Kat and I went to see Pirates II on Saturday. We both totally enjoyed the movie but this might not be saying much.

The last three movies I have seen in the theatre are, in order, The Incredibles, Serenity, and The Devil Wears Prada. I think I see about 2 or 3 theatre movies per year. As such, I pretty much always enjoy them. There are no screaming poopy kids around, big pictures and loud music. It’s enough to overwhelm a poor mom.

Kat isn’t much better. While I like watching movies with Kat, I have to admit that the highlight is the trailers. You see, Kat has NEVER met a trailer she doesn’t like. The whole theatre can be groaning and saying “that looks horrible” and Kat will turn to me a whisper, “that one looks cute!” It is truely amazing. If she ever decides on a career change, I think she’d make a killing selling those one line reviews to movie studios. Ever wonder who those people are who say nice things about horrible movies? That would be Kat. After the clip for Bring It On – For Reals (or whatever the title was) that went straight DVD, Kat looked over and said, “gotta see that one!” And she meant it!

So with the above disclaimer in place, we both had a great time at the movie. Go see it!

I’ve started to wean Kulia and my heart is torn in two.

Part of me knows it is time. She doesn’t need it anymore. Nursing lasts about 2 minutes in the morning and then she hops down, runs to the fridge, and bangs on the door until I get her a cup of milk. I love the idea of getting rid of my nursing bras and being able to wear a dress instead of the dreaded t-shirt and pants. I’m ready to re-claim my body as my own.

But the other part of me weeps at the thought of weaning. Kulia wakes up like me. Grumpy to the point of violence. She rises irritable from her afternoon nap. I grab her from the crib and we curl up together. Since Leina is usually still asleep, she nurses and doses for about 20 minutes and I get to hug her and marvel over her long lashes, little chubba fingers and fine baby hair. It’s our time when she’s still my little snuggle buggle for just a moment longer and I don’t want to let that go.

Of course, this morning after a quick nursing, she lifted up my shirt and began pinching my nipple and laughing hysterically. I’d pull my shirt down and she’d lift it back up and pinch. I’m thinking that’s a sign it’s time close up shop. But oh, it has been a wonderful special thing and I know that the days of holding a sleeping baby in my arms are sadly numbered.

I got picked up at the park yesterday.

It was beautiful out so Kev and I packed up the girls and headed to our newest park here in town. Turns out there was an LDS 4th of July picnic in progress so the place was over run with families and lots and lots of young kids. As a mom, you learn to be on constant alert in crowds. You’re watching for stray dogs, kids who push, strangers who seem too interested in your child. Every mom has had “the scare” when you turn your back for a moment and when you turn around your kid is gone or wandering off with a stranger. It’s enough to give you a grey streak a mile wide.

Kevin took Leina to the big kid play area and I cruised the kiddie swings with Kulia. While she wandered about trying to eat the ground bark, I assumed mother stance and began sweeping the play area. I marked the pusher kid, the girl with the horrible cough and green snot nose, and the two strange men wearing white shirts and black ties watching the sandbox. I was scanning the swings when I noticed someone staring at me.

In my limited experience, all pick ups start the same: eye contact. Someone catches your eye, and smiles at you. If you are interested, you smile back; if not, you look away and aviod returning the gaze. These same rules apply on the playground it seems. I was a bit surprised and looked around for Kevin but he was out of sight. One my next sweep, we locked gazes again and this time I smiled back.

This moved us onto level two. The approach.

Now, back in my 20’s, the approach usually involved sending over a drink or, my favorite, the dessert tray. While I have often wished for a drink or a piece of cake on the playground, I have yet to find a park with a bar and/or pastry case. So on the playground, the approach is all about the kids. The quickest way to get in good with a mom is through the kid. I recommend, “oh, she’s so cute! How old is she?” Or for a boy, “wow, what a climber! You must have your hands full. What’s his name?” The recipe is simple. Compliment the child followed by an open ended question. Sometimes you get slammed and the mom will answer curtly and then move to another part of the park. This is a clear sign that your overtures are not welcomed and you need to find another mom.

My admirer opened with the reliable, “she’s so cute and such a great walker, how old is she?” I had a moment of hesitation. Should I answer and then go find Kevin or stay and let the pick up rise to the next level? Kulia sealed the deal as she began to wave and flirt outrageously so I began the small chat part of the park pick up.

We exchanged the usual pleasentries. Talk about the weather, the park, the crowd. We touched on the trifecta of parents – sleeping, eating and teething – and watched our kids play with eachother. This involved handing eachother piles of bark dirt and then trying to take it back.

It wasn’t long before I got asked the dreaded question. “So, do you come here often?” This sounds innocent enough, right? But for parents, this is a loaded question. It’s the first step toward setting up a play date. If you answer “no”, that means you’re not interested in meeting up again. If you answer “yes”, then a very tentative dance begins around when you are coming next and do you want to meet and maybe bring a lunch or something. I could see it coming.

This mom wanted to go on a real play date.

I had caught her eye, our kids were the same age, we had similar views on the trifecta, and she was moving in on the kill. And while I liked her, and got a good vibe from both her and her son, I found myself hesitating. My dance card is so full right now. I’m “dating” four other moms right now and I just can’t squeeze in another. So I turned her down. When asked if I came her often, I said no. Not really.

She was a smart cookie. We politely finished up our small talk and then she packed up her son and headed off. Part of me was relieved but part of me couldn’t help a little sigh of regret.

So many moms, so little time.

We had our first book club meeting last night. Five moms, a pitcher of sangria, and a book. I think we spent 20% of our time on the book and the rest just talking and doing our own little striptease.

Women are such strange creatures. I think we are all horribly scarred in childhood when it comes to girlfriends. Everyone has had that horrible maiming moment in the cafeteria when you stand there, holding your tray of food, desperately scanning the table for someone to sit with. Or when the teacher tells you to pair up and your gaze darts around the room watching everyone else pick their friends while you sit there, rooted to the spot, sure you’ll end up odd girl out and have to pair with the teacher. We’ve all been frozen out by a group of girls, kicked out of the “in” club, been the butt of a private joke, or had our hearts and self-esteem stomped on by the Queen Bee and her nasty worker drones.

Unfortunately, I don’t think we ever get over those wounds and we learn to erect walls and cover ourselves in layers and layers of protective clothing. But it’s hot and stiffling wearing our wool sweaters and scarves year round. Every woman is searching for that best friend who will love our streach marked stomach, veiny thighs, dimply butt and all. I can count on one had the number of friends I can go “go neeked” with. My girls that have seen all my horrible thoughts and petty ways and can still laugh and love me.

Unfortunately, none of them live here in Sherwood. And so, this last year, I’ve had to begin that dreaded striptease all over again. You meet someone who you like and slowly, every so slowly, you start to shed the layers. Maybe you try shucking off your our coat, then undo a button or two. The whole process is frightening and tiring and nerve-wracking. Usually, at some point, the process stalles out. It so very rare and precious to find someone you can trust with your whole self without reservation.

So on our first meeting, we all took off a layer or two and then squirmed around a bit trying to get comfortable with losing a little of our armor. I don’t think any lasting damage was inflicted but we’ll see.

I keep going back to sitting on a rock in the Sierra Nevadas during my senior year of high school. Our outdoor ed instructor drew a circle in the dirt and told us all this was where we lived. Our comfort zone. Our friends and family and familiar haunts. Then her drew a bigger circle around that little one. He dared us to step outside our comfort zone and expand our circle, add new friends, new places. He kept drawing circles and told us that a life lived to the fullest meant always expanding our comfort zone. I have such a hard time doing that. I love my little dirt ring. I feel so safe and happy. I’m horrible about expanding my realm. But every now and then, I force myself to re-draw my circle.

And every time I do, it’s well worth it.

I just finished a new entry. A witty, poignant, revealling entry. And then, the computer ate it. Ate it!

Arg.

I cannot recreate it and I’m too grumpy to try.

Grrr. So I’m going to pointless surf the internet and try to rebuild my mental strength to give it another go.

Arg.

Well, Chrissie’s caught something – we’re not sure where it’s from but she’ll be down for several days. I’can’t figure out how you can catch a cold at the beginning of summer? Only in the Northwest I suppose.

Chrissie was feeling something coming but decided to take the kids to the zoo anyway – once you let Leina know you’re planning a zoo-trip she goes bananas (hee hee). What I don’t understand is how she went through all our straw-cups. These are those nice plastic cups that seal well and have a straw. The kids love’em ’cause it’s quick access to the milk. The Dad loves’em ’cause there’s a gazillion of them in the cupboard so I can always get one when I need one. But not tonight. I went to the cupboard and it was bare. I couldn’t believe it. How am I supposed to serve dinner without anything to drink? And where did all those cups go?

So later tonight I started hunting around for them and it became a game of where isn’t a straw-cup. Here’s the breakdown:

2 in the backpack (from the zoo)
1 on the couch (not fun to sit on)
1 under the couch
1 behind the couch…
1 under a book (Kulia’s – she loves those books!)
1 in Kulia’s crib
1 in Leina’s crib
1 in our bed! (does Mom use the straw cups?)
1 in the bathroom (when you’re doin’ #1 sometimes you gotta refil)
1 in the dog bowl (even Artie gets tired of his water dish somtimes)
1 in the Candyland game
1 in the musical car
1 in the toy bin
1 by the computer
1 by the train set
1 by the legos

And the list goes on and on… I must have washed 2 dozen cups tonight. You’d think we don’t clean up after these kids but I had all but a few of these cups accounted for on Saturday. 48 hours that’s all it takes with these kids.

If you don’t hear from me in a while you’ll know it’s ’cause I’m still hunting for the straw cups…