Pack your bags y'all, we're goin' to MILAN!

Steve turned 40 on Friday.  A big birthday calls for big plans.  We can't afford a sports car and I've nixed the mistress thing unless he can find one that cooks and cleans for us.  So, like anyone facing down a mid-life crisis, Steve decided to go to Cedar Point.  He was so excited when he finally thought of something he wanted to do.  And we thought "Surely, in mid-October, on the coast of Lake Erie, the park will be deserted."  Oh no.  It's their busiest time.  We thought we were back to the drawing board for a way to spend the weekend, but Steve made a call and discovered the VIP package.  We'd get a primo parking space, front-of-the-line access to all the rides, and a guide.  All that remained was finding a hotel room.

For whatever reason, Sandusky seems to have only resorts and no-tell motels.  The closest thing to normal is a Hampton inn and that was full.  But what do you know?  Milan is only 20 minutes away!  And it has a Hampton Inn!


So, not only do we get VIP treatment at the park, but we get to stay in Milan, a fashion capital?  Sweet! 

Our first clue that this was not as it seemed was when we pulled off the Turnpike and asked how to get to Milan.  Blank stare.  "Oh, MILE-in?"  It's right there, a gesture points out our hotel's sign, very visible from the toll booth.  Hm.  Well, it's late, we'll check in and then explore the fabulousness tomorrow.

So, we got up, had a fabulous continental breakfast (it IS Milan, after all) of instant oatmeal in a styrofoam bowl, and headed out to see if there was a WalMart in Milan.  Thought maybe we'd spot some models in the meantime.  There didn't seem to be any in our hotel.  Unless they were modeling for "People--Midwest edition".  There WAS a sign for boots for 17 dollars outside the Walmart.  But they didn't seem to be that Italian leather I've heard so much about...Has Milan gone vegan?  And again, where are the models?  We saw this, which suggested they were near:


Didn't see them in Panera, either.  All the latest fashions from Blair and Alfred Dunner.
But the models.  Where are they?  We head back to the hotel, dispirited.  And then, we spotted it:


I'm sure they were all inside having pillow fights and throwing up the tic tac they had for breakfast.

Okay, okay, on to the park (but honestly, we got more humor mileage out of staying in Milan...totally worth the turnpike view).  We had a guide from 3-midnight.  We got to the park about 1 pm, so we just meandered.  Cedar Point is all done up for the HalloWeekends, so it was fun to look around.  We took the Sky Ride and I mentioned that when we used to come there as teens, we'd joke about how funny it would be to crash a sky ride car in one of the wooded areas you go over and have skeletons sticking out of it.  Well, the ride doesn't go over woods anymore, but they took my advice!

It's the graveyard of rides that have passed.  Kind of fun to see which ones I remembered from back in the day had gone on to that big midway in the sky.  But I was THRILLED that Cedar Downs was still there.  My cousin Karleen and I used to perch on those horses, jockey-style, and urge them to victory.  Steve actually CHOSE a short-tailed horse (freak) and I hopped up on my palomino.  I named him Gold Dust.



Stupid short tail horse won, though.  Cheater.

At 3, we went over to guest services and met BB, known as Evelyn, our guide.  She was perfect.  Friendly, gave advice when asked but totally let us steer the way, and, best of all, was willing to ride the rides.  Steve is more willing to get on things that are trying to kill him than I am.  I rode Wicked Twister as our first official ride and that nearly sidelined me right there.  I let Steve and BB get on Max Air.  Here they are, all smiley:


Here's a night shot of the ride, showing the sane people why my feet stayed on the ground:

Exactly.  No flippin' way.

I also declined the Power Tower, described on the website thusly:

"Power Tower is a 300-foot-tall, state-of-the-art adrenaline factory that features two towers which launch you up 240 feet and two towers which blast you down at speeds of up to 60 mph"

Uh huh. Good luck with that folks.  I also sat out this little gem:



420 feet tall.  120 mph.  Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?  Steve and BB rode it 4 or 5 times, though.  "Oh it's so fast, it's over before you have time to worry."  yeah.  I didn't buy it either.

I did ride this, though.  And it was FUN.


Here's the flattering proof:



And many more.  Steve thinks he hit around 35 rides.  I rode 6 different roller coasters and was considered a huge wimp.  But is this the face of a wimp?



Actually, it looks like a last-known-photo...picture of a picture, you know.

It was awesome.  Most of the coasters had a 2-2.5 hour wait.  We got right on.  At first, I felt a little bad for sitting down where some kid had waited so long to sit.  But then I remembered, he only has to wait one minute more.  Stuff it, punk.

I must attend the squids....more later.

So, what did you do with YOUR weekend?

I had a duct tape replica of myself created.  Oh, you don't HAVE a duct tape double?  hm.  Too bad.  All the cool kids have one.  I'll let you in on mine, since I'm so nice...

Half crazed with Project Runway fever, I've decided that I must sew for myself.  I must have Deana Originals. The original Deana has a body rather lumpier than the designers at Target have imagined.  In ready-to-wear, a 14 is just like a 6, only roomier.  Still a B cup, still a flat tummy, still a high tight bum.   I have none of these things.  But, as it turns out, pattern makers are no more forgiving and we still have the problems of fit.  I can sew, but I have no experience with fitting and altering...well, lets just say I'm likely to just throw the damn thing out rather than raise the hem.  And to fit on myself?  That requires some yoga-master level contortion.  And poking with pins.

Then Imaginary Ivy alerted me to the Duct Tape Double and I had a plan.  It took a while to get to the place in which I could face what my body actually looks like in 3-D.  I'm still a little twitchy, frankly.  But fashion calls!  So I got an old T-shirt, some duct-tape, and a friend willing to feel me up.


La, la, la, no one is poking my nipple...  She kept saying, "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting that this is your boob I'm touching."  But seriously, I just left my body.  Thought of England.  Went Away.  But I got to feeling a little Barbarella by this point:

I was pretty sure I could deflect bullets.  Or maybe shoot lasers outta my boobs.  Cool.

Here, I felt the need to throw wide my arms and proclaim "I am the Visible Woman!  Behold my womb!"

Probably scared the kids a little.  Babies.  Back view, allowing you to get the full sci-fi feel of my get up:


I wanted the top layer to be black, because it's, you know, slimming.  As it turns out, it looks a leeetle B&D.  But whaterya gonna do?

Quiet, small child!  Pneumatic Mommy has Work to do!


It was at this point that the pizza arrived. 
Julianna:  Mommy, you can NOT go to the door like that!
Me: The door?  Honey, I am picking you up from SCHOOL like this on Monday.
Julianna: MOOOOMMMM!!!

I did leave the pizza task to a friend, mainly b/c I could hardly move.  But don't think I wouldn't have enjoyed greeting the pizza boy.  I'd have needed my smoker voice, though.  "Hello there.  C'mon in.  Close the door behind you."  Bet I'd have gotten free pizza, too, as he sped away.

I was cut out of it, and now it awaits my stuffing it.  It's like I've shed my exoskeleton.  Like a cicada.


And then poor Julianna couldn't help but face the future head on:

Oh you're cute now, honey.  Oh, it's a laugh riot.  But get used to it, toots.  Get used to it.

I've decided to give Duct Tape Deana her own name.  As most of you know, I'm named after my dad, Dean.  Some of you may not know that his given name is Otis Dean and I've always been grateful to have not been named Otissa.  And so, DTD is named.

next: the stuffing of Otissa.

Oh, well HERE you are!

I think "Oh, I'll wait to write a new entry until I have pictures of the chickens..."  But the good pics are on my phone, so I'll just plunge in and you'll have to live in suspense about the chickens.  Except Amy.  I'm taking them to visit her. (bok bok, Amy).  Yes, my friends, I am now the proud owner of two chickens.  And, even more absurd, I am boarding them at the home of my partner-in-chicken-luv, Caroline.  I'm pretty sure she got dragged into the chicken thing by her husband, but she gets it now.  She understands the chicken.  She can grok our poultry friends.  Anyway, Caroline's got loads o' chickens. When you call "heeeere chick chick!" they come running and then peck your toes (the chickens of vegetarians can be quite bold).  Seeing them come running is one of my favorite things ever, so I need chickens.  We'll build a coop here, but for now, I have two.  And I board them.  As if they were expensive Irish hunting horses.

Oh, and their names are Mildred and Liza.  Just so you know.

Otherwise, life continues apace.  The fair was awesome and I went nearly every day, since I'd told the kids I'd take each of them out of school one day to go to the fair.  Julianna got a blue ribbon for her Francis Scott Key Lime Sugar Cookies (the judges are powerless before cookies named after local celebrities).

Ben continues to be "into" Lego Star Wars.  I use quotes because there really are no words to describe his devotion.  Obsession is a bit sinister, but does capture the scope.  Here's conversation at our house:

Julianna: What's that you're eating?

Me: Yogurt.

Ben (zooming in from several rooms away):  Yoda?  Did you say Yoda? 

Me: no.  yogurt.

Ben: Oh, it sounds like Yoda.  Did you know that Master Yoda [he calls him "master Yoda" like he's in this jedi dojo] has 4 toes on his left foot and loves to hum opera? (or whatever)

All Star Wars, all the time.  If I'm at the computer, he wants to know if I'm looking at sites from which I could, conceivably, purchase more Lego bricks for the building of elaborate ships.  On the one hand, he's really good at the ship building and he just beavers away at them and comes up with good ideas and designs.  On the other hand, shut UP already.  geez.

Lily continues to love school.  I have conferencesnext Monday.  I expect to be told that she is ready to teach the class.

Julianna is happy to finally be in a modern dance class.  So now her improptu performances at the Fairy Festival will have some training behind them.

Halloween fever is ramping up.  We're going with a Day of the Dead theme for the house.  Julianna is planning to be Hermione, Ben (wait for it) is going for some Star Wars character, Lily wants to be Mr.Kitty, our cat that died before she was born.  Hopefully, she'll choose not to go with his current look.

I'm going to be moving from AOL blogs at some point in the near future.  Do not panic, I will give much warning.

did you know that warning has "war" in it and that sounds like "Star Wars?"

Aced it.

As promised, behold, the fairy dog cake!



It was even cuter without the wings, I think:

eat me!


I'm gonna eat that dog.

To Lily's right is the adorable Emma, from her class.  She and Lily are the biggest hams, ever.  They leap in front of the camera like Secret SErvice taking a bullet.

hellllp meee:


But that was all on Saturday.  Her actual birthday was on Friday and she got to do the Montessori birthday walk. ("Lily weighed 13 lbs when she was born and was born with a tail.  She said her first word at 4 mos.  It was 'elbow'") Here she is accepting the earth from Ms. Heidi:

Our county fair opened that night, so we took the birthday girl to the fair and got her a funnel cake with candles to blow out (Me to Steve, "Do you think we'll be able to find someone at the fair that has a lighter?")


It was pay-one-price night, so the kids got to ride all they wanted.  Ben and Steve rode the rollercoaster 8 times in a row--no lines!  Lily and Julianna rode the "bouncy bench" over and over:


Lily still loves the carousel:


The group fave was the "bouncy buggies"


So then, next day, I have to toss out a birthday party.  It was pretty low-key, given that I didn't botherto invite anyone until 48 hrs beforehand...

I took them out back and gave them fairy wings (thanks, Mom!) and we played a lot of freeze dance:


and the big girls started a fairy conga line:
 

They ran around and played, ate cake, and went home. No magician, no pony, no nuthin'.  But they had fun.

Wait! I know this one!

I've been here before.  Lily's birthday is tomorrow.  Her party is on Saturday.  On Tuesday, I suddenly realized that perhaps I should invite some children to join us for that party.  Problem is, it's so early in the school year that I don't know the kids well and I don't have a school directory.  I'm sorry, did someone just say, "Invite the whole class!"?  I'm going to have to ask you to leave.  I don't allow that sort of nonsense here.  So. Seriously?  I scrawled my contact info and a date and time on paper from a notepad I had in the car ("Are these coffee stains emobssed?") and handed them to the parents of the 3 kids she invited.  That's such a nice moment, really.  "Um, it's Lily's birthday on Friday?  And uh, I'm having some kids over on Saturday and I"m going to give them cake and fairy wings and toss them outside. Can you make it?"  The funny thing is how well they take it.  My favorite response was "Oh, now I feel so much better!"  Yeah, that's my place on earth.  To make other parents feel good about their pathetic efforts.
She wants a fairy dog cake.  Pink and blue.  You know and I know that I'll come through.  I just haven't figured out HOW.

 Tomorrow is her "birthday walk."  At Montessori schools, on a kid's birthday, they have them walk around "the sun" (light on the floor) one time for each year of their age.  As the kid walks, the teacher reads a little bit about what the child did in that year and has a pic to show.  I was trying to fill out the paper tonight.  I was hosed from the beginning. Weight at birth?  Length?  Time of birth?  I have. no. idea.  Not a clue.  I know she was born at night b/c the Sopranos were coming back that night and we missed it.  My doula missed a Sopranos party.  Stupid baby.  First word?  Mmmm...probably "meow" or "kitty" but I have no real idea.  It's not written down anywhere.  Steve was able to offer, "She smiled a lot."  I managed to remember she never crawled...The fate of the third child.  Each year, her birthday walk stats will be different b/c I'm just making them up to avoid leaving them blank and looking like a lame-o.

She informed me the other day that from now on "my sad face will also be my happy face because it hurts to go like this [smiles] and it doesn't hurt to scowl."

Three was flippin' adorable and I'm kind of sad to say good bye to three forever.

Let's get back to it, then.

We've had a week of school.  And by "we" I mean ALL of the squids.  Lily's only gone for two and a half hours a day, but it's everyday and it is FINE.  No, it's not really enough time to do all that...stuff I might do with a full 6 hours alone (and no, I don't mean get a job.  I mean, please).  Let's see, Monday I just came home and read my boards and mail and the Television Without Pity recap of Project Runway.  Tuesday I went to a bookstore that's going out of business and shopped the whole time.  Wednesday, I went back to bed.  Thursday, I cleaned because my mom was coming to share my birthday (yes, it was my birthday on Thursday.  I assume Amazon is just late shipping the presents you sent).  Friday, I napped.  I'm hoping, at the urging of my imaginary friends, to start sewing in that space and finally get up that website full of fabulous things for you to buy.  Stay tuned for my excuses!

So here are those first day of school photos.  First, all three on the front step:

Ben and Julianna are wearing the clothes they picked out when I gave them $25 to spend at Target.  Lily chose a long sleeve shirt and corduroy skirt, so I had to hide her outfit from her so that she didn't insist that it was perfectly appropriate for 90 degrees and humid.

There was something about seeing all of their backpacks as they headed for the van that made me tell them to all get back on the porch and turn around:



Here's Lily with Ms. Leslie and Ms. Heidi.  I love that Ms. Heidi looks like an excited pre-schooler and Lily has totally been there-done that.  Each kid gets a flower as he or she enters the school and then they make a big bouquet for the class.  Some kind of individuals-become-one symbolism.  Very Borg.


Here's Ben with Ms. Kim and Ms. Julie.  Yes, they're the same teachers Julianna had last year.  They're awesome.



And here's Julianna with Ms. Venus.  That's a kid named Payton in the background.



Steve's comment: "Venus Elliot is a WHITE woman?" Go figure.  I'm sure LaTasha Whitaker could sympathize.

We knew it was you, Fredo

Well crap. I had it almost done and then Firefox crashed on my and I lost it. And it's hard to write this sort of thing, so I just walked away for a few days. But anyway, here goes again: Fredo is dead.

He was killed by a car on Monday. He'd been trying to get out the whole weekend before. It's not really that he wanted to escape, but that there were Things To Chase on the other side of the fence. My boy was dedicated to chasing Things. A dedication like that often overrides cautions. Like looking before you dash into the street. Like noticing that cars don't really heed that 25 mph sign. I'd just finished repairing the fence when I heard the tires squeal. From the sounds of the screech, the car was flying up the street. There wasn't even a yelp. I knew immediately, though.

The car was a brand new red BMW. The driver looked like the banjo kid from Deliverance. Rotten peg teeth, flat affect. There was a woman fluttering around the site and I thought she'd hit him, given that she was saying, “Oh my god oh my god” over and over. She asked if it was my dog. I said it was. She said, “Oh, I'm so sorry!” but when I asked if she'd hit him--all the while trying to soothe her, tell her it wasn't her fault, he shouldn't have been out—she said no, and pointed out Banjo Kid. He never said a word, just kind of grin/leered uncomfortably until I told him to just go.

Julianna was on the porch, keening like an Irish widow. Ben was sobbing. Lily was dancing around calling, “Mommy! Can I see?” Mr. Winter, our across the street neighbor, got his recycling bin, put Fredo in it, and asked where I wanted to bury him. We've lived here two years. In that time, the only communication we've had from the Winters was a note—put on our door two weeks after we moved in—that said “Do not use my driveway as a turn around. Mr. Winter” They don't wave hi, they don't smile indulgently at the kids, nothing. I'd taken to petty revenge, like putting the grubs from my garden in his bushes or telling my guests to turn around in his drive. But here he was, with my dead dog. He got a pick and a shovel and he dug a hole in the dry hard ground and he buried our dog while I comforted my kids. It was like the end of some crappy tearjerker Hallmark movie. But in real life it really does make me cry.

I say I comforted my kids. In actuality, I only had to offer comfort to the big ones. Lily danced and twirled under the maple trees, regaling Mr. Winter with all sorts of stories while he dug. She was unfazed, quite willing to check out the body and then describe it, happily, to any who would listen (“Mommy! Fredo had blood on his tongue!” “yeah. Let's not mention that to Julianna, okay?”). It was at turns maddening (this is SAD, dammit!) and sweet (life goes on) to have her continue on in her chatty, bouncy way.

We took Mr. Winter a dozen ears of corn and a bouquet of zinnias from our garden. He even smiled and teased at Lily a bit while we were there. Later, his wife came over to express sympathy and thank us for the corn. And now we say hi to one another when we're outside. And I won't toss my grubs on his lawn.

It was a hard couple of nights. Julianna and Ben tended to really fall apart at night and I wasn't holding it together all that well, either. Lily remained fine (“Fredo's tongue was hanging out like this. Can I have a carrot?”). We had a funeral on Wednesday, when the stone we'd made was dry. I read as much of Dog Heaven as I could, totally losing it on the part where the dogs come back to earth to check on their families.

We miss him. I miss his silly tufty hobbit feet. I miss his fancy ears and the way he looked SO happy to see me. He was a good boy when he wasn't being a bad boy. I have to be honest and say that his death has solved a lot of problems—we don't have gates all over the house, I can leave the doors open, the cats venture downstairs again, I can be gone all day without guilt or worry—but I sure wish it didn't have to be like this. You were a good boy, Fredo. Come back and visit. But not in a zombie way.