All Rileyed Up

I have whiled away countless hours in winery tasting rooms. Napa & Sonoma counties, the Central California wine region, and the Temecula Wine Valley, to be specific. In my experience (both personal and from observation), the first winery is fun, the second a bit more fun, the third you’re buzzed, the fourth, you’re drunk, and from that point on, the memories fade. When I have friends in town, they often want to go wine tasting, and I am happy to oblige, and be their designated driver, but when they start requesting we try to hit up eight wineries or something like that, I have no choice but to explain what happens to the people who go to eight wineries in a row:

First Winery:

Taster: Am I smelling it right?
Employee: Yes.
Taster: Oh, that’s nice.

Second Winery:

Taster: You know, this tastes a lot like the Zin we just had at the other winery.
Employee: Yeah, the two are very similar, but this one has more hints of pepper.
Taster: Oh! Now that you mention it, I do notice it. Pepper, huh? Interesting.

Third Winery:

Taster: Wow, this is really good. There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on… is that a hint of pepper I taste?

Fourth Winery:

Taster: Wow, this stuff really gets to your head. I don’t think I can handle any more wineries. I really like this one, though. It’s good. Peppery.
Employee: If you like this one, you really ought to try the one across the street.

Fifth Winery:

Taster: Ahhhh, this is good. What is it called again?
Employee: Water.

Sixth Winery:

Taster: Wow, you know what you should add to this? Sprite. Give it, you know, some bubbles and stuff. It’d be like champagne, only it’s actually wine and Sprite, you could call it… Sprine.

Seventh Winery:

Employee: I’m sorry, we received a phone call about you. We’re not giving you a tasting.
Taster: I’ll join your wine club.
Employee: Would you like to start with the whites or skip to the reds?
Taster: Something peppery. I love the peppery.

Eighth Winery:

Taster: Isn’t this winery a bed and breakfast? Do you rent out beds by the hour? I needed one, uh, like ten minutes ago (passes out).

Hope this clears things up for you. Happy wine tasting. And remember, “buzzed driving is drunk driving.” Stay safe.

Stuart Cellars, August 07

(See more pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday )

Hey there, I’m Kiki, your daughter’s happy meal toy, but I prefer to be called by my roller derby name, The Eradicator. Don’t even think about messing with me on the track. I will make you sorry.

I’m, like, totally stoked to be your daughter’s toy, so I got all decked out in my best outfit. Like it? I bought it at Forever 21. That store rocks. I like this outfit because it shows off my rock hard abs which are also known as the Abs of Steel on the circuit track. If you see them coming for you, you’d best start praying.

I also did my hair just to show your daughter how cool it can be to have blond AND purple stripes. Don’t I look hawt? I know what you’re thinking – long hair is a bad idea for roller derby where those other witches (since I’m your daughter’s toy and all, I’m trying to keep it clean, yo) can pull my hair, but I just tuck it all into my cute helmet. Don’t you love the stars? They match my super-kewl necklace. I drew them myself with a Sharpie. By the way, I ALWAYS wear a helmet because I say, safety first! And don’t just stop at helmets—check out my killer knee pads. It’s all about safety with me, that’s why my hands are in the air—I’m cheering safety!
Of course, my hands might also be in the air because my team’s jammer just scored. And if my jammer scored, then it means I was doing my job right, and someone just had a conversation with the business end of my fist.

So I can’t wait to teach your daughter all my cool tricks. Aren’t you so glad that I’m the toy that came in your daughter’s happy meal instead of that silly hot wheels toy that came in your son’s meal? I am WAY cooler and better dressed than any car. Plus, no car is coming out onto a track and kicking butt like The Eradicator.

Peace out.

The Daring Book for Girls is a handbook for girls of today, intended to capture the spirit of youth and show us how to have fun without the help of electronics—cards, bird watching, God’s eyes, jump roping. It’s like Girl Scouts without all the cookie pushing.

Flipping through the activities, I found a few that I could do with my daughter even at her young age – flower pressing and cloth-covered books, for instance – and my son enoys the activities too. So really, it’s not just a daring book for girls, but for children. If you pick up a copy of the Dangerous Book for Boys (the book thanked in the acknowledgments) then you’ve got a whole array of activities for kids that have nothing to do with video games, iPods, or DVD players.

The Daring Book for Girls is a bit of a time machine, taking me back to the days of when I used to walk next door to knock to ask if J can come out to play, and we would spend the next six hours outside, riding bikes, roller skating, and possibly playing tricks on the big brothers and vice versa. This book caters to both the modern parents’ memories of how things used to be and our desire to create that for our kids.

The book starts with an “Essentials” list – no make-up involved with the list whatsoever. Yes! I can already tell I’m going to like this book, because most of the How to Be A Modern Woman books these days involve looking sexy while you’re being all you can be—my description of them is best described by quoting Gwyneth Paltrow as Dixie Normous in Austin Powers Goldmember: “I may just be a small town FBI-agent, slash single mother. But I’m still tough…and sexy.”

The Daring Book for Girls is not about make-up, it’s not about losing weight or dressing stylishly, and it’s not at all about how to tell if so-and-so likes you. In fact, the “Boys” section is one page, and it basically tells you to be yourself and never change for anyone. That’s why this book rocks.

In addition to the activity pages are bathroom reader style bios of strong and smart women, including an especially exciting couple of pages that feature the derring-dos of none other than female pirates (aaaargh!!!!). I admit to being disappointed that the only card games they choose to teach are Hearts and Gin Rummy. Come on, people — Spades, Euchre, Montana, Masters, Pinochle, Canasta… that’s what I’m talking about. But overall, it’s a refreshing book to share with my kids. No pretenses, all fun. As my good friend Matthew McConaghey might say, just keep living.

Things to know about this book:

Buy the book here.

More about the book here.

Want to read books like this? Go here.

I admit it. I harassed both Kristi and SRH to participate in NaNoWriMo, with the “I’m totally doing it too!” as part of my encouragement. I wrote out my plan of writing 1,666 words a day in order to accomplish the expected 50,000 by the end of the month. It seemed simple enough: spend 45 minutes every morning freewriting. After all, the point of NaNoWriMo is not to turn out a polished novel in ready-to-submit form. It is to turn out a novel. Then revise it in December, but at least it’s done. I sat down for my very first freewrite on November 1st and a minute later, one of the kids screamed and I had to get up. I haven’t worked on it since. I should be over 6,000 words at this point. Instead, I have 32:

“Her hands are wrinkled. Wrinkled from age, from the sun, from rubbing her fingers over her knuckles in silent prayer after prayer. She prays every day. Every hour of every day. Waiting.”

Sound like the start of a fabulous World War II drama yet?

Only time will tell.

(revising my schedule to 2,000 words a day…)

Last night, our friends were camping at a nearby state park, so we met up with them in the evening for s’mores and music. Husband and one friend played the guitar, another friend played a drum, and the rest of us did a combination of listening and singing. The weather was cool but not too cold, and sitting around the fire with the Beatles, Johnny Cash, Cat Stevens, Jack Johnson, and the Grateful Dead for company was very relaxing despite the fact that the kids were running around—and I do mean “kids” with an emphasis on plurality.

Eight kids, all under the age of five, darting in and out of bushes and tents with flashlights and glow sticks, uttering “that’s mine!” and “come see!” Six of them succumbed to sleep, despite adamant expressions of “I’m not tired (yawn)!” My children were the last two standing, probably because I prepped them for the night by lulling them into a mid-day nap, not an easy feat with them these days.

At ten o’clock, the park closed for day use visitors, so we bade farewell and headed home. Once we were on the freeway, I suggested we stop somewhere to eat. I had only eaten one tofu dog (not the greatest tasting things in the world) and an apple, but I wasn’t just hungry for food. I was hungry for a memory.

When I was younger, I had an early bedtime. I don’t remember what time it actually was, I just remember that once it was bedtime, it was BEDTIME. No questions, no begging, you need to Go. To. Bed.

Friday nights were different. Friday Night was Bowling Night. My parents were both in a league, along with my best friend’s parents. She and I would tag along and hang out at the bowling alley while the league players did their thing. As amazingly surprising as this may sound, there isn’t so much to do at the bowling alley for young girls. We sat in the greasy diner area and shared a plate of fried cheese sticks, played video games, and sometimes used the pay phone to call a friend. It wasn’t the actual bowling alley adventure that was exciting, but the fact that we were staying up late. Bowling went on until midnight, and afterwards came the post-bowling restaurant meal. Not too many choices – IHOP, Famous Amos, or Village Inn. I drank hot chocolate and ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. Oh, the decadence—chocolate AND cheese!

I am night owl these days and have since gotten over the excitement of staying up late, but the kids often go to bed around 8:30. Staying up at the campsite with music and friends I’m sure was a thrill, but since they were awake, I thought they might find eating out it as exciting as I used to find it. However, between Husband’s and The Boy’s dietary needs, going to a diner or pancake house isn’t what it used to be. We went through the Del Taco drive thru and ordered root beers and fries, which the kids really did get excited about, but took two sips and one bite apiece and then fell asleep on the ride home.

I didn’t exactly replicate my old memory, and I kind of resented it once I got home, in a “why’d I bother” kind of way, but when The Boy got up this morning, he asked if we would be returning to the campsite tonight to see our friends, and I said maybe, to which he responded, “And then can we get root beer?”

That’s my boy.

The family made its biannual trek to the dentist a couple weeks ago. Figured it was better to go before Halloween. My appointment took place first, followed by the The Boy’s, and then Husband’s.

Is it just me, or is there something about sitting in a dentist chair with a bunch of tools in your mouth that make people want to ask you questions? It never fails. I sit in the reclined chair with the soles of my Converses rubbing against the heavy plastic liner, and the dental hygienist says Hi, How are you, Been brushing and flossing? I usually lie and say, of course, but this time, I took the honest route and said, “I brush every day, but I’ve only been flossing for the past two days because I knew I was coming here.” She laughs, but then says nothing else. Nothing. We could have been talking up a storm, but instead I am rubbing my arms to make the goose bumps go away and grasping at what little warmth the papery bib has to offer, making the mental note to bring a sweater next time, even though I know damn well I’ll never remember to.

Five minutes later, she’s ready to start and that’s the moment she chooses to ask me about EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD. How are the kids Did they start school Which school See that movie yet What’s for dinner Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight? What’s the ultimate question in life to which the answer is 42?

I often wonder how many of life’s greatest answers have been lost to the dentist seat, because someone finally asked the right question but the person couldn’t answer it because her mouth was filled with a plaque scratcher, tooth polisher, suction thing, and water spray gun.

My appointment ended with a stern reminder to floss more often than the week before my next appointment, and I returned to the lobby, where I found The Boy excitedly awaiting his first teeth cleaning. I had prepped him for it by telling him to Sit still, Open wide, and above all else, Do not touch ANYTHING. Imagine my surprise when he sat down and the first thing the dental hygienist said was “Do you want to hold this? I’ll tell you when to put it in your mouth.”

Yes. He got to hold the suction thing, or should I say Mr. Suction, since that was the formal title given to it by the dental hygienist. I think Mr. Sucky is more appropriate, given the nasty gargling sounds he makes when he sucks away all the tooth polish/water/saliva concoctions, a sound not unlike my friend’s dog licking himself.

Anyway, I want to know why they entrust a four year old with holding Mr. Suction, but not me. Why can’t I do it? Bloody favoritism, that’s why. I knew I shouldn’t have been honest about the flossing. I should have just ignored the question and smiled like The Boy and then I could have been given all the power. Instead, I got a bag of oral hygiene samples and sore gums.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Xm7A4GoA2s&rel=1]

For those of you who don’t already know, Halloween is a family affair in my household. Everyone gets dressed up and our costumes match. This year, the theme was baseball: The Boy and Husband were to dress as Angels baseball players, I would be an Angels fan, and Little No Limit would be the Angels Rally Monkey. (I was originally going to be the umpire, because, hey, I’m in charge here, but the costume for a baseball umpire is pretty boring.)

I never considered the fact that Little No Limit would protest. Why would she protest wearing a cute monkey costume? I mean, hello, it’s a cute monkey costume! Who wouldn’t want to wear that?

Her, apparently.

We showed up at our friend’s house, where the three other little girls we would be trick or treating with were dressed as a Bride, Barbie Island Princess, and a Fairy. Let’s just say, peer pressure starts young. NO WAY Little No Limit was dressing up in a monkey suit when her friends are all sporting gossamer threads and pink lip gloss. I tried to put the monkey costume on her and was met with wails and pushes and anger and resentment, and well, jeez, Halloween’s supposed to be a fun, happy night, isn’t it?

I borrowed our friend’s Cinderella dress and Little No Limit happily donned it without hesitation. Out of nowhere, The Boy suddenly decided HE wanted to wear the Monkey costume— also unexpected because he usually hates wearing costumes, which is why I had planned for him to be a baseball player, because it’s normal clothing.

It looks like last year was my final year of making costume decisions. The kids have proven they have minds of their own, and they told me loud and clear to recognize.

The trick or treating was fun as always. We encountered cute costumes along the way, my personal favorite being a dude dressed as Obi Wan carrying his son on his back, who was dressed as Yoda. We also encountered the typical middle aged set, those kids who are a little too old to still be trick or treating. I can identify them easily enough, seeing as I was one (for real, I trick or treated waaaaay past my prime).

Seeing the middle age set running amok and laughing too loudly at inappropriate and/or dumb jokes really brought me back to the days of high school when I did equally silly things in the name of getting to know myself. I wondered what my kids would do when they reach that age. I look at them, dressed as Cinderella and a monkey, already surprising me with their decisions. How many more surprises are in store? Sometimes, I try to look forward to what surprises lay ahead. Other times, I fret over them.

Earlier this month, Janet at Three and Holding wrote what I have awarded an October Perfect Post, The Worry Warrior:

“I carry all of my Worries around with me in a ratty old handbag. It’s worn thin on the bottom, irretrievably stained with one strap about to come loose. It’s ugly and unwieldy, filled to overflowing with crumpled bits of consternation.”

I’ve got one of those too, Janet. And when my handbag gets a little too full of worry, I do my best to laugh it off. And if there’s one blogger who will ALWAYS make me laugh, it’s Alpha DogMa, whose post Guest Blogger: Matthew McConaughey gets my ROFL Award this month. I’ll give you this teaser: “Sugar Britches.”

By the way, I signed up for NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. Why? Because I am a glutton for agonizing over writing.

See ya round the blogosphere!

(To read more Perfect Posts, visit Suburban Turmoil and Petroville.
To read more ROFL Posts, visit Chicky Chicky Baby and Metro Mama.)