Author: brookeshelf

Assault on the Mouse 2010

brookeshelf4 Comments

For our family vacation this year, we decided to do something different and took Jeffrey and Eleanor to Disneyland.  (William stayed behind with his sainted grandparents.)

Here’s the lowdown:

Biggest Surprise: We followed the recommended itinerary set by our guidebook, The Unofficial Guide to Disneyland, and IT ACTUALLY WORKED, even though we had to wake up at the crack of dawn to be at the gate before the park opened.  We were able to do SIX of the rides in Fantasyland in FORTY FIVE MINUTES, and throughout the trip we rarely had to wait in line for longer than 10-15 minutes.  Get this book, people.  It doth rock.

Other Biggest Surprise: Our kids were frightened of rides like Pirates of the Caribbean but LOVED the roller coasters.  Jeffrey adored Space Mountain, and Eleanor loved Splash Mountain so much that she insisted we go on it three times, even though her reaction to the ride was usually this:

Note how Eleanor and I have matching expressions of horror.  Darn briar patch.

Most Adorable Moment: Both Jeffrey and Eleanor were picked to participate in the Jedi Training Academy in Tomorrowland.  In addition to receiving valuable lightsaber instruction, Jeffrey got to duel Darth Maul . . .

. . . and Eleanor got to fight Darth Vader!

Eleanor was also picked to use a “force push” to send some hapless stormtroopers flying through the air.  Probably my favorite part of the whole trip.

Best Show: The crazy “World of Color” fountain show at the Disney California Adventure.  It’s designed by the same engineering team that built the famous fountain display outside the Bellagio casino in Las Vegas.  The water jets shoot up higher than the Ferris Wheel.

Best Production Design: I was in love with the adorable “A Bug’s Land,” also in the California Adventure.  Look!  The benches look like they are made of popsicle sticks!!

Best Obscure Attraction: The Davy Crockett Canoes in the Rivers of America.  They are people-powered; that is, the boats are motor-free.  We paddled them ourselves.  It was a nice upper-body workout in the middle of the day.

However, I will say that watching “Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln” came in as a close second for this category.  Eleanor sat through the biographical information about Lincoln, looking bored, but when the curtain lifted to reveal the animatronic Lincoln she sat up, leaned forward, and whispered “What the what?“

Best Bizarro Moment #1: Watching Mary Poppins and Bert dance to Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock & Roll” during the afternoon parade.

Best Bizarro Moment #2: Did you know that in the original “Steamboat Willie” cartoon, there’s a moment where a goat eats a ukulele?  I wish I was making this up.

Best Bizarro Moment #3: In the Penny Arcade, there’s a game where children can push buttons to mercilessly force Pinocchio to dance.  Dance, Pinocchio, dance!

Best Bizarro Moment #4: If you take the time to ride the Disneyland train the entire way around its circuit, you will eventually pass through tunnels that show you dioramas of the Grand Canyon (complete with taxedermied animals and a miniature cliff dwelling) and animatronic dinosaurs.  Again, wish I was making this up, but I have to admit the endless flow of lava in the dinosaur tunnel was cool.

Now we’re back home, with Jeffrey wistfully saying “Goodbye, Disneyland!” on our way out of the park, and Eleanor spending her time at day camp drawing pictures of Splash Mountain.  It was really a wonderful vacation: everyone told us that travelling there over the 4th of July weekend would mean terrible crowds and unbearable heat, but we never so much as saw either thing.  It’s good to be back home, though.  Lo, I am tired.

Whistler’s Mother

brookeshelfLeave a comment

Eleanor has recently figured out how to whistle.  She’s very proud of it; it took her several weeks of practice to get to the stage where she is now — just barely tottering through “Hot Cross Buns” — and takes any opportunity to show off her new skill.

Whenever we arrive at a friend or family member’s house, she enters the front door whistling.  I usually have to point out what she’s doing in order to garner the appropriate level of appreciation.  (“Um, Eleanor’s whistling.  Not spitting at you.”)

Whenever I’m away from the family for an extended period of time, Eleanor always reminds me of her new skill within moments of my return.  “Mom, while you were gone at your thing, did you forget that I know how to whistle?”

Also, she’s always quick to remind me that, “if you ever are going through the house and need some music, Mom, just let me know and I’ll whistle for you.”

The other kids have tried picking this up, but without success.  Jeffrey just isn’t all that interested, while William often confuses whistling with high-pitched screaming.

“AAAAAAA!” he’ll yell, usually when I’m merging the car onto the freeway at rush hour.  “AAAAA!  Listen, Mom!  I whistling!  AAAAA!”

Crikey, my aching ears!

Birthday Week

brookeshelf8 Comments

My birthday (which was yesterday) is the same week as the my sister-in-law’s and mother-in-law’s birthdays.  I call it the Cake-‘n’-Candles Triple Crown.  My parents were out of town, so my mother-in-law took the opportunity to fill in and spoil me good:  Dinner AND a movie!

Here’s what I gave her, by request: Brian and I used to make little films based on folktales starring our kids.  We haven’t made one for a long while owing to outdated technology, but we’ve recently acquired a Flip camera and find the filmmaking 100% easier.

The kids decided to do “Sleeping Beauty.”  It’s pretty silly, but fun to watch.  Be sure to stay for the credits.

Mesa Verde, HO!

brookeshelf3 Comments

The children had been begging for a trip to Mesa Verde for months.  Jeffrey is obsessed with all ancient cultures, while Eleanor and William just love sleeping in a tent.  Over Memorial Day weekend, we decided to oblige them.  For those of you who don’t know, Mesa Verde National Park is home to one of the oldest and best preserved collection of Native American buildings, most dating from between 500-1200 A.D.  In my opinion, living in the West and skipping Mesa Verde is like going to Peru and skipping Macchu Picchu.

Here is the basic theme of the entire park:

Yes, let us speculate.  Because the Ancestral Puebloan people (not “Anasazi” anymore) kept no written records, everything we know about them is 90% conjecture.

And what does the park feature?

CLIFF DWELLINGS!

PIT HOUSES!


NATIVE AMERICAN DANCERS!


PLUS, THE WORLD’S MOST DISGUSTING MUSEUM EXHIBIT!


This looks more like old cheese than bread.  Brian and I initially saw the “Chewed Bread” exhibit when we last visited Mesa Verde in 2001.  We thought it so bizarre that it became a running gag for the rest of that trip . . . and for the rest of our marriage, really.  Whenever we see a museum exhibit, diorama, illustration, or film that depicts native-type people grinding grain, one of us leans over and says, “Mmmmm, chewed breeeaaaad.”  And the other is obliged to shudder.  It’s good to see some things never change.  (Oh!  Oh!  And notice the alternate recipe for “Chewed Bread Rolls” in the upper left corner.  Shudder.)

The kids were THRILLED with this trip, although Jeff may have been occasionally disappointed at times — I think he thought our explorations would be something more along the lines of Indiana Jones and the Metate of Doom.  I didn’t sleep a wink the entire time we were there (can’t sleep in a draft, which is what tents do best), so I’m more than a little happy to be home.  Onwards to the washing machine, O campfire-scented clothes!

Oh, and keep in mind that the Ancestral Puebloans did all of the above with no pack animals, no metal tools, and without the wheel.  Yeah.  They never got around to inventing the wheel.  Chew on that.

Congratulations, Ellabelle!

brookeshelfLeave a comment

Eleanor officially graduated from preschool last week.  Would you believe the tiny little blue robes?  The tassels are proportionate to the rest of the outfit.  I’m not sure what Ella will do with hers . . . hang it from the rear-view mirror of her tricycle?

Both grandmas and one grandpa were able to come, as well as her dad and Wimmy.  Note the tiny little corsage on her wrist — that’s from my mom.  She thought she was doing something really funny and clever, but when she went to the florist’s shop for it, she found out that people buy preschool graduation corsages all the time.  Huh.

And would you believe that Hallmark makes three different preschool graduation cards?  THREE.

Anyway, it was a happy day for her.  Her teacher, Miss Annette, gave her the “I Can Do It Award,” based on Eleanor’s general persistence.  The diploma states that she is now a “master of rhymes” — nursery rhymes, although it really does sound like the name of a two-bit M.C. circa 1993.

On to kindergarten, my girl!

Hidden Talent

brookeshelf2 Comments

The most annoying quirk that Wimmy’s developed is a habit of hiding from adults.  It began as a game that he does whenever we arrive or depart from preschool.  William (and usually Eleanor, too) finds some little nook or cranny to hide in, and even though I can see him, he won’t come out unless I scratch my head, shrug my shoulders, and say “Where did William go?”

Considering that the preschool is housed in a church, with numerous cloak rooms, potted plants, shrubberies, end tables, and the like, I usually have to say “Where did William go?” about a dozen times to get us out of there.

Once he climbed up into the choir loft and hid under one of the pews.  Took me forever to find him.

He’s even begun to bring this game home, finding some very out-of-the way spot and keeping quiet indefinitely, while the adults run ragged around the house, calling out his name and wondering if it is time to call the police.

William did this at his grandmother’s house last weekend, and stayed hidden for over 45 minutes, driving everyone to near hysterics.

I suppose this is also reflected in William’s new preference for taking naps.  We read a picture book about a little bear whose “special place” was under his bed, and after that William insisted on taking his afternoon naps on the floor under his crib.  This lasted for over a month, and it was great — he’d go right to sleep without an iota of fuss.  Then decided that he was tired of that, and prefers sleeping on the floor behind the big rocking recliner in his room.  Again, right to sleep with no fuss!  I don’t think he’s figured out that he’s free to go wherever he wants when he’s out of the crib.

He’s a fan of dark little cozy spaces, something which I remember enjoying as a child.  The only difficult part is William’s insistance that I sing him a lullaby about his chosen sleeping-spot.  It was easy to think of a bit of doggerel about “under the bed,” and a bit more challenging for “behind the rocking chair.”  But today, he wanted a song about the wall, and I’m afraid I was fresh out.

Wall . . . with you life is a ball . . . I give you my all . . . wall?

William of Orange

brookeshelfLeave a comment

William is old enough that his personality quirks are beginning to show. Here are some of them:

He’s the first of my children to show a preference for a particular color, and the color for him is orange.  I first noticed it when he would always choose the orange paper and orange paint at his little community art class.  Then, when I found a rack of children’s t-shirts on sale at the store, he insisted I choose an orange one.

William now has four orange shirts.  He also likes having an orange plate, bowl, and cup at meals.  The last time I set out the crayon box for him, he spent ten minutes finding every single orange crayon, then holding them all in one hand while scribbling on an orange piece of construction paper.  I might be sick of it if it weren’t such a novelty.  Neither of the other kids give a hoot about what color anything is.

Wimmy’s speech patterns also provide a rich source of interest.  He frequently chops two-syllable words into three syllables: “blan-ka-let,” “cho-co-late,” and “neck-a-lace,” which makes him sound like a miniature Damon Runyan character (“I was on my way to Lindy’s with Nicely-Nicely for some cho-co-late cheesecake, when two goons asked me about the stolen neck-a-lace . . .”

He also makes wonderfully adorable mispronounciations: “wackaroni” for “macaroni,” and “quesadaah” for “quesadilla.”  But, once again unlike his siblings, he gets furious if Brian and I mispronounce the words back at him.  “No, I saying ‘QUESADAAAAH!'”  he insists, pounding his chubby fists on the kitchen table.

Although, I think “wackaroni” is a far more accurate term for what comes out of the Kraft box.

My Mom Says It Should Have Been “Funeral Potatoes”

brookeshelf2 Comments

In one month I’ll be attending a workshop for writers of books for young people.  It’s a highly recommended conference, and the tuition isn’t cheap, so I’m trying to work hard on my manuscript submission so I can get the best feedback.  Or, at least that’s what I’m hoping.  There’s always the chance that all feedback will be hopelessly non-useful stuff like “this paragraph has good flow.”  In fact, I had one writing prof in college who forbade everyone from using the word “flow” when critiquing a classmate’s work.  Really, think about it — all “good flow” means is “I was easily able to pass my eyes from one word to the next.”  Yargh.

I’m nervous and stressed out about this, which is causing me to work at a slower pace than usual, since I’m paying more attention to sentence-level construction.  My thoughts about my work waver between confidence (“Now that’s a metaphor a girl can be proud of!”) to dismal self-doubt (“I’ve just constructed a passage of dialogue wooden enough for me to beat my head against it”).

The stress is beginning to leak into my dreams.  A few nights ago I dreamt that a group of editors came to my house to discuss purchasing my book.  After spending a long time criticizing the untidy state of my house, they settled down in a circle on the floor of my son’s room to talk about particulars.

Most of them wanted to buy my book, but under one condition: they felt that the book would sell more copies if they changed its title to “Mashed Potatoes.”

Which I felt was silly.  Everyone knew that the title of my book was “Hash Browns.”  It would be too confusing to change it to “Mashed Potatoes.”

I woke up laughing at myself and wondering if I’d been eating too much starch.

Just for the record, my book’s title is The Blind Prince.  (There!  I said it!)

Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

brookeshelf2 Comments

My father-in-law turns 60 today.  As a present, we made him a video, in which my kids try to contemplate what life was like in 1950:

A few things to notice:

I recently took Jeffrey to a special viewing of the Charlie Chaplin film Shoulder Arms.  Hence, his description of film in 1950 is of a silent film.

Eleanor is under the impression that life in 1950 is more like life in 1850.

Poor William — look at what happens to him right around 0:20.  I’ve never seen such a patient, mellow kid.

They’ve Landed

brookeshelf2 Comments

No, really — don’t they look like some kind of extraterrestrials?

[WE HAVE COME FOR YOUR TUNGSTEN!  YOUR SUPERIOR INTELLECT IS NO MATCH FOR OUR PUNY WEAPONS!  TUNGSTENNNN!]

Brian’s parents — who are among the angels walking here on earth — made us an offer: since they co-own our house with us, they would pay for half of the new appliances. This was a godsend: there was no way we could have afforded these on our own.  With their help, we were even able to get front-loading machines, which have twice the capacity as top-loaders, but use only one-third the amount of water.  This is important here in the desert; we estimate that this will save us $150 a year in water bills alone.

Not to mention that my kids find them fascinating.  On laundry day, Jeffrey parks himself in front of the machines and watches them for up to an hour, usually creating some kind of outer-space narrative to go along with it.  Eleanor sometimes joins him, gets bored, then leaves — only to have Jeffrey call her back: “Ella!  Come back!  You’re missing the best part!  It’s going faster now!!”

I’m just happy that I no longer have to take 90+ minutes to dry a load of clothes.  The old machines were from 1979, and mustard-colored.  The legs kept breaking off the washer, so it always appeared to be either a bit higher or a bit lower than the dryer.  When the installation guys came to deliver the new machines, they saw the old ones, stopped in their tracks, and just said, “Whoa.”

I still can’t shake the feeling that the new ones consider themselves just a bit to superior to their new home.  So shiny.