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Archives from 2002-2006

Today I finished my last article for the week and I’m sorry to say that I did not go out on a high note, as my topic was Ashton freaking Kutcher, but whatever, the deadlines have been met and my vacation begins now. Woo!

Of course by “vacation” I mean “packing.” Packing is not nearly as much of a logistical nightmare as when we had acres of diapers and bouncy seats and bibs and swingamajigs and whatnot to cram in the truck, but man, it’s still a giant pain in the ass, especially when I’m trailed to and fro by a helpful preschooler who waits until my back is turned then quickly fills my suitcase with a cowboy hat, a stuffed donkey, and seventeen Curious George books.

I’m glad I’m not in charge of the Thanksgiving meal this year, although I’m not crazy about the fact that we’ll be in Oregon for this week and Christmas—that’s a lot of driving, for one thing, and I also feel bad that our house is so rarely a family holiday destination, but it just isn’t, even when it is, if that makes any kind of sense. Our house is too small to host more than two extra people and the truth is, no one really ever wants to come here. They do, of course, because they want to see us (well, let’s be honest: they want to see the kids), but small town Oregon does not love traveling to big sprawl Seattle, and I get that. I’m kind of tired of the traffic, expense, and unhappy local news, myself.

That’s just how it is and always will be, until some sort of job/economy miracle happens and we’re able to move to Oregon. Lately it feels like time is passing us by on this front—JB’s father has worsening health issues, his brother has a baby that I’ve only seen once—and it’s a difficult thing, us being so far away. I can’t complain, we’re doing well here and we are content for the most part … but I wonder if we’ll ever end up in that place we keep dreaming about. The one in a quiet town, the one that’s a shorter drive to so many of the things that are important to us.

Oh, but anyway, here we are coming up on Thanksgiving and I really do have so much to be thankful for. I’m thankful for my healthy, joyous, slightly deranged boys; I’m thankful for my happy marriage; I’m thankful for my awesome job that lets me write about zombies every week; I’m thankful for the chance to see JB’s family this week and my family in mid-December. I’m even sort of thankful for all the drives up and down I-5 we’ve done over the years, because our kids are used to it now and traveling together is actually sort of fun these days.

Tell me, where are you going to be this Thanksgiving? And what are you feeling thankful for, right now?

Me, peering at the grocery checkout card swiper: “Heh. I always think it’s oddly charming when someone’s signature is on one of these screens in ink.”

Cashier (flatly): “Mmm, not really. It doesn’t come off.”

Okay, fine, maybe I need to get out more, and I guess I’m not the one tasked with trying to clean the screens every day, but it is charming. It’s always a careful Palmer Method script, and I can picture the customer—elderly, maybe a bit trembly-handed—dutifully signing her name with a ballpoint pen (fished from a leathery-smelling pocket in her oversized purse, the tip dusted with crumpled Kleenex motes), only to be told by the irritated clerk that she was supposed to use that plastic doohickey hanging off the end of the machine instead. Well how was I supposed to…? she thinks, her cheeks turning pink. Pens, papers, screens, buttons. Can’t they just settle on something?

I sometimes take the kids to the store after I pick Riley up from school, just to grab something for dinner or stock up on some needed item like toilet paper (which I am just now remembering that I forgot this afternoon, damn it all to hell), and it’s nearly always a terrible idea. One kid is all hopped up from being released from school and the other is excited to see his brother and to be doing something other than hanging around a boring old adult all day long, and they’re as impossible to control as two cats who have also recently lapped up a triple shot espresso.

Dylan in particular makes his way through stores in a frustratingly distracted, dreamy fashion, exclaiming at top volume over random things he recognizes (“HEY! WE have that cereal!”) and wandering directly into the paths of oncoming carts. I find myself saying, “Watch where you’re going, buddy,” over and over and over, but honestly it’s more for appearances than anything else. He never watches where he’s going, but at least any potentially annoyed fellow shoppers can see that I am by god asking him to do so. Most of the time I steer him via Maternal Eagle Claw/Border Collie Maneuver: one hand clamped on the back of the jacket, the other propelling him by sort of shoving him in the direction I want him to go.

As crazy-making as it is to try and ferry them both through a store while not forgetting the toilet paper (dammit) in the process, I have to admire their ability to find entertainment in the mundane. For instance, did you know that the bags of Purina have pictures of cats on them? And that some fruit is bumpy and weird and looks like a monster? And there are fish in the seafood display—like, for real, actual fish in there!

Oh, there is so much to marvel over.

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