folds into the past. Maybe that is why we are driven to have children, to pull us through time.

Forty feels good though. Those short ten years ago, I spent my thirtieth birthday in Hawaii with Geekydaddy, half hoping that he would propose. (He ultimately proposed on my 32nd birthday). We couldn't afford a trip to Hawaii this time, so we brought it to our house instead, with a Hawaiian themed party for our friends and their kids. I rented a bounce house, hoping it could act as a de facto babysitter while the adults chatted. It arrived nice and early so our kids bounced while we prepped for the event, I strategy I may employ for future parties.

When we planned a Hawaiian party we didn't expect Hawaiian style rain. Our back garden was in full bloom (the joy of California in October), and we had planned for an outdoor party, but the heavens opened and the party moved inside. Only a few brave children braved the bouncer. Thanks to a lovely bouquet from my dear friend FollowthatDog, and some whimsical hibiscus flower party lights, the interior was blooming too, and we didn't let the rain dim the mood. Combined with the halloween decor of green gilded spiders, the flowers gave an interesting 'tropical but terrifying' theme. My friends Stan and Fachon bought real flower lei's., too There is something special about a lei. It brought me just a bit of that relaxed island feeling, even on a wet San Francisco afternoon.

I had such a lovely day surround by friends and children. The Mai Tai's Geekydaddy created were deliciously authentic (did you know that Mai Tai was invented in Trader Vics in Oakland, just across the bay, in 1944, and is an almond syrup based drink? Neither did I until we did our research!) and the catered food was both beautiful and delicious (Geekydog agreed, she snaffled a plate of pork sandwiches left a little to close to the edge of the table!).

I even got to sleep off the Mai Tai's the next day while Geekydaddy cleared up the debris.

I'll leave you with this photo. On Facebook I captioned it " Necklace; birthday gift from my parents, Lei; gift from Stan and Fachon, T shirt; $7.00 from Marshalls, Forty year old cleavage; priceless". Here's to another forty plus years!

Drawing horses

2010-10-22T18:03:00.001-07:00

It is amazing that I managed to get my O and A levels, really. I spent a good portion of my schooldays sketching ponies. They galloped, trotted and cantered across my essays, my homework diary. All my compositions had an equine theme. I even recall working a horse into an essay about bridges, and carefully putting a couple in the garden of the buildings I had to plan in architectural drawing class.

I was lucky enough to have access to ponies of my own. My sister and I befriended an old gentlemen in our village. His own living grandchildren were in Australia, and the daughter who had remained close by lost her only child to Cystic fibrosis when he was just five Pictures of this smiling golden curled child graced every surface in Harold's bungalow.

My sister and I were his surrogate grandchildren. Our own grandfathers died before we were born, too, so this was a mutually benificial relationship. We fetched his groceries, picked his apples and turned them into pies (well my mum helped with that). Rather on sufferance every night on the way home from school we sat and looked through his old photo albums and listened to his stories,watching the clock so that we'd be home in time for neighbours, and in return he gave us his ponies to ride. We probably should have spent more time listening to him. Born in 1901 and of the generation too young to fight the first world war but too old for the second, he lived through so much change in his lifetime, embracing it all.

i haven't ridden for years now, but amazingly the horse bug seems to have arisen in my daughter. She gallops and whinnies around the house on her imaginary pony, "princess rainbow." She gravitates toward horsey toys. We took her for her first a pony ride, and she didn't want to dismount.

Then I found this. Her first horse drawing.

In quiet moments I imagine a different kind of life. Maybe we should move to the country so we can get her a pony. And perhaps, just maybe, i would brush off my johdpurs and find a nice gentle old horse for myself.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop

the in flight movie

2010-10-16T09:12:00.000-07:00

I was reading the New York Times this morning over my pancakes, and came across an article that piqued my interest. Toddlers are becoming addicted to iphones. I was actually reading the article on my iphone, and was struck by the irony. Though not as profoundly as the time I was walking along the street reading an article about the dangers of walking and reading one's iphone at the same time, and walked into a lamp post.

This question seems to be coming up over and over again. How much technology is too much for our children? We are entering uncharted territory with every fascinating new device, each so user friendly and intuitive that even a two year old embraces them.

I confess to amusing my own kids with my marvelous little phone. I am quite proud of my "in flight movie" set up for our long car rides up to Tahoe, involving the phone, episodes of 'the back yardigans', a bluetooth set up to beam the sound through the stereo, and a length of ribbon secured behind the phone case then tied to the headrest. I ration the movie time only because I want the phone back to catch up on my blog reading.

I'm a big believer in 'moderation in all things', my dad's motto for life, and feel that as long as the parent is controlling access to the devices they can be a good distraction tool, for sure, and may possibly even be valuable for learning. What do you think?

life, squared

2010-10-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

This is a post for the working mum blog carnival hosted by Holly at "its a mummy's life".

I had this post all thought out. I wanted to convey how I feel that being a working mum, a mother who also has a rewarding career, should be the aspiration of all women. But every evening I have been just too bloody knackered to actually write it. I'm not sure what that says about my ideal world for women. With Holly's deadline looming, I'm tapping this out while simultaneously watching 'Law and Order SVU'. That I find myself multitasking even in my extremely limited leisure time speaks for itself, I suppose.

People often say "My life became complete after I had my children". I have never felt that way. No offense to my amazing kids, but you see my life was quite complete before I had my children. The children brought a completely different dimension to it. One that I didn't even know existed before. Now I have a whole extra complete life, on top of the one I already had. I think of it as life, squared.

I'm a scientist. Science is a vocational type of career; a mindset and a way of being. It is how I have always defined myself, the first thing that comes to mind, before 'woman', 'Brit' 'liberal' or 'wife'. Now I define myself as a mother, too, of course, but I am ever grateful that I did not have to choose between these two identities. I can be both mother and scientist and straddle these two worlds. It may not be elegant but it works.

We working mums are lucky, I think, in that we never had to feel the disorientation that comes with leaving one life, that of the workplace, and moving over to the world of child raising and home making. Becoming a mother never left me wondering who I was. It has always been quite clear that I am the same person as I was before, living in the same world, just with so very much more to do. Since becoming a mother my brain has been challenged in more ways than I though possible. I'm not a rocket scientist kind of scientist, but I do have a job that stretches my neurons on a regular basis, and still I was not prepared for the mental gymnastics required of a working mum.

spare school clothes to wash, new papers about high cholesterol to read, preschool beach day to remember, holiday fundraisers, backordered reagents to track down, performance reviews to write, parent committee to attend, elementary school tours, conferences to book, brilliant scientific leaps of understanding to make, dentists appointments to book, forget and rebook, music classes to research, groceries to buy, sticker charts and prizes to create, assays to run, data to analyze, experimental strategies to plan, birthday parties to go to and to organize, nails to clip before they scratch another classmate and draw blood, nits to treat, powerpoint presentations to make, contract research oganizations to manage, field trips to attend, parent teacher meetings......

My mind is a maelstrom of information. I have a reasonable system of lists and files that ensures that I succeed in staying on top of about 80% of it, but I am always looking for that perfect system that will bring me to professional and personal perfection. I just hope that when I'm with the kids I'm giving them 100%. We do have a lot of fun together in our mornings, evenings and weekends, and we are lucky to have a wonderful preschool that I swear provides them more consistency, security and emotional and intellectual growth than I would be able to provide if I was with them full time. I've also been fortunate enough to participate in some pretty amazing scientific research in the five years since I became a mum, work that may end up really helping people. The last five years, my years of working motherhood, have stretched me further than I thought possible, but have also been incredibly rewarding, both personally and professionally.

I worry though, that I bring the stresses of work home. Geekyboy brought home a project from preschool, a 'feelings book' where they had scribbled on a picture of different feelings and the teachers had written a quote from them about each emotion. It had a page that said "Mummy feels happy for closing her eyes".

The life of a working mum is wonderful, varied and challenging. It is very busy. For me it can best be summed up best in words that are not my own. I paraphrase Jessica Piers (mother and lawyer) in the excellent "Mothers on the fast track" "To be successful at family and career you have to come to grips with the fact that you are not going be perfect at doing anything. I am not the best mother and I am not the best lawyer at my firm either, but my life is my whole life".

Despite the challenges, I would still counsel anyone unsure about whether working motherhood is the life for them to go for it. I can't imagine any other kind of life.

My life is my whole life.

The Girls

2010-10-09T10:26:00.000-07:00

A post for the gallery

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Better late than never, I have been pondering all week on what it means to be a girl

My post for the boys showed geekydaddy and his little son, so I found a picture of me and my little girl for this week.

I had always wanted a little girl. My first two pregnancies ended in miscarriage, but for those weeks beforehand, I fantasized about a baby girl called Geekygirl. Well obviously not actually called Geekygirl, but with her real name, a name I chose for my daughter before I even chose a husband.

My sister and my best friend back in the UK both had girls first (and second and third), and I longed for a little girl of my own. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe because growing up as a girl is something I know how to do. I longed for a fierce and feisty girl, determined and opinionated and passionate. That is exactly what we got, and I soon learned that these qualities, so wonderful in an adult woman, make for a rather challenging little girl!

I'm excited about her future. What a world it is now for girls. Many people worry about the pinky princessification permeating the world of our female children. Peggy Orenstein, an author who writes thought provoking books and articles about issues affecting women addresses this in her upcoming new book, "Cinderella ate my daughter". I'm looking forward to reading it. I'm not too worried though. The choices facing our girls are so dazzling, and I don't just mean the variety of sequined hello kitty shirts in Target, that I think the explosions of freedoms for women are worth the downsides.

I reserve the right to change my mind if geekygirl chooses to be a pole dancer rather than an an astronaut though.

We recently watched the movie "an education". In it a bright young girl struggles between a future at Oxford university, or being the plaything of a dodgy but glamorous older man. In one scene she challenges her headteacher, the wonderful Emma Thompson, to tell her what the world can offer an educated woman, since all she sees around her are spinster teachers. The movie was set in the mid 1970's, very recently to my mind. The girl in the movie would have been about ten years older than I am, but in terms of opportunity for women it seems so very long ago,

My new workplace, a biotech company, has more than fifty percent women on the scientific staff. I sit in meetings where there are twelve women to two men. Amazing, smart, driven, brilliant women (and men too). It is humbling and thrilling to be around them. Many of them love shoes and clothes as much as they love genes and proteins, so I'm cautiously confident that despite dressing up as princesses and loving pink, our daughters will be able to decipher the mixed messages in our society, and forge their own career paths in ever greater numbers.

On balance I think that right now is a great time to be a girl.

Classification

2010-10-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

Spot the real squirrel. I'll give you a clue, it is not the one, and I quote geekyboy here, 'holding his own tiny nuts"

In the post Genome world they probably don't teach "classification" in biology classes. The process of defining which class, genus and species a living organism belongs to, classical classification involved a complex key, a long branching list of 'yes or no' questions that narrowed down the identify of the fish or fowl in question.

Does it have a backbone? If yes, then does it have fur? If no, then does it have scales? And on and on, down to the most minute anatomical details. It wasn't one of the most interesting exercises in biology class, I have to say, and now that we have rapid DNA sequencing and algorithms to tell us exactly how related everything is to everything else it is redundant.

It is a powerful part of our human brain, though. Even very young children can tell us that chihuahuas, mastiffs and huskies are dogs, despite their disparate appearances. There is something fundamentally 'dog' that the brain subconciously perceives and classifies.

I was reminded of the concept this morning. My children have developed a new obsession with the odd but distinctive looking "littlest pet shop" animals and their stupidly minuscule accessories. As I stirred from sleep this is what I overheard.

"Geekyboy, that is not a littlest pet shop animal. Does it have a ginormous wobbly head? No? Then it isn't a littlest petshop animal."

Maybe we can develop a key for classification of toys as guide for parents. If so, it should start with the question "does it come with a ridiculous number of tiny plastic parts, keeping track of which defeats even the most fastidious housekeeper? (well I assume. I am not known for fastidiousness).

What is the latest toy obsession in your house?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop

there's no place like home

2010-09-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

Or reason to stay in San Francisco number one. It is just so damn beautiful.

If I close my eyes and click my heels together three times, I know where I want to land.

The last weekend in September is almost guaranteed to be gorgeous. It is the weekend of the Folsom Street fair; a uniquely San Francisco celebration of leather, latex and all things freaky. A giant dance party where burly sculpted men, and some women too, clad in nothing but the tightest leather trousers, or even less dance all day underneath the adoring September sun. Year after year, the weather is perfect. You can't help but think that if there is a god, he surely shines on San Francisco and all who live here.

On a day like this, if one isn't in the market for a new whip or a leather corset, the beach is the other perfect destination. Our normally brisk coastline becomes a riviera for a day. We spotted plenty of fetish fair attendees as we wound our way across town to our destination, Crissy Field. Once a military airstrip, it is now one of the loveliest spots in one of the loveliest cities in the world, and best of all dogs are still allowed to run free, indeed sometimes run amok, among the picnicking families, so we could have a true family outing, dog and all.

It is picture perfect. The natural beauty of the bay is offset so perfectly by the man-made wonder of the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't know of anywhere else where architecure and environment meld so satisfactorily. Children and dogs of all shapes sizes and colours run free in the sand and waves. Our children and I ran and jumped and squealed and pretended to surf the tiny breakers. Geekydog gamboled like the pup she once was. I've lived here forever and I still feel as if I'm living in a movie on a day like today.

Back home, the still air carried the thud of the dance music from the street fair into our little patch of yard. That our wholesome day of fresh air, sand and sea was bookended by sights of firm buttocks in leather jockstraps on the way out and wafts of dance party the evening afterward only served to perfect it as a quintessential San Francisco Sunday.

I hung up my leather mini skirt some time ago. In fact I gave it to Goodwill, so perhaps it is out there today, on a younger version of myself, slightly sticky with sweat and spilled vodka cranberry. Maybe its owner is reaching her hands the heavens, dancing her heart out, surrounded by friends and gorgeous half naked strangers. I hope she gets as lucky as I did.

night of the living hair

2010-09-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

The saga of the cooties is not over.

On Thursday we got another call from the school. A nit was found. They are very strict at preschool, finding even a single nit means the child must be picked up and taken home right away. Now, one of the problems with science as a career for a working parent is that experiments are not the kind of work you can take home. They are time sensitive, and quite often they take several days. In this case I'd set up an assay the day before and needed to complete it. It would have been very difficult to take the day off. Fortunately Geekydaddy had no meetings, so he picked up the infested one and took her home.

Reluctant to do another chemical treatment, I decided to try the 'nit suffocation method' with Cetaphil, suggested by my doctor. Experiment complete, I got home early armed with bottles of the stuff. Its a facial cream cleanser, and you spread it through the hair and blow dry it on. It took about four hours to comb it through everyone's hair, but I have to say I can see how effective it is. The lotion loosens any nits and the creaminess makes it easy to comb them out. I found a total of 4 nits and what may have been one baby louse on my daughter, and one suspected nit on my son. The blow drying took forever. I let the kids watch TV with a lollipop to suck on, and turned the volume up really loud. I had a sudden flashback to when I shared a flat with a friend who set her hair in pretty curls every week, sitting for an hour or more under a salon style dryer with "Friends" turned up to ear blasting volume.

By the end of all the combing and blow drying I was wondering why I chose a husband who has shoulder length curly locks and was appreciating for the first time what hard physical work hairdressing must be.
We looked quite the sight when I was done. My daughter asked, "why is my hair big?", patting the dull bouffant it had become. I looked like Bonnie Tyler, if Bonnie Tyler had not showered for a couple of weeks. Bonnie goes to Burning Man, or Glastonbury, maybe.

We sent the kids to school the next day with the Cetaphil still in their hair. I was convinced that all that effort must have paid off.

I had just sat down at my desk when we got another call. A single dead nit found in Geekygirls hair. I should have washed and combed it again that morning, I suppose. For the first time I felt the preschool rules were overkill. There was no way there was a live bug on her hair. I kept my cool, because of course the preschool are just zealously trying to protect everyone else. Only Geekygirl and one other kid, the originator of the lice breakout, have been affected, which is good. Though it doesn't make me feel all that good to have one of the two lousy kids! The director said that if I could fax a letter from our doctor stating she was safe to be in school then she could stay for the day.

Ordinarily I would be quite happy to pick up the kids on a sunny Friday and just take the day off, but being in a new job, and having a lot more lab based work on my plate, I am worried about appearing unreliable. I reached out to the doctors office, who had recommended the Cetaphil in the first place and had and told me the kids would be OK to go back to school. The pediatrician took the time to call me back, and then faxed preschool the required letter. Such a relief to have a doctor sympathetic to a working mum.

We have hot washed all bedclothes, vacuumed the car seats and furniture, and will keep up with daily nit combing. I sincerely hope that we can get through next week without a call from the school.

my smilers

2010-09-21T21:39:00.000-07:00

A post for the gallery

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With both of my children I watched anxiously for that first smile. That first sign of cognition, of humanity, almost. I was a self inflicted information saturated mother from day one, and I had read that failing to smile by eight weeks is associated with increased likelihood of autism. I watched my babies grimace and gurn, cooing at them and encouraging them, telling myself that I was sure I detected evidence of communication in a crinkle of eye and turn of lip.

The smiles grew more certain every day, and still, a beaming smile from one of them lifts my spirits. Though more often these days I am met with an impish grin that signifies some kind of trouble.

Here are the very first smiles I captured on camera. These were the photographs that graced my desk when I returned to work after maternity leave, and indeed stayed there as more and more photos were added, until a newcomer sighting my desk assumed I had about eight children.

I thought this was a great opportunity to give these first smiles a home here on the blog.

Geekygirl

Geekyboy