Welcome To America

My Citizenship Oath Ceremony was very special, an intimate and private moment, just me and 3,000 of my closest friends in an event hall at the Pomona Fairplex:




















That's 3,000 applicants who'd all brought their families to share in their special day. Everybody's letter said 'Pomona Fairplex, Building 4, 8am'.

10,000 people all trying to be in one building at 8am on the nose. Of course, no-one realized quite how big the event was, so when you're stuck in traffic trying to get in to the Fairplex, and you're already twenty minutes late for your really important legal proceeding, and you're not sure if you're in the correct queue or accidentally in line for a Monster Truck Rally, you can get a tad anxious.
























Did I mention that one of the main reasons I became a citizen was so that I would NEVER have to deal with the INS again?

I obviously wasn't the only one dealing badly with the stress of it all - as we filed like cattle in to the warehouse, Anna pointed out a big lake of 'barf' on the tarmac. Nice. At the entrance to the building we were separated and I waved goodbye to my family. So much for having the girls learn about the Citizenship process. We hadn't planned for that, so I had the spare diapers in my handbag and throughout the next 2 hours LK sent me texts like 'how much longer???' or 'situation critical, she's going to blow!'

We waited an age for everyone to file in - in the meantime we were encouraged to fill out our voter registration paperwork - but, and they repeated this several times 'please do not sign it as you are not citizens yet'.

Pedants.

The proceedings finally kicked off 75 minutes late, and we all stood up to swear our oath. Except, given the logistics of everything, it's very hard to hear someone addressing 10,000 people, so I *may* have failed to speak every line, and I *may* have failed to renounce any allegiance to any foreign prince or potentate. Quite frankly, uttering an oath like that only days after Prince William announced his engagement to Kate Middleton should be unconstitutional. I know where my allegiances truly lie.

Then the Judge gave his own inspirational story of his family's journey to America, and he congratulated us on making a great decision for ourselves and for our families, and said "Isn't America the best country in the world! Isn't it? Let's see those flags - wave those flags!".

This was a Citizenship ceremony, so a little jingoism could be expected. But then....

We were given a recorded video address by Barack Obama, which was great, appropriate, and humbling. He addressed us as 'my fellow Americans' and spoke of the privileges and responsibilities of being a citizen. This was what I was expecting.

What I wasn't anticipating was the music video of 'Proud To Be An American' by Lee Greenwood. As my friend Mooks later said, maybe a short film by Ken Burns, something a little classier? But no, country music, tacky patriotism by Disney. Urgh.

I don't know what I was really expecting from the ceremony. Something a little less industrial, definitely. I don't know why they don't do it on a smaller, more civic level. I know they used to. Perhaps the numbers are too large, the costs too enormous. It certainly was a little overwhelming.

As for me, I didn't think I would feel any different. My friend Jen put it perfectly, it's like marrying a bloke you've been living with for fifteen years, I didn't really expect it to change anything (except I'm waiting for the jury duty summons - any day now....). My friends helped me celebrate; an apple pie, a sweet Obama '08 t-shirt, champagne, and this:





















In the end I was surprised though. We drove back up the coast, past a perfect Malibu sunset and it suddenly hit me that I'm American now. I had my Ken Burns moment. This land is my land. I'm not any less British, but I belong here now too. (and lets not dwell on how much debt I've just inherited....)

I think that's going to take a little getting used to, for both of us.

Living The Dream

I am hosting Book Club in 3 hours. This is my kitchen.




















3 hours, and counting....

** Updated to add: LK put the sink in, but didn't have time to attach it, so, no running water, but at least the place looked good. This is California after all, and as long as something looks the part, it doesn't actually have to have a function (like the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills). Apparently the pipe had just completely corroded through.

Reassuring.

You Don't Say

I have so much I want to tell you about the Citizenship process, but I am facing a mountain of work a mile high, so I will tide you over with this gem:

Me: "This foggy morning makes it all seem really autumnal"

Anna: "What's 'autumnal'?"

Me: "Autumn-like, you know, fall."

Anna: "It's foll Momma, not fawl. *sigh*. I think you're forgetting you need to speak American now that youre a citizen."

Amercun

Today I became an American.


























I think this photo, with the 'hot dog on a stick' stand behind me sums the occasion up very nicely. Oh, and notice the bizarre shaft of sunlight that's hitting my certificate. Under God after all perhaps?

Gettin' Busy

The date for my Oath Ceremony is fast approaching, and I've been forwarded a questionnaire to complete prior to the big day. In the THREE WEEKS since I had my naturalization interview they want to know if:

• I've married, divorced or been widowed
• Practiced polygamy
• Received income from illegal gambling
• Been a prostitute
• Procured anyone else for prostitution
• Been involved in any unlawful commercialized vice
• Encouraged an alien to illegally enter the US
• Trafficked drugs or marijuana (why are they separate?)
• Joined the Communist Party
  
• Been a habitual drunkard.

I'm starting to wonder about this country of yours (soon to be mine).

On the other hand my blog would be a damn sight more interesting if even half of those had occurred during NaBloPoMo.

A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood

This weekend the weather was absolutely glorious. California glorious. When I first moved here and people would say 'wow, the weather's perfect today' I would look at them with blank incomprehension and think - the weather's always perfect. We haven't had sideways sleet, black ice, drizzle, icy showers or gale force winds in years, if ever.























Now that I've lived here long enough, I can discern an exceptional day from a bog-standard brilliant day. Like a sommelier of the weather, I can detect those top notes of sapphire blue skies, a faint whisper of wind, an ever so slight chill in the shade, soft golden sunlight making the winter flowers glow, and finally everything rounded out by a crisp, cool evening.
























I took the girls for a walk up to the Mission. We stopped to chat with a neighbour at her rose-covered garden gate - her daughter goes to Anna's Kindergarten and they started planning a playdate for the next day. We strolled through parks, fed the ducks, bumped into an old friend who we have lost to 22 units of college this Semester. On our return the lady at the corner store was toasting the birth of her niece's baby and was giving out candy to all the children.
























Perfect. This is why people move to Southern California.

Except (and you sort of knew this was coming didn't you?) this same neighbourhood was rocked by an horrific gang-beating that left our other corner store owner dead 3 weeks ago as he walked home from work. A couple of days later someone was brutally stabbed at 3:30 in the afternoon.

50 yards from our front door.

The first I knew of it was LK and Anna coming back from the movies (Legend of the Guardians - don't do it to yourself, even Anna hated it), they'd had trouble getting to the house because the street was all cordoned off with police tape. There were police cars and ambulances everywhere. There had been reports of a fight, screeching tires, there was blood all over the sidewalk and no sign of the victims. Police were advising everyone to stay indoors.

So of course everyone gathered on the corner to stare.

The police said it was gang related. Why else would the stab victims flee? Gang members never press charges, they have their own courts. They also said we would never see it in the paper or hear it on the news. It happens all the time, they said, except this is a tourist town, so it doesn't really happen, you see.

They were right, nothing was ever reported, no charges were ever filed.

There are two main gangs in Santa Barbara, the Eastsiders and the Westsiders. Original, no? We live on the Eastside. Two of the houses on the street that abuts ours are gang houses. People are coming and going at all hours, cars double-parked and idling, occasional parties that go on all night and erupt in to street fighting. You know, the usual.

Am I scared of living so close to it all? Well yes, obviously. Except to them we don't exist, we are no threat to them, we mean nothing to them. They are Hispanic, but then so are a lot of our really friendly neighbours, the difference is they've chosen to align themselves with a gang. We have not, so we don't exist. In all honesty I think living close to a busy road would be more of a threat to my family. The police said the same is true of pretty much every neighbourhood in this town.

Would I prefer to live across the road from sheep fields like where I grew up? Of course. Except you have to wear wellies all the time. That's not an option right now though, so we carry on here. And honestly, the burglary rate and car theft rate in the gentrified town where I grew up is much higher than here. You pick your poison.

Sometimes I'm scared, but mostly I walk past with my girls in the stroller on the way to get an ice-cream and I pretend that we live in 'Santa Barbara' instead of South Central LA.

Mostly Wordless Weekend: Part Two

Courtesy of my friend Jen.

Mostly Wordless Weekend: Part One

Drinking wine last night around the fire pit. Yes I know it's November, that's why one of us is wearing a scarf.

Socks and a scarf would mean it was December.

And unseasonably cold.

Greetings!

I have the hardest time finding half-decent greetings cards over here. I think I'm looking in the wrong places, because I know you people have a sense of humour - case in point the fact you all now think it's the Democrats who made a mess of the economy. Good one.

My sister-in-law sent me an absolute corker for my birthday:























































See what I mean? How funny is that? Well, I mentioned the dearth of really good cards to my sister-in-law, and lo and behold, what do I get in the post from England yesterday? Cards!! Except the problem is I've already broadcast it live on the interweb, so I'll just have to find some techno phobe to send them to.

Thanks Lorna!!!

PS - If anyone has any suggestions for where to pick up really funny cards over here, so I can return the favour to Lorna with a decent birthday card, I'd really appreciate it, thanks!

Veterans Day

Veterans Day is one of those fake holidays in the US. Fake because the only people who get to officially observe the holiday are Government workers and schools. The rest of us have to patch together childcare and carry on regardless. That's not to say the cause isn't worthwhile, not at all. Lance's Dad is a veteran, so what better way to reward his service than to make him look after his granddaughters for the morning?

Any longer than a morning and there would be casualties, likely on both sides.

"This is no way to treat a Veteran" he grumbled. But of course he loves it. He is a great childminder, he is ever so slightly hard of hearing, and that coupled with Anna's propensity to talk all the time is a great combination. Then there's Lucy. She's up for anyone who's prepared to sit with her and read a book and provide a decent lap to nap in.

The photo is a little grainy, because LK was using a zoom against a bright light - but this is what he found at lunchtime:





















Anna playing quietly by herself upstairs, and the other two out for the count downstairs!

Spellcheck

Anna is racing right along with this reading/writing malarkey. She's reading Harry Potter at night (heavily assisted) and she even suggested we play hangman - she would pick the word.

Can you guess what it is? The tension was high - only one letter left to guess, and my man was very nearly toast. N _ E M. Four letter word??




















I will admit to playing a fair amount of iPhone scrabble (OK, I'm an addict), and this had me stumped.

Anna hates to see people lose. "If you choose a letter at the beginning of the alphabet you may be lucky!" she sang.

Huh?

She tried harder - perhaps she was being a little obscure? "Momma, if you pick an A you may get a happy ending!!"

Happy ending? This girl has been spending too much time with her father...

Yes, you've guessed it, this was the word:





















Naem (name). The reason you don't play hangman with a 5-year old.

If Chickens Could Swear

Overheard at Anna's school whilst waiting for the Kindergartener's (with minds like snow.....) to return from a field trip.

1st Grader: "Yeah, well I know a word that's worse than that"
Me, straining to hear
Other Ist Grader: "What?"
1st Grader: "FLUCK!"

I plan to be an early adopter.

Leaf Fishing

You would think that two full days alone in a foreign city with two small children would be daunting, maybe even in a nightmare. It had occurred to me that entertaining them, even with the likes of the San Diego Zoo in my arsenal, would be challenging.

It was so much fun. For the record, spending time with my two tiny ladies is brilliant – they make the best dates. They are just so enthused about everything. I think we were all excited to finally leave Santa Barbara for a few days, but even I couldn’t muster that much excitement about row upon row of elephants. Not so Lucy, "wow" she would say, then "oh, wow" at the next one, then "elephant" with a serious nod, as if to say, ‘dude, what are the chances?’.

Yes, they had their moments, usually on LK’s watch I’m afraid. They did not sleep well. Lucy projectile vomited two out of the three nights, liberally spraying everything in her vicinity. Sorry Hampton Inn! We think it was because she wasn’t sure of her surroundings, didn’t want to fall asleep in a foreign bed, and so kept asking for a ‘bottle’ to seek comfort (much like her father). The fact that we gave her four bottles in the space of two hours may have explained things. She didn’t so much vomit as pop. Then Anna had violent earache on the second night. They’ve both had a cold, so we immediately thought, crap, ear infection. LK confessed he was worried about us finding an urgent care in a foreign city – I was more worried about the chances of them getting out of network billing right (slim). In the end after a night of tearful ‘ouchy’, *sob*, ‘ouchy’ she woke up right as rain. We think maybe it was pool water stuck in her ear, exacerbated by the remains of a cold. Whatever it was, thank god it disappeared as fast as it struck.

Aren’t you noticing a marked decrease in the scintillation factor since I’ve been posting every day??!

And of course, they may be great company, but usually your date on a fun trip to the zoo does not fling herself in to a fountain, necessitating a full strip-down, towel off with a sweatshirt, all the while screaming til they’re puce and stamping their feet at the sheer indignity of it all.








Guess what happened next?














That sort of thing comes with the territory, but the rest more than made up for it. On the second day we were heading for the Natural History Museum (free with our SB Natural History Museum membership). I parked in the Science Museum carpark, right underneath a sign saying ‘Kid City’. "Oh Momma" breathed Anna. "It’s just for kids, five and under. It’s a Kid City."

They had a blast, and I had the best time watching them. It’s true that nothing beats the feeling of making someone else happy. Which is why Anna ending up getting her face painted ($12) at Legoland, $1 extra for glitter – that’s right, a surcharge - your five year old is sitting there, and you’re supposed to say no to glitter? Shame on you Legoland.

Megalopolis

Los Angeles to San Diego is a megalopolis, home to 22 million people. For two and a half hours you drive through non-stop urban sprawl, stucco, outlets, and six lanes of traffic. Every five minutes you drive past a McDonalds and a Starbucks, every ten minutes a Target, and every thirty minutes an Ikea. The scenery could be on continuous repeat, like the background in a Tom and Jerry cartoon, but you'd never know. Unless you get stuck in traffic, and then you get to sit outside that Discount Sofa World for fifteen minutes, and really get a chance to consider its uniqueness.

I have a new weapon in my co-pilot arsenal though. www.sigalert.com. If you live and drive in Southern California you should definitely get to know it. It gives an instant colour-coded snapshot of the freeway traffic through LA, Orange County, San Diego. Instant flagged alerts of accidents, and visual confirmation of free-flowing alternate routes. Genius.

And that's all I have to say on our 3 hour drive back from Legoland. Well, that and this photo of Anna "I was not napping, I am 5, I do not nap" K.

























Back to non-HTML posting tomorrow. Thank God!

Updated to add: we just drove past Anna's best friend, in six lanes of traffic, 120 miles from home. Apparently they recognized us by the British flag on the back of our car. I think the universe knows I'm posting about So Cal faceless anonymity and just gave me a giant cosmic 'you don't know nothing, beotch'.

San Diego Zoo

Posting to this blog using my phone is about as user-friendly as hand-illustrating every letter in a Gregorian manuscript, so......I bring you thoughts on the San Diego zoo, in brief.

Real life Pandas, surprisingly small
Stuffed pandas, unsurprisingly expensive but unconditionally ADORED by Lucy.
Who knew the world had so many monkeys.
How can you be 37 and never hear of a Takin?
Look at that thing, it's huge!
'Takin care of business' on continuous loop in brain
Nobody wants to look at fossils!
100 degrees in November. WTF.
That tiger looks pissed off.
Girls too excited/exciteable to nap.
Lucy fell in 2 inch deep fountain.
Sideways.
Total immersion
What are the chances?
Brilliant time had by all, even Lucy.
Especially Lucy.

Essentials

Anna said now that she's five she should be able to pack her own suitcase. We are away from home for three days. She packed:

Two dresses
Two nighties
No knickers
No shoes
One tiara (large, Cinderella)
Two ponies, one unicorn
Multi-coloured heart stickers (for emergencies?
A bald-headed eagle
Assorted small plastic animals (to introduce to their friends at the San Diego zoo)
Small treasure box (for small treasures)
Tiny treasure box (for tiny treasures)

Getting Away

Where do you go on holiday if you live in a world-class vacation destination? If the beach is on your doorstep, temperatures hover in the 80s in November, and you can't get a latte at your local Starbucks without tripping over Hollywood's finest? It would seem that Hawaii, Mexico or Tahoe for skiing is the answer for most Santa Barbarans, although quite frankly the real answer is nowhere. Have you see our house prices? If your property taxes alone are higher than the average American's annual take-home pay, then you'll be spending those five precious vacation days in your tiny home, eating freeze-dried noodles.

Apart from my happily childless friends I don't know of anyone who has been on vacation in the last few years - except to visit far-flung family members that is. Anna even said "when we have the next fire (read wildfire evacuation) can we go back to the Monterey Aquarium? That was fun." Poor child. Which is why we're all so excited to be getting out of town this weekend. LK has to attend a two day seminar for work, and the closest location just happens to be San Diego. I must be hard-up for a holiday when I will consider two days of theme parks alone with two small children a break. I'm excited though. I've never been to San Diego, I've never seen a panda, or a killer whale, or a non-Danish Legoland.

It goes without saying that we can't afford it, but the fates are clearly on our side, because just when I was fretting the cost of the weekend a check arrived from Google Ads from all you lovely people clicking the ads on this website. That and a coupon from my friend Chilly just may mean we can splash out on the San Diego zoo and a small plush panda. Good times.

It's NaBloPoMo so I'll be trying to post whilst down there, but I haven't worked out how to post photos from my phone yet, so you may have to wait till Monday for that photo of me pushing two screaming and over-stimulated children round the world's largest zoo...... I bet you can't wait.

What's Not To Love?

I you ask any kid what they like most about Halloween, they will answer, candy. Getting to wear a costume may rank a distant second, but it seems 90% of the girls I see at our uniform-less California Kindergarten are wearing either a tutu, wings, a tiara or sparkly ruby slippers on a daily basis, so costume may actually be today's ready-to-wear.

Which makes it more than a little odd that Anna collected a big bag of sugary swag on Halloween night, poured her sister's stash in there too, and promptly forgot about it. We never took it home, and it has since been raided by two presumably now-diabetic dogs.

Anna hasn't mentioned it since.

Two full days, not a whisper. I'm the one craving Dots and Almond Joys, she doesn't appear to have noticed.

In fact, she said to me the other day...."Mom, you know why Halloween is so awesome? Because even if the Lakers are on, the Dads still have to spend time with their kids."

It appears that time with her Dad is better than candy. Or he spends far too much time watching the Lakers.

Only 79 regular season games to go!!

Separation of Church and Fête

If you can’t recognize the characters behind these costumes, then lucky you for not having succumbed to the brainwashing of kids TV.

If you are able to put names with faces, then I commiserate with you my friend.

For Halloween the K family presented:

• DJ Lance

• His sidekick Foofah

• Merliah (from Barbie A Mermaid Tale)

• A very dull witch who bought costumes for everyone but herself and seemed to forget that she looks like crap in head to toe black.
  

I love Halloween over here, and Halloween with two small children is just brilliant fun, and yes I can still say that after cutting out over 100 cardboard bats at Anna’s school on Friday.

Anna shot out of bed on Sunday morning at the prospect of trick-or-treating. She was skipping and pirouetting with anticipation all day, which became a little annoying after, oh, ten minutes.

Unfortunately there is just no way that we could consider trick-of-treating in our neighbourhood as we live in more of a downtown gangland stab-zone rather than a suburban family idyll, (if you think I’m joking because I live in Santa Barbara, stay tuned for future posts about my neighbourhood, and its recent stabbings. Yes, plural.).

Fortunately we have friends in happy nappy valley, and they do still talk to us after being Lucy’s second family for nearly a year and a half - and they also have a fantastic annual Halloween party. Lucy (aka Foofah) broke all our hearts by giving Jen a ten minute clavicle-burrowing hug upon seeing her again – leaving us in no doubt as to which family she actually prefers (the
family with the trampoline).

We were just peeling Lucy from Jen and Anna from the ceiling, ready to venture out in to the melee, when Jen’s daughter returned with a sack of candy and a note that ‘some guy’ had given her in lieu of candy.

Do you want to know what the note said?

It was a printed missive inviting her and her family to come and worship at the local Lutheran church on Sundays where they have sermons aimed at children, songs, crafts, and then coffee and fellowship afterwards!

WTF.

Separation of Church and Fête.

I understand that Halloween flies directly against many religious beliefs with its celebration of paganism, and worse, NickJr. But if that’s your creed, let if be yours, don’t bring the fight to the children. The note was clearly intended to be read by kids. It’s a good job LK wasn’t on the receiving end of the leaflet as he is not exactly tolerant when it comes to vocal religious nuts, and the image of DJ Lance giving someone a beatdown on Halloween would have stuck in many a Kindergartener’s mind.

In the end we let it go. Besides, if the religious zealot really wanted to sway the minds of the children, they would have done so with a leaflet and candy. If only Meg Whitman and Jerry Brown had the presence of mind to do the same.

Happy November!

Do you like my beautiful autumnal photo??



























Yes, that's right, the clues are in the photo......you can tell the seasons in Southern California by the fact that:

a) There is no lifeguard on duty

b) Lucy is wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt

c) Her shirt references Halloween



























How else can you tell it's November?

By the fact that I've signed up for NaBloPoMo. Get ready for a post a day.

Yes that does mean there'll be a lot of photos masquerading as content.....




























It's a hard life, but someone's got to write about it.

Naturalization: Part Two - The Revenge

When you apply for citizenship they hand you a booklet and an audio CD of the 100 civics questions they will fire at you during your upcoming interview. Having not taken an exam in approximately 15 years I was rather excited about this. Mostly because I am a nerd and used to be rather good at exams. I'll also admit that I was 'quietly confident' about passing the written and spoken English portion of the citizenship test. English, why it's practically my mother tongue. Perhaps you wouldn't know that from my grammar or spelling, but in my head I'm brilliant.

Anna and Lucy suffered through weeks of listening to the Citizenship Test CD in my car and now scream 'No! Not Nancy Pelosi' whenever I grab my car keys. I know you're dying to know what the 100 questions are, so here's a link, but if you're too lazy I'll write the 10 questions I was given at the end of this post - feel free to knock yourself out - but I want an honest marks out of ten in the comments section afterwards please.

I actually really enjoyed learning about that 'Congress' thing you have, the 'Constitution' and the brilliant idea of 'Checks and Balances', vetoes, separation of powers etc. A written Constitution - what a concept. The more I read, the more I realized that being allowed to be considered a naturalized citizen is an honour, nay, an honor.

So when the INS interviewer called my name I leaped up and put away my 'Best Short Stories of 2010' - see, everyone, I read English for fun, for a laugh, a ha ha ha (poor Peter Sarstedt reference). I clutched my binder of critical paperwork and followed him behind the magic door. The night before I'd assembled my 'very important paperwork' binder because people in chat rooms had suggested that if you look like you're armed with all the relevant info they won't ask for any of it (true). As I collected bank statements and tax returns I came to the section about 'proof of marital union'.

I asked LK how I was supposed to prove marital union.

"You are a moron" he answered.

"Yes, but how do I prove that I'm your moron?"

"Erm, maybe our children???!! Our children who I am starting to believe are much smarter than you?!"

Good point.


My INS officer led me deep into the bureaucratic corridors of the INS - full of small cubicles, family pictures, and people trying to look American and remember who signed the Declaration of Independence.

I took a seat and he asked me how the fires had been in Santa Barbara. Good question really, for establishing residency (and residual distrust and hatred of your current town). He asked me if I would ever bear arms for the US and I, perhaps misunderstanding, said I would be more than happy to bare arms, or bear alms, whatever was needed. He asked me if I had any money owing to the IRS, whether I'd ever been convicted of a crime? I answered no. He said 'not even a speeding ticket?' I said no, thinking of my 3mph drive down to LA. It is impossible to speed here. He asked if I'd had any traffic violations at all. I told him I'd had a parking ticket when I was in labour with my oldest daughter and hadn't been able to avoid the street sweepers. He seemed satisfied.

He then asked:

• What's the name of the national anthem?

• Who is our Governor?

• If the Vice President and President are out of action who takes over?

• Name one amendment to voting rights?

• What ocean lies to the East of the US?

• Who is in charge of the Executive Branch?

• What is the state capital?
  

• Why did the colonists leave the UK?

• When was the Constitution written?

• How many amendments to the Constitution are there?

and finally, he asked me to write 'California is the State with the most people', and I was very tempted to write 'California is the State with the moist people' but I didn't because I am cowed by authority.

He asked me again if I owed any taxes or had ever committed a crime. I was starting to doubt myself at this point. Library fines? Changing lanes without signaling?

But that was it. I made it, I passed. I high-tailed it off to Ikea to spend my money on Stüff like a true American.

Next stop the 'Swearing in Ceremony'. I bet you can't wait can you?


Answers:

• Star-spangled banner
• Arnold Schwarzeneggar (also accepted - The Governator)
• Nancy Pelosi!!!
• Any citizen over the age of 18 can vote
• Atlantic
• The President
• Sacramento. Not LA! Don't say LA!
  
• Because they were fools
• 1787
  
• 27
  

Naturalization: Part One

The reason I went down to LA last week was to continue my application to become a naturalized American citizen.

It's a big decision, one that I'm doing for some of the right reasons and some of the wrong reasons.

It took me four years of lost paperwork, unsigned documents, expired fingerprints, transposed alien numbers, queues, tears and rage at the INS to get my Green Card. I was not anxious to repeat the experience, but permanent residency is only good for 10 years and mine expires in 2012. That seems a long way off - unless it took you 4 years to go through the process first time round.

I knew my decisions were; to renew my Green Card or become a citizen.

I asked my Swedish friend Brunhilde (made up name) which option she would suggest. I knew she'd recently become a US citizen after 30 years of permanent residence.

She wrote: .....'on the plus side, if you become a citizen you will finally be able to get that much sought-after job at the DMV, but it you've ever been a prostitute those dreams will be crushed'.

Something to think about.

In the end I decided on citizenship for the following reasons:

• I literally could not face the green card rigmarole again.

• I have lived here for 15 years and have been embraced by this country in a lot of ways. It was time to put up or shut up (plus I now use phrases like 'put up or shut up' - my brain has already been naturalized).

• I want to vote. Case in point a letter from Santa Barbara's Elementary School District last week to inform us that 'the SB Elementary School District has failed to reach basic standards in English Language Arts and Math'. Enough said.

• I discovered I did not have to give up my British citizenship (this one was huge).

• Despite suggestions to the contrary, I have never had sex for money.

• I can't say 'British citizenship' without saying 'British Shitizenship'.

• Life, Liberty, Pursuit of Happiness. Ha ha ha.

• Finally, flexibility. I can live in the UK with dual citizenship, I cannot do that as a permanent resident.

I wrote a big fat check to the INS, collected my documents, filled out my N-400 (explaining that I have not been a drunk or a prostitute - I'm not kidding), and waited.

Within two weeks I had an appointment letter for my 'biometric evaluation'. Clearly they either do not have as many people to process as 10 years ago, or, more likely, they are far more keen for you to be a citizen than a permanent resident.

The next step was my interview, English language test and civics exam.

When I finally got in the building I joined a crowded room full of nervous looking people facing a wall. The only thing on the wall was a head-shaped hole covered by a metal grille. This was the INS I have come to know. I opened my book and prepared to wait. I was definitely surprised when my name was called only 15 minutes later. I approached the metal grille only to be told I was in the wrong room.

Ha! English language comprehension test failed. I had misread my appointment letter.

I raced across the building to another eerily similar room full of anxious looking people studying their booklet 'A Guide To Naturalization'. I placed my appointment letter on a pile of others in a box and settled in. It is a common misconception that you automatically become a citizen after marrying an American. It actually only entitles you to apply; first for permanent residency (a Green Card) and then, a minimum of 3-5 years later, for citizenship. There are countless forms, interviews, document-checking etc to be done. Make no mistake, anyone who has become a US citizen in recent years has worked hard and paid a lot of money to so.

Once every five minutes of so a harried-looking INS representative would enter the room - people would stop what they were doing and a hush would fall. The immigration official would then trip his or her way through someone's name and they would both disappear. We all had plenty of time to see all the officials come and go, and peg our hopes on getting one of the least surly.

Finally, my name was called, my number was up, and I disappeared in to the bowels of the INS.

You Can't Get There From Here

Earlier this week I had to drive to LA for an appointment. I do not love driving in heavy traffic, or on freeways with more lanes than the Duggars have children, but on paper this looked easy. I can see the 101 freeway from my house. 100 miles later, the 101 freeway goes straight past the Department of Justice building in downtown LA - my destination.

How hard could it be?

My appointment was at 10am. A couple of days before, I canvassed my friends as to what time I should leave Santa Barbara. The answers ranged from:

• 6:30am
• 7ish
  
• why aren't you in the car already
  
• yesterday

Turns out they were all correct. I left on the nose of 7am, and drove at the speed of light as far as Woodland Hills (North LA). It was a beautiful morning, dolphins played in the surf at the Rincon, and the Hollywood sign peeped out from behind the smog.

It then took me 1hr 45minutes to go the next 15 miles. Stressful at the best of times, but particularly so if you have a plane to catch, or in my case, an immigration interview.

In LA the traffic signs give you distances in minutes, not miles. I'm sure the same is true of many major cities, but where I grew up the major driving hazard was having to overtake a tractor on a narrow country lane. I am not equipped to deal with 6 lanes of traffic all going at 3 mph. Also, even though Anna could jog faster than the speed of traffic, you still have to have your wits about you. The 101 freeway becomes the 405 - and the two left hand lanes peel off to continue the 101. Something you become gradually aware of when the right hand lanes become impenetrably congested for 10 minutes, and it only dawns on you why (because everyone has been getting in lane 5 miles prior) when it's far too late. Good luck trying to ease your Honda Pilot in to that impenetrable wall of Hummers and Priuses!




















The LA freeway system is like the London Underground. You have to know where you're going before you get on the thing, because the last thing you want is to be that person, or that car, fighting against traffic when you realize you're going the wrong way. I've been the victim of London's Circle Line on more than one occasion - I didn't realize trains went both East and West, and that you can also end up on a branch line sitting for 15 minutes at Aldgate East when you thought a circle meant one continuous loop.

The same is true of the LA freeway system, because yes, technically you can just get off at the next off-ramp, but then suddenly, because this is America, an off-ramp delivers you deep in to a neighbourhood, miles from anywhere, practically in some Cholo's back garden with no way back to civilization. You may be able to see the freeway, but there is no way in hell you'll ever be able to get back on it.

You can't get there from here.

So you just stay in your lane praying that the skyscrapers of downtown will suddenly emerge out of the sea of stucco around you, and that you haven't accidentally peeled off on to the 10 and are now hurtling (at 3mph) towards West Covina.

I kept calling LK, surreptitiously of course, because cell phone use is in fact illegal. I would say 'I'm at Topanga Canyon' or 'Sunset' or 'The LA school for Armenian Raffia Weavers' where am I? Am I close to downtown yet? And he would answer, 'fucked if I know, sounds like you're in LA, don't you have a map?'.

Why was I going to immigration to further my relationship with this man?!

I finessed the 101 to the 405 - the source of all the traffic, or so I thought - and was more than a little surprised to see the traffic signs indicating a further 55 minutes to downtown.

Must be a different downtown I thought.

Ha!

I finally made it, the thick smog obscuring the skyscrapers until they were right above me, meaning that I was practically there before I knew it. I cut across 17 lanes of traffic, missed my turn for Union Station (my intended parking) and instead pulled in to the closest multi-storey carpark I could find. Diving 5 stories in to an underground carpark is a little unnerving in an earthquake hotspot, but fortunately it was the least of my worries. I left my car in it's subterranean mausoleum and was three floors up in the elevator when it occurred to me I should probably have made a note where I left it. See, I'm just not an urban person.

I arrived at immigration 10 minutes before my allotted appointment time. I'll tell that story at a later date, but let me just say that the INS has not changed one bit. I was clutching my appointment letter which stated 'please do not arrive more than 30 minutes before your appointment as seating space is limited'. Of course they fail to tell you that you have to join a queue of literally hundreds, a 45 minute queue, just to get in the building.

So no, I don't love LA. But I do love my new Hemnes buffet from Ikea - a 2 hour cross-city side trip I took on my way home, because the LA freeway system? Once you've been through the immigration system - just not scary anymore.

Barbie World

Barbies are taking over our household, with naked plastic limbs spilling out of cars and bedrooms. Anna is at a fever pitch of excitement today because *gasp* Barbie Fairytopia Legend of the Rainbow arrives tonight via Netflix. She won't say Barbie Fairytopia. It's always 'Barbie Fairytopia Magic of the Rainbow'. It's impossible not to laugh when she says 'tonight we get to watch Barbie Fairytopia Magic of the Rainbow'. Breath.

Thanks to Netflix we don't have to own these things, just borrow them. They get a lot of air-time, and while pretty nauseatingly pink and blonde, there is often a 'girls kick ass' message instead of the usual Disneyesque boy meets girl, which is good. Barbie 'Mermaidia' features a surfer girl, and an interview with Stephanie Gilmore - the #1 world ranked female surfer. That is something my Teeny Wahini can get excited about.

I can't believe I'm describing the finer points of Barbie movies, but such is my life. Anyhoo, they do get requested a lot, by both girls, and despite me concluding that they had a positive overall message, they seem to have a subversive underbelly. Case in point, Lucy's vocabulary:

No = Mo
Yes = Shesh
Bellybutton = Beyn
Please =Peez
Orange = Unge, not to be confused with,
Lunch = Untch

but,

Barbie = Barbie. Barbie! Peez TV Barbie!! Possibly the only world she has so far mastered.

This week at school Anna was the 'shining star'. Picked completely at random it basically means she gets to be 'interviewed' and her responses, along with favourite photos are put on the classroom noticeboard for all to admire.

Some sample questions:

1. I am proud of myself for?
2. Something you like about yourself?
3. What are you goals for the future?
   

Anna's responses:

1. My blue eyes
2. My golden hair
3. To be nice

Gah!!!

If she'd have said 'world peace' I would have fainted on the spot. LK told me off for 'coaching' her on her answers to produce a slightly more acceptable:


























I stand by my editing. She was beginning to sound a bit like a barbie, and by that I mean Klaus Barbie. Those answers were one step away from 'I love being white and I believe Islam to be a cancer on the Western world'. I did coach a little in terms of 'perhaps you should say something you've been proud of achieving, instead of proud of being'. Much eye-rolling from LK, which is why the 'blue eyes' comment remains - but most of her class can't read, only the parents, and I did not want everyone to think we were the Ayrian supremacists of Kindergarten.

It should go without saying, but perhaps it doesn't - we are not rocking the 'Master Race' at home by the way. LK's Lederhosen are strictly for play.

As usual, I'm over-thinking things. What would you have done?

Earthquake Weather

When I first moved here, far too long ago now, it didn't take me long to hear the phrase 'earthquake weather'. To say I was hyper sensitive to the issue of earthquakes is an understatement. I experienced my first 'shaker' my very first morning in California -as next door's washing machine vibrated through the wall.

My evil housemate told me that windy weather was often a sign of an earthquake to come. Yes, I know, I was a *tad* gullible. Mind you, she also told me that Kate Moss was so skinny she was practically 'emancipated', so I was on to her pretty fast in terms of her Wikipedian prophecies.I am technically a geography graduate, so the hardened scientist in me snorts at the idea of 'earthquake weather'. Real hardened scientists are reading this and snorting at the idea of a geography graduate being a scientist - and I will admit that I know far more about writing essays with the word 'polemic' in them than any hard science. Still, wind = changes in pressure, or my brother in the vicinity, it does not bring about tectonic shifts. Unless my brother's had a curry.

Despite this, people do insist on talking about earthquake weather, and we have had a truly bizarre week of weather. 110º last Monday, squally Bridlington in August overcastness today. People are muttering. None of them seem to agree on exactly what defines earthquake weather though. Some say wind. Some say freakishly hot weather. Some say we've had both in the space of a week and we are therefore DOOMED.

If you google it, the jury is certainly out. This article from the New Scientist seems to point towards a strange set of cloud formations bringing DOOM. Wikipedia says no! Snopes says no! I say we have a polemic on our hands people.

Have you heard of earthquake weather? Are you a believer? What do you believe?

Quite frankly I'm sure the good people at Oxbridge are going to confiscate my degree for even posting this. I do not believe in earthquake weather, but I do believe in animals going bonkers before a big quake. My money's on the squirrels.

Pumpkin Patch

This weekend we pretended to be Americans experiencing fall, instead of a week of 110º temperatures.










That's a terrible case of hemorrhoids you've got there Lucy.





















Sisterly affection. Very, very briefly.


























How long do I have to hold this smile?























Lucy fell in love with this one....

















....and was none too happy when told it was too heavy to take home.















Good times.

Cindy Crawford I Am Not

Yesterday I finally became a true Southern Californian. Did I decide to drive rather than walk to my mailbox? Wear flip-flops to work? Refuse to pronounce the letter 't' if buried in a word? No, ­the true mark of any So Cal resident is a dermatological facial wound.

I have had a 'minor procedure' to investigate a suspicious mole. I've had this mole for my entire life and only in the last few years has it become suspect. It is a birthmark on my right cheek that people somewhat generously called a 'beauty mark'. It turned lighter recently, and may have grown a little south but perhaps that's age more than anything. Well, that's what I was telling myself for the last 3 + years before I did anything about it. My doctor did not seem unduly concerned, but suggested we better be safe than sorry. Safe means results in a week and me rocking a weeping facial wound like it ain't no thang. Because that's what people do round here. You see them every day, feet in flip-flops, latte in hand, bandaid on face/shoulder/forearm.

Gauze, it's the new black.

When I woke up this morning my face looked like a war zone. I must have opened the wound in my sleep because the blood had seeped through the bandaid and down my face. Nothing says morning sex like a weeping facial contusion.

Of course the girls were all over it in a second.

"Oh Momma" whispered Anna. "Does it hurt? Can I see? Can I touch it?"

Lucy on the other hand was far more interested in the hows and whys.

"Happened?"
"It's nothing Lucy, Mumma just has an owie on her face."
"Happened?"
"It's nothing love, it doesn't hurt, but please don't stick your fingers right there"
"Happened?"
"Nothing, but maybe now's a good time to put sunscreen on you"
"Happened?"
"Lucy, we've been through this"
"Happened?"
"I feel like you're not listening to me"
"Happened?..
"LK, your baby. Bye!"

Needless to say I'm a little worried about taking the bandaid off. My girls will have a field day. I hope everything's fine. I hope I don't get a massive keloid scar the likes of which I'm sporting on my left shoulder. Apparently they don't generally appear on the face. I know I sound flippant, worrying about aesthetics when they are doing a biopsy, but it's the only thing I am allowing myself to be concerned with right now. The other stuff is unthinkable.

Still, if it truly is a dodgy mole it would be a great reason to move back to the cloud cover of dear old England. On the other hand it might just be cheaper to buy a sunhat.

Schooled

Ok, here's one for you:

Last week I had Anna's Back To School Night. For those of you, like me, who are thinking, 'what the chuff is a Back to School Night?' it seems to be a parents evening where the teacher outlines what your children will be doing in the coming year, and then strong-arms you in to volunteering in the classroom.

We all sat in a circle on comically small chairs and Anna's teacher asked us to introduce ourselves, say who our child was, and then pick a word to best sum them up.

Growing up, my surname landed me right at the bottom of the alphabet, and there's nothing a teacher likes to do more than go round the class in reverse alphabetical order. Consequently I have learned to think on my feet. I was sitting to the teacher's left and got to go first.

"Well," I said, "My name is Ali blah blah, my daughter is Anna, and if I had to choose a word to describe her I would say 'verbal'."

Laughter, from the parents of girls.

"She's got an amazing way with words, she's a great communicator and reader, and basically manages to express herself very well".

"Ha!" says Anna's teacher, "if I had to pick a word I would say precocious".

"------"


Is it just me or is that a hugely double-edged sword? WTF? Is she saying smart or smart-arsed? People laughed, but I was thinking, really? When has being a precocious child ever been a good thing? Obviously I would prefer precocious to 'brain like a slug', but every other child was described by their parents as 'happy, helpful, creative' etc and she felt no need to interject.

What does it mean?

Alipalooza

And to think I had lofty aspirations of posting every day in September.

It's been a busy start to the month, anniversary (13 - lucky for some!), quickly followed by my birthday. That was really poor planning on my part, having my anniversary so close to my birthday. I think in my deliriously loved-up pre-marital state I thought an anniversary near my birthday would mean an Alipalooza of celebrations instead of a 'buy-one-get-one-free' approach that seems to be closer to the truth. Lesson quickly learned when on my honeymoon my birthday present from LK was nothing. He hadn't planned that far you see. Which brings me to one of my favourite sayings, 'why is it always men who seize the day? Because women are already planning for a week next Thursday'. Exactly.

How times have changed. Not only is LK much more on the ball when it comes to at least a birthday card, I now have two very, very, eager little girls willing to plan my birthday within an inch of it's unicorn-themed life. Anna suggested I might enjoy a trip to Pinkberry, followed by the carousel, followed by the candy shop on the wharf, followed by Despicable Me followed by McDonalds. Actually, I must be a 5 year old at heart because that sounds pretty damn good.

What no-one planned for was the nasty flu that slammed in to me like a Category 5 hurricane. I woke up on my birthday in Anna's bed (voluntary quarantine), to streams of mucous and glorious sunshine in equal measure. It was approaching 9 o'clock, and as I'm the only one in the family with anything remotely resembling an internal clock or the wherewithal to set the alarm, I was the only one awake. Anna, Lucy and LK were all sleeping away the first hour of Anna's school day in our bed.

As an aside there was a famous incident in our family where my Mum and Dad did not tell my brother it was his birthday until after he got home from school that day - my Mum found it quite amusing that he was so excited for weeks before and then completely blanked the day of. A tad heartless, but it probably made the morning rush out the door a lot smoother. Not so last week, Anna was more than happy to eat cereal in the car, wear her pyjamas to school, but she would not hear of leaving the house until I (she) had unwrapped my presents. In for a penny in for a pound.

I got an iPhone from LK for my birthday, and he of course got one too, otherwise how would we communicate on different plans?? He is so selfless!! He had been sneaking away funds for months which makes me a little hopeful that maybe he's doing that very same thing for the mortgage, college funds, Hawaii trip etc, except I doubt it.

I am obsessed with my new phone, and really am very grateful to the man who made it all happen, who even cunningly stole my old phone so my new one came complete with all my old contacts. I had the same Neanderthal phone for nearly 10 years. It survived two toddlers, me dropping it every other day, and it even went through several batteries - mostly due to the saliva of small children. It was a bit like my old beat-up Honda, it wasn't pretty but it got the job done and I was never worried about damaging it or having it stolen, but now OMG, like WTF I am a texting fiend (iPhone suggests you mean friend?).

Coincidentally our book club tome this month was 'Super Sad True Love Story' by Gary Shteyngart. At first I hated it; so cynical, so male, so bloody depressing, but the more I fell in love with my iPhone - setting up Pandora radio, creating a Tap Zoo for Anna (OK, for me), the more I appreciated how funny and unsettlingly accurate he was about people's dependence on their 'Apparats'. I am an addict. I no longer wish to 'verbal' with anyone, if you're in the next room I will text rather than bother clearing my throat. This may change when I get my first phone bill, but in the meantime I hope to be Skyping my parents from beachside restaurants, taking fabulous candid photos of the girls, and also buying a cheetah for my Tap Zoo.

Hopefully this will mean I will spend more time posting photos of the girls to this blog, and less time checking facebook but it's not looking good so far is it?

Edited to add, hot off the press:

Anna: "Mom, when you die can I have your iPhone?"
Me: "Only if I die from natural causes."

Don't Say Cock

Nothing reinforces the fact that you live in a questionable neighborhood more than the bible bashers knocking on your door, eager for converts, not having any pamplets in English. I feel like Jesus (sorry Hay-sus) is profiling us. Sorry love, no habla your church.

We do have a lot of Hispanic neighbours, and consequently a lot of chickens in our 'hood. Sweeping generalization? Check out the lower Eastside and tell me how many chickens you can hear, oh and parakeets too. Strange. Anyway, I was off for a walk round the neighbourhood the other day and we disturbed a backyard menagerie, and the rooster (don't say cock! not in this country!) started rooster-a-doodle-dooing. Anna turns to me and says "wow, Momma, I guess he overslept."

What Is Our Children Learning?

Thanks to George W. Bush for the title of this post.




















I love this picture. They look like an old married couple reading in bed. Not tonight Josephine, I have a brand new 'High Five' to scowl at.

So, what IS our children learning? I managed to offend Sissy in a post a few days ago by suggesting that nothing was going on in Anna's Kindergarten class. For that I apologize. Kindergarten is a new experience for all of us. As parents we are learning a lot; what to expect from the classroom, and also how we can contribute, both financially and with our time. As I write this, LK is at a meeting about volunteer options. We have to give 2 hours a week at this school. He has already texted 'is it too late to trade?!'.

Why yes, yes it is.

I do know that teachers work long hours and receive very little support and funding (my Mum was a teacher for most of my childhood). I think perhaps, to quote dear W again, that I have been 'misunderestimated'. I didn't mean that Anna is doing nothing, I was trying to explain that I couldn't get out of her what she had been doing in those 3+ hours a day. The brilliant Jennifer suggested I use some 'strategery' and ask Anna 'what's the weirdest thing that happened at school today?' and it's amazing how that will open up a dialogue, or at least grant you more than an 'I dunno'.

To be fair, most of Anna's replies have centered around the toilet, but I have learned the she's planted peas, drawn a self portrait, made a calendar and, that bastion of the American education system, participated in show and tell.

After much deliberation, she decided to present A UNICORN (falls off chair in surprise).The clues were:

1. It has four legs
2. It has a horn, and
   
3. It doesn't exist
   

She was apparently ruthless in her put down of young Skylar* when he suggested a dinosaur, because, duh Skylar, they did exist, just not anymore, but their bones, they do presently exist so take that pleb! I destroy you with Kindergarten semantics....

Lucy meanwhile has been hanging out with some hot chicks:































Which is all the education LK would ever like to achieve.

Touchstones

I asked my family what three things have the power to cheer them up the most (being in a bit of a sad mood myself). Their answers:

Anna:

1. Flowers
2. Love
3. Being with my Mom

Lucy (we imagined):

1. Ba (bottle)
2. Boop (boob)
3. Baw (ball)

LK:

1. My three girls (points given for the speed of the response if not the honesty).
   

Me:

1. Cash
2. Check
   
3. Money Order

That's terrible isn't it? OK, I'm only joking, my real three are:

1. Picking my girls up from school at the end of the day
2. LK making me a margarita
3. Cash, check, money order.
   

What are your three?

The Case Against Saturday Mail

I hear the Post Office is considering abolishing Saturday deliveries to save money. I've always been with Seinfeld on the issue of Post Office pricing - if you think it's bad that they're putting up the price of stamps, then just you try and find someone else to take a letter from Guam to Maine for only 44c.

I was all for getting rid of the Saturday mail last week though, for that is when the bombshell 'it is our understanding he may be filing a lawsuit against you' letter was received. How the hell are you supposed to deal with that on a Saturday when the people who sent it are not answering their phones? I spent the entire weekend flying between hysteria and depression. Is it possible to be hysterically depressed? Why yes it is, thanks State Farm.

First thing Monday morning LK called State Farm. After a no doubt leisurely lunch, they called us back. Apparently they've never spoken to our tenant. That was a 'form letter' they sent which to them read 'he has not contacted us, thus we have closed the claim, but due to the nature of his injuries we think that he may perhaps contact you in the future and at that point we will reopen the claim'. He has not expressed any intent to file a lawsuit. Yet. Perhaps they could have worded things a tad differently?

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

So I have been coaxed off the window ledge for now. I don't expect this issue to just go away. After all, he did contact us to get our liability insurer's name. State Farm have been out to photograph the place and have expressed surprise that anyone would file a claim, but hey, if there's money involved I'm sure anything is possible. I just wish that we could have spoken to someone the minute we got the letter, saving me 48 hours of panic. Of course, it would be nice to be like LK and have the capacity to go 'oh well, can't worry about this now, there's nothing to be done til Monday so I will just go about my business and think about other things'. How do you do that? I did everything in my power to keep calm; I went for a long run, I had a glass of whisky in a hot bath, I tried not to repeat 'it is our understanding...lawsuit against you'. Not possible. How are men capable of this kind of selective lobotomy? I wish I knew.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anyway, so's to avoid the Monday morning funk that I've probably put you in by reading the above, I bring you two funny stories:

Firstly, my co-worker had a first date on Saturday. Santa Barbara can get a little chilly on a summer evening, so halfway through their romantic meal at an outdoor restaurant she pulled on her slinky black shrug and carried on laughing, drinking and generally having a wonderful time. It was only after they were leaving that her date pointed out the lacy black thong clinging statically to her cardigan that had been pulled fresh from the dryer. He had been facing her for the meal and so had not previously noticed - but the entire restaurant surrounding her......

Secondly, LK is a genius when it comes to fixing problems with the apartments. He is incredibly handy and has saved us thousands with plumbing, plastering, you name it. We had a note from one of our tenants saying their hall shower was running slowly. LK comes back one hour later having snaked, flushed and fixed the problem.

LK: "So Apt C's all fixed, I took out years of hair and calcified gunk and now it's flowing like a dream"
Me: "Apt C?"
LK: re-reading note. "Apt B. FUCK!"

Oh how we laughed. And by we I mean me.

Rollercoaster

Do you want to hear something funny?

Anna in the back of the car whilst driving to Kindergarten (which she is loving).

"Momma, I need to ask you something but I don't think you're going to like it, so I'm going to cover my ears so I don't have to hear myself asking you"

(She wanted ice cream).


Do you want to hear something not quite so funny? Do you remember our tenant that was locked out and fell whilst trying to climb in to his second floor window, all because he didn't want to knock on his own front door and disturb his roommate who could be grumpy? Well, we received this letter recently from our liability insurer:

'The claimant has not filed a claim on this matter'

'It is our understanding he may file a lawsuit against you'.

Not quite so funny.

Bye-Bye Baby

Today was Anna’s first day at Kindergarten.


















As a parent this can sometimes be a harder transition than for the child. They are concerned with establishing a whole new pecking order on a brand new play structure, while your cloying and over-sentimental brain sees this as: bye Mum, nice to have known you, so long and thanks for all the goldfish.

I have to say, I’ve not been handling this well. As you may be aware, I’m running the knife-edge of sanity anyway, plus I’m not thrilled with the school she’s going to. I’m trying to warm to it. It has lots of good things going for it, and quite frankly I have yet to find a Californian school that doesn’t look like a prison (I think it’s the tiny windows to avoid the glare of the sun, and the fact that they are all pre-fab classrooms with air conditioning units clinging like tumours to the walls). I am hoping to be pleasantly surprised by this alternative school. I’ve already met some lovely down-to-earth parents - no mean feat in this town. On the other hand I’ve also met some complete whack-jobs too. The kind of people who yell "I’d just like to give a shout out to all of you who’ve made a different choice for your child. Boo-yah!!" at the introductory meeting. That made me feel like curling up behind an LL Bean catalog right then and there.





















Anna had much more pressing concerns with her new school. They have ‘rheumatic’ toilets. Quite sensible really when you know how often small kids like to flush the toilet (answer – never). Unfortunately Anna is still terrified of toilets with automatic flushes. We have practiced a lot over the last few weeks. I’ve received some good advice on this blog in the past, especially recommending putting post-it notes over the sensor to guarantee it won’t flush while her tiny derriere is exposed, but did I really want Anna to start school as that kid who can’t go to the loo if she doesn’t have a post-it note? I decided we were just going to tough it out and use as many automatic toilets as possible.

Rheumatic toilet total immersion therapy.

That doesn’t sound right does it?

We picked Anna up at noon (yes! Lunchtime! Kindergarten hours can be measured in hummingbird heartbeats - no wonder education isn’t a strong point in this state). She’d had a great time. She couldn’t really say why, she couldn’t really remember any of the kids she’d met, or what they’d done. She said playtime was ‘grreat!’, and that she’d had fun at snack (seriously, at what point do they get down to business??!). She couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, but circle time was now called ‘rug time’. In preparation for Kindergarten I’d told Anna that she needed to answer any questions the teacher asked, so she would know she already knew
something and wouldn’t make her go over the same stuff. “What, like poop makes plants grow?” ventured Anna, “I bet a lot of kids don’t know that”. So I was really disappointed when she wouldn’t tell me more about her day. I tried every angle “So Anna, I never went to Kindergarten in England, how is it different from preschool” etc etc. LK rolled his eyes and told me to stop bugging her. Anna said ‘hmm’ and then continued to bait her sister. Finally she said “you know what I did do? I used the rheumatic toilet!”

Hooray!

Then LK chimed in that her teacher happened to mention that Anna had successfully gone to the bathroom on the fifth attempt. Four times she and an aide had gone to the loo and each time she got there she chickened out and decided she ‘didn’t really need to go’. Eventually they realized she was scared of the flush and gave her a pack of post-it notes that she now keeps in her cubby.

The best laid plans etc. etc.

I just hope she won't still need them in College.