Bee Girl Story

Halloween 1993 I dressed up as the Bee Girl. You know, this Bee Girl.

There must be a picture of me in my homemade (read: stapled together) Bee Girl costume floating around somewhere, probably in the closet of my room at my parents' house, where all the Ninja Turtle stuff is stashed. But I don't have one to post, so you'll have to imaginize it. (How do I look? Cute? Ok, good.)

***EDITED TO ADD THIS:

(Many, many props to my dear friend Amy for unearthing, digitizing, and sending me this photo. You cannot fully appreciate how magical it is that she did this until you know that she moved to the east coast a full 5 years before this photo was taken. The fact that she a) had it, b) knew where to find it, c) took the time to scan it, send it... I'm in awe. Amy, you are the best!)

I was a freshman at UCLA and working in the promotions department of our campus radio station. Working in promo meant that I had to help construct and paint a hideous, lumpy brown dinosaur for the homecoming parade, which fell on Halloween weekend. (Why a dinosaur? I certainly don't know now and I think I didn't even know then. One of those college mysteries. Was our homecoming theme The Flintstones? It seems unlikely. But I digress.)

Being in promo also meant that I had to walk in the parade, with the hideous float, handing out whatever promotional crap we had to give away. In some sort of cosmic coincidence, the promo items I had to distribute were cassette tapes (I know! 1993, remember?) of Blind Melon's No Rain, which was the song that had the Bee Girl in the video.

The parade starts. I am walking along and people literally start losing their minds. "Oh my God! It's the Bee Girl!" Then they realize I am giving free shit away and they REALLY start losing their minds: "BEE GIRL! OVER HERE, BEEEEE GIIIIIRRRLL!!!"

Several people wanted to have their picture taken with me, which was very flattering and also slightly confusing. I mean, they knew that I wasn't the actual Bee Girl, right? She's like a ten-year-old kid? I tried to ignore that little conundrum and just enjoy the glow of temporary celebrity.

Later in the night, I had an interview scheduled for some other volunteer position in a campus organization. I know, I was a busy little bee. (HAH! See that? I was the Bee Girl and I was busy? LIKE A BEE!?)

My interrogator, I mean, interviewer must have made up his questions in advance because the final query was: Pick one item of your clothing and explain how it defines you. Someone else in the room stood up in my defense, "Dude, she's in a costume!" But I managed to pull something out of my ass by relating myself to my shoes (nice, sturdy, straight-laced normal shoes). And really, anyone who shows up at a job interview in a Bee Girl costume should have to take whatever they dish out, yes?

Did I get the job? Yes, but I didn't keep it.

Did I stay with campus radio? Sadly, no. I love me some free stickers and T-shirts and CDs as much as the next kid, but promo is just not me.

Do I wish like all get-out that I still had that damn Bee Girl costume stashed away somewhere, too?

Wouldn't you?

PS Thanks to Jason and his post on MamaPop for inspiring this post.
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Connectors and Mavens and Salesmen, Oh My

I'm reading Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point, it's about how thoughts, products, and actions can spread like epidemics.

One of his theories about how this happens is that certain people are more socially connected (Gladwell calls them Connectors), others are more market savvy (Mavens), and others are better able to persuade people (Salesmen).

To assess your level of social connection, Gladwell provides in his book a list of surnames picked at random from the phone book. You read the list and count up how many people you know with any of the names on the list.

I knew 11. Out of 250.

Strike one for me as a Connector.

I didn't hold out much hope of being a Maven. Although I'm very interested in getting good deals, I think most of that has to do with our current personal and national financial situation and not something innate within me.

Strike two.

And I don't even pretend to think I might be a Salesmen. Strike three, I'm out.

So, who cares if I don't fall into any of these three groups. By Gladwell's definition, these people are exceptional and rare. It should be no surprise that I am simply ordinary.

I think the interesting thing about these three types (and what makes me sad that I'm not one of them) is that they are people who are intensely interested in other people. The Connectors simply like more people and like to meet people more than most of us do. The Mavens are driven not so much by bargain-hunting as they are by a desire to help people. And the most successful Salesmen are those who genuinely empathize with and love their customers.

On paper, it would seem that I should have a vast social network. I've attended 4 universities and, through my husband, am affiliated with 3 more. I've lived in 6 different cities, in 4 different states. I've worked in at least 3 different industries.

In real life, I meet people easily, especially now that I have kids. I enjoy meeting people, hell, I will randomly talk to strangers. My mom has commented when she's with me that it's a skill not everyone has.

So how did I still only score an 11?

I think I lose track of people too easily. I think I'm often too self-absorbed to fully pay attention to other people. I think I'm more interested in talking than listening. (Ouch.)

I'm wondering if being a Connector, or a Maven, or even a Salesman is something you can learn. I don't think it is. I think it's simply something you ARE.

I think the Connectors, Mavens, and Salesmen of the world are more curious and more energetic and happier than the average person. And I want to be all of those things. But I'm not. And I don't think I ever will be.

Maybe I just haven't read far enough in the book yet. I'll let you know.
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Top 3 Reasons Not to Finish Your Kid's Leftover Spaghetti

3: It is cold.

2: It'll go right to your hips.

1: Halfway through the first bite, you will remember that during dinner your kid got too big of a spoonful in her mouth, started to gag and had to spit a nasty, half-chewed up bite of food back out onto her plate. And now that bite is in your mouth. And you will have to do the same.
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3am Conversation

J: If you could get a tattoo, what would it be?

H: I don't want a tattoo.

J: But if you could...

H: But I don't want one.

J: But if you could want one...

H: I don't know what I would want because I don't want one.

J: If I got a tattoo, I would get a knife.

H: (laughs) A machete!

J: A butter knife.

H: (laughs more)

J: 'Cause I'm smooth like that... and I have small teeth.

H: You don't have small teeth! I just have large teeth. Your teeth are normal.

J: And I'm flat.

H: (laughing) And you're (laughing almost too hard to say it) dull!

J: (laughing) Did you just say "dull?"

H: (laughing inappropriately hard for 3am) Yeah!
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Timeline of a Long Night

7pm Put baby to bed. Drink Polar Diet Dry Orange Soda. Ahhhh.

8:30pm Put big girl to bed, amid MUCH protest. ("I don't know how to sleep! I'm not tired! My poo poo is coming! I'm so hungry, my legs are hungry!")

9:15pm Big girl finally asleep. (Or at least, quiet.)

9:30pm Dreamfeed baby, nurse AND bottle. Go to bed.

12:ooam Wake up to blood-curdling screams, coming from baby. Angrily stomp to baby, nurse, put her back to bed. Return to bed thinking, "How can you not even sleep for 3 hours on such a full tummy???"

4:45 Wake up to baby whimpering. Angrily try to ignore it hoping she'll fall back asleep. Husband leaves for gym.

5am Finally give in and get baby, who falls asleep on shoulder. Sit down on couch and stare at ceiling. Try unsuccessfully to sleep while baby breathes heavily into my ear.

5:30am Piercing beep every 30 seconds from unknown source. Get up, cupping hand over sleeping baby's exposed ear, to locate source of horrendous beeping.

5:35am Put baby down (who miraculously stays asleep) to pull carbon monoxide detector off the wall. Read back to determine that beeping means only that the detector needs to be replaced and not that we are all about to die in our sleep. Remove batteries. Return to bed.

5:45am Hear husband returning home from gym, showering, and bothering me by tip-toeing around and being awake at an unreasonable hour.

6am Awakened by husband: "Why did you take the batteries out of the CO2 detector?"

Me, too tired to be pissed that husband was not home to take the detector off the wall for me: "Because it was beeping."
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What Happens When You Blog Instead of Clean

Something stinks in my kitchen and I can't figure out what or where it is. (And in case I haven't mentioned it eleventy kajillion times, my kitchen is the size of a baby's pinky fingernail, so it should be easy to locate anything in there.)

My parents were visiting for the past week and thanks to my super-tidy, forever-puttering German mother, our apartment is sparkling clean like it hasn't been since... well, since last time she was here.

And yet, it is stinky. Gah.

We took out the trash, sniffed all around the offending area, checked for renegade poopy diapers that may have come alive and jumped out of their confinement. Nothing.

Mystery stink! Be gone!

(I'm writing about it in hopes that my blog will work it's usual magic and cause whatever I write to be untrue. Stay tuned!)
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TRTLPWR Story

When I was in high school, I had a slight obsession with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I carried a TMNT lunchbox to school. (Yes, I was one of those kids.) I collected the little action figures. I knew which turtle carried which weapon. I knew the lyrics to the TV show theme song.

In my senior year, I was voted the winner of the Peter Pan Forever award, as in The One Who Will Never Grow Up. It could have had something to do with the Ninja Turtles. (Or maybe it was the fact that on the day we voted I had worn roller skates and brought my teddy bear to school resulting in my entire 3rd period English class voting for me.)

In addition to being a total dork, I was spoiled rotten. At my 18th birthday party, my parents surprised me with a new car. It was a lime green Honda Civic Del Sol. A tiny little two-seater convertible. It practically demanded vanity plates.

And what more appropriate plates for a Ninja Turtle obsessed brat driving around in a lime green convertible? TRTLPWR, of course.

I drove that little car all through college, where it's wheels were stolen and it was left on bricks. It was transported cross-country to DC and eventually driven to Atlanta. It wasn't until after Jeremy and I were married that we finally traded it in for a sensible, four-door, four passenger Civic. The newer Civic gets the job done, but it doesn't inspire memories the way the Del Sol did.

I still have the action figures. I still have the lunchbox. I still have the dozens of Ninja Turtle drawings that friends and family made for me.

Best of all, I still have the memories of those carefree days. And of course, I still have the plates.

(Thanks to Imez for inspiring this post.)
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R.I.P. Naptime

Dear Naptime,

You came into this world nearly three years ago, just as our first child was born. You overwhelmed us with your generosity, providing us countless hours of newborn sleep and myriad possibilities for photographing dream-induced smiles. You gave us respite in those terrifying early days of parenthood.

You had your fickle times, too. You became difficult to induce and to maintain. Placing pacifiers just so. Bouncing in the sling again and again just to win 45 minutes of your glory. Driving aimlessly around town with bleary eyes. Whatever the price, you were always worth it.

And as you aged, you continued to change. When you stopped visiting us three times a day, I was nervous. And when you cut your visits down to just one each afternoon, I knew my baby was growing up too fast.

And now, it seems that you have left us for good. I had worried that perhaps we'd have to skip seeing some of our other friends to keep you around, but now it appears you are determined to leave despite our best efforts.

Oh, Naptime, you've given us so much over these three years. Time to rest, eat, clean, and pee alone. Solitude. Quiet. Uninterrupted telephone conversations.

Naptime, you will be greatly missed by all who knew you.
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Hopeful

Times are tough. I was reading a blog this morning about frugal living and the author cited another blog with a "Save $1000 in a Month" challenge. This is simply not possible for us. I'm so tired of all the Money Saving Tips!!! out there that assume I go to Starbucks everyday and I have my heater cranked up to 75 and I eat lunches at restaurants.

Here's the reality: I'm going to Starbucks today only because I'll get a free coffee after voting. I rent and therefore don't pay for my heat (although it is still not turned on). And I can't remember the last time I went out to lunch. Hell, the last time we went out to dinner, we paid with change!

More reality: The only time my girls are in new clothes is when they get them as gifts. I wear the same two pairs of shoes all year. We shop at the sketchy grocery store because it's the cheapest option around.

All of this is by choice. It was our choice that I would leave the workforce and stay home with the girls. But it still frustrates me that we are using up our modest savings just to get by.

Sure, we've gone to the occasional Red Sox game. And yes, we did go to a concert recently. Things are not as tight as they could be.

I'm trying to be grateful, I know that so many people are struggling with much worse. I was reading a book recently that included a fictionalized account of a homeless family. They were starving and living in their car. When my little girl came into the room I was reading in, I just broke down.

We don't have to worry about keeping a roof over our children's heads. We never worry about where the next meal is coming from or how to stay warm overnight in the winter.

We are so, so lucky.

Now I'm trying to figure out if there's anything I can do to help people who are truly struggling. This is where I'm starting. I'm trying to remember the positive, trying to go against my natural tendency to be a whiny, cranky, pessimist and be thankful.

And, today especially, I'm feeling pretty hopeful.
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