The Queen

Friday night Mike and I went to the American Royal BBQ. It's a pretty big event in the BBQ circle, and the fact that we were invited to a tent this year was a big event for us.

Armed with a "late night sitter" we headed to the BBQ in downtown KC. The Royal is in the old stockyard area by the railroad tracks, and not overly accessible, especially when thousands of people are trying to get to the same place at the same time.

By 7:30 (two hours into our babysitter's paycheck) we arrived. The food was outstanding, the drinks were free flowing and the company of our friends was the best!

I didn't feel the full effect of the BBQ smoke and cocktails until the next day when a little brunette made eye contact with me at 6:30 in the morning. I don't know how it is, but even in my sleep I can feel Camille looking at me.

"Mommy, we should go downstairs".

I didn't argue. Coffee sounded good anyway.

Camille and I cozied up on the couch and flipped on the TV. We are having a little cuddle time when Daddy came down the stairs. He joined us on the couch.

Perched in between Mike and I, Camille puts her hands in the air and makes a grand sweeping motion as she announces "I am the Queen, and I need a dragon!"

Her face was deadpan as I broke out into a fit of giggles. Camille started to giggle too. "The dragon should be purple, Mommy. I love purple".

I wonder if a purple dragon will sit nicely under the Christmas tree?

365 and change

Last year at this time we attended the "Back To School Picnic" at Sydney's school. We went not knowing a soul. We sat in our chairs and watched other families meet and greet one another while the kids danced and ran around. I had a knot in my stomach that night wondering if we had made a terrible decision in moving here. Sure, the idea of relocating for work was novel and fun, but there we were a month into our reality and it didn't feel very good.

We made the best of that night. I moved outside my comfort zone of not knowing anyone and introduced myself to new people (a task I absolutely abhor).

It has been a year of significant change, lessons and soul searching. Our status as "The New People" has faded in the neighborhood because there is someone new moving in every month. No one asks how we like it here anymore. The phone calls from coworkers feeling bad that we had nothing gone on have stopped. We are truly on our own.

I have learned, with the help of a friend, that I cannot control the sale of our old house. I cannot will it to be gone. I have to relinquish the control in my head which has kept me up more nights than I can count and hand it over to a higher power. There is a lesson in all of this, and for me, I believe it has been a lesson in frugality.

Frugal is not a word that crossed my lips very often. I have never been frugal with my money, my time or my love. People always told me I spread myself too thin, took on too much. I used to think it was because I couldn't say no, but in reality, it was because I wanted to serve and help others. I'm learning how to be frugal with my money, but I refuse to do so with my time or love.

I am thankful for our families and our friends in Minneapolis who have stood by us during our transition. I am also thankful for all of the wonderful people we have come to know here in Kansas City. The last year hasn't been completely smooth, but the bumps in the road are more tolerable because of all of you.

Thank you from the depths of my heart.

My little lyricist

"Mommy, can you play 'Saw-na-ga-na' ? " Camille's little voice called out from the backseat on our way to Jazzercise the other day.

"Sawnagana? Sydney, do you know what that is?" I asked, because sometimes Sydney is better at disphering Camille's secret language than I am.

"No" replies Sydney. She is clearly uninterested in helping me because I wouldn't let her go to her friend's house to play.

"MOMMY! PLAY SAWNAGANA!!!" shrieks Camille (many know this tone).

"Sing it for me, Sweetie." I was racking my brain over the play list we had recently been listening to on the iPod.

Before I move along in my story. one thing everyone should know about Camille is that the child can pick up lyrics to a song after only hearing it a handful of times. If she doesn't have the words quite right, she'll at least have the beat down pat. I recently added a couple of Michael Jackson songs to my collection and she already knows most of the words (Smooth Criminal, They Don't Care About Us and Human Nature).

After letting out something like a growl, Camille says "You know! 'Something like a Sawnagana' ".

Instantly I knew what she meant.

Anyone who has ever spent any time at a bar with me past the hour of 10 o'clock knows that the only song I ever want to hear is "Phenomenon" by LL Cool J. In fact, I just requested it with the help of my brother-in-law's girlfriend last weekend at Lord Fletcher's.

Several years back there were a bunch of us girls, who went to a now defunct Uptown bar. The DJ was lofted well above the dance floor, thus making any song request pretty hard. In my infinite wisdom, I mean stupor, I begin to sign "LL" to the DJ. Apparently doing that makes the DJ think you are calling him a loser. So of course, he came down and asked me why I was calling him a loser. After a laugh, I told him that no, I was asking him to play some LL Cool J. He laughed, went back up his tree and actually played a medley of songs. What a nice guy. I sent him a beer for his efforts.

To hear my daughter ask for one of my all time favorite bar songs actually brought a little tear to my eye. Hee hee.

Shark Encounter

The family and I headed to Disney World in June with the girls' dance studio. Our trip down was as awful and complicated as possible (the actual flight wasn't as bad as the hell flight into Mpls in May), but eventually we arrived in Orlando in one piece and with all of our luggage. While at Disney, the company dancers did a showcase of their competition dances on the performing arts stage in Downtown Disney.

As we toured the different parks, Sydney and Camille met every princess and character (except for Daisy Duck) that Disney had to offer. We went to Cinderella's Royal Table for dinner one night and had breakfast with the Princesses (highly recommend the later). We went on every ride the kids desired, and even a few they did not.

Which leads me to a story (and why wouldn't it?).

When I was eight years old or so my family took a vacation to California and we went to Universal Studios (or some place like that). We went on the Jaws ride. You know the one, cute little boat cruising through Nantucket into the mouth of one of the scariest Hollywood creatures ever. So there we are on the boat when I see "the" fin. I buried my head in my dad's lap. He tapped me on the shoulder to tell me Jaws was gone...except Jaws wasn't gone. Jaws was right freaking there, to my right, open jaws and all. I screamed like I had never screamed before. I'm quite sure my dad laughed, if I remember right the whole damn boat laughed.

Fast forward to the middle of June 2009. We are standing at the entrance of Jaws and I am not sure which way to go. Sydney asks "Is this a scary ride?". I said "I don't think so".

I'm now a liar.

Off we trot into the line, my poor kids not knowing what lies in wait. We had spent our day at Universal with another family from the studio so Sydney sat by her friends Emily and Megan in the front row of the ferry. We rounded the bend and there was "the" fin. I felt like I was 8 again. Damn it. Why did I get in this boat? The shark approaches, and Sydney flies around in her seat "YOU LIED!!!". The shark is now at our boat; mouth open. Kids are screaming, Camille has buried herself in my lap, I want to scream, but can't. The shark has pushed so much water into our boat that we are all soaked (we had seriously just dried out from a water ride earlier in the day). We float on through two more shark encounters, a couple of gun shots, and more screams from our kids.


Maybe I've started what will become a family tradition of torture on the "Jaws" ride, but only time will tell.

The Politics of Being a Girl

I'm not talking about the hair, make-up and fashion side of being a girl, I'm talking about all of the other things that generally get an eye roll from the male population. Over analyzing, discussing feelings, and gossip to name a few (all of which I am guilty of, I admit).

Way back in the days of recess I always found myself more interested in playing soccer with the boys as opposed to whatever it was the girls were up to. By fifth grade my girl friends would drag me away from the soccer game to coo over the newest Cabbage Patch Doll. Looking back on my younger days it isn't hard for me to figure out how I landed in a male dominated industry. I enjoy dealing with men. I am in awe of how many men handle conflict. They either call each other a moron or hash it out over a fist or two. In no time, they are back at the bar drinking beer. In no instance have I ever had that quick of a resolve with a female (except for Jane). If it doesn't involve at least two other people and several phone calls, it takes at least six months to "work through" and the bridge will never be completely rebuilt.

My poor husband is the constant sounding board to the various conflicts I have going on in my life, and God bless him for it.

I always thought I wanted to be the mother of boys (and yes I fully understand I had little choice in the matter). I believed that God would see, as I already did that I would deal much better with the Y chromosome. Apparently, we have different opinions on the topic as Mike and I are the proud parents of two girls. The last half of my pregnancy with Sydney gave me a lot of time to ponder all of the politics of being a girl that I wasn't good at. How on earth was I going to deal with or give advice on all the things that made me nuts?

As my oldest has started school I have had to watch her go through painful situations at the hands of other girls. I struggle with how involved I should get...because really, I don't remember my own mother inserting herself in one fight I had growing up (outside of sound advice). She didn't call the other mom and suggest a play date to work things out. I largely had to deal with it on my own. I've chosen the same path with Sydney and will do the same for Camille (although with Camille, I think I'll be getting the phone calls from the parent of the child with hurt feelings). You have to learn the politics yourself to survive the game.

And as to not end my post on such a serious note, this is the conversation I was privy to as I was bringing Sydney and her friend back to our house.

"Did you see at field day when all the boys took off their shirts?" asked Sydney
"I did!" replied her friend
"You could see their boobies" Sydney said through a giggle.
"Sydney, they don't have boobies, they have tits." her friend said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I erupted in laughter.

"What Mrs. Wallick, they do! We'll have boobs when we get bigger, but right now we just have tits too."

I couldn't help it, I was laughing uncontrollably and I think I was ticking the little girl off. I wanted to tell her how funny this story would be in a mere 10 years, but decided instead to turn up The Ting Tings.

And so it goes

I remember being in my teenage years and flipping through an old photo album belonging to my parents. The pages were filled of pictures from parties they had as a young married couple: Halloween parties, Christmas parties and parties just to have parties. There were so many people in the pictures I didn't recognize. I asked my mom and dad who all these nameless people were. They thoughtfully named off so and so, and started telling funny stories from the party where the picture was taken. There were so many names that I hadn't heard before. I asked what had happened to all of these people. Why had I not met any of them?

My mom said something profound to me that day. It was something that in your teenage years makes absolutely no sense, but to someone in their thirties, it rings very true.

"These are the people we used to do everything with, every weekend of every month...and then we all started having kids."

Mike and I were in the car today on our way back from my chiropractor appointment. We were talking about all of our little adventures and how we usually ended up at the bar where Deuce was the DJ. I laughed as I said "And remember all the times we'd go to the Sand Bar with Mitch and Jen after bar close and Mitch and I would nap on the way to Wisconsin?". It's funny how one memory can spur so many others. It was in the midst of the conversation with Mike that I remembered what my mom said so many years ago.

Our last year in Minneapolis really mirrored the idea of "...then we all started having kids." We found overselves meeting fantastic new people through school and dance and felt ourself drifting further from the friends of our youth. The friends of our youth started to move in different directions with their families and getting together on the weekend wasn't as easy as making the Friday night phone call. It now required weeks of scheduling around dance, basketball, karate and swimming lessons. It didn't mean we loved our friends any less, it just meant that all of our priorites had changed, and the main priority for all of us now were our kids.

Britney Sighting

I'm 34 years old, and I like Britney Spears. There, I said it, and I said it for all of cyberspace to see. The truth is, I've always liked her. I can't exactly explain why, so don't ask.

When I was asked to go the concert with some coworkers, I jumped on the idea. A free concert, in a suite, high above the general public? Sign me up!

Yes, she lip synced her way through almost the entire concert, and no, I wasn't the least bit surprised. I actually expected it. There was absolutely no disappointment on my end. The show really was the Circus it proclaimed itself to be, complete with clowns, jugglers and midgets.

A friend in Minneapolis sent a link to CJ's column in the StarTrib the day after the concert in Kansas City. The article incorrectly said that there was a "Britney Sighting" in downtown Minneapolis on Thursday night. Most know that I have this love hate thing for CJ's columns. Most of the time, they make me nuts (much like the writings of Chris Coleman), so I grabbed hold of the opportunity to tell her she was incorrect via email. I debated erasing my signature off the bottom my email (why I don't know), but ended up leaving it on.

In a nutshell, I told her it was nearly impossible for Britney to have been leaving a movie Thursday night at 12:30 am. The concert in KC didn't end until close to 10:30, and it would have taken at least a half hour to get to any kind of air field, and a minimum of an hour flight on a private jet.

I admit, from the suite, I had my doubts as to whether or not it was really Britney (but I cleared that up at the bar after the show with someone who was sitting by the stage). I sent my email and went about my day.

My cell phone rang around 2:00. It was a 612 number and I thought it might be a realtor setting up a showing on the house that will never sell.

"Is this Rebecca?"
"Yes" I reply
"This is CJ"

Holy crap. CJ called me? I knew I should have erased my signature. Note to self: ALWAYS LISTEN TO THAT LITTLE VOICE, EXCEPT WHEN IT TELLS YOU TO NOT EAT CHOCOLATE

"You say you saw Britney in concert last night in Kansas City?"
"Yes, yes I did".

We went over the timeline that I outlined above. She seemed a little miffed that she printed a possible Britney Sighting off an incorrect "Tweet" off of Twitter, or whatever it is they call posts on Twitter (isn't Facebook enough?).

I hung up after a 5 minute conversation which was filled with the timeline and a few laughs. I have to say, I think CJ would be a pretty cool person to go have a French martini (new drink of choice) with.

The Bedtime Story

"Mommy, sit down I want to tell you a story."

Camille is the master of bedtime stalling. Her technique is almost an art form. It started off as a simple request for a drink of water. As she was potty training she would use the toilet as another tactic. How could we say no to her wanting to use the potty? In the last month we've moved up the ladder to creative story telling.

I sat down on the bed and waited for her to spin a fantastic tale about a princess who makes cookies while jumping in rain puddles wearing the colorful sandals we just bought at Target last week.

"Once upon a time there was a little girl named Camille and there was a Daddy. And they were walking down the stairs. The Daddy had a laundry basket and kicked me down the stairs".

I had to stifle a giggle as I heard Mike groan by the door.

"Camille, I didn't kick you down the stairs" Mike firmly tells her (again).

"And Mommy, it really hurt me". It's dark in her room, but I can see she is sticking out her lower lip.

The real story goes a little more like this: Mike was attempting to bring the laundry basket down one afternoon. Camille noticed him heading down the stairs and in her standard form went running in front of him. She absolutely has to be the first one down the stairs. So she darts in front of Mike and stops.

Mike tested Newton's 3rd law on her, and she finished the flight of stairs on her butt. She is really lucky that Mike was able to hold his balance and didn't end up on top of her under a heap of dirty towels.

Our children are not short on imagination.

The Great Carpet Caper

Anyone who has been to our house has heard me complain incessantly about the carpet in three of our bathrooms. Why the builder would have chosen this medium, especially in a model, is completely beyond my comprehension. Yes yes, I know it is cost driven, but really?

About two weeks ago Mike and I tucked the girls into bed a little later than normal. Thursday nights are usually a little lax in our house because Sydney is at dance until 7:00 ish. After the kids were in bed we settled onto the couch for our normal nightly routine; the 10 o'clock news and the 10:30 rerun viewing of "Two and a Half Men".

The clock had struck 11 and we were getting ready to head upstairs when we heard a child coming down the stairs. It was Syd and she was lurching. Crap. No, not crap, barf actually. Poor kid made it to the bathroom, but sadly, she only made it as far as the carpet.

Carrots and whatever else was consumed now lay all over the beige plush carpet. I know this will make me sound like a terrible parent, but I can't handle puke. I could barely clean up dog barf in our pre-children days.

Mike, being the Godsend that he is, cleaned the puke off the floor with the shop vac. We literally poured bottles of carpet cleaner on the stains and threw towels over the top to keep it wet. The stomach virus that plagued Sydney lasted nearly 5 hours. Her and I spent our first night on the couch together.

Thankfully I have a friend at work who loaned us her steam cleaner so I was able to salvage the carpet.

For the next week, anyone who came to our house Sydney would immediately ask "Can you smell the puke in the bathroom? I missed the toilet". And Camille was always right behind her holding her nose "It stinks in here. Sydney frew up all ober the floor".

Lovely. Welcome to our home. Can I get you a drink or maybe a nose plug?

Six Months

This weekend was the six month mark of our move to Kansas. There are times when the move doesn't seem real and other times I am more homesick than I care to admit to.

Yesterday we explored the Brookside neighborhood in KC, MO while Sydney was at a dance clinic. We found a great little Italian Deli/Market (we finally tracked down our lupini beans) and enjoyed a cup of coffee while Camille went head first into some hot chocolate and a pastry.

Six months....and well, we just got done unpacking the boxes in the basement. Mike and Sydney are downstairs rediscovering the air hockey table as I type. I finally have all of scrapbooking stuff organized so I can begin again. Of course, I need to start my 10 step addiction program to Facebook so I can tear myself away from the computer.

Oh, and for everyone that I bragged to about it being 75 degrees last week; it is now 20 degrees with 3" of snow on the ground. Damn it.

All Done!

Earlier this month I traveled out to San Fransisco to meet a large customer of mine. I flew home by myself because my travel partner was lucky enough to be detained another day. To be honest with you, I enjoy traveling by myself. I like sitting with a book and my iPod and not having to worry about entertaining Camille.

Last winter we went to Arizona over spring break. We upgraded to 1st class for a song. Three hours into the flight (I swear planes were flying slower last year to save fuel), Camille declared she was "ALL DONE". Not partially done, or slightly done. She was all done. In fact, she stood on her seat and told everyone in first class exactly how done she was.

The nervous flight attendant, fearing further action from my then two year old, offered us a basket of snacks. Before we had time to make a selection we hit a pocket of turbulence. Granola bars took flight, crackers hit the isle, and more importantly- Camille was scared silent.

She looked at me with wide eyes as we were tossed around a little more. She allowed me to put on her seat belt. Her little voice was full of fear as she squeaked out "Mommy?".

"Camille, that was the pilots telling you to sit down and be quiet". Of course the other passengers chuckled as well as the flight attendant.

She was an angel for the rest of the flight.

I am a big believer in travel, especially traveling in the lower 48 with my children. I can't wait to torture them with family vacations to places like the Grand Canyon in their teenage years (we're going to drive there for added effect). Every time I fly, I am reminded of how vast this country is and how much there is to see.

Flying back from San Fran, I watched a beautiful sunset from 40,000 ft over the Rockies. I saw a small road snaking through the mountains and had a small tinge of longing to explore the road (despite my fear of heights). The last mountain road I toured in Arizona, I spent most of it clinging to the door and arm rest of the rental SUV.

Although my trip to California was short, I was able to take a small driving tour from San Fransisco to Petaluma (in Sonoma County). Over the Golden Gate Bridge, through the winding hills next to the ocean, and best of all, in 75 degree sunny weather.

When my coworker and I arrived at the hotel, we both talked about how great it would be to be in bed by 10:30 and not have to worry about any little kids waking us up in the middle of the night. I was giddy with the prospect as I turned around with my room key in hand. As I took a step, I saw my boss and another coworker returning from dinner (they were in town for a conference).

Cross "full night of sleep" off my list and replace with "martinis in the bar until security chases us out".

When work takes me to new parts of the US, I always make notes in my head about where our next family vacation should be. I have added San Fransisco to the growing list.

Lucky #7

I have spent the last month hiding under my desk at work. It isn't that I have done anything wrong, but like with every other industry we are watching our receivables more closely than we ever have. I'm getting to know each of the dairies on a personal level so I can get a feel for their business...because if they start going under, I'll probably follow.

There isn't much to be cheerful of in this economy besides gas under $2, but I don't half wonder if the media machine isn't doing their part to instill more fear than necessary.

We hired an awesome babysitter we discovered through my coworker last night and headed down to the Power and Light district in downtown KC (think Mississippi Live, but open air). We met some friends at Lucky Strike (bowling alley). Thankfully around 10:30 the go-go dancers took to their speaker boxes for some prime entertainment. I think it takes a large amount of self esteem to hop up there and dance in a skirt that does little to cover your rear in a room full of women who have been drinking and are ready to shred you like junk mail.

In my attempt to lose weight I have switched to Mich Ultra. I didn't think it was all that bad until Mike told me this morning there is more alcohol in Tirimisu than there is in my new beer of choice. Damn it.

Since I brought up weight loss I am back on the Weight Watcher's train. No real surprise, since it has been an addiction for the last 7 years. I've added kickboxing in to the mix as my form of pain, I mean exercise. I go two times a week with a friend from work. Usually by the end of the night I'm crawling for my car. If a man ever shows up in class the instructor kicks it up a couple of notches to make him suffer and than the rest of us get to suffer more. I don't recall a single male participant who has been able to make it through the whole first class without having to sit down. The last two who tried literally spent 30 of the 60 minutes on the bench. The little 4 year old girl who came to class with her mom spent more time kicking an empty bag than those skeezers.

Today is going to be spent preparing for Sydney's birthday party next week at Emerald City Gymnastics. Syd has picked The Wizard of Oz has her birthday theme (go figure). We had a small amount of planning to do this year as there are 3 little girls in the same class who have their birthdays within 4 days of each other and they are all friends. Last night was a slumber party and today a Lifetime fitness party.

Little Camille. This child is the funniest little kid I have ever met. She had a whole group of people laughing as we boarded the plane to Chicago last week. Jenn and I were pretty sure that Camille and Nick were going to end up ringing each other's necks, but they ended up getting along really well.

Camille is doing a really good job with potty training. If I learned anything the first time around with Sydney, I learned to be a lot more patient and have a lot lower expectations in the beginning. We are down to pull-ups at nap time and bedtime.

The Wallicks have a busy day of errand running. Mike and I are going to try our hand at Carolina Pulled Pork for the game tomorrow and we have to find an Italian Deli/Grocer and see if they have Lupini beans (Krista, I know you'd love them).