More People Who Are Bad

Friends, I am really upset. Due to a cascade of screw-ups, some mine, some GoDaddy's, my suburbanmatron.com domain expired without my knowing and was scooped up by some garbagey company who stalks expiring domains so they can buy them and redirect them to ads for cheap viagra. So now my links all over the internet are broken. Unless you are in the market for some cheap viagra.

GoDaddy is supposed to "park" a domain when it is in the final stages of expiring. That is, when you go there, you see a GoDaddy page that lets you know something is up. But my domain worked fine--I updated this blog on the 14th--and then all of a sudden, it was whisked away.

This business of buying up expiring domains is a whole shady corner of the internet. The guy who got mine is a 21 year-old who lives in his parents' basement in Chicago. He offered to sell it back to me for $5,500.

Think of all the boner pills that would buy him.

Or don't think of it.

So, I don't even know. Any advice or ideas you have are welcome. I'm left with the plan of trying to continue to get my correct links out through facebook and twitter, though I know this only reaches a small part of my readers. I mean, it's not like this domain was my livelihood, but I'd been building it for over four years.

Maybe I'll still get it back. I can't think that the traffic generated by people google searching my blog will generate this domain-stalker any real money. Certainly not enough to live on his own and maybe kiss a girl one day. We'll see.

Makes me way madder than my purse being stolen.

I will still be here, and if you have me linked on your blog and are seeing this post, please change your link to the URL that is up top, www.suburbanmatron.blogspot.com. And follow me on fb and twitter and all that so I can keep you in the loop. And if you are following SubMat on fb, maybe share this news with any friends you have who are also readers. Sniff.

Meanwhile I'm going to go do some emotional eating. But first I'll favor you with an emoticon.

xoxox

Mean Streets

CSI: My Neighborhood

Y'all! Yesterday afternoon I parked my car up at our neighborhood clubhouse and took Hank to his tennis lesson right at the adjacent courts. My neighbor arrived a little after me, and we were both watching the kids' play for about thirty minutes. We got back to our cars to find our windows smashed and our purses gone.

Damn!

I'm usually a little more wily about not leaving valuables visible in the car, even though I've never had this happen before. When I'm parking up there to go play tennis or go to a swim meet for hours, I never leave anything in the car. But as I was taking Hank to the courts, I ran back in and got my purse, thinking that I might run to the store during his lesson. Then I left my purse on the front seat and watched him play instead. For such a short time. Dumb. Dumb!

What the guy got was my wallet, but not my ID or check/debit card, which were in a separate wristlet that I ALSO LEFT IN THE CAR but that he didn't see. But that wallet filled with miscellaneous junk and instantly-canceled credit cards was inside my beloved Marc Jacobs Sophia bag. Oh double damn.

I am a major purse person and I bought that bag in a time when we had actual money instead of a house, two kids, and a video game company. I haven't carried it a lot over the years, it's been on light duty. They don't make that bag anymore, and a quick look at ebay shows that the authentic bags available now have the years of wear on them that my bag didn't. Because I kept it in an argon-filled chamber behind bulletproof glass. So it is kind of irreplaceable. I feel like I'm a little too hung-up on it, but I'm feeling a little hung-up on it. It's maddening because I know it's been thrown away by now, unless the bad guy has the good sense to list it on ebay. I'll be keeping a lookout.

The nice sheriff deputies came and then the CID guys came and got one good fingerprint off my neighbor's door. There is a security camera at the clubhouse that should have captured the whole thing perfectly; they were downloading the footage last night. Hank was with me, and he was very troubled/fascinated by the whole thing. "Mom, I'm really mad that somebody did this!" he said. Me too buddy.

The deputy said to me, "Ma'am, don't let this steal your sunshine." I assured him that my vast sunshine reservoirs were untapped. If we ever did drill into my stored sunshine, it would go a long way toward ending our Dependence on Foreign Oil.

So, whatever, the window is getting fixed today. And the happy thing of the day is that Matt is taking me somewhere this weekend to celebrate our anniversary. I don't know where. Betty is coming this afternoon to keep the kids, and we'll be gone until Monday morning. I know it involves driving somewhere a medium distance away. I asked Matt what I should bring, and he said, "Bring a swimsuit, some good walking shoes, and some nice-enough clothes." I am going to go upstairs now and ponder the "nice-enough" part. Nice enough for a cockfight? A coronation? We'll see!

Have a good weekend! I will report.

The Beginning of The Rest

New Kindergarten recruits at our bus stop.

The kids started school on August 11, Hank to Kindergarten and Laura to sixth grade, which is in middle school--a new school--for us around these parts. I joked about how I was going to go home and cry forever and all that, but I have never really been that way. I have always felt happy for them with each new unfolding of the scene, and ready for all of us to try something new and different. Another mom of a new Kindergartener said, "I just feel like this is the beginning of all the rest of everything."

Laura was ready and eager to the max.

I will confess that I did feel my throat constrict ever so slightly when Hank gave me a smack on the lips, said, "Bye Mom!" and ran toward the bus, waving over his shoulder.

I felt a small throat-tightening and eye-squinting, but it could have been allergies. Yeah, probably. But I wasn't worried about him. I mean, I knew that whatever it was gonna be, he would deal, in his way. His shoes were double-tied, there's a bathroom in the classroom, and the kid is not afraid to speak up for himself.

Actually, Hank was famous among the elementary school faculty before the first school bell rang. The week before school, we got picked up at the bus stop for Kindergarten Round-Up, where we all ride to the school and have tours and activities. The kids separate from the parents, so I didn't know what Hank said or did while he was with his group.

Then, a few days later, I ran into the PE teacher, who is a tennis friend of mine. She said, "I heard a story about Hank." I was like, Lord. What. She said that the principal had begun their faculty meeting that morning by telling about an incoming Kindergartener she'd heard introducing himself at the Round-Up. She said, "This little guy told the class, 'My name is Hank, but please call me Lone Star.'"

That kid.

But I knew it was true because as we were boarding the bus for the first time, he'd asked the driver to call him the same thing. The other moms in the front seats just completely died. "Lone Star?" they laughed. I was like, this is news to me too.

So he's already making his mark.

And Laura has been in some rarified girl-realm of pure excitement all week. She loves sixth grade, she loves changing classes, she loves her locker, which she has decorated with magnets, a little chandelier, and a beaded curtain. This is a thing, locker decorations. I think all I had was a picture torn out of a surfing magazine, but I am old.

I walked Laura to the bus the first day too. And she wanted me to wait with her, but I wasn't allowed to hug her or speak too loudly. I suggested she go introduce herself to the other kids, whom she hadn't met, and she was like, "No, they're big kids." And then she asked me to stop taking her picture with my giant camera. And I was like, "You mean like this?"

"MOM!"

There are lots of new rules for me now. But these sixth graders hit the ground running. They already had their first sixth-grade dance on Friday after school. Or really it was more of a mixer. I asked her and her friend if this was the kind of event where they would dance with boys, and they were all, "Good grief no!" So what it turned out to be was a bunch of bouncing around and group line dances. Laura and her bud led the group in the Cotton Eye Joe, to the surprise of nobody.

So here they are world, I have released them into your care and now I'm gonna go get a froyo.

Back to school is back to blogging. I have been up to a lot, and I am sure you will be hearing about it all. Just wanted to poke my head in. What is up with your schoolkids? Perhaps you live in a civilized part of the country and you still have three more weeks of summer vacation? Super jeal.
xoxo

Bedscape: Hotel Helix in DC

Groovy baby.

Omigaw y'all! We haven't had a bedscape post in yonks, and yet I do love 'em so! The kids and I were up in Washington DC for the week of the 4th, and we had some fun accomodations. Part of the time we stayed in a little pied-à-terre of Matt's Uncle John. I was going to do a bedscape of that, because it's a cute wee studio in Dupont Circle, but then I thought that maybe people don't want their bedrooms published on my blog? Possibly?

Then we moved to a hotel for part of the week. I had set out to find a place that the kids would think was fun, because hotel living is big entertainment for them. Major entertainment. If you only saw how much they enjoy even elevators, you would, like, almost cry.

(True story: while we were at John's apartment, the kids asked me if they could ride the elevator unaccompanied down to the lobby and back. I said sure. They came back and reported that a woman in a business suit got onto the elevator with them for the ride back up. She smiled at them and said, "Tough day at the office?" And Hank said, "Oh no, we are not workers. We're just here touring." In case that wasn't clear.)

So the Helix is in Logan Circle, and it's one of those "trendy" places that I knew would speak deeply to Laura's soul. And it did.

The decorating scheme was bright and modern, and very comfy. We all liked it. Especially because we arrived there for the first time having walked all the way up 15th St., with thousands of our closest friends,  after the fireworks on the Mall. We were hot, dusty refugees, and the Helix was like an oasis. With a minibar.

God bless America.

Our room came with a "credit" for the minibar. The prospect of actually getting things out of the minibar was, for the kids, like their birthdays and Christmas at Hogwarts combined. Unimagined heights of delight. They picked pop rocks and Pez. The way you know a place was designed by hipsters: The minibar contains pop rocks and Pez. Also wax lips. Mama had her eye on a little bottle of wine, but I might have had to share it with them.

So we just had a great time there. Very friendly place and just what we needed.

Laura enjoying her continental breakfast.

The boy has simple tastes.

The dining room in this place is sort of loungey, and I gather they have a hopping happy hour at which they serve free wine and champagne. I did not get to take advantage of this as we were always touring around, but it would be fun for a grownup trip. Our main indulgence was all piling in the bed and watching TV at the end of a long day of sightseeing. At home, we don't have TV's in our bedrooms. And we don't have Cheez-its very often either, so this for them was The Good Life.

I'll be back with more reportage about, I guess, our actual trip outside of the hotel, but you know, bedscape! Wishing you happy travels with your brood. xoxo

Intentions, Good

I don't know why this came to my mind today but remember how last year I said I was going to read a single chapter of Victor Hugo's Les Misérables every day? This was my plan, as announced in that post:

Somewhere on the internet, around the end of the year, I glampsed the fact that Les Misérables has 365 chapters. Oh ho, thought I.  There are also 365 days in earth's solar year. A person could read a chapter a day and, through the magic of compounded interest, read the whole novel in the course of 2011.  

Well how did that go, you ask? Did I turn over the last leaf on December 31 and sigh in contentment at the novel's rich tapestry of humanity?

No. I got bogged down sometime in March or April. Like, truly bogged down, because I was reading about the battle of Waterloo, where it rained so much that Napoleon's artillery got stuck in the mud. Bogged. The chapters on Waterloo went on approximately forever. Then I got behind and couldn't recoup and then I had my breast reconstruction surgery and the Navy SEALs took out Bin Laden and that all seemed like a chance to make a clean break.

The idea appealed to me because, by going a chapter a day, it seemed like you could sneakily read the whole long thing almost without noticing. And it's not likely that I will set aside lots of time to read this book on a more compressed schedule. Heck, I am kind of dawdling/stuck in the middle of that Fifty Shades book, and that is loaded with kinky sex. So whatever I am up to, it is not reading. (We'll have more to say about Fifty Shades, but so far I think that Christian Grey is just kind of a fussbudget. Not hot. And safe words? Please.)

Okay. So I just wanted to come back, however belatedly, and update you on the wreckage of my 365-day plan. Have you ever started something and intended to do it every day for a year? How did it go? It's July so, you know, time to start planning our 2013 resolutions. So chime in if you've contemplated or failed or succeeded at doing something daily. xoxo

Niceties

I just this minute got home from a singles tennis match I had this morning, a match I lost 5-7, 5-7. That right there is what we call All of the Pain, None of the Gain. But the going-away small talk I had with the other girl stuck in my head and I thought I would tell you about it. Here's what we said and what we meant by it.

Her: "So you've already played Shelly, I'm playing her tonight. How is she?" Will I beat her?


Me: "She's very sweet." I crushed her when we played.


Her: "She's been doing pretty well I think." You're not going to help me scout her out?


Me: "Yes, she's a doll. You'll have fun." That's all you're getting.


Her: "Well thanks Becky, it was a good match." I won! I won! I won!


Me: "Yes, you played great! I'd love to play you again sometime." You got lucky.


(scene)


Yes, I am always a sore loser on the inside, I hope you're not disappointed in me. But it struck me after we parted that this girl and I spoke the same language, and also that "she's very sweet" is right up there behind "bless her heart" as one of the worst things you can say about someone.

I have to go drown my sorrows in this giant unsweet iced tea. More later. xoxo

Well, July.

Sometimes that happens. You're talking with a friend, you pause to look down at your sandwich for a moment. You might be saying, "Well seriously, I don't know, yeah, I know, totally! Do you want this pickle?" And then you look up and your friend is gone and doesn't blog for a full month. You look back down at your pickle. Its juice is soaking your potato chips. This happens sometimes.

Amy and I both, by unspoken accord, took an unannounced summer breaky from blogging. Then, as she has already revealed, we were the recipients of a snippy email from our dad earlier this week:

Saturday will be one full month since either of you has blogged. In recognition of that landmark date there will be no cake and cocktails on the deck at the Briar Patch. Please make no plans to attend. Love, Dad

He has such a way about him.

In response to this, Amy hastened to post an update, but I reacted to this epistle with the stony silence that makes me so beloved in the family. When I want to ignore something, I can ignore it thirteen ways to Sunday. Shhh! I was resting!

How are y'all? You look good! I mean some of you literally look good and I am sure of this because I've gotten together with two bloggers in the last month, Jenni and Aimee. So, meeting and greeting, swimming and sunning, sweating and swatting. Summer ramped up and with it came an increase in activities for every member of the family. On one hand, I feel like a ton has happened, and then again, if you asked me, "What have you been up to?" I could with truthfulness say, "Nothing much." So it will probably take me a couple of weeks to tell you about the nothing much. I mean, you know how I do.

Tonight I'm in North Carolina at the mountain house. Tomorrow at dark o'clock we're heading up to DC to spend the 4th with Dave and Katie and Baby Gabriel. It will be moist and steamy and patriotic and we can't wait. I'll be checking in. I swear! Don't look like that.

The other morning, Hank announced, "Mom, I've grown my first patch of man hair." I asked him to show me this man hair and then he couldn't locate the man hair, but insisted that "It's on my tenders." I mean, that could have been a whole three-paragraph blog post right there. You're so sorry you missed it!

If you're on the road for the holiday (not you, Aussies and Canadians but Happy Belated Canada Day), travel safely. I kiss your face.

Rich in Daughters

Laura (left end) was barely five here. Don't know what made me think of this pic.

How are my neighbors? They're doing good!

And here Matt would want to emend, "Superman does good. The neighbors are doing well."

Tonight we walked up the street to a graduation party for a K(C)athy's oldest daughter. Actually, the other K(C)athy moved out a few weeks ago, after a long, long divorce-and-house-selling process. She's gone to a better place. (Not heaven, but a nice townhouse in the one neighborhood that has indoor tennis courts. We're glad for her and we still see her.)

So one K(C)athy remains, and she has six children. Four of them are beautiful girls. I mean, yes all children are beautiful in their own way, of course, but her girls are really beautiful, and nice people too. They range from 18 to 5. And she has two bonus boys. When I first moved here, her youngest was a baby, and I thought, "Six kids!?! Does she know what is causing that to happen?" But now that her youngest is in school, her family plan is starting to look kind of smart. They are your basic big happy family. There is always something going on and somebody to help with it. Especially smart to have all those girls. So many girls! Looking at her tonight, the words came to my mind, "That woman is rich in daughters."

Normal Neighbor was there, and we were remarking that in no time, our girls would be finishing high school. Then she cried and cried through the slide show of the graduate, while I started planning what song I want to use in ours. Not like PLANNING planning, just idly musing, you know.

So, the neighbors:

K(C)athy is sending her grown daughter to college.

Normal Neighbor is cancer free and just got a new chocolate lab puppy.

Frenemy Neighbor has dropped off my radar completely. We never see each other except to wave from our cars, and our girls no longer seek each other out. And I unfriended her on fb after she posted a Glenn Beck screed about how the Great Depression really wasn't that bad.

The older couple on the corner opposite us who didn't believe in global warming, they moved this weekend. To Arizona. Their replacements are already installed in the house but I haven't met them yet.

Conspiracy Guy remains as ever. His daughters still while away a lot of time at my house. The other day, I took Hank to the neighborhood pool party, and they begged begged begged him to take them as well. So he did, then sat in a corner with earbuds in his ears, not in good sight of the pool, while they swam and played. I guess he figured the lifeguard and I were on top of the situation.

My Gravelly-Voiced Tennis Friend broke two ribs this weekend when she got run over by a jet ski. I think those things are dangerous. She could have been killed. And I'm thinking that she won't be playing Summer Mixed Doubles. She told me that it hurts like a mother.

Pretty Neighbor is doing fine and has been navigating the same end-of-school craziness that I have. We are both a little forlorn at the lull in tennis right now, but there is a new rec center near us and we're thinking of trying a pilates class there tomorrow.

Oh, OH, remember when I introduced you to my neighbor who keeps an opossum as her beloved pet? Miss Terry, BLESS HER HEART. Anyway, she was at K(C)athy's party and at one point she suggested to our hostess that she go home and fetch the possum, Louise, and bring Louise to the party. That suggestion made K(C)athy awesomely uncomfortable, as her revulsion at the very thought of it warred with her Southern upbringing, and her inclination to try to please her guests, all her guests, howe'er crazy they may be. She said, weakly, "Um, maybe if you hold her and don't put her down anywhere?"

(Here let me note that this party was BYOB, as the graduate's grandparents were providing all the refreshments and they are strict teetotaler Baptists. And in the middle of this scene of Potential Possum Visitation Discussion, I felt that maybe the one bottle of pinot noir I'd brought wouldn't see me through an Actual Possum Appearance.)

And Miss Terry then said she needed someone to drive her up the block, wait while she fetched Louise, and then drive her back. And K(C)athy was like, "Well, I don't know if that will happen..." Then she slowly walked away, looking transfixed as though something very important elsewhere required her attention. So Miss Terry went home and there was no Louise.

So that happened, and we had some cake and little chocolate eclairs, and then we walked over to see Normal Neighbor's puppy, with his baggy puppy skin and huge paws, and then we came home. Thought you might want to know what the nabes are up to. Where did I start this post? Something about daughters.

'Night!
xo