This summer I’m partnering with VentureLab to bring you information about their awesome summer camp programs. VentureLab is holding a free Open House on Sunday, June 5, from 4 – 5:30 p.m., where you can learn more about the VentureLab experience. Visit the VentureLab website for more information, and read on to find out how you can get a sweet discount on one of VentureLab’s amazing summer camps.
You may remember that on Mother’s Day we went to Maker Faire Austin, where we did crafts, learned about robotics and electricity, and built all the LEGOs fit to build. These types of events and activities are sneaky, because they have tricked my children into learning when they think they are just having fun. Reminds me of that time I tried to sneak spinach into their smoothies, only that wasn’t met with nearly as much enthusiasm.
There are few things (coffee) (and probably Reese’s PB cups) I love more than seeing my children learn while playing. By allowing Claire to dig through and tear apart most of my craft supplies, I know she’s learning problem-solving skills in planning and execution. By allowing Zoe to cut out 387 paper snowflakes (in May alone) or make homemade envelopes for her “letters,” she’s learning design and execution. And when Rachel walks me through her LEGO creations, I am blown away by her creativity and her innovation.
After Maker Faire, the good people from VentureLab contacted me to tell me a little about their programs and see if I would be interested in partnering with them to help spread the word about their upcoming summer camps. With my girls’ interest in making, gaming, and creating, I knew VentureLab’s approach was something I could get behind.
From their site:
Our programs are fun, hands-on, experiential learning courses that focus on strengthening kids’ entrepreneurial thinking, ingenuity and creativity. Our programs encourage young people to be independent thinkers—to venture outside the box and create unique, norm-defying solutions.
VentureLab’s founder, Cristel Glangchai, PhD, is a scientist and professor (learn more about her brilliance here) who got the idea for VentureLab after realizing that she wasn’t getting as many girls into her classes as she would have liked. Why didn’t girls have the confidence in their abilities when it came to engineering?
This June, VentureLab will be offering their STEM-based entrepreneurship camps to kids ages 5-13 at the Magellan International School in Austin or in the VentureLab Headquarters in San Antonio. Each camp is one week and will introduce students to entrepreneurship skills through specific technology topics including video game design, maker skills, product design, and more. Students learn how to bring their ideas to life as they solve real-world problems.
If you’re in Austin, you can join VentureLab for their free Open House on Sunday, June 5, from 4 – 5:30 p.m., where you’ll get a taste of the VentureLab experience, meet the camp director and teachers, and try out some of the STEM and game-based activities. With snacks and beverages! VentureLab will also be giving away a FREE week of camp to several lucky families who attend the Open House.
In the meantime, Genie in a Blog readers can take advantage of a sweet 25% discount on any camp offered during the week of June 20. Just enter discount code GENIE at checkout. Find all camp options here.
So to sum it all up, awesome
I’m not a good busy person. It may sound like a cop out, but I am a low-energy introvert who can really only handle about one activity every few days. So being busy every day? Not my jam. But I will sacrifice myself for Mother’s Day and a good Austin event like the Austin Maker Faire.
I’ve wanted to go to the Austin Maker Faire for years, but we just haven’t been able to make it happen with our schedules. So I was thrilled to find out that it was Mother’s Day weekend this year, even if it was the day after our Listen to Your Mother show. Because Mother’s Day = I can do whatever I want!
Austin Maker Faire had everything my nerdy little family loves: technology, LEGO, drones, 3-D printing, bathrooms. When your kids study the hanging signs and scream they want to go to ROBOTICS!, you know you’ve done something right. Or at least my husband has, because I don’t know squat about robotics. But I was ready to learn.
Here’s one thing I loved: I have sensory kiddos. Sensory kiddos love to touch things more than the average kiddo. And at Maker Faire, there were LOTS of things to touch. And they pretty much had permission to touch ALL of it. Except the Tesla coils. More on those in a minute.
When we’re in these situations, I become the mom who hovers, always on the lookout for a finger I need to remove from something important or the object I need to take from someone’s hand. I remind them to “listen to instructions!” before diving into an experiment. I am the worst.
But the makers at Maker Faire are NOT the worst, and they explained their project and crafts with the patience of saints. Before I could say “Don’t touch!” as my kids reached for something enticing, they were already saying, “You can touch it!” Bless you, kind makers.
Rachel’s and Christian’s Favorite: LEGOs LEGOs LEGOs.
There was a gigantic LEGO city (definitely no touching) and several building stations (all the touching!) including an entire section devoted strictly to Minecraft and a floor full of Duplos for the little LEGO fans.
She hung out there for QUITE a while.
Claire’s Favorite(s): homemade nail polish and making a felt wallet in the craft lab.
We came across Feto Soap, where you could make your own soap or nail polish. Both Claire and Zoe chose the nail polish (shocker!). What I loved was how easy they made it for them. Two tiny scoops of any color/glitter combination you can think of, then they add the gooey stuff, and we shook it all up and gave our new colors names.
“Can we paint them now?” (In this crowded space, so I can run off and smudge them on everything I touch?)
After nail polish Claire and I tried our hand at potholders. Holy crap how did I do so many of those as a kid? They were not quite as easy as I remember, and for a little girl with dexterity issues, it was very frustrating. BUT while I finished her potholder (because of course I did), she wandered to another table, and I watched from a distance as the volunteer showed her how to sew together her own felt wallet. I wondered if I should go over and help/monitor/HOVER, but I didn’t. She was fine on her own. Actually, she was probably better on her own without me hovering. It’s a lesson I’m learning slowly.
Zoe’s favorite(s): making her own nail polish and also GIANT POTHOLDER.
Zoe loves everything. She picks things up very quickly with little to no instruction. After she made her nail polish, she found the table in the craft lab with what was probably a 5 x 5 homemade loom for making a gigantic potholder – basically a larger version of the one I was making with/for Claire. She wove and threaded the fabric and showed me how to do it. Learning new things like this really excites her, and she completely lights up.
My Favorite(s): ArcAttack and everything in the Craft Lab
We wandered back into the Dark Room (part of the faire with special light attractions) just in time to see ArcAttack‘s performance with their homemade, high tech instruments, including “two custom built singing Tesla coils, which have been modified to play musical notes by modulating their spark output.” It was one of the raddest things I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something, since electricity and I have a bit of a bad history.
And then someone actually went into a special suit and volunteers in a special cage, with the sparks shooting all around them, and NO THANK YOU. I will watch from afar.
No lie – I was completely spent from our LTYM show the evening before. I don’t know, I guess wearing Spanx and heels makes me tired? But I pushed through. For technology. For crafts. For learning!
By late afternoon I thought my legs were going to collapse and I would be destined to live the rest of my days in the Palmer Events Center. But every time I turned a corner, there was one more booth I wanted to visit. Screen printing! Make your own bookmarks! Ooooh, embroidery! Obviously the arts and crafts section was my jam, and Claire and Zoe loved it too. But all three of them are also science-loving girls who love to learn and discover new things. Maker Faire was the perfect activity for all of us to get in touch with learning, and I came away with a lot of good things we can try at home this summer (except not the Tesla coils).
All in all, we WILL be back, and also you should know that when we left we drove straight to Churro Co, because Mother’s Day.
The good people at Maker Faire Austin provided my family with complimentary passes in exchange for this post.
A few weeks ago we joined the early 2000s and purchased an HD antenna.
When we cancelled our cable years ago, we just never made a point to getting one, mainly because the whole reason behind canceling cable was because we weren’t watching TV. Like ever.
But I did want to watch some things, like breaking news, Presidential debates (not too excited about that this year tho), the Olympics, or Hoda and Kathy Lee getting drunk on Today. I am easy to please.
Well it’s finally happened. We are the proud owners of two smart televisions (does it sound less dorky if I say smart TVs?) with Roku or something like that (one courtesy of Netflix, one courtesy of…ourselves for Christmas 2014).
Honestly, Christian got the Roku and the HD antenna on the living room TV so he could watch the NBA playoffs. That’s what it took, folks. My begging and pleading to educate myself on current events? No. The chance to watch the Spurs get killed by Oklahoma? Absolutely.
Anyway. The kids had experienced live TV in hotels and at my parents’ house, but in their own home, it was a game changer.
Basically, I had to explain what a commercial was.
First they assumed something was terribly amiss.
“Mom, something’s wrong with the showwwwwwwww!”
Then they expressed their first world problems.
“How do I pause this?” (Because no, we still don’t have cable, therefore no DVR.)
Then they got smart.
“Dad, we have to get this candy! I saw it on TV!” (Dad let them get the candy.) (Dad = sucker.)
And they started catching up on current events too.
“Mom, the Angry Birds movie comes out on May 19!”
And my favorite…
“Mom. I saw this on TV. Bounty cleans up more spills. You should get that.”
Live TV = magic = brainwashing = solidifying Mom’s role in life = good job, Don Draper!
That’s basically my kids, every time they come in contact with fluids.
Before I entered motherhood, I never in a million years would have guessed I would have twins. Having one baby was hard enough to envision.
Right out of the gate, my situation was different from many. At the first sonogram I learned two things: 1) I was suddenly considered high risk, and 2) there was no way it would be worth continuing to work at my job just to pay double day care. Thanks to my pregnancy bed rest and their 9-week-early delivery, going back to work wasn’t an option even if I’d wanted to. (I didn’t really want to.)
Once we got past the logistics of carrying and taking care of two babies, then two toddlers, and now two little girls, it became more and more clear just how different our parenting life is from those of our friends.
In short, these girls are fascinating.
They’re almost always touching when they’re together, and they’re almost always together.
They can be best friends and worst enemies, the roles changing from minute to minute. But when they’re not getting along, the strain is palpable. It’s unnatural for them to be so distant, physically and emotionally.
They are each other’s person, the first face they look for in a crowd and first one they call out for when they walk in the front door after a solo outing.
As they grow in age, their social lives are changing. In second grade, kids aren’t friends with everyone like they are in kindergarten. Closer friendships start to form. And while they have friends at school, they seem to keep everyone at an arm’s length. No one gets them like their twin.
Part of me is discouraged by this. When they were babies, I read way too many books on raising twins.
Give them their own space! (We don’t have the space.)
Throw them separate birthday parties! (That’s not happening; it pains me to throw even one birthday party.)
Encourage – better yet, force – them to lead separate lives! They are different people, after all!
We take them on individual outings, sometimes essential grocery runs, sometimes nonessential fun trips tailored just for them. We are privy to their specific tastes and likes. We don’t dress them alike and rarely buy them the same gifts anymore. In a nutshell, we do what we can.
Look, parenting books. I get it. They each need to be their own person. I’d hate for one of them to sabotage a relationship because she’ll clearly never be as close to anyone as she will her twin. I’d never want one of them to give up on her goals and dreams because her sister wanted to follow a different path.
But everyone needs their own person. It takes many of us years to find that person.
Would it really be so bad if their person was built in?
As a part of the Netflix Stream Team, each month I talk about what I’ve been streaming online. What should I watch next?
A couple of weeks ago the Queen turned 90, to much fanfare and celebration. Then a wee Prince George in a wee bathrobe met President and Mrs. Obama. Then we read an A – Z Mysteries book called The Castle Crime, which was the most unbelievable work of fiction. I’ll believe that the Queen wanders around Windsor Castle without security – amongst the tourists – the same day I’ll believe that kids named “Dink” and “Ruth Rose” consistently solve crimes every time they set foot outside the house, and the police are like, “Yeah, damn, you cracked the case before our detectives, and we are totally okay with that!”
Anyway. Speaking of Royals.
I watch Netflix most when I’m folding laundry, and I’m almost folding laundry. This past couple of weeks I pulled up a series I’d seen popping up here and there, The Royals.
It all fascinates me – the history, the opulence, the traditions. Each episode covered a different aspect of life in the Royal Family, from weddings and funerals to scandals and babies. There was some repetition and a touch of TMZ-ness about it, with most of the interviewees acting like they were the family’s BFFs, but all in all, it gave interesting facts about the world’s most fascinating family.
I found myself home alone one rare weekend day, and after I took a nap (requirement when home alone on a rare weekend day), I felt too lazy to do anything else but pull up some Netflix. My profile had a category of 90s movies, including The Shawshank Redemption. I don’t know about you, but back when we had cable, I could never NOT watch The Shawshank Redemption. Turns out that’s still true.
Other movies included in the 90s category included Rounders, Forrest Gump, A League of Their Own, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (so good at the time; so bad now) (RIP Alan Rickman), Cruel Intentions, The DaVinci Code….so many options.
For quirky/funny, pull up Documentary Now. I’ve only watched a few episodes, but as far as satire goes, it’s very well done.
What are you watching?
Camping with friends seemed like a good idea at the time.
Christian and I are what you would call “mediocre outdoorsy.” We like to hike and frolic outside on a nice day, but we don’t live for it. Spending time indoors being lazy has just as much appeal. I do love a good nap.
About 10 years ago we planned a camping trip with some couple friends of ours at Enchanted Rock, a popular destination with tons of available hiking and exploring and outdoor space for two couples who didn’t have kids and liked to drink a lot.
Only Enchanted Rock walk-in camp sites book up approximately 5 lifetimes in advance.
So my husband, always with an ill-researched backup plan, booked one of their “primitive campsites.”
“So what does that mean, exactly?” I asked.
“No big deal,” he answered. It’s just a little bit farther of a hike.”
“Like how ‘little bit farther?'”
“Eh…like two miles.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Now I am not a sedentary person (note I’m typing this on my couch with a blanket and my coffee and have no plans to move for the reminder of the day, but that is neither here nor there). I can run long distances. I can definitely walk two miles. But do I want to walk two miles, carrying a shitton of camping gear?
No I do not.
Because we all know a good wife never lets anything go, I occasionally brought up the impending Death March as the trip grew closer.
And that’s when he started to backpedal.
First it was, “Oh, it’s not really two miles. More like a mile and a half.”
And then the next time it was, “Meh, I’m pretty sure it’s more like a mile. Not too bad. It’ll be fine.”
So maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. But that was ten years ago, and I can tell you that ten years wiser Leigh Ann has learned to Google the hell out of anything that comes out of her husband’s mouth. If I had done that in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to endure such suffering. But ten years younger Leigh Ann was more trusting and also not the Googling master that she is now.
It’ll be fine, he said.
So one mid-October day, we drove out to Enchanted Rock with our friends Reba and Troy. We had everything we needed: camping stove, sleeping bags, 6-man tent, board games, groceries, and a cooler full of Lone Star. A piddly one mile hike wasn’t going to dampen our spirits.
And when we pulled into the parking lot, there it was: a wooden sign with etched words that said it all.
There was no going back. We loaded ourselves up with our duffel bags, sleeping bags, and grocery bags. Troy hefted the cooler full of beer up onto his shoulder, and we headed off in search of our campsite.
October in Texas is still hot, and those two miles were so, so long.
To give an example of the kind of crazy people who book primitive camping sites, everyone we passed along the trail was carrying the following:
- a backpack – most likely a legit hiking version with 897 pockets for knives and ropes and shit
- a tiny tent – shoved perfectly in the space between their back and the backpack
- absolutely nothing else.
I still carry the shame from the looks of pity and general “WTF are you doing?” on their faces. It’s my life’s burden.
“You’re doing it wrong!” one guy said as he passed, taking in our grocery bags of eggs and meat and circus animal cookies (because one never goes camping with out circus animal cookies). Glamping wasn’t a thing back then, but that’s exactly what it looked like we were prepared to do.
If this had happened today, he’d have snapped a photo and camping-shame us all over the Internet.
What seemed like 5 hours later, we reached our destination. We were exhausted, and Troy’s ear was bleeding from an unfortunate cooler injury. His main goal the next 24 hours was to drink as much Lone Star as possible so he wouldn’t have to carry it back.
But our site was the perfect picture of Texas wilderness: wildflowers, cacti, cedar trees, and tall grassy stuff that probably has a name, but I’m not a botanist. Where we were used to designated sleeping spots and a metal-ringed fire pit, we found a flattish space to sleep and a reminder that no fires were allowed in primitive spots. No bathrooms either, unless you count the outhouse that was about a quarter mile away, which is way too far to walk in the pitch dark after you’ve had 3 beers and really have to pee.
All in all, we had a great time. We hiked, we explored, we bonded, and we slept like babies that night, if babies slept on beds of rocks and sticks in a 6-man tent after a night of drinking and laughter around a battery-powered lantern because remember! No fires!
But we made it, and best of all we made memories. Reba and Troy remain some of our closest friends to this day. We’ve vacationed together, our kids have grown up together, and believe it or not, we still camp together.
We just make sure we don’t have to walk two miles to do it.
Now go visit these other funny and amazing bloggers and read what they thought was a good idea at the time!
Last Friday was Kite Day for the kindergarteners. Parents welcome! Please come help your 5 and 6-year-olds fly kites! Because we damn well know they can’t do it on their own! A festival of tangled tails and flying failures!
Something you should know about me: I hate flying kites. Mainly because I just plain don’t know how to do it. Kind of like how I don’t know how to drive a stick, but they make automatic cars, so why don’t they make automatic kites? A question to ponder for another day.
I attended Kite Day two years ago when Rachel and Claire were in kindergarten. I was late, having just picked up Zoe from preschool. Each kindergartener who didn’t have a parent present had been paired with a 5th grader who was likely just as enthusiastic to be there as I was (outside: awesome; helping little kids fly kites: probably not so much).
It was a disaster of epic proportions.
By the time I came across Claire, her kite – a recent gift from Nana and Grandpa – was in shambles. The string was tangled up with the 800 foot-long tail, and no amount of fussing and pulling and yanking – all whilst watching out for rogue kite strings – would fix the number the wind had done on her poor kite. Kite Day was done for her almost as soon as it had begun.
I dragged cranky Zoe, sad Claire, and the tangled kite around the field looking for Rachel. We finally found her with her 5th grade buddy, who actually succeeded in getting her kite to fly. But once I showed up, she hesitantly started to back away, looking hopefully to me for the okay to run off with her friend.
The four of us basically wandered around, Claire’s tangled kite in hand, periodically tossing Rachel’s kite in the air, only to watch it flop to the ground, all the while trying to keep Zoe from running off and getting clotheslined by a Pokemon kite string.
Fucking Kite Day.
So when the invitation came home this year, I begged and pleaded and basically told Christian “You will need take off work Friday afternoon and go fly kites with your daughter.”
Because Christian is Kite Flyer: Level Expert.
When he held his finger up to test the wind, I knew there was no going back.
He knows all the moves. Throw the kite up in the air, but the string can’t be too long, and try not to look like a ballet company reject who’s bitter about getting turned down for a backup part, just kind of toss it in the air a little. If you’re holding the kite, you run! No not that far. Just get it going, now let the line out! No, not like that. Flick your wrist! Flick it! Just. Flick. It! Okay, whoa, ease up a little on the line now.
After a few failed attempts, I noticed that our kite looked different from the others.
So I said, “Wait. I think this hook thingy is supposed to go on the other side.”
And he said, “It’s called a BRIDLE, and you’re right.”
Then he said, “Geez, Zoe, who put this kite together for you?”
That would be me. I put the kite together.
And Zoe said, “Mommy. Mommy put the kite together.”
My own child threw me under the bus. But to be fair, she said it so sweetly; she had no idea I had done it wrong. Zoe, always and forever on my side, except when she figures out I don’t know how to fly a fucking kite.
Anyway. Once the BRIDLE was in the correct position, everything was peachy and wonderful and the kite soared and flew super high and OMG kites are boring.
(Actually, he made me fly it for a few minutes – let out the line! No, not like that! Flick your wrist! Pull! Now stop! Yes! You’re doing it! – and it was rather exhilarating. And then 48 seconds later it was super boring.)
Ladies, few things are sexier than a man flying a Cinderella kite for his 6-year-old daughter.
Not sexy – the laceration he gets from getting clotheslined by a random kite.
Not long before it was time to wrap up the kites – pun fully intended – I came across a little girl struggling with her kite. Another mom was trying to help her, but I recognized something.
Her BRIDLE was on the wrong side of her kite. She was doomed.
So I thought, “I can fix this!”
But it wasn’t just the bridle. Her line was tangled, and we couldn’t get it undone.
And the tears just started streaming down her face. “But I didn’t get to fly my kite, and my mommy couldn’t come, and I really wanted to fly it……”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
By this time the 5th graders were headed back inside. Teachers were rounding kindergarteners up, while a few rogue kids and parents caught a few extra minutes flying. If this little girl didn’t get to fly a kite, I was going to start crying myself.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Okay, Gemma, come over here.”
One thing you should know about Christian: kids LOVE him. And he loves kids. He’s always the guy at the birthday party with a crowd of kids around him, and not in a creepy way. He’s a huge kid at heart, something that came through big time as he managed to get his – I mean Zoe’s – Cinderella kite higher and higher.
Christian gave Gemma the kite and instructed her to throw it in the air – ballerina reject or not – while he got it flying. And then he handed the reins over to her.
And she flew that damn kite.
“Look at her,” he said. “Pure joy on her face.”
And THAT is why I am married to this man. Well, that and he makes me breakfast on the weekends.
Gemma backed up further and further to fly the kite. We were the only ones who remained on the field, watching Gemma’s kite soar, along with her spirits.
The kindergarten classes had formed on the sidelines. It was time to head back. The kite came down, and we all gave Gemma high fives for her mad kite flying skills. And then I walked her over to her class, where her teacher was looking for her, quickly explained that she just needed a few kite-flying minutes, and headed back to my girl and her class.
I’m fortunate that I have such a flexible schedule that I can attend school events. I’m equally fortunate that Christian has the freedom to take half the day when I beg him to come fly a kite with his daughter because I seriously suck at it. Maybe Gemma won’t remember much about Kite Day. All I care about is that moment – that exhilarating moment when it was just her and the kite and the joy on her face, and that it was time to go in before she realized kite flying was, in fact, super boring.
If there had been a book like Multiples Illuminated when I was pregnant with twins or caring for two infants, I would have eaten that up like a salted caramel chocolate bar. When you’re a twin parent, connection with other twin parents and the reassurance that you’re not alone is one of the most valuable things to discover.
When I found out I was pregnant with twins in the fall of 2007, one of the first people we told was our realtor, not because we would surely be needing a larger house soon, but because she was pregnant with twins herself, just a couple of months ahead of me.
“You HAVE to join the local moms of multiples club,” she insisted, implying that mine and my babies’ lives depended on admittance to this sacred organization.
She wasn’t wrong.
I remained in that group until my twins were five. I let my membership lapse when I realized I hadn’t logged on to the forum for months. Thanks to my growing girls, I didn’t feel the need to ask many questions, and I didn’t have much input for new moms with babies anymore. And thanks to the growth of blogging and social media, I was finding new ways to connect with twin parents.
Still, the information and friendships I made through that club were invaluable, and I’m still connected to many of them to this day.
You see, when you’re a parent of multiples, the only people who can even have an inkling of an idea as to what you’re going through are other parents of multiples. Thanks to that group, I met new friends. I got sleep advice. I received commiseration after leaving library story time in tears. And probably most importantly, I received support – reassurance that my preterm delivery wasn’t my fault, breastfeeding encouragement, and the coveted “me too” that we all yearn for when making emotional connections.
And I got oodles of book recommendations.
Without certain informational books, I wouldn’t have known what to expect logistically. They helped me physically prepare for twins ( or at least gave me the impression I was preparing, because there really is no way to prepare to bring home multiple infants!) and even helped me realize that I was developing preeclampsia, which was soon confirmed by my doctor, and I was put on strict bed rest.
But what I lacked was a collection of personal stories, something that would tell me what it was really like to carry, deliver, and raise twins, a collection of vastly different experiences that I could relate to, or even those that I could not.
Although I am well beyond what I call the “grunt years” of raising twins, I can tell you that at some point during almost each essay in Multiples Illuminated, I found myself saying “ME TOO.”
I commiserated with the fatigue and the sometimes fear of the multiples pregnancy.
My heart ached at the descriptions of tiny preemies and terrifying NICU experiences, some that were so similar to ours, and some that were wildly different.
And I’m not sorry to say I laughed at the stories of twin toddler life, because BEEN THERE, DONE THAT, NOT SORRY TO SEE IT GO. And some day, those parents will laugh about it too, if they aren’t already.
Multiples Illuminated is the brain child of writers Megan Woolsey and Alison Lee. Find out more at MultiplesIlluminated.com.
Buy the book!
Amazon (affiliate link)
As a part of the Netflix Stream Team, each month I get to tell you about what I’m watching on Netflix. What should I watch next?
Years ago people used to say that my husband was the spitting image of Freddie Prinze, Jr. They were both thin, with dark hair and eyes, same hairstyle. It was a little uncanny. Any time he popped up in a movie, we’d say, “Hey! You have a new movie coming out!” Or when a coworker found FPJ’s Got Milk? campaign, they tore it out and hung it up above Christian’s desk, where it remained until he left that job.
Over time we both forgot about it. Until my girls pulled up Scooby Doo on Netflix and I was confronted with my husband’s dopplegänger all over again.
Now I am not complaining. Freddy Prinze, Jr. is ridiculously easy on the eyes. He’s also happily married to the adorable Sarah Michelle Gellar, who ironically, I do not seem to resemble one bit, which is a little unfair, if you ask me.
Just so you can see what I’m talking about, let’s do a little side-by-side comparison.
I showed this to Christian, and he said, “Man, we are getting old.” For the record, Freddie Prinze, Jr is 40, and Christian just turned 38. They both have the graying hair that makes men look hot and distinguished, also totally unfair. Also for the record, I don’t follow a lot of celebrities, but FPJ and his wife are fun follows on Instagram.
Yesterday we got a fun delivery so we can make up our own dopplegängers. Thanks to Netflix and Fuller House, we can unleash our inner Kimmy, DJ, and Stephanie. My girls have no idea who DJ, Kimmy, and Stephanie are, so I think some old school Full House is in order so we can start watching the Netflix exclusive, Fuller House.
Netflix ALSO sent us some of our favorite things: LEGOs! I cannot tell you how excited I was to get this delivery. Rachel set to putting the Bionicle together, while Zoe insisted on doing almost the entire LEGO Friends set together on her own. Homegirl has a determination streak like I’ve never seen. Then they turned on the new LEGO Bionicle: The Journey to One series and had a blast identifying her character and all of the others. And he’s blue, her favorite color.
I love you Netflix.
What are you watching?
This comes as absolutely no surprise to anyone who knows me well personally, but here it is…
I am flaky.
Yesterday I forgot about lunch plans with a friend. A friend who was in from out of town. And her birthday had been the day before. And she’s going through a hard time right now.
And I completely forgot about it.
Did I mention I am the one who helped plan the lunch?
Instead of heading to a delicious restaurant with girlfriends, I was at Costco, a bottle of Nature’s Bounty Fish Oil pills in one hand and its Kirkland’s Best counterpart in the other, scrutinizing the difference. For the record. Nature’s Bounty has a few more milligrams of the good stuff for twice the cost.
My God, my life is fascinating.
I could have given – and did give – a thousand excuses as to why I failed to remember our lunch date. I’d had the shittiest Monday on record, starting with copious yelling in my attempts to get three kids out of the house. I had mountains of work to catch up on after the long weekend. We’d just returned from Dallas late the evening before and the laundry was out of control. I banged my knee on the kitchen chair trying to feed the cat. I mean, really.
But the truth is, lunch wasn’t even on my radar. I’d forgotten about it long before Monday morning. I failed to put it on my calendar, along with the blaring alarm that accompanies anything I even remotely want to remember – library days for the kids, doctor’s appointments, our weekly gymnastics class, LUNCHES WITH BIRTHDAY FRIENDS.
And the other truth is, I am a flake.
Part of me wants to say “to know me is to love me,” and that means realizing that I am forgetful and slightly self-absorbed. Not in a narcissistic way, but I tend to get wrapped up in my own life and can easily let my connections slip. I’m terrible with birthdays. I don’t often suggest lunch dates or girls’ nights out. I shamefully depend on my extroverted friends for those things. I fail to “check in” with my close friends or with people I know need support. When I asked if someone had had their baby yet, my friend texted back, “God I hope so. He was due a month ago.”
Sometimes I think that some flakiness is okay. This is who I am! I say, and people just think, “Oh, that Leigh Ann. She’s so in her head! A true creative indeed.”
And then I realize that I’m actually just being rude, and my failure to keep up with these things may be sending the wrong signals.
That I’m disorganized. (Check.)
That I’m flaky. (Yup.)
That I don’t care.
That last one’s not true. I do care. And I’m crushed to think that my flakiness may cause someone to think I don’t. You know those people you feel don’t care enough to ask about your life? I’ve become one of those people. I’m so wrapped up in my own circus, it’s hard for me to pay attention to the other acts. I mean, my children are very loud and a little overwhelming, and our life is hectic for sure. But that shouldn’t keep me from asking about a friend’s job interview or impending move. I want to know how you’re doing, what you’re up to, whether or not you’re still pregnant after 12 months or so.
It just may stare unblinking for a second or two too long when you text, “I’m waiting for you guys at a booth towards the back!”
I’ll catch on eventually.