OK, now I get it.

I was really dreading taking my kid Trick-or-Treating, even to the point of considering hiring a kid from our church (maybe 10-12) to take him around for an hour while I gave out candy at home. But I never managed to call said kid, so took him myself.

And loved it.

I didn't count on the pride of having a kid, now brave enough to march right up to a door, ring the doorbell, wait (well, sometimes), yell out "Trick or Treat!" and then "Thank you" after receiving (and peering interested into his bag at) candy. It rocks.

We'll be doing this again in another 365 days. Oh yes we will.

I'm so proud of my boy.

I'm just amazed at this.

On Saturday, we went to our church's Hometown Halloween celebration. Wisely, they had set up a kid's table with xeroxes for them to color, and marker pens. G flipped one over and drew a little picture for me, complete with a grandfather clock. He gave it to me, declaring it mine. I thanked him, remarked on the clock, and laid it down next to me. He reached around me with the pen and made a mark on it. I frowned and asked him not to do this to my picture. He did it again. I handed it back, saying I didn't want it if he was going to ruin it. He apologized, promised not to do it again. I put it down and he did it again. I handed it back, very annoyed now.

He was busy for a bit (and I was distracted by the talent show), and handed it back. The back of it now said "I SRY." I asked, "Does that say, 'I'm sorry'?" He confirmed that it did. I was so proud of him, sounding it out and writing it down.

(but he needs to not be a nasty-butt in the first place!)

MOVE, Brenda!

Another good practice in Green last night. One of the many non-breakout drills we did was to push our partner (with a hockey stick horizontally between) across the ice, with her resisting as best she could. I got Brenda, who has always been a solid player and good-natured.

But immovable! I kept finding myself yelling, "I'm just WALKING!" There was no skating going on on my part at all. Just step forward, shove, step, shove, repeat. When we got to the center line, I thought I was going to throw up. Hard work!

I got mine back when she had to pull me across the ice (with two hockey sticks, dog-sled style). I squatted and resisted as best I could. We were last. Yay!

A fun practice, with a too-short scrimmage. Great to see Andrea, Liz, Cheddah, and Murray (well, not actually SEE Murray).

Is it worth it?

Every year, I love the "Fall Back" part of Daylight Savings Time. But I hate, hate, hate getting out of work when it's dark.

What are we watching, again?

G is watching a Teletubbies video. For those without a program, the four are Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, Laalaa, and Po (the smallest one, in red). G says, "I like Moe."

Uh, Po, honey. This ain't the Three Stooges.

Why I love my kid

...because after spending all week sewing this outfit for Halloween tonight, and KILLING myself to get it done, after I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and said, "Geez, I look like a guy in drag" (instead of Sleeping Beauty)...

my kid says, "I think you look beautiful, Mommy."

No, thanks, I'm good.

A certain Red div hockey player, hereafter known to all as "In," saw me at an Oakland Ice hockey class trying to lift the puck. Knowing all, she proceeded to barge on over and show me in painstaking detail how to lift the puck, starting it on the end of the stick with the stick angled thusly, drawing the puck in and changing the stick angle, blah blah Bob Loblaw. Didn't work for me. I tried it several times, with her correcting me (what a surprise!) at each juncture. Gave up.

Well, at Sunday's Green practice, I was chuckling to myself as I lifted the puck several times, using none of the methods taught to me by In. None. I still couldn't do it her way if I tried.

Thanks anyway, In. But no thanks.

I like winter, but...

I haven't had to wear my sunglasses all day. (sulk)

And this is how we get hurt

Had a pretty good practice. As I'm bringing my hockey back up the front steps to my house, I pull something in my back. Great. I get through the entire practice unscathed and am nabbed by the freakin' bag. Dangit.

(But I got to see Viv again! Hi, Viv!)

This is how we communicate

I'm standing on the ice during a lull in the practice tonight, and Jena waves me over. I was just thinking how different practice is when Andrea's not here. As I get close, she suddenly skates toward me and bumps me solidly. Then grins and says, "That's from Andrea."

Aww. Thanks, Andrea.

So cool.

As I was driving to hockey tonight, I was going over the high part of the San Mateo Bridge just as the sun got to that Piercing, Right In Your Eyes, How Can It Be Legal To Drive Right Now height. Seeing movement out of the corner of my eye, I looked to the right. At first I thought it was a flock of maybe 15 Canada geese, but as I slowly passed them (you know how they kinda hang in the air while flying?), I realized it was a flock of pelicans. Almost in perfect V formation. With these enormous wingspans.

So cool.

Musing on roommates

Mom's in Bhutan on a trip. I was just reading over the itinerary and saw that there was a $25 daily supplement for singles. I bet she offered to have a roommate this trip to save that $$. I hope she got a good one.

She had 3 roommates--really, suitemates--at a recent weaving conference. One was certifiable. She wore a necklace with a good-sized (6-7") stuffed bear on it. The bear had a name and my mom was expected to address the bear each morning (which, I think, Mom refused to do). The woman dressed the bear in a new outfit at least once a day, and chatted about the outfit. I think she even claimed that the bear "wanted" to wear a certain outfit. Oh. My. God.

I really, really hope Mom got a good roommate this trip. But who could top the lady with Beary?

The kid's a homework fiend.

Those of you who know me well will not be surprised when I write that I am not the best at getting my kid to do homework every night. He gets 7-12 sheets of homework to do during the week, given to us on Monday and due Friday morning. On Monday, it seems interesting; but by Tuesday night, it seems insurmountable. And on Thursday, our possible catch-up day, I always have choir practice. (Fortunately, our terrific new childcare person is willing to do homework with G, so that's a great thing.)

Anyway, this morning, I had him do some sheets while he ate breakfast. He was like an assembly line, finishing one and asking for another. One sheet has him draw an "r" or "R" in a box to complete a word like Robot or Rug. Another has him count the items, write the number once, and then write it for practice several times next to that. Still another has him circle the pictures whose names begin with "r." Some of them are not mind-numbing but he loves to do them all.

Thank God.

Science experiment on my tongue

Back from the dentist, and the right side of my mouth (including the right side of my tongue) is still mostly numb.

But here's where it gets weird: I have a cherry cough drop in my mouth, and on different parts of my tongue, it tastes radically different. Wild, huh? So some of the taste buds that transmit "sweet, cherry" are still asleep and others are transmitting "really salty" instead. Odd!

WTH?

How is it possible that I agreed to an 8AM dentist appointment? For a filling, no less? Unbelievable.

I have to go to bed now, since I need to get up, as Andrea says, at the buttcrack of dawn. At least the coffee's ready to go.

I love hockey!

which, of course, is not news. Had our second hockey game last night. I missed the first, on Sunday, because my cold was making me feel horrible and wheezy. Was going to skip the second to have dinner with Mom before she sets off on her Bhutan adventure, but we had dinner together Monday night instead, and she was to have dinner in SF and I begged off. And besides, I had childcare for hockey!

So I went, even though I was sure I'd only be half a player with this cold. As has happened before, though, the cold air on the ice does something to my lungs and it was nearly as if I had no cold at all (you should hear me cough today, though, yoiks). I felt like I had a really good game. Played D the whole time and am finally figuring it out. You still get to shoot! But it's from the blue line, so it has to be hard and well aimed (oops). I kept it in on the blue line a few times (yay me!) and had some nice saves, I think. I did wander around the ice a few times, forgetting which side I should be on, and did a little too much puck chasing. But I managed to lift the puck a few times, and got called "Miss Fancypants" by Liz for it (woo hoo!).

The sad spot was that our goalie, partway through first period, managed to dislocate her shoulder (yoiks) and left the game. I thank all the gods that are and shall be that the folks who helped her did NOT know how to reduce it. I'm sure I would have fainted right there on the ice (helmets are a good thing, and not just for hockey). I hope Carroll recovers quickly. She did beautifully up to that point.

And now we wait. 10 more days till our next ice time. Poop.

Freaking DOG ate my lunch!

So I came home at noon, all ready to eat the leftover lasagne from the nice Italian restaurant my mom took us to... and just inside the front door is a shredded ziploc bag. Not a huge deal, this has happened several times lately. Annoying, but whatever. I pick up the pieces and head into the kitchen. Where there is madness. I have never used such foul langauge before. I'm sure I called Foster Dog a "rat bastard" multiple times. Not sure what that means, but it sounds mean.

She (and Maddy, I'm sure) ate
my lasagne
leftover risotto (also very good)
leftover tostada salad (kind of old but there was quite a bit)
carrots left over from a lunch I'd packed
and
the lid to a pricey Tupperware container. One that was empty (but its purpose is to keep veggies cold in the fridge, so I store it there even when empty). Rat BASTARD!

This gives me the impetus to finish her description and get it and her photos posted on the Labrador Rescue email list and get her OUT OF MY HOUSE. So she can stop eating my leftover lasagne and bothering Maddy, who put in several years of being annoyed by Max and deserves a rest, at long last.

I had salad for lunch. Woo hoo.

My day is not bad

I really did think I was having a bad day. Then I found this, and changed my mind.

http://www.idiots-guide.org/badday.htm

Andrea should not read this

So I went to the public skate at Oakland Ice (check out their newly updated web site!) yesterday at noon with our General Manager. I had packed my bag with a turtleneck, sweats, kneepads, and my skates. I was partway around the rink for the first time when I realized I had forgotten to bring my knee brace. Oops.

So of course, I was practicing transitions, and fell. Mostly on my well-padded butt, but at some point, I folded my leg under me. I don't even know which leg it was (injured knee or not?), but as I started around the rink again, I felt tiny twinges in my previously injured knee. They went away... but that'll teach me to leave the knee brace off. Oops.

Old code is always interesting.

I had to recompile some old FORTRAN code for an install at work, and on one of our UNIX platforms, it generated an error message. It seemed odd, as the code compiled on the other UNIX platforms just fine, but I took a look at the code just in case.

The code had a huge amount of comment code at the beginning, and the name of the programmer. It was from Herb.

Now, this is a programmer I never knew. He was gone long before I started to work here, and in fact, never even worked at our current site; he was an employee when the company was in Berkeley. I had heard stories about him, though; he was the exceedingly weirdest of the weird. He was a roughly egg-shaped person, and apparently always wore white button-up shirts with very short ties. He smoked a pipe (obviously, this was long before the laws banning smoking in offices). When he was ready to grace you with his opinion, he would lean way back in his chair and lay his arms across his chest, fingertips just touching, and flutter them together.

I never knew his last name. This code tells me: it's Doughty. Small world!

How to look sexy with bugs in your teeth

I believe that's the subtitle to "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."

(Warning: this is a content-free blog entry.)

So the other day, I was biking along at high speed (well, my high speed, anyway), and got a bug in my mouth! Yuck.

I warned you that it was content-free.

Is it good or bad

when nobody, not one person, not even your own son (who has shown signs of trauma from this before), notices that you got your hair cut?

Does this mean that no one noticed your hair looking like shit? Or that no one sees that it looks much better? or is it a bad haircut?

Hm.